Then Kate Rowan, in her white coat and bearing a clipboard, entered the reception area. She smiled at Sergeant Blaketon and Graham, but it was not a smile of happiness or of confidence. The grim expression on her face revealed the thoughts in her own mind, thoughts based on professional skill.
Blaketon placed his cup on a chair and rose to meet her. Graham copied his father.
“Sergeant Blaketon, I’m so sorry…I had no idea it was Joan, not at first, not until the ambulanceman explained,” Kate spoke gently to him.
“How is she?” were his first words.
“She’s a very sick woman, sergeant. Extremely sick, it would be wrong of me to pretend otherwise. Obviously, we don’t yet know the full extent of her injuries, the surgeon is examining her now, but from a preliminary examination there appears to be a very serious head injury, along with some internal damage and a worrying loss of blood. She is in very good hands, I can assure you, and you know we will do our very best for her.”
“You’ll be looking after her?” asked Blaketon with some hope in his voice. “You, in person, I mean?”
“No, not in person. I’m just one of the team, sergeant, I’m not the resident doctor here. You know I’ve joined a practice in Whitby, with Jim Radcliffe — Doctor James Radcliffe that is. I work in Whitby from time to time, and hospital work forms part of our duties. But I’m not a surgeon.”
“Can I see her?” Blaketon’s voice almost broke with emotion. “Well, that is, can we see her?”
“Not at the moment, sergeant, not while she’s in theatre, but the moment she comes out, I’ll see what I can do. It could be a long wait, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, of course, I understand.”
“Does Nick know?” she asked. “He was in Whitby this afternoon, on football duties.”
“We were called out to deal with the accident, me, your husband and PC Ventress that is. PC Rowan is there now, at the scene, dealing with the accident and its aftermath.”
“Oh, sergeant, I’m so sorry. That must be awful, finding your loved one’s been hurt like this.”
“Yes, it was a shock, a deep, deep shock,” and tears welled in the tough sergeant’s eyes, as Kate took his arm and settled him back onto a chair.
“We’ll do all we can,” she said quietly, as she walked back to her ministrations. But there were tears in her own eyes as she turned away from Oscar Blaketon. As she walked away, he realised he’d forgotten to ask about the condition of Denis Myers.
*
At the scene, most of the bystanders had dispersed. The two wrecked cars, having been inspected by the police at the scene, were now en route via separate breakdown vehicles to a garage for a more detailed examination by experts. Matters like the condition of the brakes, steering and tyres would be scrutinised and a report would be compiled for eventual use in court, should any prosecution or prosecutions result from the accident.
Nick and Alf remained at the scene because, when everything had been cleared away, someone had to sweep the roads clear of broken glass, bits of metal and mud. And unless the police did it, no one else would.
And so, as evidence of the drama disappeared piece by piece from the scene, Alf and Nick got to work. There was a broom and shovel in the boot of the police car, just some of the equipment that every police car carried. But as the two constables busied themselves in those final moments, Nick realised that two youngsters were still standing on the moor, watching them.
He knew them only by their first names, Duncan and Janet; they were a decent couple who were everywhere together and Nick knew they were members of the Killing Pits Club. As he and Alf cleared away the debris and placed it in a hessian sack, another piece of equipment from their car, Duncan came over to Nick.
“Mr Rowan,” he said quietly. “This is awful…I’m not sure what to say.”
“It’s Denis who has the questions to answer,” Nick said quietly. “He’s the one who was driving.”
“I’m going to do something about that club,” said Duncan seriously. “We’ll have to put a stop to all this.”
“Time trialling, you mean?” said Nick.
“You know about it?”
“Knowing about it and proving it are not quite the same thing, Duncan, but I think this will have taught some of your members a harsh lesson — at a huge cost as well, judging by the state of Sergeant Blaketon’s Joan. But I appreciate your concern. And I think it would be a good idea to have that club run on proper lines; it would be something positive for the youngsters and would give them guidance.”
