The Police Doctor's Discovery

by Laura MacDonald

  ‘Bye, Tommy,’ said Rachel.

  Just before the door closed behind them she heard Tommy say to his mother, ‘She’s ever so nice, Dr Rachel.’

  ‘Yes, Tommy, she is,’ his mother agreed.

  ‘I love her,’ said Tommy.

  With a smile Rachel pressed the buzzer for the next patient.

  Steadily she worked through the list. There were many people in Westhampstead who had been patients of Rachel’s father and who remembered Rachel as a child, and it seemed to her that these early surgeries of her days at the centre sometimes took far longer than they should as people reminisced or wanted to know where she had been working. Some, she suspected, even came out of curiosity, perhaps for a second opinion, or to see if Rachel was anything like her father had been as a GP.

  ‘So, how is he now—your father?’ One such patient came towards the end of that afternoon surgery, a woman called Peggy Reilly who had known Rachel since she’d been a baby and who indeed had been a patient of her father.

  ‘He’s very well, thank you, Peggy,’ Rachel replied, wondering as she did so whether she should issue a bulletin on her father, which could perhaps be posted in Reception for the benefit of all those who wished to know.

  ‘And what about your poor mother?’ Peggy’s voice lowered sympathetically.

  ‘Well, Mum’s health is not as good as it once was.’ Rachel knew there was no point in denying it—her mother’s forgetfulness and deteriorating health were well known amongst the residents of the town. ‘But Dad looks after her beautifully.’

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ Peggy agreed, ‘but it can’t be easy.’

  ‘Well...’ Rachel gave a little shrug. ‘Now, how can I help you, Peggy?’

  ‘It’s my arthritis playing up again, Doctor. It happens every year about this time—the temperature drops a bit, the evenings begin to draw in and my old joints give me gyp. And I have to say my usual tablets don’t seem to be helping at all.’

  ‘Right,’ said Rachel, ‘let’s have a look at your medication chart and see if there are any changes that we can make—there are several new anti-inflammatory drugs on the market so I’m sure we’ll be able to find one that suits you.’

  At the end of surgery Rachel made her way downstairs to Reception where she found one of the receptionists, Julie Newton, leaning across the desk, talking to a man. As she approached the desk the man turned his head and she saw it was Julie’s husband Philip.

  ‘Ah,’ said Julie, looking round, ‘here’s Rachel—I’m sure she’ll buy a ticket.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Rachel smiled at Philip.

  ‘It’s a draw for more equipment at the day centre,’ Philip explained. ‘One of the prizes is a weekend in a luxury hotel—with me.’

  ‘Philip!’ Julie exclaimed, and the other receptionists laughed.

  ‘Only joking,’ said Philip with a grin. ‘But you still get the luxury weekend and there are plenty of other really good prizes.’

  ‘I’ll buy some,’ said Rachel. Rummaging through her shoulder-bag, she produced a five-pound note and took the pen Julie offered her.

  ‘That’s generous of you,’ said Philip as she began filling in her details.

  ‘I think the day centre does a fantastic job,’ Rachel replied, mindful of Tommy Page and his computer.

  ‘Can I just say I think it’s great that you’ve come back to Westhampstead?’ Philip added.

  ‘Thank you, Philip.’ Rachel glanced up. ‘How’s your mum these days?’

  ‘Not so bad.’ He paused, his head on one side as if reminiscing. ‘We had some fun in those days, didn’t we?’ he said at last.

  ‘Eh? What’s all this?’ Danielle looked from one to the other.

  ‘My mum was housekeeper for Dr and Mrs Beresford,’ Philip explained. ‘We lived up at Ashton House when I was a kid.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Danielle, ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Shall I fill in the rest of those for you, Rachel?’ asked Julie as Rachel began to fill in the second counterfoil.

