Brough sat impatiently on the edge of the bed while the doctor checked him over. Eventually, the doctor agreed with the detective.
“You’re fine,” he said, “which is more than can be said for some of the poor buggers they’re pulling out of that place.”
Panic flashed across Brough’s face. It annoyed him how quickly he’d thought of Pattimore.
“My colleagues?” he asked. “Where are they?”
“Relax,” said the doctor. “They’re not far; they -”
But the rest of the sentence went unheard. Brough darted from the cubicle, donning and buttoning his shirt and raincoat in a less than fluid series of movements. He dashed from cubicle to cubicle, opening curtains to the alarm of the occupants, but of Pattimore or Stevens there was no sign.
He flagged down a nurse who was carrying metallic clipboards and flashed his i.d. “The men who were brought in. From the pub. Police. Detectives. Where are they?”
The nurse patiently waited out the torrent of words. “Um...” she said, consulting a chart.
“Come on!” Brough snapped. Then he apologised for his impatience.
“Er - there’s a Benjamin Stevens in Room 2B...”
“That’ll do for a start. Where?”
“Room 2B.” She pointed at the nearest door. Some detective, she thought!
“Oh,” said Brough, feeling like a twat. “And it’s all right to go in, is it?”
“You a relative?”
“It’s police business.” He showed her his i.d. again.
“Go on then. But try not to make too much noise. I know what you coppers am like when you’ve been down the pub.”
She bustled away. Brough pushed the door.
Stevens was in bed, propped up on pillows. He looked exhausted but at least he was clean. The smudges of Tasha’s make-up and the grime composed of sweat and dirt from the cellar were gone.
“Hello,” said Brough.
“Alright,” said Stevens. His moustache twitched with a smile. “Come in; park your arse. And don’t go getting ideas about getting in bed with me. I’m warning you.”
Brough perched on a chair beside the bed. “Glad to see you’re back to normal.”
Stevens looked downcast. He cleared his throat. “Honestly, Dave - David! - I doubt I’ll ever be normal again. Not after the things I sid in that cellar.”
Brough nodded and waited for him to continue.
“I’ve been in this game for donkeys’ yonks and just when you think you’ve sid it all...”
“Yes,” said Brough quietly. “It’ll take time. To process - or whatever they call it.”
“Wankers,” Stevens agreed. “You’m wrong there, Dave. To my thinking, the best thing for me is to get right back on the log again. Get on with it. Close the investigation down proper, like, as soon as possible and put this shit behind me and get on with the job.”
“I suppose,” said Brough. “And Pattimore - have you ‘sid’ him?”
“Don’t take the piss,” Stevens grunted. “He’s next door.”
“Right.” Brough stood. “I’ll pop my head in.”
“Pervert!” Then Stevens seized Brough by the sleeve of his raincoat and looked into his eyes. “All that time we was tied together, me and Jason, we did a lot of talking. Told each other stuff. Well, you do, when you think your number’s time is up. I know, Dave.”
Brough looked aghast. Stevens tugged the sleeve.
“You need to talk to him. He really, like, loves you or something - I don’t know how it works and I can’t say I agree with it - but Jase is a good bloke, when all’s said and did - and I know it and you know it, if you’m honest - and he needs to hear it. From you.”
Brough pulled his sleeve free but did not move.
“You need to sort it out as quickly as possible and put it behind you - if I can use that phrase.”
Brough thought about it. He also thought about how surreal it was to be taking relationship advice from a renowned bigot and wanker.
“Thanks, um, Ben.” He headed to the door. “Oh, can I get you anything?”
“Nah, you’m all right. I’d get up and show you out but,” he indicated the standard issue hospital gown he’d been put in, “the sight of my manly arse might drive you mad with lust.”
“Probably,” said Brough. “See you at Serious, then.”
He went out.
“Cheers,” said Stevens.
He reached under the sheet and gave his bollocks a good scratch. It’s the simple pleasures of life you miss the most.
***
“Oh, you’re all right!” Miller all but ambushed Brough as soon as he emerged from Room 2B. She looked at the door behind him. “Is he?”
“Obnoxious as ever,” said Brough. “But for a minute he was almost human.”
“Eh?” said Miller. “I asked the nurse and she said you were in there talking to your boyfriend.”
Brough laughed. “No; Jason’s in the next room. I was just checking in on that wanker Stevens.”
“That’s not like you,” Miller’s eyes narrowed.
“It wasn’t like him either.”
“What went on in that cellar?”
“I’m not sure...” Brough gazed along the corridor at nothing in particular. “I mean, I got off lightly. I dare say it’ll all come out in the wash. You’ll be at the briefing?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Honestly, Miller. You’re a washout. You should have them give you a once-over while you’re here. Why are you here, Miller? You haven’t come to see me?”
“Piss off, sir. Jerry.”
“Oh, yes. How is he?”
“I don’t know.” Miller’s face crumbled. “They won’t let me see him. I’m not a relative.”
“Bollocks to that. Come on. Where is he?” He took her arm, holding his i.d. card ahead of him like a crucifix to ward off vampire nurses.
“Um, 7D, I think.” Miller struggled to keep up with Brough’s determined strides. “Or D7 or something else. He will be all right, won’t he, sir?”
“It may have escaped your attention, Miller, but I am not a member of the medical profession. He was all right when we spoke to him - on the car park - wasn’t he?”
“Um, yes.”
They had to stop in their tracks as a team hurried past with an emergency cart laden with tubes and monitors and defibrillator pads. The nurses bashed their way through some double doors.
