by Mairi Chong
She kept on scrolling, until she came to the correct date and area, as they had all been subdivided into regions of the country. It wasn’t much, just a single line, and the name wasn’t even mentioned, but she knew it had to be him. On the disapproved register, for gross misconduct, was a police constable. The reason given for his dismissal from the college of policing was: ‘unreasonable use of force.’’
In a way, it was a relief that he wasn’t a paedophile, or anything really bad, but it was still shocking to see it in print. Holly considered again their conversation from the previous night, and how he had done his big dramatic disclosure of why Carbolic should be considered a possible suspect for Betty’s murder. He had said that the man had a history of violence, and this might predispose him to further crime. It now seemed that Alex also fell into this category. She wondered at his hypocrisy in saying what he had, but then he had assumed that history might stay as such and that his past would be unlikely to come out.
Holly sipped meditatively on her now stone-cold coffee. The bitterness seemed to be more exaggerated, but it fitted her mood just fine. She wondered how on earth she was going to face Alex again, knowing now what she did. It wasn’t so much the actual reason for him being booted out of the force that bothered her, it was more the fact that he had deliberately lied. She did wonder though, what ‘unreasonable use of force’ meant. Had he punched a suspect too hard, perhaps initially in self-defence, or had it been much worse? You saw in the paper these reports of corrupt cops lording it up. Pumped up on power and reckless because of it. She hated to think of Alex in that way, but perhaps when he was younger, it might have been the case. If it had been so, then what a comedown, ending up in this town, and working for free, with a collection of no-hopers like herself. She marvelled at his strength of character, really, she did.
It was gone three o’clock when she finally washed and dressed. The bathroom required a bit of attention from the previous evening’s purging incident, but she was in no mood to attend to it and instead avoided the sink completely and brushed her teeth as she washed her hair in the shower. From the frosted bathroom window, she gazed out at the greying-yellow sky. The clouds had a bilious tinge to them, which probably meant snow.
Given that the heating had now gone off completely and with little money to spare, she decided that bed wasn’t such a bad place to be. She scooped up a book from the floor and was reading, having found comfort in the cocoon of quilt when she heard a bell ringing. Initially, she ignored it, thinking that it must be the neighbours again. They regularly forgot their keys or had guests visiting, coming loudly up the stairs at some ridiculous time of night. Granted, it was only five in the afternoon, but she wasn’t getting up for anyone. The bell continued to sound. The perpetrator, becoming presumably irritated, had begun to press out a rhythm, allowing, at intervals, the bell to resonate in one long, steady and constant blast.
Holly swore, and throwing off the covers, stalked to the door.
‘What?’ she shouted in the intercom as the bell continued. The din stopped and she heard a crackling and shuffling, and then someone cleared their throat.
‘Well then? Who is it?’ she shouted again.
‘Aye, aye,’ came the hesitant reply.
Swearing loudly, she pressed the buzzer to allow him entry to the building. What a bloody joke it all was. How the man had found the flat was beyond her. He had probably followed at a distance the other evening, just to see where she lived, the devious swine. Holly was in no humour for visitors and even his pitiful reticence as he came into view, ambling up the stairs, with his ugly bag still in tow, did nothing to lift her spirits.
‘Well then,’ she said perversely, ‘why have you come?’
He stood on the doorstep, shuffling his feet and doing that strange thing he did; tilting his head to the side and then taking a great sniff of air.
One of the people from an upstairs flat passed by, forcing him to step closer to her doorway. She nodded at the neighbour, who returned a raised eyebrow. Thomas’s proximity was nauseating, and she turned her head in disgust and stepped back to allow for more room between them. Thinking that this was an invitation, he made as if to come in, but she was adamant that that wasn’t happening.
‘No way,’ she said firmly, ushering him back. ‘What do you want anyway?’
