and he gossiped, as if he had all the time in the world.
Amal had gone behind the building to check. There was a back door. If he was fast…
Dear heaven, he’d never done anything like this in his life. What turned a man into a criminal?
Desperation. He had no choice.
Max Hogg, owner of Dolphin Cove’s general store, was fed up with standing behind the counter, and when he saw Sarah pull up out front he strolled out to meet her. He knew who she was-the whole town knew who she was and what she was here for. Max was therefore delighted to meet her.
He was even more delighted-and intrigued-by her questions. Sure he could help her. He had all the time in the world. Now, when had he last seen Howard…?
Barry didn’t have all the time in the world. He was anxious and angry and the last person he wanted to see was Sarah. As he walked down the street towards them Max kept on talking to her, as if he couldn’t even see Barry.
‘I need some bottled water,’ he interrupted, and Sarah turned and smiled at him. It was a placatory smile, but Barry didn’t see it like that.
‘I need to talk to you, Barry,’ she told him, and he shrugged.
‘Later. I’m busy. Max, can you get me the water now?’
‘Sure thing, Barry,’ Max told him with easy geniality. ‘Hey, it’s a party. Here’s Dr Benn. Hi, Alistair. Can you keep Dr Rose amused while I go and serve Barry?’
‘Of course.’ Alistair walked up the steps of the shop’s veranda to join Sarah as Max and Barry walked inside the shop together.
And then all hell broke loose.
There was Max’s voice, raised in confusion. ‘Stop! Hey, stop! You haven’t paid for that. Where do you think you’re going? Barry!’
And then Barry. ‘What the…?’
Max again. ‘He’s pinching stuff. He’s-’
And, worst of all, Barry’s voice, raised in warning-‘Stop. This is the police. Stop now or I’ll shoot. Last warning… Stop or I’ll shoot. Now!’
The sound of gunfire split the hot sleepy afternoon as nothing else could. Alistair and Sarah gazed at each other for a fraction of a horrified moment.
And ran.
The man had stopped, but not of his own volition.
Out at the back of the store, in the centre of the dusty side lane leading from the storeroom to the road, he lay sprawled face down in the dirt. A pile of groceries was flung every which way about him.
They reached him together, Alistair and Sarah, while Max stood open-mouthed in horrified amazement and Barry stared down at his gun as if he couldn’t believe it had just done what it had.
As Alistair stooped over the figure Barry seemed to haul himself together. He took a step forward. The gun was aimed again. ‘Careful,’ he snapped. ‘He might be armed.’
Alistair simply ignored him. There was a spreading bloom of crimson over the man’s upper spine. Alistair’s fingers were on the man’s neck. Searching.
Sarah was down in the dust beside him.
‘He’s alive.’ Alistair looked up at Max, fiercely urgent, knowing instinctively that Max would be more use than Barry. ‘Max, hit the emergency number. Tell Claire I want the emergency cart down here now. Then get someone to bring my truck. The keys are in the nurses’ station. Move.’
Max was a big man, but he wasn’t slow. He took one searing, gulping breath-and moved.
‘Pressure,’ Alistair said, moving his palm to the source of blood and pressing down. ‘We need to stop the flow before we turn him. Hell, it’s pumping.’
‘Use this.’ Sarah had seen the oozing blood and her T-shirt was already over her head and folded into a wad. As she brought it over the wound Alistair lifted his hand. She placed the pad over and pushed. Then, as she applied as much pressure as she could, Alistair gently felt underneath him.
‘There’s an exit wound,’ he told her. ‘It’s bleeding, too, but not pumping. I’ll pressure it from underneath. Barry, grab more wadding. Cloth-anything.’
‘He didn’t stop,’ Barry said stupidly, and Sarah closed her eyes in frustration. She was fighting blood flow here. Desperately. She wanted help-not explanations.
‘Here.’ It was Max, back again with a speed that was almost stunning. He had a handful of teatowels and Sarah opened her eyes again and looked up with real gratitude. ‘Claire’s on her way with whoever she can find,’ Max told them. ‘Has he killed him?’
‘He’ll be lucky,’ Sarah said grimly. Blood was oozing between her fingers and she pushed harder. ‘Max, help me here. I want a tighter wad. Can you fold me one?’
‘Sure.’
They worked desperately. The most urgent thing was to stop the bleeding. At least slow it. More pressure…
And then Claire arrived, breathless, carting a huge bag. This town might be on its own medically, but in an emergency the population moved faster than any city emergency team Sarah had ever seen.
‘I need an IV line,’ Alistair told Claire, not bothering with explanations, not even bothering to look up. From the amount of blood Claire could see what most needed to be done, and explanations took a poor second in the list of their priorities. ‘Sarah, have you got that bleeding under control?’
She couldn’t press any harder. ‘I think so.’
‘Then we risk rolling him.’
A man Sarah recognised as the hospital orderly appeared then. He was carrying a stretcher, and Alistair signalled for it to be laid beside the stranger.
‘Okay,’ he told them. ‘Max, can you help us here? We roll over really, really slowly, so that Sarah’s pad’s not dislodged. Four of us rolling, keeping him rigid, keeping the pressure on his side. I want his shoulders kept in a straight line as he rolls. Sarah, keep your hand on the wound, keep pressing, and don’t stop. This way we get to see the damage to his chest and he gets to be on the stretcher. One, two… Now!’
They rolled.
Sarah’s hand moved with him so her fingers were caught under his back, still pressing.
They could see him fully now. He lay on the stretcher, staring up as Alistair worked over him.
Who was he?
He was a small man, in his late thirties or early forties, Sarah thought. Maybe Middle Eastern? He had a gentle face, she thought, though it was now haggard and unshaven-filthy-as if he hadn’t seen a wash for weeks.
His eyes were wide and pain filled.
He was conscious?
‘Keep still,’ Alistair told him, and he closed his eyes.
‘Do you understand us?’ Sarah asked, and got an almost imperceptible nod.
‘We’re doctors,’ she told him. She was still concentrating on maintaining pressure, and with her hand underneath him she wasn’t free to do anything else. Alistair had Claire pressing on the chest wound-the bullet had obviously left an entry and exit wound-and he was fixing an IV line. They needed to get fluids in fast. Saline. Plasma.
But was it any use? Sarah stared down at the chest wound and thought about where her fingers were feeling the pumping blood. Mentally she tracked the bullet’s path. Not heart. Thank God, not heart. But lung. It had to have hit lung.
The man’s eyes flickered open again. They found hers and she searched for an explanation. What explanation was there when he’d been shot for stealing…what? Loaves of bread?
She had to try.
‘We’re trying to help you,’ she said gently. They’d move him fast, but not before Alistair had done what was needed to try and stabilise him. He had the IV line in place and was searching in his bag for the oxygen mask. The orderly behind him had brought an oxygen cylinder.
