Trauma

Five

The police were first to arrive on the scene, two officers from a Panda car that happened to be in the vicinity when the call went out. Lafferty felt relieved that his uneasy wait was coming to an end. For the past few minutes the only thing that moved had been the tiny pulse in McKirrop’s neck that he kept searching for. He was still subconsciously unwilling to believe that anyone with such a horrific head injury could be alive.

“We’ll take over now, Father,” said the elder of the two constables when they arrived on the bank; the other one looked like a boy. Lafferty straightened up and felt the stiffness in his back from having been in the one position for so long. The policeman knelt down to examine the bodies with his torch and Lafferty heard him whisper, “Sweet Jesus Christ.” He turned and said, “Take a look at this, Brian.” His colleague joined him in a squatting position and groaned before turning his head to the side to avoid looking any more.

“I thought you said one of them was still alive, Father?” said the first policeman as the wail of an ambulance announced its imminent arrival.

“The man is,” replied Lafferty. “He doesn’t look it but he is. I found a pulse in his neck.”

Lafferty watched as the policeman took off his glove and put his hand to McKirrop’s neck. “There’s nothing there now,” he said. Lafferty’s motionless face reflected the moonlit ripples from the canal as he looked down at the scene, his eyes a mixture of sadness and bemusement. The policeman looked away again but remained on his knees, his fingers resting lightly on McKirrop’s neck as if in deference to Lafferty’s assertion that the man was still alive.

“God! I felt something,” he exclaimed. “You were right. It’s very weak but it’s there all right.”

Voices and the sound of running feet came from the bridge. The new arrivals were a paramedic team and more policemen from a second car. The two paramedics, dressed in green overalls and carrying cases packed with emergency equipment, arrived on the bank and got to work on McKirrop, while Lafferty was invited by the newly arrived police inspector to tell him what he had discovered.

“Did you move the bodies at all, Father?”

“I had to move the man’s body to reach the woman,” Lafferty confessed.

The policeman shrugged and said, “Well, I don’t suppose it’s going to matter much anyway. Looks like a straightforward case of a couple of winos knocking hell out each other. But we’ll go through the motions. Where the hell are forensic?”

Lafferty felt himself drift into the background as yet more policemen arrived, this time from a white Bedford van. They wore overalls and Wellington boots. More light was cast on the scene as a lighting generator arrived and was coaxed into life; it provided almost as much noise as it did light. The relevant area was marked out with plastic tape bearing the legend, ‘POLICE’, and canvas screens were erected around the area where the bodies lay.

When he got the chance, Lafferty asked the inspector, “I don’t quite see who hit who, if you understand my meaning?”

“What do you mean, Father?” asked the policeman although he seemed preoccupied with other thoughts.

“If you are working on the supposition that McKirrop drowned Bella...”

“You know these people, Father?” interrupted the policeman, hearing Lafferty use the names. He turned round to look at him directly for the first time.

“In a way,” replied Lafferty. “I’d been looking for McKirrop to ask him a few things about Simon Main, the boy whose body was stolen from the cemetery. McKirrop was the man who was living rough in the cemetery at the time of the child’s disinterment.”

“Was he now?” said the policeman thoughtfully.

Lafferty pursued his original question. “Say that McKirrop drowned Bella, he could hardly have done it after sustaining the head injury he’s got and if he did it before, how did he get the head injury?”

The inspector, looking down at the scene as the paramedics continued their work, replied, “It looks to me as if the pair of them had some kind of argument; McKirrop hit the woman — that’s what smashed her cheek in. In turn, she hit him with the bottle — probably a reflex action — before she herself passed out and fell with her head in the water.”

“I see,” said Lafferty in a voice that was filled with doubt. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“We’ll need a statement from you, Father.”

“Of course.”

After giving details to the police Lafferty waited until the paramedics had lifted McKirrop up on to a stretcher and were preparing to climb up on to the bridge.

“I’d like to travel with him if that’s all right? He may die before you get there.”

“Very well, Father,” said the leading paramedic.

