They both headed upstairs to get ready for the day ahead.
...
It was a little after eight when the police officer arrived.
“Sorry for the delay, Mr Greenwood, you know how it is.” He was probably a probationer, a newbie, someone that Adam did not recognise. He took a quick look at the outside of the front door, tutted, and then asked all the right questions in order to complete his crime report form. All boxes ticked, he asked the most relevant question, “So, can you think of anyone who might target your address?”
Adam smiled. How could this officer be so naïve? Surely he had heard about all of the recent trouble. “You don’t know about the intimidation I’ve had to deal with, then?” The young officer looked bemused. “Obviously not! I think you’d better refer your crime report for the attention of DS Carmichael – she knows what’s going on and who’s responsible – not that she can prove anything.”
“Oh, OK, I didn’t realise it was an ongoing thing.” He activated the transmit button on his radio. “Control from Six-Three-Nine?”
“Go ahead, Six-Three-Nine.”
“Yeah, re this arson on Cannondale Drive, I have attended and taken P62J details. Could you flag the incident for CID’s attention, specifically DS Carmichael? I understand she’s already dealing with matters relating to this job.”
“Yes, yes, will do, Six-Three-Nine.”
“Oh, and can you add it to the SOCO list too, please?”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you. Six-Three-Nine out.”
Turning back towards Adam, he continued, “So, you mentioned that you saw two men running away just before the fire?”
“Yeah, but they were just shadows. I wouldn’t know them again. They were in dark clothing, hoods, not much else I can tell you really.”
“I noticed that you’ve got a CCTV camera fitted to the front of your house. I don’t suppose you’ve had time to check if it caught anything, have you?”
The police officer was more observant than he looked. Adam had forgotten that he had fitted it a short while ago.
“No, I haven’t checked. Hang on, I’ll do it now.” He flashed the recording device and its screen sprung into life. Placing it on the kitchen worktop, Adam began spooling through the footage until he found the relevant time period. The police officer observed over his shoulder.
As they watched the playback, it showed two furtive figures approaching the front garden. It was dark, the screen was dark, and their clothing was dark. They were barely recognisable as humans, so there was no chance of identifying them from that particular shot. Adam made a mental note to himself - ‘Fit security lighting to the house.’ As he continued to watch, a car passed along the street. Both men turned away from it to conceal their activities, but by doing so, its headlights highlighted the contours of their faces. They were still vague, but Adam recognised them from the investigation board at the police station. They were the two photos on the bottom right of the board – Cliff and Barr. Adam went to point them out to the police officer, but he had turned away, distracted by a chorus of voices singing in his earpiece.
“Do you want a copy of the footage?” Adam asked.
The officer did not reply - he was preoccupied with whatever was distracting him on the radio. Although Adam could not hear what was being said, it must have been something important as the constable was listening intently with a serious expression on his face, but saying nothing.
Once the chatter had diminished, he turned back to Adam. He looked flustered, unsure what he ought to do. “Err...err...yeah, I’ll take a copy of that footage later, thanks.” He paused, his mind working at a hundred miles an hour. “Um...Excuse me for a moment, will you?” He walked into the hallway, shutting the connecting door behind him. He pulled out his mobile phone and spoke to somebody on the other end for a short while. When he returned to the kitchen, he stared gravely at Adam. He looked pale, almost transparent, the blood having drained from his face.
Without any preamble, he blurted out, “There’s been an accident!”
Adam had seen that look before. It tended to appear whenever you had bad news to break. He remembered catching a glimpse of his own face, in a reflection, when he had been required to give a death message to somebody. That same look was now on the constable’s face as he spoke to Adam.
“It’s your wife and daughter - they’ve been hit by a car. They’ve been taken to hospital. We’d better go there, NOW. I’ll give you a lift.” His words were broken, staccato, detached.
Adam was in shock. It was as if someone had knocked the wind out of him. “How serious is it?” he asked. When the officer did not answer, he had his reply.
