Chapter 54. Witchcraft
- Get a fucking ambulance, Sarge!
PC Kevin wouldn’t normally burst into the office without knocking.
- What’s up with you Kevin?
- With me nothing Sarge…It’s Trundle.
Sarge shrugged at Kevin, incredulous at the fact that he expected a man of his position to have time to remember each small-time tearaway by name.
- The weirdo kid from the sober cells!
- The one whose girlfriend I told to scarper?
- Yeah. An attack or something, Sarge.
- Attacking who?
- No, like a fit….a seizure. Foaming at the mouth and everything.
Sarge calmly picked up the phone, refusing to be flustered by such drivel. His thick, steady finger slowly pushed a single button on the phone’s panel. He checked his fingernails as he waited for the connection.
- Becky, get me some meds to the sober cells ASAP please poppet….
There was a silence as Front Desk Girl must have been responding. Sarge chuckled a little at whatever she said, before speaking again. He had bigger fish to fry than this.
- Uhhu…Yeah, one of the stragglers choking on his vomit probably. Just tell them to put a rush on it….Ok, cheers petal.
Sarge checked his watch resentfully.
- Come on then…Let’s go and take a look at him.
Kevin lead the way, breaking into a momentary jog, before quickly realising that Sarge wasn’t running anywhere for anybody; whether they were foaming at the mouth or not. He waited for him to catch up.
- Sarge….Do you think there’s anything in it?
Kevin’s tone was part excited, part worried.
- Anything in what Kevin?
- His missus….The one you told to piss off. You remember what she said to you?
Sarge gave that shrug again. His memory and attention was precious storage space, reserved for issues far bigger than the ramblings of a stupid junkie and his junkie girlfriend.
- She said to you that Trundle would die on your shift, Sarge! You remember? She said his blood would be on your hands if we didn’t get him out of here.
- Give me a break Kevin! You expect me to think she’s some sort of fortune teller as well now then? And besides, we don’t know he’s even dead yet.
- He looked like he wasn’t far off when I left him.
- Well, he’s a bloody junkie isn’t he? You say a junkie’s going to die, you’ve probably got a 50% chance of being right at any given moment. It’s not exactly witchcraft is it!
Kevin broke back into that jog again, as they approached the sober cells, struggling to hide the excited skip in his step. The angry Scotsmen must have heard their footsteps and began to bang and demand attention once more. Something down the corridor behind them clattered and a door slammed. A pained groan came from another cell. Was that Adam? It was difficult to tell which cell the noise had come from. At least he was still alive if it was. Kevin fumbled with the key of the door to Adam’s cell. He glanced at Sarge in a way that asked, “Are you sure you want to see this”. The Sergeant was unmoved and conveyed nothing but blankness and a hint of impatience through his expression. Kevin finally swung the door open. As his eyes adjusted to the room, the heap in the middle of the floor was smaller than he’d remembered. Sarge marched right over to it wasting no time.
- What’s going on here Kevin?
Kevin looked perplexed, as the Sergeant held aloft Adam’s blue Berghaus fleece jacket, like a magician that had made his assistant impossibly disappear into thin air.
- What the…..? How’s that even….? The little bastard! The door was locked, Sarge! You just saw me open it!
To the Sergeant, it didn’t matter how Adam Trundle wasn’t there any more. The fact was that he was gone. And for a man that based his professional decisions on cold, hard evidence, the empty cell that they were currently standing in was all the evidence he needed to arrive at the conclusion that the nutcase junkie wasn’t there any more. Case closed.
In the middle of the floor, underneath the spot Sarge had retrieved the coat from was a wet patch. Saliva, urine, something or other. The cells smelt musky anyway, so it could have been just about anything. Alongside the wet patch was a drop of blood. Tests on this sample compared against his Institution medical records would later confirm that the blood definitely belonged to Adam. For now though, it was just blood. Sarge chucked the fleece jacket onto the bed.
- That little feisty woman….His missus wasn’t she?
- I think so, Sarge, yeah.
- She still outside?
- That’s where I left her Sarge.
- Let’s go and fetch her. She’s got some explaining to do!
Ducie Page 55