He began to chuckle to himself, something she had admittedly witnessed before, but it did not ease the nastiness of the situation. His body shuddered in great, awkward heaves, which was even more disconcerting as he was still so close. His snorting and crowing seemed to go on forever, and she fell into the trap of asking what was so funny. But he had no idea, and if anything, seemed slightly surprised, and then defensive when put on the spot.
For the first time, she noticed that his jacket was ripped at the sleeve and the stuffing, once presumably white, spilt frothy and discoloured. It reminded her of the water Carol washed down the sink after cleaning the shop floor.
‘Have you been in a fight?’ she asked. ‘Well, what do you have to say?’
He shook his head as if trying to remove the question. He shifted from foot to foot again, and then held his hands up to his ears, covering them. His hands were mottled from the cold, like uncooked meat.
‘Numbers, numbers. They’re everywhere but how do I know which one’s mine? Maybe I’ve missed it. I saw an eight, but maybe it wasn’t for me. What time is it now?’
Holly’s jaw tightened.
‘Think I’ll probably wake up dead tomorrow,’ he remarked suddenly, with self-satisfied resolve.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she retorted. ‘Has this got something to do with the police? Have they questioned you again?’
He looked at her keenly, as if trying to read her thoughts. The entire encounter, she knew was hopeless though. The man was intoxicated and unable to have any kind of conversation at all.
‘Go home,’ she told him. ‘Go and sober up.’
His eyes swivelled, adjusting and readjusting, flitting from one thing to the next. Holly wondered if he was seeing something that she could not.
‘I know who did it,’ he finally said, turning the words into song, and again went off onto one of his roaring guffaws.
‘You don’t know, do you Thomas?’ she asked.
He shook his head in bemusement as if only seeing her for the first time.
‘I can’t deal with this just now,’ she told him and closed the door in his face.
22
‘So, you’re onto another murder are you, darling? I thought you’d be sick of them by now, having already had a few too many brushes with death this last year. When I saw the report on TV, I must say that I did think of you. Well then, have you solved the thing, or are you still burrowing into the mishmash of lies and intrigue?’
Cathy laughed and placed her glass of wine on the table. Suzalinna had invited her over as Saj was on-call that evening. ‘A chance to dissect the reunion,’ she had said, given that the two friends hadn’t managed to see one another since.
‘Well,’ Cathy said, leaning in. ‘The police have arrested someone.’
‘Have they? And who is it? Not a patient of yours, along with the victim?’
‘Oh God, well, when you say it like that, it does sound dreadful,’ Cathy said. ‘Yes, as it happens, they were both patients of ours, but the man arrested, or rather, I think he’s being questioned, hasn’t seen either James or me in years. A local man with a mild-to-moderate learning disability.’
‘Really? And is he the right man?’ Suzalinna asked, now topping up both of their glasses of wine.
Cathy grimaced.
‘Oh, so you’re not convinced?’
Cathy sighed and replaced her glass on the table. ‘The old lady who died came in to see me. It was before the reunion thing and I was so worried about it that night, that I nearly mentioned it to you. She had breast cancer and didn’t have long to live. She was refusing treatment, as it happens, but something was concerning her. She told me tha
t it was something to do with the charity shop in town. Someone was disturbed or dangerous, she said. It had rattled her, but she wouldn’t say any more than that. Said that I was her insurance policy if something went wrong, and it certainly has now.’
‘Charity shop?’ Suzalinna asked. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘That’s where she volunteered.’
‘Had she always worked there?’
‘No, she used to be the matron at Fernibanks.’
‘The old psychiatric place?’
‘Yes. I wondered if she had seen someone in the charity shop, or if something had happened recently to concern her. Something that brought back a memory from her old days working in the hospital. I got the impression that she had been watching someone for a while. Maybe weighing up if she should do something. It was as if she knew someone was a danger, but … Oh, I don’t even know, it’s all supposition, and none of it makes any sense.’
‘Had this man who’s been arrested, been into the shop? Was he a volunteer?’
‘I doubt he would have been any use to them helping out. I don’t think he’s ever worked. I had a flick through his old paediatric notes. The police came in to collect them.’
