Beneath the Bleeding (5 page)

‘I expect it depends whether they believe in the power of prayer. I did see a pair of them huddled in a doorway saying the rosary.’ She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t appear to be helping Mr Bishop–he seems to be deteriorating steadily. The fluid on his lungs is building up. I’d say respiratory distress is getting worse. There’s no question of him coming off the ventilator.’

Denby bit his lip. ‘No response to the AZT, then?’

Elinor shook her head. ‘Nothing discernible so far.’

Denby sighed and nodded. ‘Damned if I know what’s going on here. Oh, well. So it goes sometimes. Thanks for keeping me posted, Dr Blessing.’ His eyes returned to the files on his desk in dismissal.

‘There was one thing?’

He looked up, eyebrows raised. He appeared to be genuinely interested in what she had to say. ‘To do with Mr Bishop?’

She nodded. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but have you considered ricin poisoning?’

‘Ricin?’ Denby looked almost offended. ‘How on earth would a premiership footballer be exposed to ricin?’

Elinor battled on. ‘I’ve no idea. But you’re a terrific diagnostician and when you couldn’t come up with anything, I thought it must be something a bit off the wall. And I thought, maybe poisoning. So I checked it out on the online database and all his symptoms match ricin poisoning–weakness, fever, nausea, dyspnea, cough, pulmonary oedema and arthralgia. Add to that the fact that he’s not responding to any of the medications we’ve tried him with…I don’t know, it fits the way nothing else does.’

Denby looked bemused. ‘I think you’ve been watching too many episodes of
Spooks,
Dr Blessing. Robbie Bishop is a footballer, not a KGB defector.’

Elinor stared at the floor. This was what she’d been afraid of. But the reason that had driven her through the door in the first place still existed. ‘I know it sounds ridiculous,’ she said. ‘But none of us has been able to come up with an alternative diagnosis that makes sense of the symptoms and the fact that the patient is not responding to any of the drug regimes we’ve tried.’ She looked up. His head was cocked to one side and although his mouth was a tight line, his eyes expressed interest in what she had to say. ‘And I’m not saying this to flatter you into taking me seriously. But if you can’t work out what is clinically
wrong with Robbie Bishop, I don’t think there can be a straightforward explanation in terms of a viral or bacterial illness. Which only leaves poison. And the only poison that makes sense is ricin.’

Denby jumped to his feet. ‘This is crazy. Terrorists use ricin. Spies use ricin. How the hell does a premiership footballer get ricin into his system?’

‘With respect, I think that’s somebody else’s problem,’ Elinor said.

Denby rubbed the palms of his hands over his face. She had never seen him flustered, never mind this agitated. ‘First things first. We need to check whether or not you’re right.’ He looked expectantly at her.

‘You can do an ELISA test for ricin. But even if they’ve got the right antigen in stock and they fast-track it, we still won’t get the results of a sandwich ELISA till tomorrow.’

He took a deep breath and visibly pulled himself together. ‘Set the wheels in motion. Take the bloods yourself, take them straight to the lab. I’ll call ahead, make sure they know what’s coming down the line. We can start treatment-’ He stopped dead, his mouth hanging open. ‘Oh fuck.’ He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily. ‘There is no bloody treatment, is there?’

Elinor shook her head. ‘No. If I’m right, Robbie Bishop’s a condemned man.’

Denby slumped back into his chair. ‘Yes. Well, I don’t think we need to share this possibility with anyone just yet. Not until we know for sure. Don’t tell anyone else what you suspect.’

‘But…’ Elinor frowned.

‘But what?’

‘Shouldn’t we tell the police?’

The police? You were the one who said it was someone else’s problem, determining how the ricin got into his system. We can’t call the police in on a hunch.’

‘But he’s still having lucid spells. He can still communicate. If we wait till tomorrow, he could have lapsed into a coma and he won’t be able to tell anyone how this happened. If it happened,’ she added, seeing the ominous expression on Denby’s face.

‘And if you’re wrong? If it turns out to be something quite other? This department will have lost all credibility within the hospital and the wider community. Let’s face it, Dr Blessing, two minutes after we call the police in, the media will be screaming from the rooftops. I’m not prepared to put my reputation and that of my team on the line like that. I’m sorry. We don’t tell anyone–not another living soul–until we get the ELISA results and we know for certain. Are you clear on that?’