“We’d better go. We can sort all of this out later.” He indicated the CCTV playback equipment. “Come on, grab a coat, let’s go.” He was in a hurry.
As the police officer drove at speed through the early morning rush hour, his blue lights and sirens activated, Adam sat in silence in the patrol car’s front passenger seat, lost in thought, fearing the worst, and trying desperately to come to terms with what he had just been told.
Chapter 22
08:35 – Monday 10th December.
The police car screeched to a halt as it careered into the allocated police parking bay outside the main entrance to A+E.
Adam strode towards the sliding glass doors, the police officer struggling to match his pace whilst simultaneously updating his control room of their arrival. Inside, the reception of the County Hospital was in utter chaos. The news reports had been talking about it for years, but now Adam could see, first-hand, the crisis that the NHS was facing. There were people everywhere; on every seat, on the floor, standing in the corridors. Many were elderly, those who had waited all weekend to see a doctor because their surgeries were closed, only to discover that there were no appointments available on a hectic Monday morning. Others were in obvious pain, having slipped in the icy conditions, and had needed to wait in excess of six hours to be seen by a triage nurse. And those who had been admitted, only to discover that there were no beds available and were forced to lie on trolleys in corridors, neglected by the system, and with no privacy whatsoever. It was a shambles!
Adam forced his way to the head of the queue and in a breathless voice, said to the receptionist, “Adam Greenwood – My wife and daughter have just been rushed to A+E – they were involved in an RTC.”
“What names please?” She tapped on her computer keyboard looking for the details.
“Greenwood, Sarah and Jenny Greenwood.”
She scanned her screen, looked at Adam with concern in her eyes, and then spoke to the police officer.
“They’ve just arrived. They’re both in ‘Resus’ (Resuscitation Department). You can go straight through.” She indicated the direction.
“Thanks, I know the way,” replied the constable.
They pushed through the double swing doors and were stopped in their tracks by the scene unfolding before them. It was like a war zone. The two hospital beds were about three meters apart, their side-rails raised. One contained Sarah, the other, Jenny. Both looked to be in a bad way, their clothes dirty and torn, blood pouring from facial and head injuries, as well as those not visible to the naked eye. Each had a bulky neck brace fitted - a sure sign of potential back and head trauma - and Sarah’s right leg was encased inside an inflatable splint. Bandages swathed their bodies, and others - blood stained - were piled on the bed covers having been removed in order to inspect their wounds.
Each bed was surrounded by its own dedicated team of doctors and nurses, but unlike in the hospital reception, what looked like total mayhem to Adam was, in fact, controlled chaos. Each person had their role, their purpose, and they performed their tasks with choreographed precision. There was a buzz of energy, the medics talking in a code that Adam could not understand – tachycardia, thoracic vertebrae, extensor digitorum, and so on - it all washed over him. The room was full of electronic devices. Alongside each bed wa
s a multicoloured box displaying traces from each patient, presumably heart rate, blood pressure, and ‘sats’ (whatever they were). Trailing from these monitors, a spider’s web of wires connected to his loved ones’ bodies. There were bags of clear fluid hanging from metal frames, their contents flowing into each patient’s arm through plastic tubing and cannulas. And in the background, the constant beep, beep, beep as machines helped to keep his family alive.
Adam felt nauseous. Was it the overpowering stench of antiseptic? – that had always turned his stomach – or was it the shock of seeing his wife and daughter clinging to life, fighting to survive while he stood by, watching, completely helpless? His eyes filled with tears. He moved forward to get a clearer view.
“Stand back please.” There was a doctor blocking his path. “I take it you’re family?”
“Y...yes, husband and father.” Adam’s eyes pleaded for the doctor to give him good news.
