Find Them Dead

14 Friday 30 November

It was just gone 11 p.m. on Friday. Roy Grace sat beside Cleo’s bed in the tiny, stark single room adjacent to the maternity ward at the hospital. He was holding her clammy right hand, even though she was now asleep, her face an unnatural chalk white.

Hail thudded against the pitch-black windowpane; a steady, icy draught from the relentless wind outside blew in through the thin glass, onto his face. He should have been up in London tonight, out in the area car supervising the operation he was running from Croydon to Newham, but he’d delegated the task to his second-in-command, so he could be with Cleo.

A sudden light pressure on his hand. She was squeezing it. He looked down, tenderly, and moments later she opened her eyes. ‘I just can’t believe it,’ she said, her voice weak and raspy from the breathing tube that had been removed only a few hours earlier. ‘I can’t help thinking I could have stopped this happening.’

He bent down and hugged her gently; both had tears rolling down their cheeks. ‘It wasn’t your fault, you’ve been doing everything right.’

‘No, I was stupid — we had a whopper brought into the mortuary on Wednesday — a woman weighing thirty-four stone. I helped Darren lift her — and immediately didn’t feel right afterwards.’

He shook his head. ‘We’ve already discussed that.’

She looked puzzled. ‘We have?’

‘Yesterday, with the consultant. He said lifting something is extremely unlikely to cause a miscarriage — unless there was some underlying problem with the pregnancy.’

She looked puzzled. ‘I — don’t — remember.’

He stroked her cheek, gently. ‘I’m not surprised, you’ve been through a lot in the past day and a half — a blood transfusion and a general anaesthetic. I had a long chat with the consultant earlier. He explained miscarriages are very common — something like one in five. And he said that fifty per cent of miscarriages are because of a genetic problem.’

The door opened and Craig Comber, the consultant gynaecologist, peered in, then entered. A tall, smiley man in scrubs and a blue mop hat, surgical mask hanging below his chin, he said, ‘Good evening, just thought I’d check on how Cleo is doing before I head home.’ He looked down at her. ‘Good to see you’re awake — how are you feeling?’

‘A little tender.’

He smiled again. ‘I’m afraid we had to do a rather invasive surgical management of the miscarriage. There was a lot of tissue stuck near the lower end of your uterus — in the cervix — causing you more pain than usual and making you bleed heavily. You did right not to stay at home and miscarry, as you were in cervical shock — that’s when what’s happening causes a rapid drop in your blood pressure and heart rate, leading to collapse. But you’re out of any danger and you’ll be feeling much better in a couple of days. The nurse will be in shortly to give you something to make sure you sleep. I’ll come and see you in the morning, Cleo, and, all being well, you’ll be able to go home.’ He looked at Roy. ‘Will you be able to drive her?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Roy said. He smiled down at her then turned to the consultant. ‘We’re devastated by what’s happened, Mr Comber, and we’ll have to come to terms with it. Will it affect our chances of having another baby in the future?’

‘Not at all, you’ve nothing long-term to worry about, Mr — sorry — Detective Superintendent — right?’

Grace nodded distractedly.

The consultant looked at Cleo. ‘You should feel better in a few days, Cleo. I’d advise you to have iron and folic acid at a higher dose, as we know it can help prevent some abnormalities of the baby. I would say to wait a couple of menstrual cycles to let the lining of the uterus recover — and both of you emotionally — then try again. That time will also help raise the level of folic acid in your body.’

After Comber had left, Cleo sighed.

‘How do you feel about what he said?’ Roy asked her.

‘Crap, to be honest. I’m going to have to deal with all the sympathetic well-wishers. I know they’ll all have the best intentions, but I don’t think I can face anyone. I know what they’ll all say. Better it happened now... How far along were you?... Ever thought of adoption?’

‘Darling, just remember everyone will mean well. What could they possibly say in this awful situation?’

‘Just that they’re sorry, that’s all.’ She was silent for a moment then she said, ‘Maybe we were lucky with Noah.’

He gave her a questioning look. ‘We’ll be lucky again.’

‘We will be,’ she said. ‘We will.’

‘Yes.’

She lapsed into silence, staring down at her bedclothes, her face sad.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ he said after a while.

She gave a wan smile. ‘I was just thinking how bloody random life is. How unpredictable. One moment you’re all excited, you’re going to have a baby, and the next you’ve got blood pouring out of you and you’re in a hospital bed.’

Roy nodded. ‘Coppers see the random nature of the human condition all the time, just like you see every day at the mortuary.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘One moment someone’s having the time of their life, the next, a pathologist’s working out the time of their death.’