Elinor sighed. ‘I’m clear.’ Then her face brightened. ‘What if I was to ask him? When we’re alone?’

Denby shook his head. ‘Absolutely not,’ he said firmly. ‘I will not have you interrogate a patient like that.’

‘It’s kind of like taking a history.’

‘It’s nothing like taking a history. It’s playing at Miss bloody Marple. Now please, let’s not waste any more time. Get started on the ELISA protocol.’ He managed a faint bloodless smile. ‘Good thinking, Doctor Blessing. Let’s just hope for once you’re wrong. Apart from anything else, Bradfield Victoria have no chance of making it into Europe next season without Robbie Bishop.’ Elinor’s face must have revealed her
shock for he rolled his eyes and said, ‘I’m joking, for Christ’s sake. I’m as worried about this as you are.’

Somehow, Elinor doubted that.

Tony started awake, eyes wide, mouth stretched back in a silent scream. The power of morphine dreams to recreate the gleam of the axe, the battle cry of his attacker, the smell of sweat and the taste of blood was terrifying. His breathing was fast and shallow and he could feel sweat curdling on his top lip.
Only a dream.
He deliberately controlled his breathing and gradually the panic subsided.

Once he’d calmed down, he tried to raise his wounded leg from the hip. He clenched his hands into tight fists, the nails biting into his palms. The veins on his neck corded up as he strained to move a limb that seemed to have been transmuted into lead. The futile seconds stretched out, then with a grunt of frustration, he gave up. It felt as if he’d never move his left leg again.

Tony reached for the bed control and eased himself upwards. He glanced at his watch. Half an hour till they would bring his evening meal. Not that he felt like eating, but it was a way of punctuating the day. He almost wished his mother had stayed. At least it gave him something to butt against. Tony shook his head, aghast at the thought. If his mother’s company was the answer, he was asking the wrong question. Not that there weren’t aspects of the history of their relationship that he ought to confront and deal with. But this wasn’t the time or the place. He wasn’t sure when or where would be appropriate for something so potentially painful, but he knew it wasn’t here and now.

Still, it couldn’t wait for ever. Carol had met her now, and she would have questions. He couldn’t just blank her; Carol deserved more than that from him. The problem was where to start. His childhood memories lacked a narrative. They were fragmentary, a series of incidents loosely linked like dark beads on a tarnished chain. Not all of the memories were bad. But his mother featured in none of the good ones. He knew he wasn’t the only person with such an experience. He had treated plenty of them, after all. Just one more aspect of his history he shared with the crazies.

He flapped his hand in front of his face as if swatting a fly and picked up the remote control. He began to flick through the limited range of channels. Nothing engaged his attention, but he was spared having to make a decision by a knock at the door.

The person on the other side didn’t wait for an invitation. The woman who marched in looked like a peregrine falcon run to fat. Glossy brown hair swept back from her forehead in a wavy bob that stopped just short of her shoulders. Deep-set hazel eyes gleamed beneath perfectly shaped eyebrows and the hawk’s nose jutted out from plump cheeks. The sight of Mrs Chakrabarti lifted Tony’s spirits far more than any TV channel could have. Here was more interesting news than BBC24.

She was trailed by half a dozen acolytes in white coats who looked young enough to be doing sixth-form work experience. She gave Tony a swift, practised smile as she reached for his notes. ‘So,’ she said, looking at him from under her brows. ‘How’s it feeling?’ Her accent bore a greater resemblance to
that of the royal family than to the denizens of Bradfield. It made Tony feel as if he should doff a cap or tug a forelock.

‘Like you replaced my leg with a lead pipe,’ he said.

‘No pain?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing the morphine can’t take care of.’

‘But you’re not feeling any pain once the morphine kicks in?’

‘No. Should I be?’

Mrs Chakrabarti smiled. ‘It’s not our preferred option. I’m going to take you off the morphine drip tomorrow morning, see if we can achieve the pain management by other means.’

Tony felt the clutch of apprehension. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

The smile grew positively predatory. ‘Just as sure as you are about the advice you give your patients.’

Tony grinned. ‘In that case, let’s just stick with the morphine.’

‘You’ll be fine, Dr Hill.’ She replaced the chart and studied his leg, angling her head round to see the twin drains carrying bloody fluid away from the wound in his knee. She turned to the students. ‘You’ll see there’s not much coming off the wound site now.’ Back to Tony. ‘I think we might take the drains out tomorrow and get this splint off so we can get a sense of what you’re going to need. Probably a nice cylinder cast.’

