It didn’t change the way he felt about Honey one whit, for he had felt sure that they had established the basis of a soon-to-be-realised relationship in the time they had known each other. He had been absolutely certain that she felt the same way about him as he felt about her. In the light of what she’d done, he was either very wrong, or she was simply not the person he thought she was, nor the right person for him.
Suddenly realising that there was a character missing from the scenario, he asked, ‘Where’s Mulligan this evening? Not out on the tiles, I hope.’
‘I dropped him off at mine with a nice juicy bone. The thought of that well-meaning monster with your pride of cats, was just too horrible to contemplate, so I gave him a huge meal, then the bone, and left him to sleep it off when he’d finished chewing. That said, I’d better get back to him, or he’ll start eating the furniture.’
‘But there’s still half a bottle of this glorious wine left.’ Falconer had enjoyed the company, and was loth for his guest to leave.
‘Put the cork back in. It’ll keep for another day. Are you going in to see Carmichael tomorrow? I hear Roberts will be discharged in a couple of days, so you could kill two birds with one stone.’
‘I think I’ll do just that. I understand the doctor’s will be stopping the sedation after tonight, so I’ll leave it until late afternoon in the hope that he’s regained consciousness.’
Monday
Falconer slept well that night, but whether it was from a slightly calmer frame of mind, or from the effects of the tablets Doc Christmas had given him, he had no idea. He did feel a little more optimistic, however, and realised that his outlook on life had been changed by recent events.
He had always felt very alone. An only child, he had not mixed well at school, spent his time at university studying, and been called aloof in the army, and there had been no change in him since he had joined the police force.
He was not close to his parents, who knew the price of everything and the value of nothing, and spent their time flitting from dinner party to cocktail party, without a thought for anyone outside their immediate social circle; and he was not included in that, although from choice rather than neglect. For them, it was ‘out of sight, out of mind’, and he was very dilatory about keeping in touch.
The behaviour of his police colleagues had made him realise that he was not on his journey alone, though. Every officer who knew Carmichael had made some sort of contribution, either with physical help, as with the donation of their own blood, or with the collection that he knew Bob Bryant was making for the injured sergeant’s family. There were dozens of signatures on that huge get well card, from the part-time clerks to the superintendent himself.
Their thoughtfulness about his own well-being was touching, too. Finally he realised that he did have friends, and good ones. Sometimes one’s family was comprised of people who weren’t blood relatives, but who had adopted one into their circle out of sheer kindness. The force was his real family, and Carmichael was like the little (!) brother he never had, although one who still thought he was Peter Pan, and refused to grow up.
He was godfather to the Carmichaels’ three children, and even their dogs loved him. Granted he’d thought of his cats as his family, but now he knew better, and looked further than the four walls of his own home for this blessing.
Basking in this revelation, he was startled when the phone rang, and even more alarmed when he answered its urgent summons. Kerry was on the other end of the phone, sobbing her heart out. His blood ran cold.
‘No!’ he almost shouted. ‘No, no, no, no, no!’
‘No,’ she replied, getting back a modicum of self-control. ‘No, he’s all right, really. I’m just crying with relief. He’s conscious, and he seems to be OK.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Falconer asked, thinking that Kerry was no medical expert, and might just be pinning her hopes on the fact that he had squeezed her hand, or something equally inconclusive and trivial.
‘He asked me to bring something in for him.’
‘What?’
‘His Beano annuals. He said his Dandy ones could come in in a couple of days as he wanted his favourites first.’
‘He really is all right, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, thank God!’
‘Hallelujah, praise the Lord. Amen. I’ll be going in to see him this afternoon. Is there anything you suggest I bring in for him?’
‘Some comics, until I can get there later. He’ll be bored to death, having to lie there with nothing to do and nothing to read.’
‘Done!’
Falconer turned up promptly for afternoon visiting, and found his sergeant propped up in bed and looking much better, although he was still attached to various monitors.
‘I’m so glad you’re going to be fine. You really had me worried, there,’ admitted Falconer, not usually this communicative about how he felt. ‘At first, I thought you were a goner, and so did the surgeon, if he were honest.’
‘So did I, sir. I was never so frightened in all my life as when that man came at me with that fork. I don’t really remember much after that, except being in a completely dark place, with the sensation of floating. Sometimes I saw the faces of my family float by, but most of the time I just floated there, and didn’t feel at all worried about anything. I had no idea where I was, but I’m sure glad to be back here, and not dead.’
‘You’re not the only one.’
‘What have you got in that carrier bag, sir? Is it something for me?’ asked Carmichael, hoping that it was.
Falconer handed over his cache and the patient whooped, as best he could, at the bundle that was passed to him. ‘Comics! You know me better than I thought, sir.’
‘And you won’t have to have a tattoo done, now. You’ve probably got a rather exclusive one right across your middle,’ commented the inspector.
‘I’ll probably end up looking like a dot-to-dot puzzle, and the boys will want to join them to see what they make,’ Carmichael replied.
‘And with an indelible marker,’ Falconer concluded.
Not to be outdone, Carmichael piped up with, ‘Hey, I can do a trick with this equipment. Watch this, sir.’
With that, he pulled out one of the connections of the machine that was monitoring his heartbeat, and the spiky line suddenly stopped spiking, and an alarm went off. ‘Look, sir,’ he exhorted the inspector. ‘Flat line!’ Then he hastily pushed it back into its connection and assumed an expression of innocence, as the sound of running feet became audible.
Falconer, who would, in the past, have been extremely censorious of such an irresponsible action, had no time to conjure up a stern lecture, as he was too busily engaged, in the middle of a huge belly laugh.
THE END
P.S. Anyone concerned with the fate of the litter of ‘Chihua-shire’ pups may rest assured that Kerry Carmichael re-homed them via a Carsfold vet, so that each could obtain the love and attention they deserved, and which there simply wouldn’t be time for in the caring but chaotic Carmichael household.
Author’s note : The return of Mulligan is in response to a request from my husband, who loves the antics of the humongous fictional hound. When he gets that gleam in his eye, however, I don’t worry too much, as I’m allergic to dogs, and our six cats would definitely disapprove if he turned up here with the huge bulk of a Great Dane pup.
Happy reading!
The Falconer Files
by
Andrea Frazer
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Death in High Circles (The Falconer Files Book 10) Page 18