As they started up the steep path to the bridge, Lafferty looked back to tell the inspector that he was going, but the man was engaged in instructing a photographer and members of the forensic team who were still busy by the canal. He looked back again from the bridge parapet at the illuminated scene below. There was a gap in the canvas screen. Bella was staring up at the heavens, oblivious to all that was going on around her. He thought of Hieronymus Bosch

The ambulance gathered speed, its siren clearing the road ahead as they sped towards the infirmary. Lafferty held on to a grab-handle on the side of the vehicle and watched Lafferty’s body respond to the unevenness of the road, despite the securing straps. A plastic airway protruded from his mouth and one of the paramedics constantly monitored his vital signs. Lafferty mused that it must have been a long time since John McKirrop had received so much attention from society.

“How is he?” he asked the kneeling attendant.

The man shrugged and replied, “Touch and go. Did you already give him the last rites?”

Lafferty confirmed that he had. As the journey continued, he wondered if what he was witnessing was innate human goodness. Could the experience be used to help bolster his flagging faith? Or at least to counteract the despair he felt on finding McKirrop and Bella and seeing what they had done to each other? All the stops were now being pulled out to save the life of a man who had turned his back on society. Surely this was the sign of a compassionate, caring and loving community? Or did everything run on automatic pilot? Police, ambulance, medical services. Maybe it didn’t matter too much in this case, Lafferty considered.

It was unlikely that McKirrop would recover from his injuries and, even if he did, society would not be finished with him for some time to come. Bella’s death had to be accounted for.

The ambulance slowed and turned sharply to the right; they had arrived at the Infirmary. Almost before the vehicle had come to a halt, the rear doors were flung open and McKirrop’s stretcher was slid out on to an Accident and Emergency trolley to be taken away indoors. The paramedic who had sat with McKirrop throughout the journey reeled off facts and figures to the A&E team as they disappeared inside leaving Lafferty feeling anonymous and alone.

The driver of the ambulance closed up the doors of the vehicle and said, “He’s still hanging on then.”

Lafferty nodded.

“Sometimes it’s bloody amazing how people can cling on to life,” said the man.

“Bloody,” agreed Lafferty as he started to walk towards the doors of A&E.

The receptionist affected a smile when she saw Lafferty’s collar; she seemed oblivious to the state of the rest of his clothes. “How can I help you, Father?” she asked.

“The man who has just been brought in, his name. His name is John McKirrop. He has no fixed abode. I’d like to wait and hear how he is, if that’s all right.”

“Perfectly all right, Father. If you’d like to take a seat through there, I’m sure one of the doctors will speak to you soon.”

Lafferty was joined within minutes by two of the policeman who had been down on the canal bank. When they had finished telling the receptionist their business, they came over to speak to Lafferty.

“I didn’t realise we had a police escort,” said Lafferty.

“We drew the short straw,” said one of them. “We’ve to wait to see if he comes round.”

Lafferty drew in breath. “Could be some time.”

“That’s what we’re afraid of,” replied the policeman. “We spend half our lives waiting around hospitals and court rooms. Did you know this man, Father?”

Lafferty shrugged and said, “Not exactly but I thought I’d wait and hear how he is. It’s a terrible thing to have no one care about you.”

“Strikes me, if he’d just die it would save us all a lot of trouble,” said the second policeman. “If a couple of wasters decide to do each other in, it’s fine by me- and anyone else with any common sense.”

“Kevin’s a bit touchy about having his leave cancelled,” explained the first policeman with a sensitivity that obviously wasn’t shared by his colleague.

“Really,” answered Lafferty drily.

“Well, what’s the point?” ‘Kevin’ grumbled on. “All this time, trouble and expense over some drunken sod who, when he leaves here, will get smashed out of his mind and do the same thing all over again or worse next time. What’s the point?”

Lafferty’s philosophical-roller coaster started out on a downward slope again.

As time went on, the policeman drifted away from Lafferty as they all ran out of things to say to each other. The hospital had segregated waiting areas for patients and their relatives. The policeman had access to both being part of the scenery in a large A&E department. But Lafferty felt obliged to remain with the relatives, not wishing to get in the way of the medical staff and knowing that there was very little he could do in a practical way. He tried reading one of the old magazines that were supplied on a table by the door, but the lighting was so poor in the room that he gave up as he felt a headache threaten.

