The man’s eyes flickered open again. They found hers and she searched for an explanation. What explanation was there when he’d been shot for stealing…what? Loaves of bread?
She had to try.
‘We’re trying to help you,’ she said gently. They’d move him fast, but not before Alistair had done what was needed to try and stabilise him. He had the IV line in place and was searching in his bag for the oxygen mask. The orderly behind him had brought an oxygen cylinder.
The man’s eyes were on Sarah.
‘It was a mistake to shoot you,’ she said softly. ‘A dreadful mistake. We want to help you now. Do you understand?’
Once more, a tiny nod. He understood English, then. He was wearing trousers that must once have been neat, and a shirt that once might even have been a business shirt. His black brogues were coated with dust.
‘Azron,’ he whispered, in a voice that was thickly accented. ‘Help…Azron.’
‘Is Azron your son?’ she asked.
Alistair had an oxygen mask ready to put over his face, but Sarah gave an urgent shake of her head. The man’s need for oxygen was imperative, but there was another imperative that had to be considered. She thought back bleakly to the amount of blood she’d seen in the plane. Someone else was in trouble.
‘Yes.’
‘Where can we find him?’
‘Not…’ The man stared at her with eyes that were glazing with shock and with pain. ‘Not…’ He looked past her and his eyes rested on Barry. Barry who stood at a loss behind them, uniformed, his hand still holding his gun.
‘Not find,’ he whispered, and closed his eyes.
They loaded him into Alistair’s truck and closed the doors. Alistair and Sarah stayed in the back with him-Sarah was still acting as a human pressure pad and she couldn’t shift. Max drove.
‘I’ll report this,’ Barry said grimly, and Alistair winced.
‘You do that. Just stay out of my way.’
Claire moved forward to close the doors on them, and as she did Sarah looked backward. And frowned.
Had she imagined it?
Nothing.
Or…was it?
A wisp of cloth behind the buildings. A fleeting glimpse.
She almost called out. Almost. But Barry was still there. His hand was still on his gun.
She’d imagined it. She must have.
Amal groaned and she turned her attention to him. To imperatives.
They came so close to losing him-but somehow they didn’t. Somehow they succeeded.
For the next two hours Sarah and Alistair worked with the desperation of people who knew that their best efforts might well be in vain. The wound was dreadful.
The bullet had tracked in through the right lung. The gaping, sucking wound in the man’s back was whistling with air as well as blood. By the time they reached the hospital Sarah could feel the man’s trachea shifting to the side. The pressure of one collapsing lung, with air build-up in the cavity outside the lung in the chest wall, was causing everything else to shift, to shut down. Tension pneumothorax…
‘We need to put in a chest drain,’ she told Alistair as she listened to his chest. ‘I can’t.’
‘I can,’ he told her. ‘At least I think I can. I have the equipment. I’ve seen it done.’
‘I’ve read about it,’ she told him, and he gave a rueful grimace.
‘There you go, then. What a team. What are we waiting for?’
What were they waiting for? Expertise, she thought bleakly. That was what they urgently wanted here.
Expertise was in short supply. They were all this man had. They were all that stood between this man and death.
What had Sarah been told? She thought back to the publican’s blunt assessment of the situation.
‘We’re a one-doctor town. We know that. It’s a risk we take.’
The locals accepted that they had one doctor here and that in an emergency he might not be able to cope.
It was bad enough, but to have such a situation with a gun-happy cop…
‘What did you say to him before he lost consciousness?’ Alistair asked. He was fighting to put together equipment and waiting for a call he’d put through to Cairns to get some emergency on-line assistance from a specialist surgeon. Sarah was adjusting oxygen-the man needed more, but his lungs were losing capacity all the time.
‘He was frightened for his son.’
‘His son?’
‘Out at the farm I found three forged Australian passports prepared for Amal Inor, his wife Noa, and his five-year-old son Azron. I figure this guy must be Amal. He talked about his son. Azron. Which confirms it. I asked him where they were, but Barry was there. He was too frightened.’
Alistair grimaced. ‘Even if he pulls through we’re not going to be able to talk to him.’
‘No. We had that one opportunity. And because of Barry…’
‘Barry’s out of here,’ Alistair told her. ‘Even if I have to run the guy out of town myself.’
They took X-rays, confirming air in the right thorax. They cross-matched blood for transfusion and Alistair contacted locals with the same group. ‘They’re used to it,’ he told Sarah. ‘This is a small community. There’s never any trouble getting blood donors-everyone knows they may need it themselves some day.’ Then, with the assistance of a specialist thoracic surgeon, teleconferencing from Cairns, they managed the next step.
A chest tube was inserted into the chest cavity using a local anaesthetic.
Their patient was drifting in and out of consciousness. There was no way Sarah was risking a general anaesthetic, and he didn’t need it. Alistair had administered so much morphine he’d hardly even need the local anaesthetic she did administer.
Then she watched as Alistair carefully inserted what was needed. The trocar and cannula consisted of an outer tube inserted right into the chest, with a tiny valved suction tube inserted in the centre. Once in position, the outer tube was withdrawn, leaving the inner tube in place. The tube was connected to an underwater seal, which allowed the air leaking from the damaged lung to exit through the tube but no air back again.
