CHAPTER TEN

Chanel dodged the barrage of news cameras and cameramen that lined the walkway to the entrance of the hospital. It had been that way for hours, ever since the senator had gone public with his accusations.

Hurrying past them, she covered the side of her face with her hand and averted her gaze. She couldn’t believe another one of her patients had died a mysterious death.

Not her patients, she quickly corrected. Doctor Baker’s patients. Though technically, his patients were her patients, including the recently deceased Eileen Green. The senator had a right to be suspicious and as far as she knew, he wasn’t aware of the others. Chanel had a sick feeling in her stomach every time she thought about those women.

She wondered if the detective she’d spoken to had heard about the latest patient death. She’d heard nothing to indicate his take on her revelations, one way or the other. She could only hope that when the third death hit his radar, it would be taken seriously and something would be done.

She still had no proof that Doctor Baker was responsible and the only thing tying him to all three of the deaths was that they had been patients under his care. The police would need to investigate all of the staff members who had access to those patients during the relevant time. With a start, she realized one of those staffers would be her.

While Amelia Arncliffe had died only a few days after Chanel had started at the hospital, she’d still had contact with the woman shortly before her death. It was the same for Robyn Evan and Eileen Green. They were all patients allocated to Chanel. They were all on her list. And she’d attended every one of them, listened to their complaints, suggested treatment, and overseen their recovery. That was all under the guidance of Doctor Baker, but he hadn’t been present every time she’d seen them. Could she be held responsible…?

No, she was sure she had nothing to be worried about. She certainly hadn’t done anything to cause their deaths. She just hoped the police would find who was responsible, before others met what she believed were untimely ends.

Reaching the bank of elevators, she pressed the button and waited for one to arrive, glancing over her list of patients as she did so. She’d already seen most of them earlier that morning. There was a new patient on Ward Three who’d been admitted right after lunch. Doctor Baker had requested she attend upon Yvonne Latham for the purposes of an examination. He wanted Chanel to report back to him with her diagnosis and a prescribed plan of treatment.

Flipping over the page, she continued to scan her list. Most of the names were from patients she’d known over the past few days who were all progressing well. She’d check on each of them again before she finished for the day.

“Doctor Munro, I’m glad I caught you. Are you on your way to see Yvonne Latham?”

Chanel tensed at the sound of Doctor Baker’s voice, but forced herself to respond with a courtesy she was far from feeling.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Baker. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

“Good. I’ll accompany you. It will save you from having to report back to me later. I’m going to be a little busy this afternoon. The general manager wants to see me.”

Chanel spared him a glance. “Is this about the press conference held by the senator?”

Doctor Baker’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Yes. Have you ever heard a more absurd allegation? The idiot’s accusing someone in this hospital of foul play. His wife died of a heart attack. I’m sorry to say it, but there it is. She was at least ninety pounds overweight. She had chronic heart disease. Okay, so she was hospitalized with an asthma attack. But how long did she think her heart was going to put up with that kind of treatment? It’s probably best that she went when she did.”

Chanel gasped in shock. She shook her head, unable to believe she’d heard right. “Doctor Baker, you can’t mean that. Mrs Green was a lovely lady, so kind and funny. She had the wickedest sense of humor. So what if she was overweight? She was enjoying life and living it to the fullest.”

Doctor Baker clicked his tongue and looked at her with an expression of such condescension it was all Chanel could do not to shout at him. Instead, she clenched her jaw and silently counted to ten. The final number had just rolled into her head when the elevator arrived. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The elevator quickly filled with other staff members and Chanel was thankful it prevented further conversation with her boss. Too soon, they arrived at their destination and stepped out of the elevator at Level Three. Doctor Baker kept pace with her and they entered the ward together amidst cheerful greetings from the nursing staff.

“We’re just checking in on Yvonne Latham,” Doctor Baker explained to the nurses with a smile.

“She’s down in room six, Doctor Baker. She’s been admitted to the ward and is resting peacefully. Would you like one of us to accompany you?”

“No, that’s fine, nurse. Doctor Munro is going to wow me with her diagnostic skills. I’m keen to discover what she’s learned this past month and a half.”

