Chapter 55
800 Words
55
‘Don’t move,’ were the first words Wendy heard. ‘It’s okay. You’re in safe hands.’
She blinked as the bright lights seared her eyeballs. She tried to speak, but the pain was unbearable.
‘It’s okay. Don’t try to speak. You’re in Mildenheath General Hospital, Wendy. My name’s Rosie Ashton, I’m one of the nurses here. You’ve had a bit of a battle on your hands but you’re through the worst of it.’
Wendy tried to recall what had happened. Her mind was hazy in many ways and she couldn’t seem to keep hold of any thought for long. She guessed she was probably on some form of medication. She remembered the smell of alcohol, an arm around her neck, the slight trickle of blood.
She heard footsteps growing louder as someone approached the bed from the corridor outside.
‘f**k’s sake. Two days I’ve spent sitting here watching you lie there dribbling. I nip out for a quick piss and now you choose to bloody wake up.’
That voice sounded familiar, Wendy thought. It certainly wasn’t a nurse.
She looked at Culverhouse and tried to express a message with her eyes, but wasn’t getting anywhere.
‘Get this,’ the DCI said, walking over to her bed. ‘I think I’ve got it memorised now. An incision between the posterior and middle scalene muscles with damage to the sternocleidomastoid and abrasion of the common carotid. What do you make of that, matron?’
‘I’m a nurse,’ Rosie said. ‘And very good.’
‘Basically, it’ll hurt like f**k and you’ve lost a lot of blood but we won’t need to pay for a funeral, so that’s a bonus.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Personally I’d word it a little differently. You’ve been very lucky, Wendy. You’re not totally out of the woods yet, but you’re a good ninety-five percent of the way there. They managed to repair the artery and stop the bleeding, which was substantial. They’ve had to give a partial transfusion, so you’re not going to be feeling great for some time. The muscles in your neck are going to need you to rest and relax. You’ve got a brace on so you can’t do them any major damage, but if I were you I wouldn’t try.’
‘Pretty drastic way of trying to get out of your inspector’s exams, though.’
Wendy closed her eyes. She was still struggling to come to terms with what had happened to her, and was a long way from being able to cope with the thought that her chances of taking the exams were over for another year. There’d be time off work, a recovery period, sick leave, a return-to-work medical...
As if being stabbed in the neck wasn’t enough, she’d now have to jump through any number of hoops before she was able to even sit down and do her job again.
She lifted her hand and made a writing motion.
‘You want a pen and paper?’ the nurse asked.
Wendy did a long blink to indicate that was exactly what she wanted.
‘Okay, but you’ll have to be careful. You need to keep your head and neck still. Here we go,’ she said, positioning the raised, slanted surface in front of Wendy.
Wendy lifted the pen and started to write on the paper. It took far more effort than she expected.
How long will I be here?
The nurse smiled. ‘Until the doctors are satisfied you’re safe to go home. You’ve sustained quite a serious injury.’
Where’s Lucas?
Rosie signalled to Culverhouse that this was one for him to answer.
‘In a cell. Crown Prosecution Service have recommended a charge of attempted murder. He’ll be off to a remand prison within the next day or so. I can’t see him getting anything other than the maximum sentence. He’s attempted to kill two police officers now. I hope the bastard rots.’
Op Mandible?
‘Don’t you worry about that. There’ve been developments and we’re about ready to close the case, but there’s plenty of time for you to catch up on all that. You just worry about getting better, alright?’
Wendy did another two-second blink, and forced a small, painful smile.
‘Oh, and don’t switch the telly on,’ Culverhouse added. ‘Not unless you want any more swelling around your head area. You’re all over the news channels. Half of them are reporting it as a “suspected terrorist incident”. Bloody idiots. Can hardly see John Lucas as an Al-Qaeda suicide bomber, can you?’
Wendy tried not to laugh, knowing it would hurt.
A thought crossed her mind. She reached for the pen and paper again.
Cookie?
‘I think you need to worry about yourself more than a sodding cat, but yes, it’s being taken care of. Next time you might want to leave a spare key with a friend or neighbour. You owe me eighty quid for a new lock on your front door.’
You kicked it in?
‘Didn’t have much choice,’ Culverhouse said. ‘Bloody thing needed feeding, didn’t it? I got my own back, though. I fed him the fillet steak I found in your fridge.’
Again, Wendy tried not to laugh. A large part of her hoped she’d be in hospital for quite some time to come. At least it’d keep her away from the baying press pack until all the fuss had died down.
After that, a desk-bound inspector’s job was starting to look quite appealing.
- Writer
