Deadly Diagnosis

by Mairi Chong

  ‘Thank God he’s out of it,’ the driver said.

  The man on the ground continued to groan but indeed thankfully, seemed unaware of the situation.

  ‘Look away now,’ Cathy said as she positioned the pen.

  It took a good deal more force than she had expected. The man shifted beneath her and grunted in pain. Then came the pop and release that she wanted. She nearly cried with relief. She withdrew the pen and took the middle part out, leaving just the plastic tube, which she placed in the hole she had punctured in his chest. She smiled, hearing the hiss of air escaping and watched as the man’s breathing gradually started to come back to something almost like normal. At least he was out of immediate danger.

  ‘Jesus,’ the taxi driver said, and Cathy looked up.

  ‘Never had to do that before,’ she confessed. ‘Hope I never have to again. Now, let’s get this neck a bit more stable, and I’ll be happier.’

  The ambulance crew, when they finally arrived, were astounded to find Cathy’s improvised chest drain in situ and the patient drifting in and out of consciousness.

  ‘I’ve not done a top to toe,’ Cathy said, ‘but I was concerned about spine and pelvis. His left ankle’s undoubtedly fractured. Obviously, he had a tension pneumothorax, so he’ll need a more permanent drain when he gets to the hospital. Head scan too, I guess. He’s been out of it. Strong smell of alcohol.’

  It was only when the ambulance left, that Cathy began to shake uncontrollably.

  ‘Better get you home,’ the driver said. ‘You’re frozen through. It’s a free ride,’ he told her. ‘You just saved a man’s life tonight.’

  Cathy smiled thinly. Now that she had had a chance to think, she realised the significance of what had occurred. The only man suspected of the murder of Betty Scott, apparently released by the police that day, had been left for dead in the road. Of course, it might have been a simple accident. After being freed, he might have celebrated with a good few too many beers and then stumbled into the path of a car. But why then hadn’t the driver stopped to help him? She remembered the car that they had passed earlier, accelerating down the hill. Had the driver of this been the unintentional offender? The alternative was unspeakable, but it had to be faced. Had Thomas Hogg been mown down in cold blood? Cathy had doubted the poor man’s guilt from the start. If the real killer of Betty Scott was still out there, they must be fearful of discovery and still it seemed, motivated to kill again.

  23

  Holly must have slept right through, because when she next awoke; it was seven o’clock in the morning and her mobile was reverberating on the bedside table. The screen lit up, indicating an unknown, local number. She answered, and the voice came like a faltering spasm.

  ‘H-h-hello? Who is this I’m speaking to please?’

  Holly felt like telling the unidentified caller that she was the one who had bloody well called, but instead, suddenly recognising the voice, she sat up very straight in bed. ‘Marie? Is that you? What’s the matter? What’s happened?’

  Holly could hear the old woman’s breath at the end of the line, it came in shudders and it was obvious that she was struggling to speak.

  ‘It’s Thomas. Oh Goodness.’ There was a long pause, during which Holly could hear her moving the receiver. And then her voice came again. ‘Hello? Sorry, I’m at sixes and sevens. I’m sorry to call so early too, but I didn’t know what else to do and you gave me your number, you see?’

  ‘It’s fine, Marie. What’s happened to Thomas? He came around here last night but I sent him away. He was drunk and in no fit state to be knocking on people’s doors.’

  ‘That makes sense. They couldn’t understand why he’d been out of his house and especially in that weather.’

  Getting out of bed with the phone still to her ear, Holly drew back the curtain and was met by a world that looked as if it had been brushed with a class A drug. The tops of the houses were completely covered, and she saw in the car park below, the inky tracks from cars that had already headed to work.

  She waited, and eventually, it came. There had been an accident in one of the side-streets. It seemed that Thomas, whilst making his way home, had taken a minor detour. A motorist had found him lying. They had nearly run him over too but had managed to swerve. The man driving had helped him a good deal though. Marie said something about them having been in the emergency services or having knowledge of that sort of thing.