‘When can I go home?’

Mrs Chakrabarti turned to her students with the perennial condescension of the surgeon. ‘When can Dr Hill go home?’

‘When he can bear weight on his leg.’ The speaker looked as if he should be delivering newspapers, not clinical judgements.

‘How much weight? His whole body weight?’

The students exchanged covert glances. ‘When he can get around with a Zimmer frame, another offered.

‘When he can get around with a Zimmer frame, do a leg raise and climb stairs,’ a third chipped in.

Tony could feel something inside his head stretch to its limit. ‘Doctor,’ he said forcibly. When he had
her attention, he spoke very clearly. ‘That was not an idle question. I need to not be here. None of the important things in my life can be accomplished from a hospital bed.’

Mrs Chakrabarti wasn’t smiling now. This, Tony thought, must be what a mouse feels like eyeball to eyeball with a raptor. The only good thing about it is you know it’s not going to last long. ‘That’s something you have in common with the vast majority of my patients, Dr Hill,’ she said.

His blue eyes glittered with the strain of not showing his frustration. ‘I’m perfectly aware of that. But unlike the vast majority of your patients, nobody else can do what I do. That’s not arrogance. It’s the way that it is. I don’t need two functioning legs to do most of the things I do that matter. What I really need is for my head to function, and that’s not happening very well in here.’

They glared at each other. None of the students fidgeted. They barely breathed. ‘I appreciate your position, Dr Hill. And I understand your sense of failure.’

‘My sense of failure?’ Tony was genuinely puzzled.

‘It was one of your patients who put you here, after all.’

He burst out laughing. ‘Good God, no. Not one of my patients. Lloyd Allen wasn’t one of mine. This isn’t about guilt, it’s about giving my patients what they need. Just like you want to do, Mrs Chakrabarti.’ His smile lit up his face, infectious and compelling.

The corners of her lips twitched. ‘In that case, Dr Hill, I’d say it’s up to you. We can perhaps try a leg brace rather than a cast.’ She eyed his shoulders critically. ‘It’s a pity you don’t have better upper body strength, but we can try you on elbow crutches. The bottom line is that you have to be mobile, you have to be committed to your physiotherapy and you have to be off the intravenous morphine. Do you have someone at home to take care of you?’

He looked away. ‘I share the house with a friend. She’ll help.’

The surgeon nodded. ‘I won’t pretend the rehab isn’t tough. Hard work and a lot of pain. But if you’re determined to get out of here, we should be able to free up your bed early next week.’

‘Early next week?’ There was no hiding his dismay.

Mrs Chakrabarti shook her head, chuckling softly. ‘Someone split your patella with a fire axe, Dr Hill. Just be grateful you live in a city whose hospital is a centre of excellence for orthopaedics. Some places, you’d be lying there wondering whether you’d ever walk properly again.’ She dipped her head in farewell. One of this lot will be here tomorrow when they take the drains out and the splint off. We’ll see where we go from there.’

She moved away from the bed with her entourage
in tight formation behind her. One of them scuttled in front of her to open the door and the surgeon nearly walked into Carol Jordan’s raised fist. Startled, Mrs Chakrabarti recoiled slightly.

‘Sorry,’ Carol said. She looked at her hand and smiled sheepishly. ‘I was just about to knock.’ She stepped aside to let the doctors pass and raised her eyebrows at Tony as she walked in, loaded with cargo. That looked like a royal progress from the Middle Ages.’

‘Close. That was Mrs Chakrabarti and her body slaves. She’s in charge of my knee.’

‘What news?’ Carol asked, dumping assorted carrier bags and easing the laptop in its case on to Tony’s bed table.

‘I’m probably going to be stuck in here for another week,’ he grumped.

‘Only another week? God, she must be good. I thought it would take a lot longer than that.’ She began to unpack the carrier bags. ‘Ginger beer, dandelion and burdock, proper lemonade. Luxury roast nuts. Books as requested. All the Tomb Raider games Lara Croft ever starred in. Jelly beans. My iPod. Your laptop. And…’ She produced a sheet of paper with a flourish. ‘The access code for the hospital’s wireless broadband.’

Tony mimed astonishment. ‘I’m impressed. How did you manage that?’