by Ken McClure
“I don’t know,” Saracen confessed. “But I want to take a look at the death certificates, particularly Myra Archer’s.”
“Do you think Garten signed it without a PM being done?”
“Who else?”
“How will you get your hands on it?”
“Timothy Archer.”
“Her husband? But won’t that upset him all over again?”
“Could do,” agreed Saracen. “I thought I might play it by ear, go see the man, find out how he is before I start prying.”
“I have another suggestion to make,” said Jill.
“Go on.”
“I suggest that we forget all about it for the rest of the evening and start by having another drink?”
“Agreed.”
“Take your jacket off,” said Jill as she got up to re-fill their glasses. Saracen did so and loosened his tie before resting his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t realised how tired he was. Jill came back and smoothed the hair along his forehead before sitting down.
Saracen looked up at her and smiled.
“Dinner won’t be long,” she said. “I hope you are hungry.”
“Ravenous.”
The meal was interspersed with a lot of laughter; the wine was good and the food delicious. Saracen knew that it had been a very long time since he had felt so much at ease and said so. “I’m glad,” said Jill softly. When they had finished he offered to help with the washing-up but Jill insisted that they leave it and have more coffee. Once again Saracen didn’t argue and let out a sigh of contentment as he sat down on the sofa again. “That was the best meal I’ve eaten in ages,” he said.
“Where do you usually eat James?” Jill asked.
“At the flat.”
“What?”
“Tins of this, packets of that, you know.”
“Fast and easy, I know. There’s not much incentive to cook when you live on your own.”
“Have you always lived on your own?”
“I was married once,” replied Jill.
“I didn’t know.”
“No reason why you should. We were divorced five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Getting divorced was like being reborn.”
“That bad?”
“Looking back I think our marriage was doomed from the start, in fact, I can’t think why Jeff ever married me in the first place. He came from what’s laughingly called a ‘good family’ i.e. his father was a solicitor meaning he was making a fortune out of other people’s misery. My dad worked in the steel mill. His mother always made it plain that she thought I wasn’t good enough for her son but when you are twenty years old and in love things like that don’t matter. It’s only later you begin to see things more clearly.”
“Was your husband a lawyer too?” asked Saracen
Jill smiled and said, “No, he didn’t have the brains. Jeff was in ‘creative advertising.’ At first I tried to share his ambitions and help him all I could but he grew more and more remote and, one day, it suddenly dawned on me that I embarrassed him, my background and my being a nurse embarrassed him in the presence of his smart new friends. My Jeff, my hero, my knight in shining armour was turning out to be exactly the same as his mother and father, a pathetic little snob.
Every time he failed to get promotion he would blame it on my social short-comings and grow even colder towards me until I couldn’t stand it any more. One night I just snapped and told him exactly what I thought of him and his cronies with their gold medallions and Gucci shoes. I think I may have suggested that the intellectual capacity to design a bean can was just about what they could rustle up between them.”
Saracen smiled.
“You were married too?”
Saracen nodded and said, “I think you could say I had much the same experience. My wife’s family never felt I was quite worthy of their daughter.”
“Must be something about the medical profession,” said Jill.
“Lowest of the low,” agreed Saracen.
“Would you like another drink?” asked Jill.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Is there anything you would like?”
Saracen turned and looked at Jill sitting beside him and said, “I want to kiss you.”
“I’m not complaining Doctor,” said Jill.
Saracen leaned over and kissed her softly. He ran his fingers lightly round the line of her cheek bone and felt her shudder slightly. “Are you all right?” he whispered.
Jill sighed unevenly and nodded. She said, “I’m sorry, it’s been so long.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have…”
Jill looked into his eyes and smiled. “Oh yes James Saracen,” she said, “Oh yes, you most certainly should.” She put both her hands behind Saracen’s head and pulled him towards her.
Saracen felt a passion, stronger than he had known for many years, grow within him. He felt Jill’s tongue enter his mouth as he cupped his hand over her breast and sought her nipple with his thumb. Her back arched to press herself to him. “God how I want you,” Saracen murmured.
“I’m still not complaining Doctor,” murmured Jill. Saracen lifted her gently from the couch and looked to the two possible doors. Jill smiled and pointed lazily over her shoulder with her thumb. “That one,” she said.
With all passion spent Saracen buried his head in Jill’s hair while her fingers soothed the back of his neck in a circular motion. “There, there my gentle James Saracen,” she whispered. “I only hope you feel as good as I do.”
Saracen laughed and kissed the side of her neck. “I’d forgotten it could be that good,” he murmured.
Jill’s arms tightened around him a little. “I’m glad,” she said.
After half an hour or so of nuzzling tenderness Jill said, “Do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we should shower together.”
“You do?” smiled Saracen.
“Uh huh,” replied Jill, running her fore-finger down Saracen’s upper arm.
Saracen gave in to Jill’s giggled demand that she be allowed to soap him all over. She recited nursery rhymes as she applied the suds with the palms of her hands with a gentleness that made Saracen’s skin tingle. “You’ve got hard thighs my Prince,” she murmured, her fingers kneading them as she watched his face. Saracen groaned with pleasure as Jill’s hands continued their odyssey over his body.
