Left You Dead

64

Roy and Cleo sat once more in the Relatives’ Room outside the ICU. An empty carrier bag was on the floor at Cleo’s feet. As suggested by Imelda Bray, they’d brought from home Bruno’s favourite clothes, which the counsellor had collected from them when they’d arrived.

Grace was reading through the consent forms, on the table in front of him. He paused to glance at his watch. Coming up to 1 p.m. Ordinarily, he might have been thinking about lunch, but he had no appetite. He sipped a plastic beaker of water someone had brought him, his mind churning, despite his decision. Questioning it. He held his personal phone in his hand, googling once again the words coma, and then brain death.

‘You’re torturing yourself, darling,’ Cleo said.

She was doing exactly the same on her phone. She had it in her hand now.

‘And you’re not?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t want this to be something that comes back repeatedly to haunt us. I don’t want either of us to wake up tonight, or any other night, and say, What if? That’s all.’

‘I guess — I’m the same.’

‘So.’ She turned and looked at him. ‘Your entire working life revolves around evidence that ultimately has to be presented in a court of law. Would it help to role-play now?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Let’s say you are Bruno’s lawyer, fighting me, the Crown Prosecutor. You’re arguing the case against donating Bruno’s organs. You already know my opening argument.’

‘That there is no chance, not the slightest chance, of Bruno coming back from where he is?’

‘Yes.’

Grace stared at her for some moments. He tried hard to return with a cogent argument. ‘People say medicine is a very inexact science,’ he came up with lamely. ‘There is always the possibility of a misdiagnosis.’

‘From what you know, Detective Superintendent Grace, what percentage chance would you put on Bruno making a recovery? One hundred per cent? Fifty per cent? Twenty-five per cent? One per cent? Less than one per cent?’

He was silent for a long while. ‘Less than one per cent,’ he said finally.

‘During the course of your career so far, how many suspects have you let go on the balance of a less than one per cent probability that they were innocent?’

For the first time in several hours he smiled, albeit bleakly.

At that moment the door opened and Imelda Bray, accompanied by the transplant coordinator, Charlotte Elizabeth, came in.

‘How are you both feeling?’ Imelda Bray asked.

Grace looked up at her. ‘Pretty awful,’ he said, picking up the pen that had accompanied the forms, signing and dating them. He handed them to the coordinator. ‘I think I’ve signed everywhere you indicated.’

She checked them through briefly. ‘Yes, you have, thank you.’

The counsellor said gently, ‘Let’s try to focus now not on your loss, but on all the good your generous decision will give. You’ll need to grieve and we are here to provide you with all the help and support you will need. For now, would you like to come in and say goodbye to Bruno?’

Grace turned to Cleo for confirmation. She gave it with a single nod and a grim smile.

They both stood up.