‘No, he’s in a side room. Other way, round the corner. There’s a prison officer posted outside. I’m not sure if you should . . . ’
But Elinor was already gone. Outside a door sat a man in uniform. She worked the magic of the white coat plus a sense of purpose and swept past him with a nod. And there he was, in the dim light, head bandaged, arms outside the covers, one wrist handcuffed to the bed rail. Automatically she reached for the clipboard at the foot of the bed, the validation of her presence if the officer checked in on her. She cast an eye over the notes and the scans. Nothing too worrying. If a bleed on the brain could ever be dismissed as ‘nothing too worrying’.
Everyone was diminished by hospital beds. It wasn’t as if Tony was a big lad to start with. He looked pale and frail, hooked up to beeping machines, dark circles round his closed eyes, nose swollen and purple. On the other hand, he was breathing without a ventilator and his pulse looked stable. She spoke his name softly. No response. ‘We’re here for you, mate,’ she said, replacing the clipboard and leaving the room.
‘What happened?’ she asked the officer casually as she closed the door behind her.
‘The usual kind of thing,’ the man said indifferently. ‘Got into a ruck with the wrong person. You the one doing the operation, then?’
‘No, but I have an interest in cases like these.’ She was already on her way back to the front desk. ‘Thanks,’ she said to the nurse. ‘I’ll pop back later, but keep me posted if there’s any change, please.’
She checked her watch as she headed back to the lift. She was going to be late for her rounds, but not by much. Time to make a phone call.
Paula liked airports. She liked the anonymity and the possibility of the junk food Elinor frowned on. She liked browsing the kind of shops she’d normally not bother with, taking a delicious pleasure in the knowledge that she’d never be stupid enough to spend £700 on a handbag or a pen. And she liked that she didn’t bump into anyone she had to give orders to or take orders from.
She was sipping a mocha topped with a ridiculous swirl of whipped cream when her phone danced on the table top and Elinor’s name lit up on the screen. Surprised, since there was seldom any reason for Elinor to call when she was at the hospital, Paula snatched up her phone and took the call.
‘Thank goodness I caught you before you boarded,’ Elinor said without preamble.
‘What is it? Is it Torin?’ Paula’s first thought, even though she wasn’t technically the boy’s parent.
‘No, it’s Tony.’
‘Tony?’
‘He’s been admitted to neurosurgery.’
‘At Bradfield Cross? But that’s miles from Doniston. Why is he there, what’s happened?’ Anxiety raised her voice and a woman at the next table stared unashamedly.
‘He’s here because we’re the regional centre of excellence for neurosurgery. Doniston General shipped him across last night. He’s got a fractured skull and a brain bleed.’
‘Dear Christ, no! That’s terrible. What happened?’ Paula turned her head, lowered her voice.
‘I don’t know any details. The officer guarding him said he got into a ruck. But look, Paula, don’t panic. It looks like a pretty straightforward injury. It’s a small bleed and it’s not in a critical area. They’ve scheduled him for a routine op this morning, it should be a straightforward job. They’ll drill a little hole and drain the blood to relieve the pressure and that should be the end of it. Well, they’ll maybe leave a drain in for a day or two. But he should be absolutely fine. I just wanted to let you know. Because it’ll be all over social media in no time, you know how leaky hospitals are.’
‘Poor Tony. This is awful, Elinor. And a fractured skull?’
‘It’s not too bad, truly. From the scans, it looks like he might have hit something with an edge. A shelf or a table or something. But I’m no expert.’
‘I can be there in half an hour.’ Action, always the panacea for fear.
‘There is genuinely no need. I’m calling not because I think you need to be afraid but because I wanted you to hear it from me.’
‘Trust me, I’m a doctor?’ Affection rather than sarcasm.
‘Something like that. Now go to Galway and I will call you as soon as I hear anything at all. I promise.’
A thought struck Paula. She couldn’t believe it had taken so long. ‘I’ll have to tell Carol.’
‘You will. It does need to come from you.’
Paula sighed. ‘This is so not what she needs. Not when she’s making progress.’
‘You can’t not tell her.’
Paula gave a soft laugh. ‘Not if I don’t want to join Tony in neurosurgery.’ She glanced up at the departures board. ‘They’re not boarding us yet, I’ll call her now.’
But there was no reply. Carol’s phone went straight to voicemail. Just as it had the previous evening. After the beep, Paula said, ‘Carol, give me a call when you get this. It’s important. I’m about to get on a plane, I’ll be on the ground just before noon. Talk to you later.’
She stood up abruptly and, appetite gone, she walked away from her unfinished drink. She wondered where Carol was and why she wasn’t answering her phone. She couldn’t help a frisson of fear for her friend. How much more could Tony and Carol go through before one of them broke for good?
51
Even psychopaths have their breaking points. The issue is finding the pressure point that takes them there.
From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL
Melissa Rintoul liked to arrive at work at least half an hour before her first appointment. Her standard preparation was a