  Holly found herself pacing the bedroom.

  ‘Is he alright? What are his injuries?’ she asked, knowing that the rapid-fire questions would do nothing to calm the poor woman who had broken the news.

  ‘No, no, now don’t you get in a panic as well,’ she said, although the words sounded odd as she was so clearly in one herself. ‘It’s broken bones and he’s punctured a lung. They’ve told me, he’s going to be fine, but he’ll be in for a few weeks I imagine, and pretty shaken by it all.’

  ‘What was he doing?’ Holly said as much to herself as Marie. ‘He was drunk when he came. He even said he was going to die that night, and I told him off for coming. Now I feel terrible.’

  ‘How were you to know it was going to happen?’ she said. ‘Thomas has been drunk many a time before this, and no doubt when he’s discharged and back to his usual self, he’ll be the same again. He’s a law unto himself, that man.’

  Holly could hear that she was both smiling and crying at the same time.

  ‘What can I do?’ Holly asked. ‘Shall I pick you up? Do you want to go in to see him this morning?’

  Poor Marie didn’t need the worry at this time in her life. Thomas was no more than a rather awkward and unrewarding friend, and here she was, distraught over a man she owed nothing.

  ‘You’ll not be allowed in to see him outside visiting hours,’ she said. ‘They’re strict like that. And I would know.’

  ‘Well, this afternoon? I can get a taxi and we’ll go together,’ she said, wondering how in the name of God she would afford the fare. She sounded unsure, and Holly assumed that she’d misunderstood. ‘Or maybe you’d like me to go for you?’ she asked.

  Marie made a satisfied sigh, and Holly knew that this had indeed been her intent. In many ways, it suited her better. She could catch the bus up there and not have to fork out more than a few pounds for the privilege.

  ‘I’ve called the ward already this morning,’ Marie said. ‘It’s thirty-two, orthopaedics.’ She laughed again. ‘I think he’s already getting a name for himself,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll bet,’ Holly told her. She promised to send him her love and to keep in touch.

  Having hung up, she sat on the edge of her bed for a good ten minutes thinking over what Marie had said. Poor, foolish Thomas. She could just imagine him flailing around all the way home, falling about the streets, shouting and carrying on. But why, she wondered, had he gone down some side-street? She imagined him staggering into the path of a car and his confusion and fear, knowing that he was painfully injured. At least, the driver had had the decency to stay with him.

  Marie’s words weren’t lost on her though, and she had already wondered if the driver had been Alex, given that he had previously been in the emergency services. Perhaps it was all a little too coincidental. Had the accident been rather more deliberate, she wondered? Holly recalled Thomas’s maddening final statement before he left her, and how he had said it loudly in a sing-song voice. He had said that he knew who had killed Betty. She imagined the drunken man floundering down the street, singing and laughing, as was his habit. Telling anyone who would listen, that he knew who the murderer was. Had that been the reason for his supposed accident? It certainly seemed possible.

  Before anything else, she had to know if the driver had been Alex. She had ignored his message from the previous night, and now replied, asking if he had recovered fully from all the alcohol. She couldn’t just go straight in and ask if he’d run over Thomas without sounding insane or at the very least, accusatory. Although she most desperately wanted an answ
er, Holly felt dismayed at the speed with which it came. It was just an overly cheery one-liner about him having had an early night the night before, but that was enough. Of course, he could have lied, but it certainly seemed from the message, that Alex wasn’t in the frame for running people over anyway, and that to her, was a great relief.

  The hospital told her two o’clock, but by the time her bus got in, it was a good bit after. She hung around the front of the ward waiting to speak with someone, but in the end, she gave up, and seeing his name on a big whiteboard, made her way to side-room five.

  He might well have just suffered a traumatic accident, but he was, at the very least, clean. It was the cleanest she had ever seen him, and even his teeth looked less yellow.