“I’ll think about that, but what I really wanted to say was sorry; sorry to the Blaketons and Myers,” said Duncan. “All the club carries responsibility for what happened.”
“I’ll speak to Sergeant Blaketon when this is all over,” Nick assured him. “I know he’ll appreciate what you’ve just said.”
As Duncan returned to Janet on the moorland overlooking the scene, Nick joined Alf in the police car and they drove away towards Ashfordly.
“I’ll drop you off at your house,” offered Alf. “I can deal with things at the Ashfordly end, I’ll ring Whitby with a situation report, just to complete their occurrence book entry.”
“And I’ll submit the accident report in due course,” said Nick as the car gathered speed. “But it was good of young Duncan to speak like that — it makes you realise there are some decent youngsters in the world.”
“Try telling that to Joan Forrester,” grunted Alf.
As the police car drove away from the scene, Duncan turned to Janet and hugged her.
“PC Rowan’s right, Janet. What we need is a proper motoring club,” he said. “One that teaches the kids how to drive properly; if they want excitement, we might get ourselves into motor rallies, proper ones, I mean, or maybe a day on an old airfield if they want to race
“Then let’s get something organised, Duncan,” said his freshfaced girl. “We can do it, you and me! We don’t need Gordon and all his posturing!”
“Where is Gordon?” asked Duncan. “I thought he was here?”
“He was,” she said. “He got a lift when he heard about the accident, but then left almost as soon as he arrived, he took his bike away.”
“Guilty feelings, eh? Can’t cope with real trouble, can he?” snapped Duncan.
And as they turned to leave the scene, there being no one else on the moor at that time, Janet noticed something lying in the heather fairly close to the road.
“Look, there’s a parcel!” she pointed to it. “All wrapped up nicely in brown paper, and it’s got a tag on!”
She ran down the slope to retrieve the object.
“It’s heavy, it feels like a book,” she said, fingering the edges. “And there’s a note…“To Oscar, Wishing You a Happy Birthday, Love Joan and Graham”. It’s not wet or dirty, so it hasn’t been here long.”
“It must have been thrown out of one of those cars,” said Duncan. “We’ll hand it in. We can give it to PC Rowan, he’ll know what to do with it.”
“Right,” she agreed, taking his arm.
*
When Nick returned to his police house in Aidensfield, it was deserted and in darkness. He knew Kate was undertaking duties at Whitby, performing tasks which now formed part of her enlarged partnership practice, and he wondered if she was aware of the identity of the casualties of the accident. She might even be dealing with them. As Nick wondered what to do about something to eat, the telephone rang. “Aidensfield Police,” he answered. “PC Rowan.”
“It’s Gerry Brownlow,” said the voice. “Sorry to disturb you, Nick, but somebody’s broken into our offertory box.”
“Oh, no!” groaned Nick. “Much gone?”
“I wouldn’t think so. By this stage of the week, there’s usually £3 or £4 in, not much more. They’ve smashed open the box lid with a jemmy or a big screwdriver or something.”
“When was it last checked?” asked Nick.
“I came in just after lunch,” said Brownlow
. “It was OK then.”
“OK, Gerry, I’ll come down to examine it. You’ll be at the church?”
“Sure.”
“In half an hour then.”
Nick next rang Whitby Hospital to check on the condition of Joan Forrester and Denis Myers. He was told that Mrs Forrester’s condition was giving cause for alarm, but that Denis Myers was not too badly hurt. He was conscious now and out of danger, although he was suffering from a broken left arm and abrasions. He was in the men’s general ward. Nick also learned that Sergeant Blaketon and Graham were still at the hospital, waiting.
In addition to Joan Forrester and Denis Myers, Nick had to interview Graham Blaketon. Graham was the only witness to the accident, other than the two injured parties, so he must be interviewed. He wasn’t injured and could therefore be interviewed at the hospital tonight, so Nick decided that if he had to go out to visit Thackerston Church, then he might as well continue to Whitby. He could then see if he could conclude any of the necessary interviews.