  ‘Thanks, Julie,’ Rachel replied, pushing the counter-foils and the pen across the desk and stuffing the tickets into her bag. ‘I am in a bit of a rush—as usual.’ She pulled a face. ‘I must go. Nice to see you again, Philip. Say hello to your mum for me.’ With that she hurried out of the centre and into her car to make the two house calls she needed to do before she could go home.

  Home for Rachel, as she had told Nick Kowalski, was a house in Cathedral Close, which she was renting for a year from friends of her parents who were travelling abroad. Tucked away in one corner of the close in the lee of the great cathedral, St Edmund’s was an elegant, stone-built Georgian-style house filled with antiques, and if the furnishings were a little too traditional for Rachel’s more modern tastes it was something she felt she could live with. Some of the more expensive pieces of glass and porcelain she had locked away in the glass-fronted cabinets in the dining room, terrified that she might break them, but after a while she had begun to relax and enjoy the undeniable comfort and luxury of the house. In many ways it was similar to Ashton House, her parents’ home, but it had been many years since she had lived there and she had since become used to a more modest way of life, first in student then hospital accommodation and more recently in the apartment she had shared with Jeremy.

  As she thought of Jeremy she kicked off her shoes and sank down onto one of the two deep, comfortable sofas. When she had first met Jeremy, a fellow doctor in the practice where she had been working, and had brought him home to meet her parents, he had been hailed as a perfect match for her and the perfect son-in-law for them. The son of wealthy parents, educated at one of the country’s top public schools and with a career that looked set to take him to his own Harley Street practice, he must have seemed like the answer to Rachel’s parents’ prayers, but for Rachel things hadn’t quite worked out that way. She was fond of Jeremy, of course she was, but somehow their relationship had become static, with neither of them seemingly interested in marriage or starting a family, which, from Rachel’s point of view at least, was strange because she knew deep in her heart that she wanted both of those—to be married and to have children. But somehow she’d never been able to visualise either with Jeremy. They were friends, good friends, but that was all and their relationship seemed to lack the extra spark that Rachel felt sure should be there if any further commitment was to be made.

  The spark had been there with Nick. The thought, unbidden, came into her mind. Why should she think of that now? Only because she had seen him again that day, she told herself fiercely. Her relationship—if you could even call it that—with Nick had been years ago. They had both been very young and they had both, without a doubt, changed in the intervening years. But that spark had been there. It had been there all those years ago, it had been there every time he had as much as looked at her and even more so whenever he had touched her. And her skin, without fail, had tingled in response, and it had been there again today.

  She gave an angry little gesture as the realisation hit her. It was ridiculous that she should even think such a thing. It had simply been the shock of seeing him again after all that time that had done it—nothing more at all. Nick Kowalski was bad news. He’d been bad news then with his high-speed motorbike and his wild ways and he was probably bad news now. It was surprising that he’d done so well in the police force—he was young to be a DCI but, no doubt, he had ridden roughshod over anyone who had got in his way on his passage through the ranks. Somehow she couldn’t quite think of him as an utterly reformed character. No doubt his wife had suffered—by his own admission his marriage had ended in divorce—and there was a child, a little girl. She couldn’t imagine Nick as a father but his face had softened when he’d mentioned his daughter.

  But what in the world was she thinking about Nick for anyway? Hadn’t he hurt her before—dumped her unceremoniously without so much as a word of explanation, leaving her desolate? The last thing she wanted now was to have too many dealin
gs with him. That she might have to spend time with him occasionally in her work with the police was quite enough, although with a bit of luck even that shouldn’t be too often. Rachel knew from experience that most of her work would be not with plainclothes CID officers but with the uniformed station staff and, provided that Westhampstead was still the quiet country town it had always been, she saw little reason that should change.

  With that slightly reassuring thought uppermost in her mind, she stood up and made her way into the kitchen where she began preparing pasta and salad for her supper.

  She had barely finished eating when her phone rang and, desperately trying to swallow the last mouthful, she answered it, expecting it to be her father or perhaps Jeremy, although she and Jeremy had agreed to have as little contact as possible during this trial separation period.