  They had dressed him in one of their hospital gowns, printed with the name of the hospital in blue and yellow and green. A repetitive snake of words across his chest, shoulders and abdomen. When she entered the side-room, he was sleeping. His head was lolled back on the pillows. The oxygen mask had slipped, and the green, elastic cord that should have fitted snugly over his cheeks, had moved to his jaw, leaving the clear-plastic to sit awkwardly on the tip of his nose.

  Holly sat down by the bed, not wanting to disturb him, not sure what she should say when he did wake. For a while, she listened to his rattled breathing. It felt almost voyeuristic to watch him as he rested. Holly wondered what she was doing there, and why she had come.

  While she waited, she registered the pallor of his cheeks, the greying-yellow, wrinkled skin on his arms. She saw, to her surprise, that he had a tattoo on his right, upper arm. For some reason, this amused her. She found herself trying to decipher the faded, blue ink on his arm, but his skin was so sagged and creased that she couldn’t make it out. She leaned in to get a better look, but couldn’t tell what it was. His abdomen looked distended. Fat and round like a balloon. The covers on his bed rose up and over him in a tent-like fashion, clinging to his contours. She wondered if this was how he had always been. Perhaps his jacket had hidden it.

  There was a tube coming out of his side; a chest drain. It had been fixed in place with what looked like duct-tape. The tube led to a container on the ground. Holly watched it for some time, as the bubbles came and went with each intake of his breath. She had no idea how long she sat.

  When he awoke, it was with a jolt, and it obviously caused him some significant discomfort. The coughing seemed to wrack right through his body, all the way to his bones. She watched his chest heaving with the effort, fighting for gulps of air. His ribs sucked the fabric of the gown inwards, revealing his fragility. As he leaned forward, she saw his spine was a tangled cable, projecting gracelessly. His hands were flapping papers, grey and tremulous. She noticed only then, that one of his legs beneath the covers, was in plaster-cast also. Poor Thomas. He really had been in the wars.

  Finally, he removed the oxygen mask, which had by this time, made its way to his chin and neck area, and clearly offered him little relief. His voice was croaky and it was an effort for him to force out the words. Holly watched his purple lips and the tongue darting to taste their cracked ridges.

  ‘Told you,’ he finally said, falling back on the pillows once more, utterly defeated by this exertion. But his eyes, although tired, watched keenly, and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

  ‘You do like to cause a drama, don’t you?’ she asked.

  The smile crept slyly upwards and played at the corners of his eyes, causing him to blink and involuntarily release a tear. She watched it travel the crevasses of his face. He raised a hand to wipe it away.

  ‘Well, I must say, there are easier ways to get my attention. You heard that poor Marie was calling the hospital asking after you too, I suppose? Terribly upset, she’s been.’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘What were you doing anyway?’ she asked. ‘I heard you were run over down a side-street in town. Where were you going?’

  He shook his head sadly and then closed his eyes and she wondered if, in his exhausted state, he had fallen asleep. His breathing returned to some kind of normality. A rhythmical pattern, but the sound was all wrong. His chest rose and fell, bubbling and cracking with the struggle. Holly was almost as entranced by this, as his zip-running up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

  She glanced around the room, wondering what they had done with his jacket, with the rest of his clothes. Probably put them in a plastic bag when he arrived here. Maybe they threw them in the bin or burned them. He probably had nothing other than the gown he was in now. She should have brought him clothes, a toothbrush. Wasn’t that what visitors did? At least his beloved bag on wheels was still by his bed. Holly smiled. They’d clearly not managed to confiscate that.

  His eyelids fluttered and he squinted at the overhead strip-light. It was an unflattering glare at the best of times, but it only served to enhance his sallowness. The fissures of his skin gaped and fractured, showing deep shadows and hollows where they should not be. In the open air, standing before her in the street, he had never looked this way. He was like a different person now. Older, and far sadder.

  He shifted in the bed, moving his good leg beneath the covers and projecting his frail body into another spasm of coughing. Again, she waited for it to pass, not moving to offer him misguided help. Finally, he looked at her with undeniable mischief, and she saw that although in physical appearance he had altered, in character he was, thankfully, still just the same.

