Along the way, hed developed a shrewd eye for what was going on around him. Nobody was more surprised at that than he was. But there was no denying that Jerzy seemed to have an instinct for spotting when patients shifted away from the equilibrium that made Bradfield Moor possible. He was one of the few workers in the hospital who would ever have noticed anything amiss with Lloyd Allen. The problem was that he was confident enough by then to believe he could deal with it himself. He wasnt the first twenty-four-year-old to have an inflated idea of his capabilities. Just one of the few who would die for it.
As soon as he entered Lloyd Allens room, the hair on Jerzys arms stood on end. Allen was standing in the middle of the cramped space, his big shoulders tensed. The fast flick of his eyes told Jerzy that either the medication had suffered a sudden and spectacular failure or Allen had somehow avoided taking it. Either way, it looked like the voices in his head were the only ones Allen was interested in listening to. Time for your meds, Lloyd, Jerzy said, his voice deliberately offhand.
Cant do that. Allens voice was a strained grunt. He rose slightly on the balls of his feet, his hands sliding over each other as if he were washing them. The muscles of his forearms danced and twitched.
You know you need them.
Allen shook his head.
Jerzy mirrored the movement. You dont take your meds, I have to report it. Then it gets hard on you, Lloyd. Thats not how we want it to be, is it?
Allen launched himself at Jerzy, his right elbow catching him under the breastbone and knocking the wind from him. As Jerzy doubled over, retching for air, Allen barged past, knocking him to the floor as he made for the door. In the doorway, Allen came to an abrupt halt then swung round. Jerzy tried to make himself look small and unthreatening, but Allen advanced all the same. He raised his foot and kicked Jerzy in the stomach, emptying his lungs in a dizzying explosion of pain. While Jerzy clawed at his gut, Allen calmly reached down and ripped his keycard from the clip at his waist. I have to bring them to Him, he grunted, making for the door again.
Jerzy couldnt stop the terrible convulsive groans as his body struggled for oxygen. But his brain was still working properly. He knew he had to get to the panic button in the hallway. Armed with Jerzys key, Allen could roam almost anywhere in the hospital. He could open the rooms of other inmates. It wouldnt take long to free enough of his fellows to seriously outnumber the staff on duty at this time of the evening.
Coughing and gagging, strings of spittle trailing down his chin, Jerzy forced himself to his knees and shuffled closer to the bed. Clawing at the frame, he managed to drag himself to his feet. Clutching his guts, he stumbled into the hall. He could see Allen up ahead struggling to swipe the keycard through the reader mounted by the door that would release him into the main part of the building. You had to get the speed of the swipe just right. Jerzy knew that, but Allen, thankfully, did not. Allen thumped the reader and tried again. Swaying, Jerzy tried to cover the distance to the panic button as quietly as he could.
He wasnt quiet enough. Something alerted Allen and he swung round. Bring them to him, he roared, charging. His weight alone was enough to bring Jerzys weakened frame to the floor again. Jerzy wrapped his arms around his head. It was no defence. The last thing he felt was a terrible pressure behind his eyes as Allen stamped on his head with all his strength.
Opening his door brought Tony a sudden swell of volume. Voices shouting, swearing and screaming funnelled up the stairwell. The scariest thing about it was that nobody had pushed the emergency alarm. That suggested something so sudden and so violent that no one had had the chance to follow the procedures that were supposedly drummed into them from day one of their training. They were too busy trying to contain whatever was going on.
Tony hustled along the corridor towards the stairs, hitting the panic button as he went. A loud klaxon immediately blasted out. Christ, if you were crazy already,what would this do to your head? He was running by the time he reached the stairs but he slowed his pace enough to look down the stairwell to see what he could see.
Nothing, was the short answer. The raised voices seemed to be coming from the corridor off to the right, but they were distorted by the acoustics and the distance. Suddenly, there was the tinkle and crash of glass breaking. Then a shocking splinter of silence.
Oh, fuck, someone said clearly, disgust the apparent emotion behind the words. Then the shouting began again, the note of panic unmistakable. A scream, then the sound of scuffling. Without thinking about it, Tony had started down the stairs, trying to see what was going on.