  ‘Hello?’ she said. There was a silence on the other end then the caller hung up. With a little grimace Rachel replaced the receiver, only for the phone to ring again immediately.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Rachel?’

  Her heart jumped. ‘Yes...?’

  ‘It’s Nick. Nick Kowalski.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘hello.’ She’d known it was him as soon as he’d spoken her name—had recognised his voice.

  ‘You’re eating,’ he said abruptly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve just finished.’

  ‘I understand you are duty doctor for the station tonight.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I need a doctor to examine a man who has been brought in for questioning.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ She hoped she sounded professional and efficient even though for some extraordinary reason her pulse was racing.

  ‘He seems disorientated and his movements are uncoordinated.’

  ‘Has he been drinking?’

  ‘Not as far as we know.’

  ‘I’ll come down now.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Oh, Nick?’ There was a slight pause.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did you phone just now—a moment ago?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter—it must have been a wrong number. I’ll be with you shortly.’

  She hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. Why in the world had she reacted in such a silly way to the sound of Nick’s voice? Had it been because she hadn’t imagined that he would phone her? But that was stupid—given the fact that she was area police doctor, it was quite on the cards that he might phone her. Usually she would expect it to be the duty sergeant who would do so but it certainly wasn’t outside the realms of possibility for a DCI. Hastily she took her dishes to the kitchen then ran upstairs, changed her skirt for a pair of trousers and pulled on a warm sweater before picking up her case and leaving the house. In spite of her earlier conclusions that Nick was bad news and should be avoided at all costs, she found that as she drove to police headquarters her pulse was still racing and she felt a level of excitement at the thought of working with him that she hadn’t felt for a very long time.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT WAS quite dark by the time she reached police headquarters, another indication that autumn was almost upon them. Locking her car, Rachel climbed the steps at the front of the building and on opening the main doors found Nick waiting for her in Reception. He looked tense, wound up like a tightly coiled spring, and for one moment she was tempted to apologise in case she’d kept him waiting. Then she thought better of it. This man was not her boss or her superior, she was not answerable to him and it would be as well for her to remember that fact in all her dealings with him.

  ‘Rachel.’ He turned on his heel.

  ‘You have a patient for me?’ She nodded at the sergeant on the desk, not Harry Mason this time but a younger man who likewise acknowledged her with a nod. ‘Yes,’ Nick replied curtly, ‘come this way.’ She followed him out of the reception area down two corridors to the cells at the rear of the building. The place smelt of pine disinfectant. A radio somewhere played rap music and occasional shouts and mutterings could be heard from the cells they passed.

  ‘Has this man been charged?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘No, not yet,’ Nick replied, ‘but I’m anxious to tie this case up—these arrests have come at the end of a lengthy operation involving a large number of my men.’

  ‘So...’ Rachel raised one eyebrow. ‘Inconvenient that one is sick at the eleventh hour, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘If you want to put it that way.’ Nick’s jaw tightened.

  ‘Why is he in a cell?’

  ‘Because it seemed the best place—he collapsed and we put him on the nearest bed.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about his behaviour before the collapse?’ she asked.

  ‘Very erratic,’ he replied, ‘bizarre almost—he was acting as if he was drunk but there was no smell of alcohol. He also seemed to have some sort of tremor which is what led me to suspect this may be a medical problem.’ As he finished speaking Nick opened the door to a cell where Rachel could see a man lying on the bed and a uniformed officer standing beside him.

  ‘Do we know his name?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Masters,’ Nick replied.

  ‘And his first name?’ Rachel bent over the inert form of the man.

  ‘Paul.’

  ‘Paul, can you hear me?’ The man’s eyes were closed and as Rachel took his wrist she found him to have a rapid pulse. He appeared pale and his skin was cold and clammy to the touch. There was also a distinctive, sweetish smell about him.

