fifty-six

In Ennis Hospital, Ellen’s chest rose and fell on its own now. No more ventilator. Her doctor had tried to talk to Danny about next steps because Ellen’s inert body would continue to attract infections and to deteriorate. He’d brushed aside the attempts, still not ready to consider the doctor’s opinion about whether or not to continue life-prolonging measures.

Nathan stepped up beside him, full of stink and despair. “Why am I here?”

“Merrit rang me. She’s concerned about your health. Since I was on my way to the hospital anyhow, I thought we could get you checked out by a friend of mine. Nothing official. He should be along in a few minutes.”

“You lied to me.”

“I did, but would you have come otherwise?”

“No.”

Danny had detoured by Nathan’s house on his way to the hospital, and Nathan acquiesced when Danny said he had more questions for him. Danny arrived in time to see Zoe and a lad squealing off in a beat-up Ford Fiesta. One look at Nathan, and Danny was glad he’d arranged this intervention.

“You’re not doing anyone any good with this slow death spiral,” Danny said.

“Which is code for, I’m not doing you any good for your investigation.”

Danny caught a glimpse of the alert and astute Nathan he’d gotten to know at the Plough. He still existed in there somewhere but submerged.

A brief knock interrupted them. Dr. Singh, whom Danny now called Sanjay, entered. He’d helped Danny a few years back during a prior investigation. Since then, Singh had become Danny’s source for all things medical. He wore an off-duty outfit of jeans, anorak, and scarf.

Danny introduced Nathan. Sanjay gazed at Nathan, studying him from head to toe while Nathan edged along the wall toward the door.

“This is a trap,” Nathan said.

“No trap, Mr. Tate,” Sanjay said. “I’m here as a friend of Danny’s who happens to be a doctor, although it doesn’t take a doctor to see that you’re not well. Danny told me the barest facts. You don’t sleep?”

Nathan burst from the wall and elbowed Sanjay in his attempt to flee the room. Danny wrapped an arm around him. It didn’t take much brawn to halt the man; he was weak as a newborn bunny. Danny lowered Nathan to a chair.

“I’m not for that place again,” Nathan said. “Please.”

“I’m concerned about your physical health,” Danny said. “Can Sanjay look you over?”

“My physical health,” Nathan said, “and nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

“Fine,” Nathan said.

Sanjay peered into Nathan’s mouth and pressed his fingers against Nathan’s skin. He pulled a stethoscope out of a satchel he carried and listened to Nathan’s heart. He then measured Nathan’s blood pressure and pulse. “Too high,” he murmured. “Running on fumes. When did you last eat?”

“Yesterday,” Nathan said.

“And water?”

“Coffee.”

“Bugger all good coffee does you. You’re dehydrated. I can talk to someone about admitting you overnight for fluids.”

Nathan shook his head. “I’m not for that place.”

“Overnight,” Danny said. “For fluids and rest. Nothing else. I’m sure they’ll give you a sedative to help you sleep.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Nathan said after a pause.

Sanjay beckoned Danny to follow him out of the room. “He’s in bad shape,” he said when they reached the corridor, “but it’s nothing water, food, and sleep won’t fix. At least for his body. His mind is another issue altogether. He’s a suspect, you say?”

“Let’s call him a person of interest.”

“Hmm. I’m wondering if he was diagnosed with PTSD at some point. His lack of self-care and his instinct to escape—just a thought.”

“An interesting thought,” Danny said. “Some PTSD sufferers are dangerous if triggered the right way. I want to show you something. It might shed light.”

He returned to Nathan with Sanjay close behind. “You’re grand,” he said as he hoisted Nathan to his feet with an arm over his shoulders. The stench of him was enough to make Danny retch. “Sanjay, if you would, please lift his t-shirt.”

Nathan shook his head but otherwise didn’t resist.

“Holy Mother.” Sanjay dropped to one knee to view the scar at eye level. He manipulated the thick scar tissue with deft fingers. “This isn’t just one wound.”

“What do you mean?” Danny said.

“This is many wounds in the same place. Is that true, Mr. Tate?”

Nathan’s head sagged on his neck. Danny almost roused him with a shake, but thought better of it.

“Self-inflicted?” Danny said.

Sanjay let the t-shirt fall back in place and stood. “Self-harm, cutting—”

“Do men cut themselves?”

“They do, in increasing numbers, in fact. As you might expect, if cutting is their preferred method, men are more likely to make larger, deeper cuts than women are.” He placed his hands on either side of Nathan’s face and straightened his head. “Mr. Tate? How did you injure yourself ?”

He seemed to be searching Nathan, trying to excavate his head. Nathan responded by closing his eyes.

 

Later, after reading to Ellen, Danny visited Nathan on the open men’s ward. Unlike Ward 2B, located in a newish wing of the hospital, Nathan’s ward consisted of jam-packed beds with frayed blue curtains and a depressing air of the antiquated. A crucifix hung on the wall above the entry.

Bathed and hooked up to a fluid line, Nathan lay with eyes closed, gaunt face in repose. He opened his eyes wide at the sound of Danny’s footsteps. Then relaxed again. He offered Danny a smile, weary and dazed, but there all the same. “Hospital vacation. Probably a good thing. Thank you.”

“A shower was a step in the right direction anyhow.”

“They dosed me with a nice drug. Lessened the noise in my head. I can think straight, and maybe I’ll sleep.”

Danny pulled up a chair and sat down. “You were correct about one thing—I need you coherent so you can help me with the investigation.”

“Self-serving, ay.” Nathan closed his eyes again. His head sank deeper into the pillow. “We all are. Even me, with Annie.”

“Oh?”

“She was a balm. Being with her took me out of my head.”

And his head was a dangerous place, that much was obvious. Danny considered how to proceed with Nathan. Best get straight to the point before lunch rounds and sedatives pulled him away from Danny again. “We’re considering a theory that EJ’s and Annie’s deaths are connected, and thus far you’re the only connection between them we have.”

Nathan’s eyes flew open. His irises expanded rather than contracted. Fear response. Or a sudden realization. Something was going on inside Nathan’s head.

“There’s no connection,” Nathan said. “Or if there is, it’s not related to knowing me. It can’t be. They both helped people—a connection to health care.”

“For EJ, that’s a debatable question.”

“What would their deaths have to do with me?” Nathan shifted under the sheets. “There’s the person who sent me the text.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Nathan’s confusion appeared authentic, but then so did the fear that lurked beneath the confusion. Danny couldn’t get a proper read on him. He changed the topic. “Tell me about your scar.”

“Talking about it is part of what sent me to Broadmoor. So I don’t. It’s unrelated.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Do me the favor of not telling anyone I’m here. I’d rather not talk if I don’t have to. I need to think, if I can.”

“Zoe?”

“No one.”

The lunch cart clanked at the other end of the ward and Nathan’s eyes drifted shut. Danny’s mobile vibrated. He drew the curtains around Nathan’s bed to avoid getting caught using the mobile on the ward.

“Danny here,” he whispered.

“This is bloody beautiful,” O’Neil said. “I know who Cedric Gibson is, all right, and he’s here in Clare.”