As he rounded the final turn of the stairs, bodies spilled out of the corridor where the noise had come from. Two nurses were backing towards him, supporting a third man. An orderly, judging by the few areas of pale green scrubs left untouched by blood. They were leaving a smudged trail of scarlet behind as they scrambled backwards as fast as they could manage.
Carnage, Tony thought as a burly figure emerged from the corridor, swinging a fire axe in front of himself as if it were a scythe and he a grim reaper. His jeans and polo shirt were spattered with blood; the blade of the axe shed a fine spray with every swing. The burly man was intent on his prey, steadily pursuing them as they retreated. Bring them to him. Nowhere to hide, he said in a low monotone. Bring them to him. Nowhere to hide. He was gaining on them. Another couple of strides and the axe blade would be slicing through flesh again.
Even though the axeman wasnt a patient of his, Tony knew who he was. Hed made a point of familiarizing himself with the files of any inmates considered capable of violence. Partly because they interested him, but also because it felt like a kind of insurance policy. Tonight, it looked like he was about to lose his no-claims bonus.
Tony stopped a few steps from the bottom of the staircase. Lloyd, he called softly.
Allen didnt break stride. He swung the axe again, in rhythm with his mantra. Bring them to him. Nowhere to hide, he said, sweeping the blade inches from the nurses.
Tony took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. This is not the way to bring them to him, he said loudly, with all the authority he could summon. This is not what he wants from you, Lloyd. Youve got it wrong.
Allen paused, turning his head towards Tony. He frowned, puzzled as a dog tormented by a wasp. Its time, he snarled.
Youre right about that, Tony said, moving down a step. It is time. But youre going about it the wrong way. Now, put down the axe and well figure out a better way of doing it. He tried to keep his face stern, not to reveal the fear curdling his stomach. Where the hell was the back-up team? He had no illusions about what he could do here. He could maybe hold Allen up long enough for the nurses and the wounded orderly to get clear. But good as he was with the deranged and the demented, he knew he wasnt good enough to restore Lloyd Allen to anything like equilibrium. He doubted he could even get him to lower the weapon. He had to try, he knew that. But where the fuck was the cavalry?
Allen stopped swinging the axe through its long arc and raised it at an angle across his body like a baseball player preparing for the strike. Its time, he said again. And youre not him. And he launched himself across the gap between them.
Allen stopped swinging the axe through its long arc and raised it at an angle across his body like a baseball player preparing for the strike. Its time, he said again. And youre not him. And he launched himself across the gap between them.
He was so fast that all Tony could register was a slash of red and a glint of polished metal. Then a seam of pain exploded from the middle of his leg. Tony toppled like a felled tree, too shocked even to scream. Inside his head, a light bulb detonated. Then blackness.
List 2
Belladonna
Ricin
Oleander
Strychnine
Cocaine
Taxus Baccata
Sunday
Thomas Denby studied the chart again. He was puzzled. Hed diagnosed a severe chest infection when hed first examined Robbie Bishop. Hed had no reason to doubt that diagnosis. Hed seen enough chest infections in the twenty years since hed qualified and chosen to specialize in respiratory ailments. In the twelve hours since the footballer had been admitted, Denbys team had been administering antibiotics and steroids according to the directions hed given them. But there had been no improvement in Bishops condition. In fact, he had deteriorated to the point where the duty SHO had been prepared to risk wrath by summoning Denby from his bed. Mere House Officers didnt do that to consultants unless they were very, very nervous.
Denby replaced the chart and gave the young man lying on the bed his casually professional smile, all teeth and dimples. His eyes, however, were not smiling; they were scanning Bishops face and his torso. The sweat of his fever had glued the hospital gown to his chest, revealing the outline of well-defined muscles currently straining to drag breath into his lungs. When Denby had first examined him, Bishop had complained of weakness, nausea and pain in his joints as well as the obvious difficulty in breathing. Spasms of coughing had doubled him over, their intensity bringing colour back to his pale face. The X-rays had shown fluid on his lungs; the obvious conclusion was the one that Denby had drawn.