The intention was to seal the lung. It would let the man breathe until more permanent repairs could be made.
And, blessedly, it worked. The tube in place, they could concentrate on stopping the bleeding.
The wound was a gaping mess. He’d need specialist surgery to repair it completely-he needed to be moved to Cairns-but they had to get him stable first. They worked on, and by the time Alistair stood back from the table Sarah was as exhausted as Alistair looked.
‘That’s it.’ Alistair’s whole body seemed to slump. ‘We’ve done all we can.’
‘He has a chance,’ Sarah whispered.
Alistair nodded. ‘A good chance. I think. Barring complications.’ He lifted the man’s hand and held it in his. ‘What did you say his name was?’
‘Amal. As I said, it’s a guess, but I think I’m right.’
He nodded. ‘Amal, can you hear us?’
Amal’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at them with eyes that were cloudy from drugs and pain and shock.
‘Amal, you’re safe now.’ Alistair’s voice gentled as he realised the man was taking in what he was being told. ‘You’re safe. But we need to find your family. Can you help us?’
Amal gazed up at them some more. He simply looked. Nothing.
‘Amal?’
There was a weak shake of the head. A tear appeared at the corner of the man’s right eye and trickled down his dusty cheek.
He closed his eyes.
This wasn’t sleep, Sarah thought. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t telling them anything.
He was still terrified. If they had shot him, imagine what they could do to his precious wife and son.
‘I’ll kill him.’
She’d never seen him this angry. Sarah followed Alistair out to the sinks, then stood back and watched as he hauled off his gown and turned the taps on full. Water spurted
out of the faucet so hard it hit the bottom and burst up again, splashing over his shoes. He didn’t appear to notice. He’d held himself under rigid control while he was operating, she realised, but now combined tension and rage were threatening to overwhelm him.
‘He wasn’t armed.’ Alistair’s voice was a cold whisper. ‘He was carrying armloads of food and he was running away. Barry could have caught him. If he’d run he could have caught him. And he stands there like a moron and shoots…he shoots…’
Sarah walked forward and eased the taps back. His gown had caught-one of the ties was still fastened and the green fabric was still hanging uselessly around his waist. She undid the tie and let the thing fall.
‘Alistair…’
‘People.’ He finished washing and turned, staring blindly at her, so frustrated with rage that he hardly saw her. Or rather he did see her. And what he saw he didn’t like. ‘Stupid, irresponsible people. You damage and you damage and you damage…’
Was he talking about her?
‘Life’s so precious, and you don’t realise… Blasting like that with a gun-for a few loaves of bread! Taking drugs and getting behind a wheel…’
Yep, it seemed they were talking about her. Sarah’s face closed.
‘The police squad from Cairns has arrived,’ she said bleakly. ‘I need to talk to them before Barry cements his own version of events in their heads.’ She motioned to the cellphone on her belt. ‘Call me if you need me. Medical emergencies only.’
And she walked away before her own anger overwhelmed her. Before she could do what she really wanted to do.
Which was to hit him from here to the middle of next week. Hit someone.
Barry? Yes.
Alistair? Him, too.
The helicopter that had brought the police squad from Cairns was used to evacuate Amal. They were desperate to speak to him, but his life hung on him getting specialist treatment. If they kept him in Dolphin Cove he’d maybe be able to tell them something that would let them find his wife and son, but his damaged lung required surgery immediately. There wasn’t a choice.
So he went. Sarah stood on the veranda and watched the helicopter take off and thought she could have been on it.
She should have been on it. Her work here was done. For Sarah, who’d spent the last six years carefully not getting involved, it had been a prime opportunity for her to say, Amal needs medical attention during the flight and I’m offering to go with him. You don’t need me any more. I’m out of here.
But the helicopter that had brought the team had been used also to transfer someone else. An old man, a native of one of the inland settlements, who had been in Cairns for treatment for a tumour that had finally been termed inoperable. His doctors had been waiting for an opportunity to transport him back, to spend his last few weeks with his people, so the huge transport helicopter had also been carrying his doctor and a nurse.
There were therefore medical personnel already on board for the trip back to Cairns. They’d look after Amal.
And no one had suggested Sarah go, too. She’d found herself fading as much as she could into the background, as though she was afraid someone would suddenly turn and say, What are you doing here? Why don’t you leave?
Her job had been to come and determine how the pilot had died. She’d done that. There were detectives here now. Police who knew more about finding fugitives than she did.
‘What am I doing?’ She stooped and hugged Flotsam, who seemed entirely happy to be hugged. It was as if the little dog sensed her need and was pleased to oblige. ‘Alistair hates me. I don’t know what that kiss was about. It was crazy. He just hates me. And I…’
What was she feeling? She knew what she was feeling, and it was all about that kiss. Which was crazy.
She should go home. There was nothing here for her.
There was nothing at home for her.
‘I’ve stuffed it so badly,’ she said bleakly. ‘All I can do…all I can do, Flotsam, is see if I can redeem myself somehow. Where are Noa and Azron? If I could find them, if I could help in some way… There has to be something I can do.’
