Post Mortem (18 page)

Suddenly the ambulance crew were in the room. A man and a woman. A big bag. Green uniforms. A different competency that somehow made Lizzie inadequate with its straightforward ways. She stepped back to let them work.

‘Her name's Cosmina?' the male paramedic said.

Cosmina was reviving and interrupted. ‘Yes, I'm Cosmina. Leave me alone.'

Lizzie stepped further away, towards the window. It was a second wave of thought now and she relaxed briefly. The paramedics would do their thing. She was no longer alone and there was no danger. She called the section sergeant. Momentarily she cast around, remembering the imperative to investigate. The room was disordered. Empty beer cans. An ashtray filled with the dog ends of a hundred roll-ups. No curtains at the windows, but the place was warm. She noticed a large metal radiator. They must be abstracting the electricity.

Perhaps it was shock, or a general feeling of uselessness, that was making her drift off like this into irrelevancies. Her attention
was drawn back to Cosmina by an increased sense of agitation. It took her a moment to make sense of it: things were not going as they were meant to. Voices were raised. The scoop lay untouched on the floor. Cosmina was protesting. She did not want to go to hospital. The female paramedic was having a go at persuading her. She was leaning over, holding a mirror to Cosmina's face so that she could see for herself the extent of her injury. But Lizzie heard the protests.

‘No, no. I don't want to go. I'm staying here.'

The male paramedic stepped in.

‘You have at least two injuries that are potentially life-threatening. You could have a fractured skull and you've almost definitely got a fractured rib, which could puncture a lung.'

‘I don't care. I don't want to go.'

Joe broke in loudly. ‘Didn't you hear? You might die.'

‘I don't care. I don't want to go. I want to stay here. And I want you all to leave. You are trespassers, please get out of my house.'

Lizzie moved over and squatted down in front of Cosmina. ‘Why don't you want to go?'

‘Can you call him for me?'

Him
– the man who had done this to her. Here was the copper's priority suddenly resurfacing: to catch the man who had done this. Lizzie, excited by the prospect of evidence, said, ‘You've got his number?'

‘07781 746341.'

Lizzie repeated it. ‘What's his name?'

‘Stefan.'

She wrote it in her pocket book.

‘Stefan did this to you?'

‘Yes.'

She wrote the exchange down verbatim and signed it off with pocket book rules.

Cosmina said, ‘Can you ring him for me?'

The male paramedic interrupted, perhaps irritated by the police considerations. He had the high ground: the first priority was always life. He squatted beside Lizzie, pushing her gently to the side.

‘Cosmina, we need to get you to hospital.'

Cosmina shook her head again, emphatically unpersuaded. ‘No, I don't want to go. I'm staying here.'

Lizzie was surprised by how angry she had suddenly become with this pathetic woman who had been beaten within a shred of her life by her despicable boyfriend. She cast through her mind for a way to force her into the ambulance before she died.

‘Imagine it was me lying there with my head like that. What would you tell me to do?'

‘I would tell you to go to hospital.'

Hurrah. A roll of drums. Euphoria and enthusiasm all round: we can do our job.

Hadley wandered into the room and leant against the wall. People made ready to help lift Cosmina. The female paramedic said, ‘Let's get you in the ambulance.' But the celebrations were premature. Cosmina, still resolute and calm, said, ‘No. I would tell
you
to go, but still,
I
don't want to go.'

Hadley ambled over to Lizzie, taking her discreetly aside. He nodded in the direction of Joe, who was standing with the paramedics. She heard Joe say, ‘Listen, if you don't go, you're going to die.'

Hadley said quietly, ‘Get rid of him.'

Lizzie had the sensation of waking up from layers of sleep. Of course, Hadley was right: Joe had no place in this room. She went over and touched his arm.

‘I'm sorry, you'll have to go.'

Joe looked blankly at her, and she said, as kindly as she could, ‘This is a crime scene.'

It was the truth, of course, but the wording suddenly distanced Joe and in this way was unexpectedly effective. He realized all at once that he had been carried away by events. He became amazingly compliant, like a road-collision victim. Lizzie walked him down the stairs and down the street to his front door. He fiddled in his pocket for his keys.

‘You'll be all right?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Make yourself a cup of tea. Perhaps you should call a friend to come over. We'll be in touch.'

‘You'll be in touch?'

‘Yes, I'll let you know what happens. And we'll need a statement.'

Suddenly the street was full of vehicles with blue lights flashing in the night. The ambulance. A paramedic support car. Three marked police vehicles. Things had gone from a call that nobody wanted to a critical incident. While she was showing Joe back to his flat, the scene had filled with other officers from Lizzie's relief. As she went back up the stairs, she could hear raised voices.