‘Grim reading?’
‘Yes. Pretty sad. Treated like an animal, a drain on society, and his mother, who was also learning-disabled, was much the same, if not worse.’
‘So, she’s still alive, is she?’
‘In a nursing home now. She’s spent almost all of her life in an institution. She was in Fernibanks. I visited her in the hope of learning something more about her son, and his connection with the woman who died, but she couldn’t tell me anything. To be frank, she was scared stiff when she realised I was medical.’
‘That might be the connection then, don’t you think? Perhaps this old lady, back in the day, was a bit of an evil one. You know it used to happen. Maybe she was cruel to the patients, including this poor lad’s mother and he got to hear about it. Perhaps he’s been waiting for his big chance to smack her over the head and throw her in front of a train.’
Cathy frowned. ‘It’s a bit excessive isn’t it, and after all these years? Why now?’
‘Well, if he got wind that she was dying, maybe he wanted to get in there first and bump her off in a horrible manner to spite her for what she had done.’
Cathy shook her head. ‘Honestly, I don’t think he’d have the mental capacity to come up with all of that. Why endanger himself when she was going to die anyway? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Maybe she had a word. He’d been acting more and more strangely, and she told him she was going to get him locked up like his mother.’
‘That sounds a bit more plausible. She was a bit of a tartar, but I still can’t see him managing to lure the old woman down to the railway line. She would hardly go and meet him, knowing already that he was a danger, would she?’
‘True enough,’ Suzalinna conceded. ‘Well, darling, it’s a bit of a mess, I must say, but not your problem either. If the police have him already, and presumably they have reason …?’
‘Blood outside the sheltered housing complex where he lives. I think it’s being tested still.’
‘Well, darling. The case doesn’t look great, does it?’
Cathy shook her head sadly. ‘No, it doesn’t look good.’.
‘Anyway,’ Suzalinna said, leaning forward and grinning. ‘Onto other matters. I heard you pumping Sally Cruickshank at the reunion for info on her ex, the dishy policeman. I always knew you had a thing for that guy, even when they were going out all those years ago. Which, by the way, I knew wouldn’t last. They were unsuited. He was far too timid for her, and I think slightly intimidated at our medics’ do’s. You and him though, well, that would have been another thing. What’s happened to the handsome police officer then? Is he still in these parts, by any chance?’
Cathy snorted and refused to be drawn.
It was gone eleven when her cab arrived to take her home.
‘Behave yourself and keep out of trouble,’ Suzalinna warned, ‘unless of course, it’s with a man and then you have my permission to be as ill-disciplined as you like.’
Cathy kissed her friend and got into the taxi, promising to speak to her very soon.
The journey home would only take ten minutes. The taxi driver had turned on the radio, and the music was quiet and easy. Along with the motion of the car, it made Cathy sleepy. She looked out of the window as they went and recognised Davenport Road. The driver should indicate soon as they approached the corner where the old playground still stood. Half the swings had been spiralled over the beam so that they hung too short. They turned onto the road at right-angles now, and the slope of the street led them up. The headlights of the car caught a couple of people walking along the pavement. A little further on, the driver had to swerve as another car accelerated down the hill towards them. The taxi driver cursed under his breath but pulled his car expertly in behind a parked vehicle and out of the way before continuing. They were almost in line now with Fernibanks, and Cathy gazed out at the looming derelict hospital ahead, the buildings even darker against the night sky. Her eyes had become accustomed to the shadows now, and the sky had cleared a little as a cloud that had obliterated the moon shifted. The old hospital was lit up momentarily, a dilapidated monument to all of the troubled souls who had stayed there.
Then suddenly, and without warning, the driver swore loudly and jammed on the brakes. Cathy was thrown forward, and she felt her seatbelt seizing and restraining her torso. Instinctively, she put out her hands to protect her face. The car skidded, and the wheels on tarmac screamed. Cathy waited for a thump of metal on metal, expecting a collision, but there was none. When they stopped, there was an unnerving stillness.