“OK, you can stay for now, but keep out of the way; my staff have a lot to do. Once I have assessed your family, I’ll let you know how they’re doing.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Adam looked towards Sarah. Her eyes were moving, but her head was secured into position. She appeared to be in severe pain despite the analgesia that was being pumped into her. She was crying, her tears mixing with the blood from the many cuts and grazes on her face. She clearly had a broken lower leg, but judging by all of the activity around her neck and shoulders, a possible fractured collarbone too. On the positive side, she was alert and conscious. Adam caught her eye and smiled in a vain attempt to comfort her, but it only served to make her even more emotional.
His daughter, on the other hand, was much more of a concern. Since his arrival, she had not moved at all. Her eyes were shut and the ambulance crew had inserted a thick plastic tube down her throat which was now attached to a machine that was helping her to breathe. She had a massive bruise to her left temple, and as Adam watched, he could see its shape change as the swelling beneath it increased at an alarming rate. Glancing at her electronic monitoring device, her traces seemed haphazard, intermittent, certainly not regular and evenly spaced like her mother’s were. Her medical team were talking about CTs and Cat Scans, and they had an urgency about their actions.
Adam gazed at his Daddy’s Girl. To him, she was, and always would be, his little baby. She looked like a doll, a toy - a very damaged toy. It broke his heart to see her that way. Why isn’t it me that’s lying there and not her? he wondered. Tears slowly dripped from his eyes. His whole world had shrunk to just him and his daughter. Everything else - the noise, the beeping, the medical teams and equipment - everything had faded into the background, forgotten, and ignored.
B...EE...P!
The constant tone shocked him back to reality. The doctors hurried past him, rushing to surround his daughter’s bedside. Her monitors showed straight flat lines on all traces and there was a hint of panic in the air. Nurses began injecting huge syringes full of drugs into Jenny’s arm. Somebody yelled, “Cardiac Arrest,” while another voice called, “CLEAR!”
Adam watched Jenny’s chest violently spasm, jumping clear of the bed, as electricity was fired into her heart. She slumped back onto the covers amid a chorus of agitated voices.
“Get him out of here,” somebody yelled at Adam, as he was ushered outside the room by the police officer.
Through the window, he saw his daughter leap from the bed another three times, each followed by nurses performing CPR on her fragile little chest. Adam was speechless, his own heart having stopped in sympathy with his daughter’s. He stared aghast. There was nothing that he could do to help. He felt completely useless.
Eventually, the steady monotonous buzz was replaced by a weak, but regular, beep. The CPR stopped, the nurses breathing a visible sigh of relief, and a doctor said, “She’s back in sinus rhythm,” as he stripped off his latex gloves and threw them in a waste bin. “She’s back with us again.”
Adam took a long deep breath. He slumped into a chair, his head in his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks. The police officer placed a hand on his shoulder and said gently, “They’ve got her back. She’s OK. The doctors will look after her.” But Adam heard nothing, lost in his own thoughts, praying silently to his God.
...
Time passed slowly.
The hospital clock on the wall outside ‘Resus,’ ticked on, relentlessly. Adam remained in limbo, watching his wife and daughter as they lay on their beds, the nurses constantly at their sides monitoring their condition. He watched, but he did not see. He was lost in his own little world. Waiting. Waiting for a doctor to tell him that everything would be fine.
The wait seemed never-ending.
The police officer, PC Robson, had remained by his side. He was constantly on the go – listening to his radio, passing updates to Control, and ferrying cups of tepid brown liquid, something that was barely recognisable as coffee, from the vending machine to Adam.
Adam sensed somebody hovering by his side. He looked to his left expecting to see PC Robson or the Emergency Department’s consultant, but was surprised to find DS Carmichael anxiously staring at him.
“How are they doing?” she asked.
Adam shrugged his shoulders. “No idea, the doctors haven’t spoken to me yet.” He felt drained from the lack of sleep, the arson, and now this. He was angry, but also grateful that his family was still alive. His thoughts were with them; dealing with the Turner business could wait – for now.
He looked Bev in the eye. “What happened? They’ve told me nothing.”
“It was a hit-and-run – a white car apparently – it made off from the scene, just outside the school.”
