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Lexi’s first visitor of the day appeared as she stared at her breakfast. He slouched into her room and picked up the clipboard from the end of the bed. For a moment, he perused the scrawled writing and medical terms before replacing it. A grave frown tugged his brows low.
“Doctor Carstairs,” Lexi croaked. She placed her spoon back into the slippery fruit salad she’d spent the last ten minutes stirring. Bland and unappetising, the canning process had robbed it of colour and texture while loading it with vast amounts of sugar. She sighed and rested her head against the pillows. “This isn’t what you think,” she rasped. “He didn’t do this.”
The doctor wheeled the side table away and sat on the mattress beside Lexi. He stared at her for a long moment. “Have you considered a career change?” he asked.
Lexi chuffed a sad laugh, which hurt. “I should,” she countered. “Or at least request hazard pay.” She cleared her throat and winced. “I don’t remember you from yesterday,” she admitted. “I don’t remember much at all.”
Carstairs released a low growl. “Oxygen deprivation can do that to a person,” he mused. “Do I need to tell you how lucky you are?”
Lexi blinked and stared at the cream waffle blanket covering her legs. She shook her head in reply. Then she reconsidered and looked into his soft brown eyes. “Will I have any long-term issues?” she whispered.
Carstairs shrugged. “When the bruising and inflammation recede, you’ll need another CT scan to check for damage to your windpipe and the ligaments around your neck. The ligature caused cuts in several places. My colleague glued them shut for you. They’ll fade, but never disappear.”
Lexi sighed. She reached up a tentative hand towards her throat, but the doctor seized her wrist and stopped her before she made contact. He laid her hand over her stomach before releasing it. “Not helpful,” he growled. “Unless you want an infection, too.”
“I’ll change my name to Mary Shelley,” she retorted. “I hear Frankenstein is making a comeback.”
“Good idea.” Carstairs ran a hand over his tired features. His palm scratched against his bristly chin. The man pulled no punches, and Lexi appreciated his honesty.
“Why does my side hurt so much?” she asked. “I remember he kicked me when I tried to unfasten the garrote.” Lexi peered at her fingers and noticed the cuts from her contact with the sharp ends of the twisted wire. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, picturing the second evidence bag which Grunwald laid beside her on the hot paving slabs. “He used pliers to twist it again once I hit the ground. I never stood a chance of unfastening it by myself.” She pushed out her tongue and crossed her eyes to stare down at it, aware of the metallic taste in her mouth. She couldn’t see her tongue, but the doctor laughed at her.
“If the wind changes, you’ll stay like that,” he quipped with a grin. Seriousness deadened his features as though he’d slipped on a mask to resume his monotonous list of Lexi’s injuries. “Two broken ribs and one fractured. Numbers nine, eight, and seven, if you want to get technical. No heavy lifting or sharp movements for at least three weeks. There’s little we can do medically for rib injuries and time proves the better healer if you’re patient. You bit the inside of your left cheek and your tongue during the incident. And I fear I’ve betrayed your trust.” He ran the last sentence into the litany of damage and advice, so at first, Lexi didn’t register it.
“How?” She cocked her head in confusion, aware of the skin tightening at the side of her neck.
Carstairs sighed and shrugged. “Call it an error of judgement. I saw you come into the emergency room and assumed the attack related to the incident we discussed a few days ago. We got you stabilised, and the nurses settled you in here, but one of them mentioned a police officer had insisted on remaining beside your bed until you awoke. I panicked.” He pressed his palms together and flexed his fingers. “I rushed in here, challenged him, and scrutinised his warrant card intending to ask him to leave. But he seemed aware of so much already, and I realise now he played me with admirable skill. Probably the reason he’s a detective inspector and I’m a lowly doctor.” Carstairs cleared his throat and studied Lexi through gentle brown eyes. “I’ll understand if you wish to make a formal complaint to my manager.”
“You told him about my visit to the emergency room on Tuesday?” Lexi croaked.
“Utterly remiss of me.” He ran a hand through his ragged hair and left it raised at the crown. “So unprofessional. It’s about time I retired to the Bahamas.”
“Then who would stick me back together?” Lexi retorted. “Or care whether I live from month to month?”
“You’re too kind.” Carstairs narrowed his eyes at her. “But he made a call to the police station and requested the location of someone he deemed as a suitable perpetrator. I believe your corrupt policeman has run out of road.”
Lexi waggled her eyebrows, deeming them the only part of her body which didn’t hurt. “I very much doubt that,” she mused. “He’s tricksy. I’m amassing a case against him, but I need enough to ensure he can’t wriggle out from beneath it. He’s resorting to blackmailing colleagues to get what he wants. I can’t risk him thwarting any potential investigation into his conduct.” She wrinkled her nose, realising that didn’t hurt either. “Unfortunately for me, he knows I have evidence. He’s already visited my house and made threats against my brother. I’ve found this murderer, so he can’t blame Garima for the priest’s death, but I don’t trust him not to manufacture something else.” Her mind coasted over Lachlan’s association with Rojas. It made no sense, but she’d seen him there and couldn’t dispute the evidence.
Carstairs folded his lips down and shook his head. He rose at a pitiful bleep from his phone and scrabbled it from the pocket of his blue scrubs. “Duty calls,” he mused. “Want me to send my manager to see you?”
“No thanks.” Lexi frowned and shook her head in dismissal. “Just wait for my text on the first of March. At least you know Grunwald is on the case.”
The doctor reached the door and turned, before giving Lexi a military style salute. She smiled and caught sight of the limp fruit salad in her peripheral vision. “Darn,” she mused to herself. “I should have asked him for discharge papers before I let him off the hook.”