He rang Ashfordly police station.
“Alf,” he said. “I’ve just had a call from the churchwarden of Thackerston church. It’s been raided, a few quid gone. Usual method of entry to the offertory box. I’m on my way there after I’ve snatched a sandwich, and then I’m going to the hospital at Whitby to see if I can get some interviews completed, young Blaketon in particular.”
“Right you are, Nick, all’s quiet at this end.”
And so, after a ham sandwich and a quick cup of tea, Nick set about his Saturday night’s duties.
His enquiries at Thackerston church did not reveal much information. Gerry Brownlow could not help, other than to say he’d seen the box earlier that afternoon when it was secure. He hadn’t heard any sounds of a motor bike in the village during the afternoon, but as he’d been cutting his lawn his own noise might have drowned that of any visitor. He did say, however, that a scruffy individual with a long khaki greatcoat, accompanied by a greyish coloured flea-ridden dog of some kind, had volunteered to mow the long grass among the graves. Brownlow had agreed, but felt sure the fellow had not robbed the offertory box — that man had come this morning, and had left the premises by lunch time.
Nick acquainted Mr Brownlow with the current situation concerning such thefts and advised him to persuade the church authorities to encase the replacement box within the wall. If it was made of tough metal, and cemented into the framework of the church, it should deter future thieves.
Nick then mounted his Francis Barnett and headed for Whitby. He was not looking forward to his interview with Graham Blaketon, partly because Sergeant Blaketon would be in attendance but especially because Graham’s mother was the casualty and his friend was the other driver involved. Just how independent would Graham be? How reliable would be any statement he made?
And why had his mother crossed to the wrong side of the road? That alone suggested a careless driving charge against her. And what of Denis Myers?
Nick would have to check his driving licence because he was sure Denis had never passed a test, nor did he own a car. Somewhat wearily, Nick realised he had a lot of enquiries to make about Denis and about other matters associated with that accident.
As he left Aidensfield behind, he wondered how Kate was coping at Whitby.
CHAPTER XIII
After undergoing emergency surgery, in particular the efforts to stem heavy internal bleeding, Joan Forrester was returned to a quiet ward. Heavily bandaged around the head, and with her body dressings less evident, she lay between the crisp white sheets with one arm on top; a drip was affixed to that arm and she was absorbing a transfusion of new and desperately needed blood. It would be one of many. Almost as pale as the sheets themselves, she lay immobile as Kate looked upon her.
There was no indication that Joan Forrester would recover consciousness in the near future and so Kate decided that Sergeant Blaketon and Graham could see her now. At least she looked at rest, peaceful and clean. Kate went through to the reception area and located father and son.
“You can see her now,” she said gently.
“How is she?” asked Blaketon.
“Sleeping,” said Kate. “The surgery was a success — well, I mean, as successful as we could make it under the circumstances, but she is far from well. I do not wish to build up any false hopes, sergeant. I must tell you that she is dangerously ill. But you may see her now. She will not respond to you, I’m afraid.”
Kate led them along the corridors to the ward where Joan lay alone in a bed; Blaketon’s practised eyes immediately noticed the drip, the charts, the oxygen mask, the bell push beside the bed and the range of sophisticated equipment.
Joan was lying asleep, her face showing a remarkable calmness and a lack of concern or pain. Father and son moved to the bedside, Blaketon with his arm around his son’s shoulders, and they said nothing. Kate waited in the background, not wishing to intrude upon their moments of privacy and yet not wishing to leave in case she was required. But after two minutes, Blaketon turned to her and said,
“Thank you, doctor. May we wait a little longer? In case she does recover consciousness?”
“It might be several hours, sergeant, and even then she might not recognise you. She has undergone a terrible experience and, well, I’m afraid I cannot build up your hopes, either of you…”
“You are saying she might die?” Blaketon asked.