There were several other people waiting in the room. A mother and daughter who huddled together for comfort and kept up a constant whisper of reassurance to each other, creating their own private island in a sea of adversity. There were two teenagers who drank from cans of Cola from the drinks machine in the hallway. They didn’t say much to each other and constantly flicked through the pages of magazines without apparently reading anything. An elderly man in a raincoat sat with his hands in his pockets staring at the floor as if deep in thought. A group of four people, three men and a woman, who looked as if they came from the rougher side of town, kept muttering to each other about ‘getting their story straight’. One man did most of the talking. He was in his forties and wore a light blue shell suit with yellow diamonds on the sleeves and sides of the trousers. His black hair was slicked back like a rock star of the fifties and his teeth had several gaps in the front. On his feet, he had a pair of white trainers with fluorescent green laces.

The man got off his seat to kneel down in front of the other three and lecture them with the aid of a nicotine stained index finger. Lafferty heard him say in a stage whisper, “If we all tell the same story there’s nothing they can do. Nothing. We’ve just got to stick together. Right?” The two men nodded but the woman looked frightened and doubtful. Lafferty reckoned that she was probably no older than thirty, but the lankness of her hair and the sallowness of her complexion made her look much older. He sometimes wondered why no research had been done on poverty-induced aging. In his experience half the women living in the tower block flats suffered from it. So many beautiful brides became hollow-cheeked hags by the time they were thirty. “Right?” the man repeated for the woman’s benefit. She nodded nervously and didn’t argue.

The man looked up and caught Lafferty looking at him. He gave a slight smile and pretended to look past him before sitting back down again in his seat. Occasionally he would glance over his shoulder to see if he was still being watched. Lafferty did not attract any smiles or nods from the others — not that he sensed any hostility, just the feeling that his collar was out of place. Those present did not expect him to be waiting there like an ordinary member of the public. He was part of the establishment. He should be ‘doing’ not ‘waiting’.

A nurse appeared in the doorway and looked down at the clip-board she held in her hand. “Mrs Simmonds?” she inquired.

The mother and daughter duo responded and the nurse approached them with some news. When she’d finished, Lafferty saw the mother break into tears, her shoulders silently heaving. He got up and walked towards them. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked the daughter quietly.

“No, thank you,” replied the daughter sharply. She wrapped her arm further round her mother as if shielding her from Lafferty.

Lafferty retired gracefully and sat down again. But his head felt as though it was full of broken glass.

An Indian doctor came into the room, white coat flapping open and stethoscope protruding from his right-hand pocket. He looked around, saw Lafferty and came towards him. He exuded a faint aura of sweat. “I understand you are waiting for news of McKirrop,” he said.

Lafferty noted the absence of any ‘mister’. Society was putting ‘McKirrop’ back in his place already. “Yes,” he replied. “How is he?”

“Not so good, I’m afraid. It’s pretty amazing he survived at all after that kind of head wound. He’s stable for the moment and we’ll be transferring him to the Head Trauma Unit as soon as he can be moved. But as for when he might, if at all, regain consciousness, that’s in the lap of the gods, I’m afraid.”

Lafferty wanted to ask, “Yours or mine?” but didn’t. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, “I’ll phone in the morning if that’s all right?”

“Of course.”

As he prepared to leave, Lafferty saw one of the policemen at the tea vending machine and stopped to speak to him. “You’re staying?” he asked.

“Yep,” answered the policeman with an air of resignation. “Once they have him on one of these machines we could be here for the next six months, on the off chance he’ll come round.”

“That won’t please your colleague too much,” said Lafferty, remembering their earlier conversation.

“Oh, Kevin’s all right Father. It’s just that the job gets to you some times. Some of the things you see every day... you start to see things differently — well it just gets to you, you know.”

Lafferty nodded. “I know.”

He glanced at his watch as he stepped outside and shrugged his shoulders against the cold. It was eleven thirty. He looked up at the sky to see that it had cleared completely. As a consequence, the temperature was now well below zero.