Chanel gritted her teeth over the nurse’s tittering and continued in the direction of room six. She heard Doctor Baker’s measured tread behind her.

Room six was a four-bed room. Only one bed was occupied. The nameplate above the bed identified the patient as Yvonne Latham, but Chanel was nothing if not thorough.

“Mrs Latham?” she enquired, smiling at the elderly woman in the bed.

“That’s me, but call me Yvonne, honey. And my, don’t you have pretty hair.”

Chanel touched her ponytail reflexively. “I’m Doctor Munro, but you can call me Chanel. I’m one of Doctor Baker’s residents. He’s asked me to come and take a look at you.”

“Oh, my, that Doctor Baker’s something, isn’t he?” Pale blue eyes twinkled up at Chanel with such cheeky abandonment, she couldn’t help but laugh. Aware of the doctor’s presence behind her, she pitched her voice down low.

“Oh, yes, he’s something all right.”

“He fair gets my old heart racing,” Yvonne replied. She winked at Chanel. “What I wouldn’t give to be a decade or two younger.”

Her giggle turned into a hacking cough and she began to struggle for breath. Chanel stepped forward and reached for the oxygen mask attached to the equipment behind the bed. Turning the oxygen on low, she adjusted the mask over Yvonne’s mouth and nose. “Big, slow breaths, Yvonne. Take it easy. That’s it. There you go.”

Despite the fact there were no other patients in the room, as a matter of courtesy, Chanel turned to draw the curtains around the woman’s bed. Doctor Baker stepped forward. He stood so close she was forced to brush past him in order to complete the job. With gritted teeth, she returned her attention to the patient, who was breathing normally again.

“How long have you had that cough?”

“Oh, too long, honey. Must be going on five or six years. It’s gotten to the point that I can hardly walk down to the bus stop without gasping for breath and that sets off another bout of coughing. I thought it was asthma, but it turns out it’s not.”

“Do you mind if I listen to your chest?”

“Honey, you listen to whatever you want.” She leaned forward and Chanel used her stethoscope to listen to the air as the woman labored to breathe.

“Are you a smoker, Yvonne?”

“Was, honey. I quit about six months ago. Just couldn’t seem to catch my breath. The ciggies made it worse.”

“How long did you smoke?”

“Well, I started when I was fourteen and I turned seventy-three last month. A lot of years, honey. Too many.”

“I’d like you to have a lung function test; is that all right?”

“I guess so. Why do I need to have one of those?”

Chanel drew in a deep breath and then eased it out. It was never easy delivering bad news.

“I think you might have emphysema, Yvonne. It’s a disease related to long-term smoking. It could also be chronic bronchitis. A spirometer test will tell us for sure.”

“I guess I should have known my smoking would catch up with me eventually. That’s what the ads on the TV say. Too bad they were right.”

The light from her eyes had all but disappeared and there was no mistaking the sadness and regret that turned down her mouth. Chanel’s heart went out to her, but there was nothing she could do. If it was emphysema, the damage had already been done.

“Is there a cure, Doctor Munro?”

Chanel glanced in Doctor Baker’s direction. His expression was stern, but he nodded for her to continue.

“We can’t cure it, Yvonne, but we can offer treatment. There are certain medications that can work to widen your airways and reduce the amount of phlegm in your lungs. We also have what we call pulmonary rehabilitation, which involves a lot of respiratory exercises that help to maximise your lung capacity. In the very worst cases, we can offer you portable oxygen, so you have it with you whenever you need it.”

“Is this emphysema going to kill me?”

Chanel compressed her lips against a sudden surge of emotion and nodded. “It might not be the emphysema directly, but it will be a disease associated with it. Emphysema is only one of a host of chronic obstructive pulmonary diseases or COPD illnesses associated with the effects of smoking. I wish I had better news to tell you.”

The woman was silent for a while and then murmured, “How long have I got?”

“The fact that you’ve given up smoking is the best thing you could have done for your health. It really is the best way to treat a COPD, so you’re already on the way to helping yourself. As for life expectancy, who knows? Will the disease cut your life short? Probably. But there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t have succumbed to some other disease.” She shrugged. “It’s impossible to tell.”

Tears glinted in the elderly lady’s eyes. “Thanks for being upfront with me, honey. I appreciate that,” she murmured, her voice little more than a husky whisper.

