Page 76 of Dead Fall

‘A vascular surgeon will be coming down to assess her. Do you have a contact number for her next of kin?’

Cassie gave it to him. Chrysanthi might not like it but she was still married to George and it felt wrong to keep him in the dark.

With the doctor gone, the old priest unfolded himself from the seat like a waking bat and left. It was a relief to see the bony old back of him, trailing stares and whispers as he trundled out of A & E on his invisible castors.

George wasn’t picking up, so after leaving him a message Cassie decided to stay on: knowing Chrysanthi didn’t have any other family she could hardly abandon her.

She was on her third battery-acid coffee from the machine, when the automatic doors opened to admit a blonde Valkyrie on a mission: Phyllida Flyte, the big ginger cop trailing in her wake.

Flyte’s searchlight stare raked the room, her whole body tense with worry, until she caught sight of Cassie. A look of relief flooded her face and Cassie’s heart did the can-can in her chest.

Ohhh, I see.

Flyte came and sat next to her, while the ginger cop stayed standing at a discreet distance.

‘The priest called us,’ said Flyte, her ice-blue eyes soft.

‘He just left.’

‘Tell me what happened?’

Cassie told her as best she could, stumbling over her words: her memory of events non-linear and fragmented, like shards of a broken mirror.

‘Why would she do such a thing?’ Flyte asked gently.

Cassie shook her head slowly. ‘Who knows? Grief? She just buried her daughter.’

Frowning, Flyte leaned closer and spoke in a murmur. ‘But you told me you thought it was her who murdered Bronte. And her twin brother.’

‘I don’t know, Phyllida. That was just a wild theory.’ In truth, since Chrysanthi’s desperate act she no longer had any idea what was going on. ‘Could you take this?’ – holding up the box cutter wrapped in the bloodstained epitrachelion.

‘Sure’ – putting out her hand, before pulling it back. ‘Actually, DI Bacon will need to take it. Chain of custody.’

Of course, Flyte wasn’t a cop anymore.

Just then the unexpected sound of ‘London Calling’ filled the waiting area and they both turned to see Bacon answering his mobile phone.

The call was brief and after hanging up he met Flyte’s eyes and tipped his head towards the door. He looked sombre and his meaning was crystal: We’re out of here.

Chapter Forty-Three

Just after Flyte and Bacon had left, a different doctor, wearing a more self-important air than the A & E registrar, emerged to take Cassie into a side room.

He introduced himself, his eyes sliding over her piercings. ‘Mrs Angelopoulos needs urgent surgery to ligate the radial artery. Put more simply—’

‘—you’re going to sacrifice her radial artery by tying it off,’ said Cassie. ‘Will that have any vascular consequences?’

‘Are you .?.?. a medical student?’ His look of blank bafflement reminded Cassie of one of her grandmother’s favourite Polish phrases: Like a dog that’s been shown a card trick.

She stared right back. ‘Nope, just a lowly mortuary tech. But I’ve probably seen more complete forearm dissections than you have.’

He gathered himself. ‘Right, well, her radial artery is beyond repair and she’s very lucky not to have ruptured the ulnar artery. Only time will tell whether there’s severe nerve damage, but with luck she’ll regain most of the use of her left hand with physio.’ He looked at her. ‘But only if I can operate soon.’

‘She hasn’t consented.’

He shook his head.

Oh boy. Since Chrysanthi was a danger to herself the doctors would probably section her to stop her leaving the hospital, but they still couldn’t operate on her against her will.

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