At three that morning, Sarah Lasseter’s bleeper went off and she responded almost automatically. Her room was freezing as she pulled on a sweater and slacks — the hospital turned the heating in the residency off at eleven and it didn’t come on again until six in the morning. Before getting into bed she had laid all her clothes out in order so that she could dress quickly and in complete darkness if need be. She reached under the bed for the pair of flat slip-on shoes she kept there and slid her feet into them. She put on her white coat and clipped her bleeper to her top pocket before patting the other pockets to check that she had everything she needed. Satisfied, she sighed, “Off we go again,” and slipped out of her room, closing the door quietly behind her to avoid waking anyone else on the corridor.

The coldness of the air outside almost took her breath away as she crossed the courtyard from the residency to the main hospital: she had to watch her footing on the frosty cobbles as twice she nearly came to grief. It was a relief to enter through the swing doors and find herself cosseted with warmth, but she was still rubbing her hands together when she entered HTU and sought out the night staff nurse. “You rang, Master?” she joked in a deep voice when she saw the nurse approach.

“Sorry, Doctor, we have an admission from A&E.” The nurse handed over a clip-board with a single sheet of paper on it.

“John McKirrop?” exclaimed Sarah. “The same John McKirrop?”

“ ’Fraid so,” answered the nurse. “He’s really bad this time. Depressed fracture of the skull. The police think it was a bottle. He almost certainly has serious brain damage but A&E say he’s stable for the moment so they’re keen to pass the buck.”

“Poor man,” said Sarah, reading the notes. “Is he here yet?”

“He’s on the way up,” answered the nurse.

Sarah heard the lift doors open and turned to see the night porter manoeuvre out a trolley. He had to swing his body wide to counteract the wanderlust of the front wheels as he pushed it in through the primary unit doors. A nurse accompanied him.

“All yours,” said the nurse when the secondary doors had been opened to allow the trolley to enter. “Where do you want him, Staff?”

“Alpha four,” replied the staff nurse, turning to lead the way to a bay in one of the three small ‘wards’ that comprised the HTU. Each of the three patient service areas, alpha, beta and gamma, could accommodate four patients and each individual bay was equipped with life support and monitoring equipment at the leading edge of technology. At this early hour the unit was only dimly lit by night-lights, which gave off a peaceful, green glow. Sarah found that the lighting at night always made her think of an aquarium.

The three other beds in Alpha were all occupied, the patients having sustained head injuries which demanded that they have intensive care or brain monitoring or both. Each bed was surrounded on both sides by electronic equipment and chart recorders. Apart from the gentle hum of the heating and air conditioning, clicking relays decided who would breathe and when. The A&E trolley was positioned parallel to the bed and McKirrop’s body was lifted gently to its new home. The porter wheeled away the trolley followed by the nurse from downstairs, leaving Sarah and the staff nurse to deal with McKirrop.

“Let’s get him plumbed in,” said Sarah, starting to connect the first of a range of tubes and electrodes to McKirrop’s unconscious body. The staff nurse had turned on a small spotlight above the bed which provided a circular pool of white light on the patient without it encroaching on the dim green glow of the neighbouring bays. Sarah and the staff nurse worked silently until McKirrop was wired into the system and electronic information was now available for Sarah to note down on the patient admission sheet. When she’d finished, Sarah looked down at McKirrop and said, “Just how you’re still alive, John McKirrop, is a mystery to me. You must want to live very much.”

“God knows why,” said the staff nurse.

Sarah smiled as they both watched McKirrop’s chest rise and fall in response to the ventilator equipment. “Maybe he’s an eccentric millionaire?”

“Or very much in love,” said the nurse.

“Or very angry.” Sarah looked at her watch and noted down the time on the sheet. “Patient admitted to HTU and stable at three forty-six,” she said.

The nurse looked at the fob watch pinned to her apron. “Check,” she answered.

“I think that’s all we can do for the moment,” said Sarah, stepping back from the bed. “How are the others?”

“No problems,” replied the nurse. “Everyone’s behaving tonight — so far.”

“Long may it continue,” said Sarah. “I’m going back to bed.”