A lump formed in Chanel’s throat. She reached for Yvonne’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Doctor Baker will prescribe a drug regime that will help you to get on top of that cough. Once you’re well enough to go home, I’ll arrange for you to attend pulmonary rehab. You’ll get a lot of information about pulmonary diseases there, as well as ways to improve your health through breathing exercises and that kind of thing. You’ll also meet other people affected by similar diseases. It will become a ‘go to’ place for information and a sharing of experiences.”

“Thank you, Doctor Munro. You’re very kind. When will I see you again?”

Doctor Baker moved closer to the bed and smiled down at the patient. “She’ll be in to see you every day, Yvonne. I’ll make sure of it. Doctor Munro is a second year resident. She’s part of my medical team. I’m pleased with her diagnosis and suggested treatment. It’s exactly what I would have done. She’ll make a fine doctor one day.”

“What do you mean, one day?” Yvonne demanded. “She already is a fine doctor.” Another bout of coughing took hold of the woman. Her shoulders shook with the effort. Doctor Baker reached for the oxygen mask and once again, it was gently fitted it over the woman’s face.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she gasped.

“Breathe,” Yvonne,” Doctor Baker murmured. “Breathe.”

Chanel watched and was struck anew by the kindness and tenderness employed by her boss toward his patients. At times like this it seemed ludicrous to contemplate for even a second that he could be responsible for murdering some of these dear people. She watched while he patted the woman’s hand until the coughing bout ceased and her breathing returned to normal.

“It’s all right, Yvonne. It’s all right. There, there, you’re going to be all right. Catch your breath; that’s the way.”

The woman stared up at him with gratitude and relief. “Sometimes it gets so bad, I feel like I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe and it scares the life out of me.”

“I’m sure it does. I can’t imagine what it must feel like. Don’t worry, we’re going to do all we can to make you more comfortable. I promise you.” He turned to encompass Chanel in his glance.

“Doctor Munro will be here whenever you need her. Just get the nurse to page her and she’ll come and sort you out. Okay?”

“Yes, thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your time.”

Doctor Baker smiled. “It’s my pleasure, Yvonne. That’s what I’m here for.”

* * *

Bryce pushed the food around his plate and wished he had the appetite to do it justice. His grandmother had gone all out, cooking a lamb roast and baked vegetables. The gravy was smooth and fragrant, just as he liked it, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat more than a bite or two.

“What is it, Grandson? You’ve been quiet all evening. Did you have a tough day at work?”

Bryce put down his fork and sat back in his chair. He rubbed a hand tiredly through his hair and sighed.

“Yeah, work’s been tough the last few days, but that’s not what’s got me twisted up in knots.”

“Then, what is it?”

He sighed again and then decided on the truth. “It’s Angela. Or more accurately, it’s her doctors. I met with one of them a fortnight ago. They’re coming under pressure to free up the bed. They can’t do anything for her. They’re urging me to switch off her machine.”

His grandmother looked stricken. “Oh, Bryce! That’s awful! Why didn’t you tell me? You shouldn’t have had to bear this alone!”

He shrugged, but just the same, appreciated that she cared. “They weren’t telling me anything new, Grandma. If it hadn’t been for the baby—”

“But there wasn’t a baby, Bryce. You have to stop thinking like that!”

“We didn’t know that at the time, Grandma! She was driving home from the fertility clinic. She’d just undergone another IVF treatment. They’d only just implanted her. When she was T-boned by that drunk driver, there was a real chance she was already pregnant.”

He pushed away from the table, unable to sit still a moment longer. With his hands clenched, he paced the confines of the kitchen.

“We’d wanted a baby for so long! You don’t know how many nights we dreamed about it happening. The hormone treatments, the mood swings, the continual disappointments—all of it put a terrible strain on our marriage. But we weren’t prepared to give up. We both wanted a baby so badly. I couldn’t turn off the machine that night or even the day after. I couldn’t take the risk that she was pregnant. I couldn’t kill our baby, too.”

His grandmother watched him, a sad expression filling her timeworn face. Tears slid slowly down her cheeks, glinting in the light.