Now, it was beginning to look as if whatever ailed Robbie Bishop was no ordinary chest infection. His heart rate was all over the place. His temperature had climbed a further degree and a half. His lungs were incapable of keeping his blood oxygen levels stable, even with the assistance of the oxygen mask. Now, as Denby watched, his eyelids fluttered and stayed shut. Denby frowned. Has he lost consciousness before? he asked the SHO.
She shook her head. Hes been mildly delirious because of the fever Im not sure how aware hes been of where he is. But hes been responsive until now.
An insistent beeping kicked in, the screen revealing a new low in Bishops blood oxygen level. We need to intubate, Denby said, sounding distracted. And more fluids. I think hes a little dehydrated. Not thatthat would explain the fever, or the cough. The SHO, galvanized by the instruction, hurried out of the small room that was the best Bradfield Cross Hospital could provide for those who required their privacy even in extremis. Denby rubbed his chin, wondering. Robbie Bishop was in peak condition; fit, strong and, according to his club doctor, he had been perfectly well after Fridays training session. Hed missed Saturdays game, diagnosed initially by the same club doctor as having some sort of flu bug. Now here he was, eighteen hours later, visibly deteriorating. And Thomas Denby had no idea why, nor how to make it stop.
It wasnt a position he was accustomed to. He was, he knew, a bloody good doctor. A skilled diagnostician, a cunning and often inspired clinician, and a good enough politician to make sure his departments needs were seldom frustrated by the bureaucrats. He pretty much sailed through his professional life, rarely given pause by the ailments his patients presented. Robbie Bishop felt like an affront to his talent.
As the SHO returned with the intubation kit and a couple of nurses, Denby sighed. He glanced at the door. On the other side, he knew, was Robbie Bishops team manager. Martin Flanagan had spent the night slumped in a chair next to his star player. His expensive suit was rumpled now, his craggy face rendered sinister by a scribble of stubble. Theyd already gone head to head when Denby had insisted the pugnacious Ulsterman leave the room while the doctors consulted. Do you know what that lads worth to Bradfield Victoria? Flanagan had demanded.
Denby had eyed him coldly. Hes worth exactly the same to me as every other patient I treat, hed said. I dont sit on the touchline telling you what tactics to employ. So let me do my job without interference. I need you to give my patient his privacy while I examine him. The manager had left, grumbling, but Denby knew hed still be waiting, his face pinched and anxious, desperate to hear something that would contradict the deterioration hed already witnessed.
When youre done with that, lets start him on AZT, he said to his SHO. There was nothing left to try but the powerful retroviral medication that might just give them pause enough to figure out what was wrong with Robbie Bishop.
Monday
Remind me again why I let you open that third bottle, Detective Chief Inspector Carol Jordan sighed, putting the car in gear and inching forward a few yards.
Because it was the first time youve graced us with a visit since we moved to the Dales and because I have to be in Bradfield this morning and you dont have a proper spare room. So there was no point in driving back last night. Her brother Michael leaned forward to fiddle with the radio. Carol slapped his hand away.
Leave it be, she said.
Michael groaned. Bradfield Sound. Who knew my life would come down to this? Local radio at its most parochial.
I need to hear whats happening on my patch.
Michael looked sceptical. You run the Major Incident Team. Youre affiliated to the British equivalent of the FBI. You dont need to know if theres a burst water main causing problems for traffic on Methley Way. Or that some footballers been carted off to hospital with chest problems.
Hey, Mr IT. Wasnt it you who taught me the micro becomes macro mantra? I like to know whats happening at the bottom of the food chain because it sometimes provokes unexpected events at the other end. And hes not just some footballer. Hes Robbie Bishop. Midfield general of Bradfield Victoria. And a local lad to boot. His female fans will be staking out Bradfield Cross as we speak. Possible public order issues.
Michael subsided with a pout. Whatever. Have it your own way, Sis. Thank god their reception doesnt stretch far from the city. Id have lost my mind if youd made me listen to this all the way in. He rolled his head on his neck, wincing at the crackling it produced. Havent you got one of those blue lights that you can slap on the car roof?