twenty-four
When Ramon came in from the police yard, Jaume’s expression alerted him that something was up.
His mind was on Estel, whom he’d just spent the last half-hour riding in the yard.
The satisfying smell of horse permeated his hands and clothes, while his mind had been filled with plans of getting back into the saddle on patrol.
“So… some news came in,” Jaume told him, his face a frown.
Ramon’s heart dropped like a stone. It had to come, sooner or later.
“About… Dav—the Howard bloke?” he croaked, dropping his rucksack next to his desk, turning away from Jaume to switch on his computer, not trusting his face to keep his feelings masked.
“Yep. He was in an accident.”
Ramon spun around.
“What? Where?”
“Northbound on the AP7. A truck tipped over. It’s been blocking all the traffic for hours. Luckily they found his passport among his stuff because…”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“He isn’t in a very good way. They choppered him into Vall d’Hebron Hospital.”
But Ramon had already grabbed his rucksack and was heading out the door.
“I’ll go and see him. Text me through the details, his ward and stuff.”
“Wait, I’ll come—“
“No, you stay here, please, Jaume. Do some… See if you can get in touch with his family. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Ramon, this isn’t wise…” Jaume began, but his partner was already out the door.
The early morning traffic in Barcelona was intense.
Ramon swore as he crawled slowly uphill through the city, toward the sprawling hospital on its outskirts.
Every time he had to wait impatiently for the lights to change, his gaze would fall on the passenger seat, in which, until a short while ago, his Davey had been propped, pretending to sleep against the door.
Why had he ever let him leave? He should have physically stopped him from getting out of the pickup, arresting him if necessary.
Then none of this would ever have happened.
He might be in a jail cell, but he wouldn’t be in hospital.
Vall d’Hebron was actually three hospitals built together: General, Maternity & Children’s, and Traumatology, where Davey was being treated.
It took him about forty-five minutes to get there from the Mounted Police Unit, which was downtown, behind the Parc de la Ciutadella.
Just a straight uphill journey, but the traffic was ridiculous.
Finally he reached the vicinity, though finding parking became the next issue.
Eventually, flashing his badge at a passing doctor, he was directed to staff parking in the rear.
There he found a space and parked, leaving his police permit displayed prominently on the dashboard.
Locating Davey’s room wasted another twenty minutes.
Instead of the main Intensive Care ward, which was full, he’d been installed in another, smaller auxiliary one containing just three beds, on a floor above.
A friendly but no-nonsense blond nurse came to meet him as he walked in:
“I’m afraid no visitors are allowed in this section. You’ll have to talk to the charge nurse if you want to see a patient.”
Even flashing his police badge at her wouldn’t change her mind. But he could see Davey, in the second bed down. He looked like he was sleeping, and had an oxygen mask over his face. An array of complicated machinery was assembled next to the bed.
“What’s wrong with him? Is he alright?”
“Please,” she was almost physically pushing him out now. “Any questions you have should be directed at the charge nurse. And he can put you in contact with his physician if necessary.”
“But why isn’t he moving? Is he—?”
“He’s in an induced coma, to protect his brain. And he needs quiet at the moment. Now please, can you leave and talk to the charge nurse? I don’t want to have to call security.”
Outside the ward, he found the nurses’ station. The charge nurse was a slim dark-skinned man in his late thirties with soulful eyes and a gentle manner. He seemed to sense that Ramon wasn’t here just on regular police business and, taking him by the elbow, he led him into a small office.
“Can I get you a cup of tea, coffee, water?”
“No, just tell me how he is. What happened?”
“Well, he was a passenger in a truck heading north—“
“So, in the direction of Barcelona?”
“Yes. The truck overturned just outside Reus. The driver was well over the limit for alcohol, but he walked away unharmed—“
“I don’t care about him… though I’ll make sure he ends up behind bars. Tell me about Davey, I mean… David Howard.”
“He wasn’t wearing a safety belt and was thrown against the truck’s roof when it overturned.
Luckily he didn’t go through the windshield or he’d probably be dead, but he was knocked unconscious.
The driver gave his pack to the ambulance driver, which was how we were able to identify him.
He was carrying his passport. We’re keeping him sedated until we can ascertain whether there’s any damage to the brain. ”
“Any other… I mean anything broken or…”
“No other major damage, just some minor cuts and bruises, that’s all. In that regard he was incredibly lucky. But the big question is: does he have brain damage? It’s a waiting game from here on.”
The nurse eyed him with compassion.
“Is he… are you…?”
Ramon huffed, blinking the tears back. What to say?
He was thankful he had managed to stop Jaume from coming up here with him.
Shedding tears for a suspect… how would he explain that?