“And strong arms…”
Saracen tilted his head back to rest it against the wall. Jill’s hands moved over his chest. “I want to know every inch of you… How tall?”
“Six one,” groaned Saracen.
Jill took his now erect penis into her soapy hands and said, “I can see that you are not Jewish…”
Saracen drew Jill towards him and brought his mouth down hard on hers but suddenly he froze. He pulled away. “But Cohen was,” he said slowly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Would you say that someone with a name like Leonard Cohen was Jewish?”
“Almost certainly,” replied Jill, bemused by what was going on.
“Have you ever known a Jewish male not to be circumcised?”
“Well, I’ve not examined them all but no.”
“The body they showed me at Dolman’s was that of an uncircumcised male. It was the right age but the wrong religion. They didn’t show me Leonard Cohen at all. They switched the bodies!”
“Maybe they just took the wrong body out of the fridge?” suggested Jill.
Saracen considered that but then said, “There were only four and three of them were women, the two from Skelmore General and a Miss Carlisle who was being buried at noon. Don’t you see? Leonard Cohen’s body wasn’t even there.
Chapter Six
The phone rang. “I think you better get in here,” said Tremaine’s voice.
“What’s up?” asked Saracen.
“Chenhui Tang. An ambulan
ce has just brought her in.
“What?” exclaimed Saracen.
“She’s in a bad way. She fell from a window at Morley Grange.”
“How the hell…”
“I don’t know any of the details. I just thought you should know.”
Saracen was at the hospital within ten minutes.
“She’s in Intensive Care,” said Tremaine.
Saracen nodded and backed out through the swing doors to hurry along the bottom corridor to the IC suite. As usual he was aware of the sudden rise in temperature when he entered. Clothes and covers were a dispensable encumbrance in IC. Naked patients were easier to deal with, easier to keep electrodes attached to, tubes inserted into, shunt needles in place.
There were three patients in the Unit which was equipped to accommodate six. One was being ventilated artificially and the intermittent hiss of air and the click of the change-over relay interrupted the soporific calm of the place, breaking up the regular flow of soft bleeps from the cardiac monitors.
Chenhui, her head swathed in bandages lay in an apparently deep and peaceful sleep. Saracen thought how like a little girl she looked, her body so frail, her skin so smooth, marred only by a recent graze along her left cheek bone. The sister in charge came up and stood beside Saracen. “Severe skull fracture,” she said quietly.
Saracen nodded but did not say anything. He watched as pulses chased each other along the green screen of the oscilloscope and wondered about their regularity. “Are the X-Rays up here?” he asked.
“In my office.”
Saracen followed the sister and took a large envelope from her. He removed the film from it and clipped it up on the light box to wait for a moment until the fluorescent tubes had stuttered into life. “God what a mess,” he said softly as he followed the crack lines on the image of Chenhui’s skull.
“Dr Nelson says it’s a wonder she’s still alive,” said the sister.
Saracen unclipped the X-Ray and returned it to its envelope. He said, “If, by any chance she should come round Sister, I’d like to know as soon as possible.”
“Of course, I’ll leave a note for my relief too.”
Saracen returned to A amp;E to speak to Tremaine. “Does Garten know about this?” he asked.
“He was out when I called,” replied Tremaine. “How is Chenhui?”
“Bad” replied Saracen.
“Will she make it?”
Saracen shook his head. “I doubt it.”
Tremaine made a face. Saracen pulled up the collar of his coat and said, “I’m off.”
Saracen poured himself a whisky and sat down wearily in front of the fire. He hoisted his feet up on to a stool and let out his breath in a long sigh before massaging his eyelids with thumb and forefinger. Things could not go on like this, he concluded. The sight of Chenhui lying in IC close to death had just been too much coming on top of everything else. What had she been trying to do when she had fallen? Could she even have been pushed? Saracen baulked at the thought of Garten being involved in murder but still clung to his original suspicion that Garten had been keeping Chenhui out of the way at Morley Grange. Perhaps she had been trying to escape when she had fallen? If only he could speak to her but that seemed a remote possibility in view of her condition. The other alternative was to confront Garten straight out. Saracen drained his glass and decided that that was exactly what he would do. He poured out more whisky and started to think about how he would do it when fate pre-empted him and the phone rang; it was Garten.
“I’ve just heard about Chenhui. Tremaine told me you’d been up to see her?”
“Yes,” said Saracen flatly.
“Well?” The irritation showed in Garten’s voice. “How is she?”
“Multiple skull fractures. Looks bad.”
“My God, what was she trying to do,” muttered Garten.
“Escape?” ventured Saracen, jumping in with both feet.
The silence seemed to go on for ages before Garten said, in a voice that had been filtered clean of any emotion, “Would you care to explain that remark?”
Saracen took a deep breath and said, “I don’t think Chenhui should have been admitted to Morley Grange in the first place. I think you arranged it to keep her quiet.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses Saracen?” spluttered Garten. “Quiet about what for God’s sake?”