“I’ll try not to disturb you,” smiled the staff nurse.

Sarah had an undisturbed four hours’ sleep before she was up again to begin the business of the day. It was Tyndall’s ward-round today so Logan would be particularly edgy and anxious to ensure that the unit was running smoothly. Sarah decided on a dark pencil skirt and a black roll neck sweater. She tied her hair back in a bun. Finally, she chose to wear her large-framed spectacles with this outfit, knowing full well the ensemble would make her look like a schoolmarm — or Audrey Hepburn playing a nun, as Paddy Duncan had put it once before. Sarah deemed the measure necessary. Images were important and she intended to be taken seriously.

Tyndall’s ward-rounds always started at nine thirty precisely so Sarah was surprised when Logan was still absent at twenty-five past. She was beginning to think that she would have to brief Tyndall on her own when a breathless Logan appeared, cursing his car for having a flat battery. He smoothed his hair back with both hands and tugged his shirt cuffs down below his white coat before taking the patients’ files from Sarah’s hands without comment. Sarah watched the unit Sister and the day staff nurse exchange glances in response to Logan’s rudeness.

Logan had not had time to read more than a paragraph before Murdoch Tyndall entered the duty room dead on the half hour.

“Morning everyone,” said the smiling consultant whose eyes moved quickly round the room taking everything in. Logan let the asynchronous chorus of good mornings die down before he said, “Good morning sir. All ready for you.”

Tyndall rubbed his hands together and said, as he always did, “Right, let’s get started.”

Sarah smiled at Sister Roche, the unit sister, as Tyndall led the way followed by Logan at his elbow. The rest of them followed in single file in what Sarah always saw as a feudal procession. The Lord of the Manor being shown around his policies by his retainers. They stopped at each bay in turn and Logan read from the case notes, which he hastily referred to for values and figures. Tyndall would nod and ask questions either of Logan or the nursing staff. Questions regarding nursing care were relayed through Sister Roche who would answer herself or refer the question as she saw fit.

When the group arrived at Alpha 4, the bay where McKirrop lay, Logan became flustered. He thumbed his way through the papers in his hand without finding what he was looking for. “This is...” he began.

Sarah knew that Logan had no idea who the patient was. There had been no time to brief him beforehand. But, as Logan had chosen to ignore her throughout the ward round, she decided to let him sweat as long as possible. She noticed Sister Roche look down at her feet to conceal a small smile and looked away in case it became infectious.

“I’m sorry sir... I don’t seem to have any information about...” Logan stammered. He looked at Sarah and said, “Do you have any details on this patient Dr Lasseter?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” smiled Sarah innocently. “Mr McKirrop was admitted in the early hours of this morning after being involved in a drunken fracas.”

She unclipped the new admission sheet that Logan had failed to notice on the end of the bed and handed it to him.

“No, you tell us, Doctor,” interrupted Tyndall.

“Very good, sir,” said Sarah, taking the sheet back from Logan who looked daggers at her. “Mr McKirrop was close to death when he was found on the canal bank last night. The A&E team managed to stabilise him and referred him to us because of his head injury. He has a depressed fracture of the skull with a concavity of over ten centimetres at the mid point. I admitted him to HTU at a quarter to four this morning and assigned him to level one life-support systems.”

Tyndall took a pace forward and looked down at McKirrop. “Level one life-support,” he repeated thoughtfully. “No need for the patient to do anything at all for himself, eh? Do you think the day will come when we can do away with bodies altogether, Doctor?”

“We’re a long way from that sir,” replied Sarah. “The machines are really very basic.”

“But they’re getting better,” said Tyndall — a little frostily thought Sarah. She bit her lip as she suddenly remembered Tyndall’s love of technology.

Tyndall frowned. He said, “The patient seems familiar, Doctor or am I mistaken?” He looked closer the unconscious form of John McKirrop.

“No, you’re not, sir,” replied Sarah. “Mr McKirrop was our patient briefly last week because of concussion he received when he was beaten up. He was the man who disturbed the grave robbers in Newington Cemetery.”

“Ah yes, the man who lived in the cemetery,” said Tyndall.