He tried to pull himself together, but the tears started to flow faster.
Then he was sobbing. The charge nurse just sat there, keeping him company, not trying to touch him, or saying anything, which he was thankful for.
When Ramon went to wipe his running nose with the back of his hand, the nurse pulled a box of tissues off the desk and offered them.
Ramon took several, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes.
What a mess! A policeman sitting here blubbing over a suspect. He needed to pull himself together.
“OK, I’m going to need…” He blew his nose a final time. “Did you say you found his passport? We’re going to need to confiscate that… and when he comes around, ah… We’ll send someone over to keep an eye on him…”
“I wouldn’t worry about that just yet,” the charge nurse said. “But before we make the decision to bring him out of coma, we’ll let you know. I can call you personally. Do you have a card?”
“Yes, that’s best. Call me.” Ramon was almost over his crying jag and, after drying his eyes, he fished a card from his pocket. “Ah, in case I’m off duty,” and he scribbled his private number on the back of the card, “call me here, anytime, day or night.”
The man nodded. “OK, Ramon, I’ll do that. My name’s Sa?d. If I’m not on duty, I’ll get my colleague Mariona to call you. She’s the blond woman who shooed you out of his room.”
“Thanks… Thank you, Sa?d. That’s very kind.”
Sa?d nodded again, smiling. “I’ll make sure you get called before anyone else.” He stood up. “I’ll get his passport. Do you need anything else, any of his personal effects?”
“No.” Ramon shook his head. “Sorry, I know this seems unorthodox. He’s not under arrest, but he is wanted for questioning. I will vouch for him, both professionally and… and personally.”
“I’ve worked in Intensive Care for five years now.
Here we see people as they really are, not just the patients, but their loved ones too.
It makes you a good judge of character. So I’m going to trust you, Ramon, that you want what’s best for David, and I won’t ask questions.
Sit here for a while and I’ll get his passport. ”
When he was alone, Ramon took more tissues and finished blowing his nose.
What was happening to him? And how had he got into this compromising situation?
If Jaume or any of his colleagues caught wind of this, it could prompt some serious questions about his behavior.
Was he acting ethically and professionally here?
Ethically maybe, but professionally? He was now crossing red lines left, right, and center.
He didn’t care. Davey was worth it. He knew that and he’d prove it.
His career might be over because of it. But he had to do this, to trust his gut.
That’s what made him a good cop. If it ended up ousting him from the force, well so be it.
He wanted to see Davey again. At the same time, he didn’t want to do anything more foolish that might get him bumped from the case.
He was a cop for God’s sake! He couldn’t come in the hospital and start blubbing for a suspect.
The nurse, Sa?d, had saved his bacon, and seemed to understand that Davey was special to him.
Was he gay? Probably. He sat for a few moments more until Sa?d returned.
“Here’s his passport.”
“Can I see him?” he asked. He flipped to the photo, and yes, there was his Davey, David Howard, staring out at him.
“It’s supposed to be only family…”
“Just for a few minutes.”
Sa?d nodded and motioned Ramon to follow him. He pocketed the passport and they walked along the corridor and back to the ward. When they entered, Sa?d said something under his breath to Mariona, the blond nurse, who nodded, before leaving them alone.
“He’s over here.”
Sa?d led him up to the hospital bed. There was his Davey, lying still with an oxygen mask over his face, his breathing slow and deep.
“He’s quiet at the moment,” Sa?d commented. “Sometimes he gets a bit agitated.”
Davey had a few small cuts on his right jaw and cheekbone, along with a nasty purplish bruise on his right temple.
His left hand, resting on the blanket, seemed to have been caught and mashed in the accident, as it was red and sore-looking, the fingers tightly bandaged together.
Different tubes and cables poked from his right wrist and index finger, while both arms were restrained with straps.
“To stop him twisting and pulling out the tubes if he partially wakes,” Sa?d said, pointing to them. “Just a precaution.”
Ramon nodded. His attention was focused on Davey. The accident happened on the northbound lanes. He’d been coming back to Barcelona. That had to mean something, didn’t it?
“The doctor will be along in twenty minutes,” Sa?d said. “If you want, you can sit here and wait for him?” At Ramon’s nod, he said, “Fine, I’ll go and tell Mariona I’ve OKed it.”
Once he’d gone, Ramon sat down in the chair beside the bed. Unsure where he might be able to touch Davey, he finally placed his hand gingerly on his shoulder, where it looked unblemished with bruises or cuts.
“OK, Davey,” he whispered, “we’re going to get you out of here, get you healed up.”
But if Davey was wanted for assault and battery? What would happen when he came out of the coma? What had happened back on his stud farm in England? Then he saw what he had to do.