  ‘Did he have anything on him to indicate that he may be diabetic?’ asked Rachel, checking around his neck to see if he was wearing any sort of tag and failing to find one.

  Nick glanced up at the officer who shook his head. ‘No, nothing,’ he replied, then after a moment’s pause, he said, ‘Do you think that’s what this is?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Rachel nodded and opened her case. ‘A pinprick test will decide it.’ Carefully, watched by Nick and the attending officer, she carried out the test then nodded. ‘As I thought,’ she said, ‘his blood sugar’s very low—he’s in a hypoglycaemic coma.’

  ‘Can you treat that?’ asked Nick.

  ‘I can give him an injection.’ Rachel opened her case and took out packets containing a syringe and ampoules of dextrose.

  Moments later she identified a vein in the man’s arm and administered the injection. Almost immediately he began to stir then he opened his eyes.

  ‘Paul,’ she said gently after a few moments, ‘are you with us again?’

  Paul Masters gazed up at her, his expression almost one of disbelief, then as he moved his head and caught sight of Nick and the officer behind him he rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘You know something?’ he said. ‘I thought I’d died and gone to heaven and this was an angel.’ He inclined his head in Rachel’s direction. ‘Then I see your ugly mugs and I know it was all a dream.’

  ‘No, Paul,’ said Rachel briskly, ‘it wasn’t a dream—it was a diabetic coma. Your blood sugar had dropped to a critical low. Don’t you wear a tag to alert anyone to the fact that you’re diabetic?’

  ‘Yeah, I do,’ the man replied rubbing his eyes with one hand, ‘but the chain broke—needs fixing.’

  ‘Well, I suggest you get it fixed.’ Rachel began clearing up her equipment and medication packaging. ‘And that you wear it at all times,’ she added. ‘So what caused your blood sugar to drop so low—have you missed a meal?’

  ‘Yeah, a couple probably—thanks to this lot.’ Paul Masters’s gaze flickered to the two police officers.

  ‘If you’d told us you were diabetic we could have taken the appropriate measures,’ Nick replied tersely.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Paul Masters grunted. Looking hopefully up at Rachel, he said, ‘Are you going to send me to hospital?’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said R
achel.

  ‘But I need time to recover,’ the man began to protest.

  ‘I’m sure DCI Kowalski will give you an hour or so recovery period,’ Rachel replied, ‘but first I want to check your blood sugar again.’

  Ten minutes later Nick escorted Rachel out of the cell, leaving Paul Masters with the officer. ‘Was that really necessary?’ he asked as they reached Reception.

  ‘What?’ Rachel frowned, thinking he was questioning her treatment or diagnosis of the patient.

  ‘The period of recovery.’

  ‘Probably not.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘But it’s better to be on the safe side in these matters. I also suggest he is given something to eat.’

  ‘Would a three-course meal be sufficient?’ There was a trace of sarcasm in Nick’s voice now.

  ‘A couple of rounds of cheese sandwiches should do the trick,’ Rachel replied sweetly.

  ‘As if he hasn’t wasted enough police time as it is,’ muttered Nick.

  ‘You think he put himself into a coma deliberately?’ Rachel raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past him. Let’s face it, he wasn’t wearing his tag and he must know he shouldn’t miss meals...’

  ‘Even so—it’s a bit drastic.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, an hour is not that long.’

  ‘In that case, you won’t mind coming and having a drink with me,’ Nick retorted swiftly.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ She stared at him.

  ‘You’ve put me in this position of having an hour to kill—I would say the least you could do is to keep me company in the meantime.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think...’ she began, desperately trying to think of an excuse, any excuse, not to go with him. ‘I have things to do.’ It was the last thing she wanted, to establish any sort of relationship with him other than a purely professional one.

  Nick, it seemed, had other ideas. ‘Nonsense,’ he said firmly, then after a brief word to the duty sergeant he took her elbow and propelled her out of the station doors. ‘What could be more important than renewing acquaintance with an old friend?’