“I understand, honey. But she wasn’t pregnant. The IVF attempt failed. It’s been three years.” She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was low. “I’ve said it before, Bryce. As difficult as it is, it’s time to let her go.”

Anger and frustration surged through him. He squeezed his eyes shut against it. “You don’t understand, Grandma! At the time of the accident, I felt so guilty at the thought of possibly killing our baby, I couldn’t turn off the machine. When I found out Angela wasn’t pregnant, I still couldn’t bring myself to do it!”

A ragged breath caught in the back of his throat and he struggled to breathe through the tumult of emotion that twisted up his insides. He had to make her see.

“I kept Angela alive for the sake of our baby. By the time I knew there was no baby, it seemed cruel and heartless to even consider letting her go. I’d kept her on life support in the hope that if she was pregnant, our baby would live. How could I switch off the machine so callously once I found out that hope had died? We’d promised each other we were in it for the long haul, no matter what life threw at us…”

He shook his head, the familiar darkness and despair washing over him. “I didn’t want to think I’d only kept my wife alive to incubate our child. It seemed wrong, so wrong to even contemplate turning off the life support after that. It seemed like somehow I was punishing her for not being pregnant. Like, now that there was no baby, she wasn’t wanted anymore.”

“No one who knew you thought like that, Bryce and they don’t think like that now,” his grandmother said gently. “You loved Angela as much as anyone and gave her all you had.”

She shook her head sadly. “You mention the strain your marriage was under, but marriages are tested every day. It doesn’t mean you no longer love and care for one another or that divorce is on its way. It’s just life, with all its ups and downs. We get through it and come out the other side.

“Only, in your case, you weren’t given the chance. Your wife was so badly injured, you were left with little more than a shell. She looks like the woman you married, but it’s all an illusion. She’s had no signs of brain activity since the time she was brought into the ER. If the emergency services hadn’t responded so quickly, she probably would have died at the scene. I hate to say it, but there have been many times when I wished she had. It would have spared you so much pain. It would have allowed you to grieve in the normal way and finally move on with your life.”

Bryce wanted to block out his grandmother’s words and howl out his agony against the injustice of it. He wanted to scream and shout and pull things off the walls. He wanted to hit something. Hard. It was like it was happening all over again—the confusion, the panic, the fear. And along with it, the questions nobody wanted to hear.

‘Are you Angela Sutcliffe’s next of kin?’ ‘Is your wife an organ donor?’ ‘Is there anyone else you’d like us to call?’ ‘Do you want to switch off her machine?’

The nightmare of it washed over him and bombarded him from every side. He’d managed to avoid thinking about it for three years, but now he’d run out of time. He had to make a decision. The knowledge sat like concrete in his gut.

With a heavy sigh, his anger left him and he dragged himself back to his chair. His grandmother wiped at the tears on her cheeks and delicately blew her nose. He sat with his head in his hands and tried to make sense of his thoughts.

Deep down, he knew what he had to do. Had always known. It was like his grandmother said: Angela had been dead from the moment it happened. Advanced technology and quick medical intervention were the only things keeping her alive. If he didn’t feel so damned guilty every time he thought about why he hadn’t made the decision to end things in the first place, it would be a hell of a lot easier now.

Not that anything to do with making such a decision was easy. In fact, it was the hardest thing he’d had to do. But, he owed it to his wife to let her go; to let her find her peace.

He lifted his head and looked at his grandmother, his heart stuttering at the love and kindness in her eyes.

“I’ll support your decision, no matter what, Grandson. Like I always have. I love you, Bryce and it doesn’t come with conditions. Don’t forget that.”

Tears burned behind his eyes and he blinked hard to keep them back. Reaching across the table, he took her soft, worn hands in his.

“I love you, too, Grandma and I’m so glad you took me in. I don’t know what the hell would have become of me if you’d turned me away. I’ll be forever grateful for everything that you’ve done.”

Fresh tears sparkled in her old eyes. “You’re my family, Bryce Sutcliffe, my flesh and blood. How could I turn you away?”

Bryce shrugged and swallowed the lump in his throat. She knew how important she was to him. He’d told her more than once. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, but he knew one day, he must. Life was tough. And hard decisions sometimes had to be made. Like the one about Angela.