Adam looked at the floor, visualising what it must have been like. “Who was driving?”
“We don’t know. The car hasn’t been recovered yet.”
“Do you know if it was targeted or just an accident?”
“From witness accounts, it seems that the car mounted the pavement and hit them from behind. They said that it didn’t look like the driver had lost control.”
“So you’re saying it was aimed at them?” Adam’s rage was building again. “It was Turner and his lot. I’ll put money on it.”
“We don’t know that. It might have been unrelated.”
“Bollocks! It’s fucking obvious. Of course it was him.”
“To you, maybe, but we can only work on the evidence, not supposition.”
PC Robson returned, interrupting the conversation. “Sorry, Sarge, I just heard on the radio that they’ve found the white car.”
“Good - whereabouts?”
“On Maypole Street, abandoned, all four doors wide open, no occupants.”
“Damn it!” Bev looked frustrated. “Get them to secure the scene. I want SOCO down there immediately, and I want a dog unit to search for any tracks while the scent is still fresh.” She paused, thinking. “And get the local bods to do some door-to-door, see if anyone saw anything. This is urgent. There’s no time to lose.”
“Will do, Sarge, I’ll pass that on for you.”
Bev turned towards Adam, a reassuring smile on her face. “Fingers crossed they’ll find some forensics or witnesses linking it to Turner, then I can come down on him like a ton of bricks.”
Adam felt a brief moment of optimism, but it quickly passed. Under his breath, he murmured, “And cover your own arse, more like.” Slightly louder, he added, “I told you it was him all along. It’s taken the near death of my family to get you motivated enough to do something about it. Better late than never, eh?” He locked eyes with her.
Beverly was defiant, confident that she had acted by-the-book, despite what Adam thought. She was just about to launch into a heated defence when the consultant stepped out of ‘Resus’ and approached them both.
Dressed in baggy green scrubs and with his stethoscope hanging from his neck, he introduced himself.
“I’m Dr Hassam.” He looked at DS Carmichael with disdain, and then
added, “Mr Greenwood, we can go through to the Relative’s Room if you’d prefer a little privacy?”
“No, that’s fine Doc, the DS needs to hear what you’ve got to say too.”
“OK, we’ve sedated your wife. She has a broken collarbone and a fracture to her right tibia, lower leg bone. As you’ve seen, she has a few cuts and bruises, but they’re mostly superficial. She’ll need surgery to set her fractures and then she’ll be admitted to a ward.” Adam felt a surge of relief. He nodded his understanding as the doctor continued. “As for young Jennifer, things are not quite so straightforward.” Adam’s heart sank. Here it comes; the BAD news. “She was actually quite lucky.” Adam hated it when doctors said that somebody had been lucky. It would have been lucky if the car had not hit her at all. It did not seem very lucky that she was lying on a hospital bed with severe injuries! The doctor continued, “She took the brunt of the impact, receiving numerous broken ribs and internal injuries. She’s also suffered a cardiac arrest, but we’ve managed to stabilise her condition for now. However, our main concern is her head injury. We’ve done a CT and are awaiting the result, but for now, we’ve put her into an induced coma. We can’t say what her prognosis will be until we wake her up, but for the moment, the best thing is that she rests. We’ll move her to Intensive Care in due course.”
“Thanks for that, Doc.” Adam felt strange saying thank you for receiving devastating news, however, the man had just saved his daughter’s life. “Can I see them?”
“Of course, but only briefly. Your daughter will be totally unresponsive, but your wife’s awake, if a bit groggy. Go on through.”
Adam left DS Carmichael to ponder on what she had just heard and went straight to his wife’s bedside. He felt guilty, ashamed that he had let her down and failed to protect her, but he was determined to put a brave face on things in front of her. With a false smile fixed to his lips, he asked, “How’re you feeling?” It was the first thing that sprang to mind. “Stupid question, dunno why I said it. Are you in pain at all, love?”
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