‘Are you alright, love?’ asked the driver, turning breathlessly.
‘Yes. What on earth?’
But the man was already getting out of the car, and Cathy after a moment, undid her belt and got out too. Her chest ached and she stumbled initially.
On the road in front of them, lay what looked like a sack. It was only as Cathy drew closer and the taxi driver stepped aside that she saw it was a man. He lay on his righthand side, his knees drawn up almost in a foetal position. His jacket was ripped and damp, and one of his shoes lay in the middle of the road as if carelessly discarded.
‘Don’t touch him!’ Cathy shouted, and her voice sounded shrill.
The taxi driver straightened up. ‘My God, it’s Thomas Hogg,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t hit him, he was lying there. I thought he was in with the police?’
‘Call an ambulance,’ she said.
She looked up and down the street in case they were in immediate danger from oncoming traffic, but the night was still. The only sound was of the occasional hiss of tyres on the high street as cars passed in the town below.
Cathy was already bending and gently uncovering the man’s face. He was bleeding from a wound to his head, but it looked superficial. She quickly scanned his body and saw the twist to his left leg, but there were more important things to attend to before fractured limbs.
‘Hello? Thomas? Can you hear me?’ she asked. Cathy was at first concerned that he might be dead. In the background, she heard the driver on the phone, giving their location and explaining that they had found a man lying in the middle of the road, presumably the victim of a hit-and-run. ‘He looks pretty bad,’ Cathy heard him telling the operator, and his voice shook.
‘Can you hear me, Thomas?’ she asked again and thankfully the man groaned. ‘Thank Goodness.’
The taxi driver was back. ‘What should we do? Move him into the recovery position?’
‘No. I need to stabilise his neck. I’m worried about his breathing though. I’m a doctor,’ she said, glancing up at the driver.
‘Thank Christ for that. I’ll get a blanket from the cab. What else can I do?’
‘Can you park the car so that we’re protected from any oncoming traffic?’ Cathy called, ‘an
d keep the headlights on us.’
The driver moved away. Cathy had already noticed that Thomas’s breathing was heavily laboured. It came in shallow heaves. As the headlights of the car moved, she saw too, now that the neck of his jacket was loose, that at his bare throat, his trachea was pulled to the side.
‘Shit! How long until they said they’d be here?’ she asked, knowing that the man on the ground would die if they didn’t hurry.
‘Ten, fifteen minutes. They said to hang tight and they’d be here as fast as they could. I heard on the radio earlier that there was an accident on the Forkieth Road so they might be stuck.’
Cathy swore again. ‘He’s not going to survive if I don’t do something. His lung’s punctured. I don’t have anything to help him.’
The man’s breathing was now far more erratic and Cathy was very uneasy. Although it was dark, she could see the grey-blue cyanosis of his face.
‘Have you got a pen?’ she impulsively asked.
The driver looked incredulous.
‘A biro is best,’ she called after his retreating figure.
She had read in the past about a biro being used to treat a tension pneumothorax. It had been in a similar, life-or-death situation. It was the last thing she wanted to do to the poor man as he lay on the road, but if she didn’t, he might well die before the ambulance arrived.
The driver came back. She had already covered Thomas’s lower half with a blanket the driver had brought from the cab. Cathy, now shaking herself, with both cold and fear, took the pen.
‘I need to unbutton his top, but I can’t disturb his neck too much in case it’s fractured,’ she said.
The driver helped her. ‘Thank goodness you were with me,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t have had a clue.’
‘What I’m going to do will look brutal,’ she warned him. ‘You might want to look away.’
She had already located the midclavicular line with her fingers and counted down to the second rib, feeling for the second intercostal space. The man’s chest creaked and rattled and she saw that now there was bruising forming along the lines of his chest and the air that was trying to enter, only sucked the skin tighter around the bones. Even touching lightly, revealed the uneven edge of the ribs where they had fractured.