Arif was speaking. ‘If you carry on refusing to go in the ambulance, you're going to be arrested.'

Arrested
. What was he talking about? Lizzie stepped into the room. Cosmina was speaking, calm and sweet, as lucid as a barrister.

‘You can't arrest me. I haven't done anything wrong.'

Arif, Lizzie realized, was panicking. Furious at Cosmina's stupid passivity, he was stepping beyond the law. He moved away from her and whispered angrily to Lizzie, ‘Fucking
victim
: she won't even save her own life.'

Lizzie stepped towards Cosmina, inside the circle of paramedics and police. ‘No,' she said, thinking of safety and pity and keeping
Cosmina on side and not getting anyone into trouble, even if they did have the best of intentions. ‘No, Cosmina, we're not going to arrest you. You are the victim of an offence. We are going to take care of you.' She shot Arif a quick look and a smile and he retreated to the perimeter of events. But all Lizzie's goodwill was getting her nowhere.

‘I'm not going and you can't make me. This is my home and I'm staying.'

Hadley was gazing out of the window across the street. Without turning from the view, he finally spoke in a tired voice.

‘I don't much like it here and I'm due a cup of tea.'

Everyone, including Cosmina turned to Hadley. His heartlessness was curiously refreshing. Now that he had their attention, he continued in his usual unconcerned tone. ‘Think about it, Cosmina. I can't leave you. That means I'm stuck here until you agree to go to hospital. Arif here can't arrest you, but I have a power under the Mental Health Act and I'm about to use it. I'm going to section you because I believe you pose a danger to yourself. I'd like you to go to hospital voluntarily, but if you don't, I will force you.'

Cosmina looked around her at the others. She seemed dazed. Perhaps even pleased. This suggestion of force, of obligation, relieved her in a single sentence of all her protests. She could have it both ways: refuse to go to hospital and still be made to go by others.

Hadley glanced across at Lizzie and a brief smile passed his lips. This was not a lawful use of the power, he seemed to suggest, but who in the room would stand up for the law now?

‘Can I have a cigarette before I go?'

Arif had his pack ready in his hand: it was impossible not to like the boy.

Lizzie said to the paramedics, ‘Would that be all right?'

The man said, ‘Yes, OK, but let's wait till we get her outside by the ambulance.'

Cosmina had refused to allow the paramedics to put her on the trolley bed. Assisted by the female paramedic, she chose a bag of stuff from her bedroom to take with her to hospital.

Lizzie stood on the landing and watched her being helped down the stairs. Hadley joined her.

‘Happy with that, are you?'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘Hardly a lawful use of the Mental Health Act, was it? We're in a dwelling, for a start.'

He waited for her response.

‘Of course I'm happy with it,' she said finally, irritated.

‘Thought you would be,' he said mildly, and ambled off down the stairs.

The incident was resolving. The section sergeant arrived and called up a scenes-of-crime officer. Blue and white tape was stretched across the entrance to the property; poor Arif would be stuck there probably until morning. Cosmina was now sitting outside on the wall, smoking. Hadley sat beside her talking nonsense.

The female paramedic used the moment to take Lizzie quietly aside and lead her back to the room where she had packed Cosmina's bag. On the floor was an Oscar statuette. It was with this statuette, Cosmina had told the paramedic, that Stefan had struck her. Bending down, Lizzie could see blood on Oscar's hands and on his gold metal shoulder. She scribbled down the paramedic's details for a brief statement.

The section sergeant spoke to Lizzie in the corridor. ‘Go with her in the ambulance. If she won't give a statement, get some Q and As in your pocket book. Do the best you can. Hadley will join you to bag up the clothing and take some pictures. He's going to pick up some evidence bags and a camera.'

At the hospital Lizzie had a renewed sense of purpose – a sense of doing something useful, effective. She hid her eagerness and aimed for a show of neutrality, disinterest. With only a vague sensation of betrayal, she scribbled down questions and answers in her notebook. She was, she thought, perhaps tricking Cosmina into giving the information, but she pressed on nevertheless, obtaining an account that she hoped would be good enough to send Stefan to prison. It wasn't clear to her why Cosmina was telling her story so painstakingly when she had refused a statement. Perhaps she just needed to talk it through. Or perhaps some repudiated part of her wanted Stefan to pay for nearly killing her.

Cosmina told her that she and Stefan had been drinking and had then had sex. Lizzie scribbled quickly, using her own made-up shorthand, struggling to get it all down verbatim.