She thought of that wisp of cloth she’d seen back at the shop as she’d helped load Amal into the truck-cum-ambulance. Did it have any significance? Probably not, she thought, but she could go down and have a look. She could see if there was anything there that could explain it.
‘You’re making excuses to stay,’ she told herself fiercely. ‘You think there’s anything you can do that will make any difference?’
Of course there wasn’t. She was clutching at straws.
It wouldn’t make any difference at all.
‘To me, no,’ she told the little dog. ‘But maybe it’ll make a difference to Noa and Azron.’
Yeah, right.
She couldn’t help it. She hugged the little dog closer and knew that she had no choice. She was staying.
Like it or not, Sarah was involved. Right up to her heart.
Alistair watched the helicopter fade into the distance and he turned to the head of the police squad with a heavy heart. He was feeling sick. He should have prevented it. He knew Barry was a loose cannon. He should have pushed…
But he had to focus now on what lay ahead. The helicopter had brought back-up-a crack force of eight, with authority, intelligence and purpose. At least now they had some real help.
‘We’ve taken Barry off active duty pending an enquiry,’ he was told.
Larry, the head of the police team, had heard an outline of what had happened and was looking grave himself. News of the shooting would surely hit the national press. The last thing the Australian police force wanted was to be seen as gun-happy. And for one of their number to shoot unnecessarily, when he already had a record for unwarranted force…
There’d be questions right to the top.
‘It’s too late now,’ Alistair said, but the man beside him shook his head.
‘The prognosis is hopeful.’ Larry Giles was a senior detective with the Federal Police. He was good at his job and he’d spent time this morning and on the flight here getting up to speed on this case. By the time he landed he’d already been briefed by the consultant who’d talked Alistair through the operation and who’d be taking over Amal’s care back in Cairns.
A lot depended on Amal’s surviving. Larry hadn’t put pressure on-not exactly-but he knew Amal would get the very best medical care available to anyone. ‘All we need to do now is find the rest of his family,’ he told Alistair.
The man obviously had more confidence than Alistair felt.
‘The rest-whoever they are-are wounded,’ he said heavily. ‘And Sarah’s sure there’s a child.’
‘If Sarah says there’s a child there’ll be a child,’ Larry told him. ‘She’s good. With her remaining here we have an excellent medical team. We have decent trackers and we’ve brought a couple of sniffer dogs. We’ll work fast. We’re giving it our best shot.’
‘Sarah’s staying?’ He hadn’t really thought about her leaving, but now… Why didn’t she leave? If she left then maybe he could relax.
But it wasn’t to be.
‘For the time being I’ve asked that she stay,’ Larry told him. ‘I’ve worked with her before. She’s the best police doctor we have. I understand she’s been more than useful already.’
‘Yeah.’ Alistair’s response was no more than a grunt, and Larry gave him a curious look.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘No.’ Alistair gave a weary shake of his head. ‘No problem at all.’
Washing. It was nothing but laundry. Plus an over-vivid imagination.
Sarah stood where she’d stood earlier and stared at the fluttering line of laundry in the backyard next to the shop. There were sheets flapping in the wind. While she watched, a corner of the sheet whipped up and fluttered against the corner of the fence.
That was what she’d seen. It must have been. She was getting so desperate she was imagining things.
Damn. She s
tared at it with hopeless eyes. She was so weary she was almost asleep on her feet. She hadn’t been able to sleep here. She was so confused.
She was useless.
In the yard next to Max’s store, Mariette Hardy carried her second load of washing out into her backyard and started pegging it out. There’d been so much going on today she was running way behind. Her second son had some sort of tummy bug-he’d been ill now for two days, and she was starting to worry. On top of that there’d been the shooting next door. So upsetting.
But the washing had to be done. She’d changed Donny’s sheets twice today already. If she hadn’t known Alistair was busy she’d have taken him in to see him. But she’d give Donny another night before she called for medical help, she thought. If she had enough sheets.
She started pegging and then she faltered. There was too much room on the line.
There was a sheet missing.
Where was it?
It was windy. Hadn’t she pegged it hard enough?
She put her nose over the fence into the backyard of Max’s shop. Sometimes her washing ended up there.
Nothing. All she could see was a pool of blood where Amal’s body had lain.
She winced. Ugh.
Maybe it’d blown over and they’d used it, she thought, and good luck to them if they had. A sheet wasn’t a great price to pay for a man’s life. It might have helped keep the poor man alive.
She shrugged. She wouldn’t enquire, she decided. The police had enough on their minds without worrying about one sheet, and she had enough on her mind worrying about Donny.
Mariette went back to her laundry.
Up in the hills behind the town Noa cradled her son and she wept. She’d rewrapped his wound as best she could, in torn pieces of the clean sheet, but she didn’t have the knowledge to do more. He was feverish.
His father would know what to do.
Amal.
His father was dying. Maybe he was already dead.
No. She refused to believe it. The girl-the woman with the bright red hair-what had she said?
‘We’re doctors. We’re trying to help you.’
The Police Doctor’s Secret Page 12