Page 17 of One Left Alive
He shrugged. Took out his phone and scrolled through his contacts to the name ‘Dr Death’. Declan answered on the second ring. Ben heard his voice vibrate and knew he was on loudspeaker.
‘Did you get the message?’
‘I did, I’m on my way. Is it as bad as it sounds?’
‘Yeah, probably a lot worse. Paramedics have called it; CSI is in here now. You should be good to go when you get here.’
‘Cheers, pal, glad you send the good stuff my way.’
The line went dead and he smiled, knowing that Declan loved it and was a fantastic pathologist.
Twelve
Morgan had held Bronte’s hand the whole way here while the paramedics had worked on her. Relieved now they’d reached the hospital, it had been some journey as the ambulance had sped through the narrow, rural roads of Cumbria to the entrance of the RLI in a busy city. Jumping out, she stepped to one side as the paramedics unloaded the girl and rushed her through the double doors into resus. She followed them through, unsure whether she’d be allowed in the room or not. The receptionist pointed to a small room to the side which said ‘Police’.
She nodded and stepped inside. There were a couple of chairs and a small table with some yellowed magazines on it, along with two empty plastic coffee cups. All in all, it was a bit grim. Sitting down, she wondered what to do. Not having been in a situation like this before, it wasn’t long before the door opened and one of the paramedics who’d been working on Bronte walked in. They hadn’t had time for introductions earlier at the house, but he looked to be around ten years older than her, with a shaved head and stubble that reminded her of Jason Statham.
‘They’re working on her. She needs a CT scan but they have to stabilise her first. Then she’ll be going to intensive care if she doesn’t need surgery to relieve any swelling on the brain.’
‘Thank you, do you think she’ll come around anytime soon?’
He shook his head. ‘Not my call to make, but it’s possible she won’t. Did you see the side of her head?’
‘Yep, it’s a mess.’ She swallowed the lump which had formed in the back of her throat as she relived the shock of finding Bronte alive in that dark, foul-smelling cellar.
He reached out his hand. ‘I’m Luke, and you are?’
‘Morgan.’
‘Thanks for helping us out and driving the van. Are you okay, can I get you anything, a coffee?’
She smiled. ‘I’m good, thanks for asking. It was a bit of a shock finding them all like that. It’s so sad.’
‘I’ve been doing this for nearly ten years and I’ve never seen anything like this.’ He sat down and smiled at her. ‘How long have you been in the job?’
‘Just over six months, I’ve only been out on independent patrol for two days. Yesterday I went to a suicide at the same property where I discovered the bodies today.’
Luke let out a whistle. ‘Crap, talk about being thrown in at the deep end.’
A laugh erupted from her lips and she felt better, lighter. He joined in; she knew one of the absolute necessities of working in jobs like theirs was the ability to make light of the most terrible situations. It kept you sane and smiling when really you wanted to scream and shout.
His radio crackled as the ambulance control room asked if they were clear to attend another job. He told them negative.
‘I’d best go clean out the van ready for our next customer. Thanks again, Morgan, hope I see you around sometime.’
‘You’re welcome and yes, that would be great.’ Passing him the keys, she pulled out a card with her contact details on. ‘If you’re ever at a loose end you could call me. Anytime.’
Grinning, he pocketed the card.
As the door closed behind him, she wondered what had just happened. She’d never given her number or blatantly asked someone to call her. Of course, the fact that he was older had a lot to do with it. She’d always had a bit of a crush on older men.
Finally the door to the small waiting room opened and a nurse hurried towards her.
‘You can come through, she’s stable for now.’
‘Is she awake?’
She caught the eye roll the nurse gave her as she led her into resus and realised that was a stupid question.