“I don’t know,” confessed Saracen, “But it has something to do with the deaths of Myra Archer and Leonard Cohen. What happened to them Nigel? What are you up to?”
“You must have gone mad Saracen! Stark staring mad!!
“I don’t think so,” replied Saracen. “But we’ll let the Police decide I think.”
Garten’s tone changed. He became conciliatory. “Look Saracen, I don’t know what’s troubling you but I’m sure that there’s a perfectly rational explanation for whatever it is. Why don’t we have a talk about this in the morning? You can get things off your chest. We’ll sort it all out and then we’ll both feel better?”
Saracen considered his position and then concurred. “All right,” he said, “But if I’m not satisfied with your explanation I’m going to the Police.”
“In the morning then,” soothed Garten.
Saracen put down the receiver, knowing that there was no going back. A knot of fear and foreboding settled in his stomach and he felt certain that it would remain there for the foreseeable future.
Saracen came on duty at eight am to relieve Alan Tremaine. He told him what he had done.
“Want me to stick around?” Tremaine asked.
“No, keep your head down for the moment.”
Garten was expected to arrive at nine but by nine thirty there was still no sign of him. At ten Saracen grew edgy and called Garten’s home. There was no reply. Ten thirty and still no Garten.
At eleven the duty phone rang; it was the Medical Superintendent’s secretary. “Dr Saithe would like to see you in fifteen minutes Dr Saracen.”
“I can’t leave A amp;E Dr Garten hasn’t come on duty yet.”
“Dr Garten says A amp;E will be covered.”
“Garten’s up there?” exclaimed Saracen.
“Dr Garten is with Dr Saithe at the moment.”
Saracen hung up. Garten and Saithe together? What was going on? Saracen felt the knot tighten in his stomach. He found Sister Lindeman and told her that he would have to go out for a while. “I understand that cover’s on the way.”
“Who?” asked Lindeman.
“Search me,” replied Saracen distantly.
Saracen was in the locker room getting changed when Alan Tremaine came in looking annoyed. “I just got into bad and Garten rings telling me to get right back here. What the hell is going on?”
“I’m just about to find out,” said Saracen. “I’ve to be in Saithe’s office in five minutes. Garten’s already there.”
“Where does Saithe fit into all this?” asked Tremaine.
Saracen shrugged and said, “I don’t know but I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“Good luck,” said Tremaine as Saracen opened the locker room door.
Saracen smiled weakly in reply.
Saracen turned off the main corridor and started to climb the stairs to the administration block. He span round at the sound of a metallic crash behind him and saw that a porter had caught the bottom step with a kitchen trolley. The man cursed loudly as he wrestled it back on course and the smell of boiled potatoes reached Saracen up on the landing. He turned back and continued to climb.
“Take a seat please,” said Saithe’s secretary without smiling. Saracen took this as a bad sign. Secretaries were always a dead give away, an advance warning of what was to come. He wondered if they mirrored their bosses’ attitudes dutifully or whether they managed to contrive at some kind of personal agreement. He watched the woman as she returned to her typing, the gold chain attached to her spectacles quivering slightly on the purple plain of her twin set. His attention wandered to the picture on the wall
behind her. The bows of ‘The Clipper Tae Ping’, were dipping into spray frozen by the artist for ever. A buzzer sounded. “Ask Dr Saracen to come in.”
Saracen had been prepared for two men in the room but there were three.
“I don’t think you know Mr Matthew Grimshaw, chairman of the health board,” said Saithe.
Grimshaw, a small thickset man with little in the way of neck or forehead and a nose the colour of a ripe tomato did not hold out his hand. Instead he gave a barely perceptible nod. Saracen nodded back and Saithe indicated that he sit down.
Saithe removed his spectacles and held them on the desk in front of him. “Dr Saracen,” he began, “We are given to understand that you authorised the giving of blood to one Matilda Mileham before statutory permission had been obtained.
Saracen was taken aback. This was not what he had expected. “The girl was a Jehovah’s Witness. The parents refused permission,” he said, feeling puzzled.
“You are aware of the hospital’s policy in such cases?” asked Saithe.
“Of course,” replied Saracen. “I did apply for her to be made a ward of court.”
“But you did not wait for the order to be granted?”
“I couldn’t. The child would have died.”
“In your opinion,” said Garten, speaking for the first time and sounding hostile.
“In my opinion,” replied Saracen, rising to the bait. “And I was the one there at the time.”
“The child has subsequently developed hepatitis from the transfusion,” said Saithe.
“It can happen. It was just bad luck that’s all.”
“Or bad judgement,” said Garten.
“Your precipitate action has laid the health board open to a serious court action,” said Saithe.
“Precipitate action!” repeated Saracen, unable to contain himself any longer. “What are you talking about? The child needed blood or she would have died! This is ridiculous!”
“Law suits are not ridiculous Doctor, they are a very serious matter indeed.” said Saithe.
“What law suit?” exploded Saracen. “There isn’t a court in the country who would find against measures taken to save a child’s life.”