“It’s him! It’s Jerry! I know it is!” Miller cried. She hurried to the doors and, on tiptoe, peered through the window.
The team were huddled around a bed, working with speed and urgent effectiveness. Brough looked over Miller’s shoulder.
“Oh please, oh please, oh please,” Miller repeated in anguish. “He was all right. You saw he was all right.”
“Well...” Brough grimaced. “Who knows what that maniac injected him with?”
“They can find out!” said Miller. “They can do tests! Find an antidote!”
“I hope so, Miller.”
“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Even from this distance, Miller could see the monitor over the bed and read its flat line. The medical team moved away, the urgency gone from their movements. A doctor in scrubs pushed his way through the doors.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said for almost bashing Miller in the nose.
“That man...” said Brough. “Is he...?”
“Did you know him?” said the doctor. “Are you relatives?”
“We’re police,” said Brough.
“His injuries were too severe. Not to mention bizarre. We’re all baffled as to how he kept going for as long as he did.”
“Injuries?” said Miller.
“We were able to remove the tap from his neck and -”
“Excuse me,” Miller held up a hand to stop him, “But is that man in there Jerry Fountain or not?”
“I thought you said you knew him,” the doctor turned suspicious. Miller grabbed him by the V-neck collar.
“Is it Jerry fucking Fountain or not?”
Brough tried to peel her fingers from the doctor.
“You’ll have to excuse my colleague, doctor. She’s been under a great deal of stress recently. We all have. Come on, Miller; let go of the nice doctor.”
Miller clung on doggedly.
“It’s not him; it’s not Jerry,” Brough adopted a soothing tone. “Jerry didn’t have a tap in his neck. That was - someone else. Ronnie somebody...”
Miller froze. She blinked.
“Ronnie? Ronnie... Flavell?”
“Oh, so you do know him!” The doctor was reassured. He was able to extricate himself from Miller’s grasp.
“He’s dead?”
“I’m sorry. We did everything we could. For a moment there, it was touch and go, and touch and go again, and again. Poor Ronnie didn’t want to give up the ghost. His suffering is over now -”
There was an almighty crash from inside the room. A nurse’s face appeared between the swing doors.
“Er - doctor? We have a, um, situation.”
The doctor went back in. Brough and Miller caught a glimpse of the team trying to subdue and control Ronnie Flavell who was thrashing about blindly on the floor.
“So, Ronnie’s not dead?” Miller was astounded. “That’s a relief; he wouldn’t have gone there if it wasn’t for me.”
Brough tried to steer her away. “Let’s go and find Jerry, shall we?”
He bit his lip. If Jerry had been injected with the same stuff as the seemingly indestructible Ronnie Flavell, Brough didn’t know how he’d break it to Miller.
***
“He’s very lucky to be alive,” was the opinion of the doctor who was checking the chart at the foot of Jerry’s bed when Brough and Miller came in. Miller rushed to her boyfriend’s side and took one of his hands in both of hers. Jerry’s neck was patched with a large white dressing.
“An injury like that,” the doctor continued, directing his words towards Brough, “would usually result in death, ninety nine times out of a hundred.”
“Mmm,” said Brough with a concerned look at Miller, who was planting kisses on the sleeping gravedigger’s forehead. “What saved him?”
“Dumb luck,” said the doctor. “Another millimetre and he would have severed rather than punctured his jugular. And he happens to be very lucky to have very low blood pressure - the lowest I’ve ever seen, in fact. Otherwise, he would have bled out almost instantly.”
“I see,” said Brough, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. The inability of Ronnie Flavell to die was disconcerting to say the least. What if Miller’s boyfriend was the same?
The gravedigger’s eyelids fluttered and he blinked himself awake. His face broke out in a broad grin.
“Mel!”
Miller let out a squeak of delight and threw herself at him.
“Steady on,” said the doctor. Miller withdrew a little. “The patient needs rest.”
Jerry reached for Miller’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be home before you know it. Give you chance to tidy up.”
“Slave driver,” said Miller. Her eyes were wet with happiness and relief.
Brough spoke to the doctor from the corner of his mouth. “Is that true?”
“Oh, yes,” the doctor shrugged. “He’ll be discharged in a day or two. We need the bed.”
Brough indicated the chart. “And there’s... nothing unusual? Did you run toxicology tests and all of that sort of thing?”
“Someone’s been watching television,” the doctor diagnosed. He flipped through the file again. “No... no... nothing untoward. Not of chemical origin... I mean, it all falls within natural parameters. Excuse me, Mrs - Miss?”
“Yes?” said Miller.
“Is he prone to eating fishy things?”
Miller blushed. Jerry laughed. Miller giggled.
“I mean like sushi and so forth,” the doctor clarified.
“Not really,” Jerry answered for himself. “Yuck.”
“Why, doctor?” Brough seemed to be the only one taking things seriously.
“It’s just that there’s a slightly abnormally high level of tetrodotoxin in his bloods.”
“Tetro...?”
“Tetrotodoxin. Commonly found in the puffer fish. It’s a deadly neurotoxin.”
“That you can get from sushi?”
“It’s not impossible.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing to worry us. Some trace amounts of other substances.”
“I’d like a full and detailed analysis as soon as possible.” Brough flashed his i.d. for good measure.
“I’ll get right on it, Inspector.” The doctor nodded and strode out.
“Trouble, Dave?” said Jerry.
“Something or nothing,” said Brough. “You just concentrate on getting back to full health.”
“Will do,” Jerry saluted. “I’ll soon be fighting fit again, won’t I, Mel? Mel?”
But Miller had keeled over and was lying unconscious on the floor.