“The tramp,” added Logan.

“Not having the best of luck is our Mr McKirrop, is he?” said Tyndall.

“Goes with the lifestyle,” said Logan sourly.

Tyndall looked at him and said, “There but for the grace of God, Doctor Logan.”

Logan smiled wanly. Tyndall turned to Sarah again and asked, “What are the plans for Mr McKirrop today?”

Sarah looked quickly to Logan, expecting him to interrupt, but he didn’t, so she said, “I think the full range of cerebral function tests, sir. It seems probable that he suffered extensive brain damage from the impact fracture.”

“Do we have X-rays?”

“Yes sir. A&E had then done last night. They’re in the side room.”

“Let’s have a look, shall we?”

The party adjourned to a small room with a series of light boxes mounted along one wall. Sarah pinned up McKirrop’s skull X-ray and stood back. Tyndall adjusted his spectacles on his nose and tutted under his breath.

“Quite a wallop. A wonder he survived at all.” He turned to Sarah. “Can I have a look at his admission stats?”

Sarah handed him the sheet and Tyndall ran his eye down the figures. He said “I’d go ahead with the tests but I don’t think we should formulate any long range plans for Mr McKirrop.”

“No sir,” answered Sarah.

Tyndall attention returned to the sheet and read out loud, “John McKirrop, Age, early fifties, no fixed abode, no relations, next of kin... Father Ryan Lafferty?” He looked over his glasses at Sarah.

“I understand Father Lafferty arrived in the ambulance with Mr McKirrop, sir. He wanted to be kept informed about his condition, so A&E entered his name as next of kin. McKirrop has no one else.”

“What’s Father Lafferty’s interest in the patient?” asked Tyndall.

“I believe he wants to talk to Mr McKirrop about what happened in the cemetery with the Main boy.”

“Really?” asked Tyndall distantly.

“The police are also waiting to interview Mr McKirrop. I understand the other party involved in the fracas died,” said Sarah.

Tyndall gave a gesture of distaste and Logan did likewise. Tyndall’s took the form of a little shake of the head, while Logan’s lip curled in disdain.

“Well I suspect they’ll all be disappointed, but you never know,” said Tyndall. “Some of us have been in this business too long to be surprised by anything the human body can do. I’d like to be kept informed of Mr McKirrop’s condition, please.”

Sarah and Logan replied, “Yes sir,” in unison.

When Tyndall left the unit the entire team seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. This brought smiles from everyone except Logan. His eyes flashed with anger, and Sarah did not need to guess at whom it was directed.

“A word if you please, Doctor,” he snapped as he walked out of the room. Sarah shrugged and accepted her cue to follow. She saw Sister Roche raise her eyes heavenwards and acknowledged the friendly gesture with a slight smile. Logan opened the door to the X-ray room and ushered Sarah inside before closing it again. “What the hell do you mean by making a fool of me?” he demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean, Dr Logan,” replied Sarah coolly.

“You set me up over McKirrop. You know you did!”

“I assure you, Doctor. There was simply no time to brief you beforehand.”

“It was deliberate!” stormed Logan. “You wanted me to look stupid in front of Dr Tyndall.”

“That’s ridiculous! There simply wasn’t time to tell you about Mr McKirrop’s admission.”

“You did it to make an impression on Tyndall! Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

“What I think of you is neither here nor there and better left unsaid,” replied Sarah.

It was the first time she had done anything other than appease Logan and it felt good. She noticed a hint of surprise appear on Logan’s face followed by uncertainty which made her feel even better.

“You’ll be saying next that I flattened your car battery so that you’d be late!”

“I think you have said enough, Dr Lasseter,” said Logan.

Sarah took a deep breath and said curtly, “If you’ll excuse me, Doctor, I have work to do.”

She turned on her heel and left Logan standing there.

Inside, Sarah’s stomach was churning and she could feel the pulse beating in her neck but she steeled herself to keep her head up and walk off with authority in her step. She went back to the duty-room and stood for a moment, looking out the window, trying to regain her composure. Her hands were trembling.

“Everything all right?” asked Sister Roche.

“Yes thank you, Sister.”