  It came like a whisper. His eyes spoke it before his lips. ‘Eight. I was right. It was my number all along. My time,’ he mouthed. ‘Told you I was going to die.’ After he had spoken, he seemed slightly bolstered. His bony hands reached behind him, finding some holding on the mattress. He pushed his weight backwards, shuffling so that he was sitting more upright. A low cawing chuckle exuded his being. His shoulders shook with the force of it.

  ‘No one else would find it funny, you know? You’ve just been run over. It wasn’t your time though, and you didn’t die. I assume this was up by Fernibanks?’ she asked, in mock-annoyance.

  For all of his silliness, Thomas knew when to conserve his energy and instead of answering, he simply nodded and smiled.

  ‘You’re safe here,’ she said, and he closed his eyes in assent.

  He had been going to the old psychiatric hospital. Of course. Everything seemed to lead back there.

  24

  Holly left the hospital not long after. Taking the bus back into town, she got off a good ten stops before her flat so that she could go in to speak to Marie. The roads were reasonably busy, with commuters perhaps chancing an early finish and heading home. The pavements, although gritted, were slushy in places and where footfall had not been, there was still a mat of thin snow. A good hour’s rain and the lot would be gone. Holly imagined the delight of children waking to the white-out that morning, but for Marie, and some of the other less mobile individuals, it might result in days being housebound.

  As usual, Marie had seen her coming. Holly supposed that she spent much of her day poised by the window, perhaps hoping for visitors. She walked up the front path, following a line of paw prints, presumably belonging to the persistent cat that had once belonged to Betty but had long since adopted Marie. The door opened and she greeted Holly like an old friend, ushering her inside with the offer this time, of tea.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘How is he? I called again at lunchtime and they told me he was sleeping.’

  ‘Probably sleeping off the hangover,’ Holly laughed. ‘No, he’s alright, honestly. He was in very good spirits. Well, you can imagine, what with all the attention.’

  Marie shook her head fondly. ‘He’s some boy, that one.’

  Once Marie had faffed around in the kitchen a good deal and then finally settled herself in one of the chairs, Holly felt able to speak more freely. She wasn’t quite sure how the other woman was going to take what she was about to tell her, but the thought of mentioning it as she carried a boiling mug of tea, didn’t seem such
a good idea.

  When Holly told her that she suspected Thomas’s accident had not been accidental, she was glad that she hadn’t just blurted it out. The old woman’s hands trembled and she covered one with the other in an attempt to stop the motion.

  ‘He’s too exhausted to speak at length,’ Holly told her. ‘Do you think you’d be able to fill in some gaps for me?’

  Marie nodded.

  If only they had had the conversation before all this mess, but Holly had not known the direction things might take.

  ‘Thomas has lived in this town for most of his life,’ Holly began.

  ‘He has,’ Marie agreed. ‘He went to school here. It wasn’t a great success to be fair, from what he’s told me. He should have gone to one of those special schools. They do wonders with disabled children these days. But poor Thomas must have found himself quite lost in a regular school.’

  ‘And the butt of a good many jokes too, I imagine,’ Holly said. ‘Having a lower than average intellect, no matter how genuine and charming he was, it must have been difficult. He still can’t read, am I right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Good with his numbers and ever so proud of that, he is, but words, no. He talked about it with me right back at the start. I think it wasn’t only the school kids either, although they can be so cruel, can’t they? No, it was the teachers as well. I think he was given the belt for next-to-nothing, and probably almost daily too. Poor little boy, he must have been. It’s a wonder he doesn’t hate folk given what he’s had in the past.’

  Holly could tell it hurt her to consider her friend in any pain at all, no matter how long ago it had been.

  ‘I know I’m jumping around a bit, Marie,’ she apologised, ‘but bear with me. Both you and Thomas will have been in this town for most of your lives then? And this would have been back when Thomas was only a boy, but perhaps you’ll remember better. I wonder, do you recollect the fire up at the old psychiatric hospital?’