He hated the very thought of it, but his grandmother was right. It had to be done. He had to stop living with his guilt every day and do what was best for his wife. She could lie there in a bed for another sixty years on a machine that did the living for her. The woman he loved and had made his wife was gone and was never coming back. End of story.

* * *

The sun still had a bite to it, even though the afternoon was nearly done. A cooling breeze that blew in from the ocean brought a modicum of relief. It had been four long days since Bryce had given his wife’s doctors permission to switch off the life support. Now, he stood with his grandmother and Angela’s parents on the cliffs high above Bondi Beach. Seagulls squawked in the distance and waves rolled in far below. The gray shadows of hulking freighters hugged the horizon as they made their way to far off shores, laden with cargo. It had been one of Angela’s favorite places.

In his hands, Bryce held the urn that contained his wife’s ashes. She’d wanted her ashes to be scattered over the cliffs of the eastern coastline she loved so much. It saddened him that she’d had to wait three years to have her wish granted and he was determined that at last, she’d rest in peace.

Her parents read a couple of passages out of the bible. They stumbled over the words, but the soothing psalms appeared to bring them comfort. Without accompaniment, his grandmother began to sing Amazing Grace. Her voice, though weak with age, still held a pleasant tune and the simple, but powerful words brought tears to Bryce’s eyes.

When it was over, he glanced across at his parents-in-law. They clung to one another, sobbing quietly. Only the gentle rush of the ocean and the occasional call of a bird disturbed the stillness. With a deep breath, Bryce lifted the lid of the urn and held it high up in the air. Tilting it sideways, he shook it slightly and waited for the breeze to catch his offering. Within moments, Angela’s remains were taken by the wind. One second she was there, the next, she was not. Just as it had been in life.

At least they hadn’t argued the morning she’d been injured. He could be grateful for that. He’d kissed her good-bye like he usually did and wished her luck with her day. He might have stopped attending the IVF appointments, but that didn’t mean he’d stopped caring. He’d wanted a baby as much as she did, but when they came away disappointed time after time, he’d learned to accept it wasn’t meant to be. Eventually he’d focussed his energies elsewhere.

After the accident, he’d worked like a madman and made had detective sergeant in no time at all. Now, he was in line for another promotion. If he managed to solve the case involving the deaths at the Sydney Harbour Hospital, it would almost be guaranteed.

A light touch on his arm gave him a start and brought him back to the present. His grandmother gave him a reassuring squeeze and he offered her a sad smile. Putting his arm around her thin shoulders, he drew her in against his side. Together, they stared out across the mesmerizing blue of the ocean. Bryce breathed in a lungful of warm, salty air and eased it out again.

“You did the right thing, Grandson. She’s at peace now.”

“Thanks, Grandma. I think so, too.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss against the softness of her wrinkled cheek and tightened his hold around her shoulders. She barely came halfway up his chest and yet she was a pillar of strength, of solidness, of love.

She’d given him a good life when his had been torn apart. She’d given him comfort and stability when he was floundering in a world of fear and confusion. She’d raised him with love and discipline so that he became the man he was today. He owed her everything. He owed her his life.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked and he knew she meant right now.

“I need to get back to work. We’re investigating a death at the Sydney Harbour Hospital. We’re under pressure to put someone behind bars. I need to pull my weight.”

His grandmother patted his hand. “Yes, the Senator’s wife. I saw it on the news. You go and do what you have to do. I’ll find my own way home.”

“Don’t be silly. I have time to drop you back home. Or anywhere, if there’s somewhere else you might like to go.”

“Thank you, Grandson, but Angela’s parents have offered to have us over for tea. I accepted on behalf of both of us.”

Bryce bit his lip. The last thing he wanted to do was spend another hour or two remembering his late wife. It was entirely selfish, but what he needed was to get busy and returning to the station was the best place for him to be. He realized he’d been unconsciously mourning her death for three long years and as well as tossing her ashes to the wind today, he also had to move forward.

“I’m sorry, Grandma. I really need to get back to work. I’ll go and see them now and offer my apologies.”

He walked over to where Angela’s parents were huddled against the wind and offered them his sympathy and his apologies for having to return to work. After bidding them a somber farewell, he turned and headed toward his car.