“Yes, sergeant. That’s exactly what I am saying.”
“Thank you for being so honest. Come along, Graham, we’ll wait outside. Thanks for letting us see her, Kate.”
He called her Kate in a rare moment of friendship, something he had never done before, and Kate’s lips quivered with emotion. Poor Oscar…he was finding this most difficult; it would do him good to have a long weep himself, but she knew he would never do that.
Not in uniform, anyway, and not in front of his son. Whilst admiring him for his strong self control, she did think that a show of emotion would ease his agony and be beneficial in the long term.
When the Blaketons had left, Kate went through to the men’s ward to visit Denis Myers. As she walked in, a nurse was tucking the sheets around him and he was sitting up in bed. One arm was in a sling, and there was a bandage over his left eye and around his head. His face and hands showed evidence of cuts and abrasions but he was fully conscious and surprisingly alert.
“Hello, Denis,” Kate smiled as she approached. “Just let me take your temperature, then we can talk.”
She asked him to take the thermometer in his mouth, checked the reading and said, “Fine. You seem to be very strong, Denis, but you were a very lucky young man. You got off lightly, you know.”
“She was on the wrong side of the road, doctor. I never stood a chance. It wasn’t my fault, so it’s good news I’m not too badly hurt.”
“You shouldn’t have been driving, Denis,” Kate reminded him. “I warned you, remember? When I prescribed those antihistamine tablets, I told you not to drink alcohol and not to drive.”
“They didn’t do any harm!” he was most belligerent. “They didn’t affect my driving!”
“Of course they affected your driving! They affected your judgement too! You should not have been driving that car, Denis, and you know it. I gave you a distinct and very clear warning.”
“No you didn’t!”
“Denis, how can you say that? We always warn people who take antihistamines, it’s so important that we tell them of the dangers. And I told you, I know I did.”
“I’ll say you never,” he snapped. “If I get taken to court over this, I’ll say you never warned me about the tablets.”
“Denis, how could you! You know it’s not true!”
“Nobody’s blaming me for running into that woman! It was her fault, all her fault.”
“The police will decide who was responsible, Denis, from all the evidence. And Mrs Blaketon…er, Mrs Forrester as she now is, is extremely ill. She might die, Denis. It is really that serious.”
He looked at her with cold eyes.
“Blaketon you say?”
“Graham’s mother, it was Graham’s mother in that other car, Denis, Sergeant Blaketon’s former wife. She is very ill indeed.”
“So she was a copper’s ex-wife. They’ll gang up against me, won’t they? They’ll make it seem I was in the wrong. What chance do I have, eh? Against them. But I’ll not have it. She was on the wrong side of the bloody road, Doctor Rowan.”
“I’m sure the police will elicit the truth,” she said.
He began to shout, “You’d better make sure your husband knows that! That she was on the wrong side of the road. And you never warned me about driving after the tablets, right? You never, that’s what I’ll say. You never, you never!”
Kate could not believe what she was hearing.
“You’d better try and rest, Denis,” she said, deciding not to argue any further. After all, Denis was undergoing treatment so perhaps he was not too rational. And he was still suffering from the shock of the event. She left him without another word, but she was very upset at what he’d alleged. If he repeated his allegations in court, it would look as if she was failing her duty as a doctor. It was so easy to make such an allegation but so much more difficult to disprove it.
Kate returned to the office she was using in the hospital and settled behind the desk. God, this was awful! She had told Denis not to drive, she had told him that the pills would cause dizziness but in spite of her warnings, he had driven that car! And he was only a learner driver.
As she sat with her head in her hands, there was a knock on the door. Taking a deep breath, she sat erect in her chair and called “Come in.”
It was Nick, in full uniform and the moment he saw his wife, he realised she was unhappy.
“Kate?” he frowned as he strode across to her.
She hurried to him and clung to him as he took her in his arms and suddenly she was weeping.
Constable in Control (A Constable Nick Mystery Book 16) Page 11
