Flatline

by Robert Innes

  Blake thought about the picture Gloria had painted to him of her best friend. More and more, he was suspecting that there was more to Joe Tilsley than just someone who did not know when to stop partying. His mind went back to the conversation he had overheard Joe and Kelsey having when he had been on his way back from the toilet.

  “Do you think that Joe would ever have tried to get Kelsey to protect him? Say, from something that might have gotten him in trouble with the police?”

  Gloria pulled a face. “No idea. I hope you don’t think I’m sitting here bitching about the bloke just because he’s dead. I’m not like that. I’ve seen them both very happy together plenty of times too.”

  “I understand. But there’s just some things that your gut told you weren’t right?” Blake suggested. “Did Joe have anything in the way of a criminal record?”

  “Not that I know of. Now, come on. I’ve let you play policeman for a bit, now it’s time for me to finish doing my job.” Gloria stood up. “Are you feeling comfortable?”

  Blake watched her pull back the curtains and realised he could hardly stop her from leaving. “Yes, thanks,” he replied despondently.

  “Good. I’ll be back in a bit to check where you’re at with your medication.”

  Blake nodded, deep in thought about what he had been told. He thought of the many options he would now be pursuing if he was able to work. He was just deciding to get in touch with the station, when he realised that Mattison and Patil were walking through the ward, towards his bed.

  “Hello!” Blake said, delighted to see them. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “Morning, Sir,” Patil said, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a caged animal,” Blake replied. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  “How long till you’re back at work, Sir?” Mattison asked.

  “Not long, hopefully. How’s the case going?”

  Mattison and Patil exchanged looks.

  “Gardiner is impossible,” Patil told him. “He’s a nightmare. He’s got no interest in us working together. I don’t even think he’s even decided whether Tilsley was murdered or not.”

  “It’s not me you want to be complaining to,” Blake pointed out. “If you’ve really got issues with Gardiner, then you need to speak to Inspector Angel. I’m in hospital, I’m not in charge.”

  “But, let’s just pretend that you were, Sir,” Mattison suggested. “Just act like you’re not in here for a second. What would you be telling us to do?”

  “Matti…”

  “Come on, Sir,” Patil groaned. “Gardiner’s alright, but he’s got nothing on you. We can’t complain to Inspector Angel, because we haven’t technically got anything to complain about. But he’s just not you.”

  Blake, despite the fact that he disapproved of them coming into see him just to whinge about Gardiner, was rather touched by this. Finally, he shook his head and sighed. “Pull those curtains across again.”

  He watched as Patil hid them all from view with the curtain. Then, Blake leant forward and spoke quietly.

  “Have you spoken to Tilsley’s girlfriend? Her name’s Kelsey Richards.”

  “I did, yesterday,” Patil replied. “Or at least I tried to. Gardiner took over.”

  “Can I just remind you both that he is still your senior officer, whatever you might think of him. It’s Sergeant Gardiner, Mini. You know that.”

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  “So disrespectful, Mini,” teased Mattison.

  Patil stuck her tongue out at her boyfriend as Blake shook his head, amused.

  “What did Kelsey have to say?” he asked.

  “Not a lot. She was the typical grieving widow,” Patil said. “Gardiner…. Sergeant Gardiner didn’t think that she had anything helpful to offer.”

  “I think she knows more than she’s letting on,” Blake told them. “I’ve heard from a couple of members of staff in this hospital that they weren’t exactly the most well-suited couple. By the sound of things, they were bordering on dysfunctional. It sounds to me that Joe Tilsley had more than his fair share of secrets, and Kelsey was too in love with him not to be easily manipulated. Has Sharon gotten back to you about a cause of death?”

  “That’s the really weird thing,” Patil said as she opened up the folder. “And it’s why Sergeant Gardiner doesn’t think there’s been any sort of foul play gone on, when to be honest, it looks to us that it couldn’t have been anything else.”

  “And? What has Sharon said? It wouldn’t have anything to do with drowning, would it?”

  They both stared at him in amazement.

  “How did you know that?” Mattison exclaimed.

  “Sharon spoke to me on the day of the murder,” Blake replied. “So, she’s done the post mortem and she thinks he was drowned?”

  “Sort of,” Patil said. “She’s giving him another look over to make sure she didn’t miss anything. But, she’s said that there were traces of water in his lungs, around his mouth, on his hands, in his windpipe – places you wouldn’t expect it to be when a man is stuck on his own between two floors in a confined lift. Did she mention the bruises on the back of his neck?”

  Blake nodded.

  “She thinks that they’re consistent with someone grabbing him from behind and forcing his head down,” Mattison said, looking bewildered. “So, until she’s found anything better for us to go on, right now, we’re looking for a killer who can somehow get into a lift, drown someone in water that he’s managed to make appear from nowhere and then disappear again before the lift doors open.”

  “And there’s a witness who confirms that Tilsley definitely entered that lift on his own, at the time we’ve been led to believe he did?” Blake clarified. “How long was he trapped in there?”

  “About twenty minutes,” Patil replied. “Apparently, once the maintenance blokes arrived, they were able to get him down fairly quickly, but it was too late by then.”

  “And in those twenty minutes, somebody got in and drowned him.” Blake murmured. “Despite the fact that the only water anywhere was small traces on his hand and in his mouth. Other than that, he was bone dry?”

  “Exactly,” Mattison said finally. “So, like we say, Sir. When are you coming back?”

  9

  This is against medical advice, you do know that?” Gloria told Blake as she watched him hobble around his bed to retrieve his belongings.

  “I know,” Blake said as he popped his ecig into his pocket, immensely looking forward to the moment he could use it without having to hide in the toilet. “But, I honestly think I will recover faster at home. Don’t worry. I know discharging myself is going against anything you’ve said to me, and rest assured, should I die, I won’t sue.”

  “This isn’t funny, Mr Harte,” Gloria argued. “This is your health we’re talking about here.”

  Blake zipped up his wash bag and threw it into the small rucksack that Harrison had brought in for him when he had first arrived. “I’ll be fine.”

  Gloria pursed her lips. Blake could not help but wonder if her bright pink lipstick was against hospital regulations. “Do you need a taxi?”

  Blake smiled. “That would be great, thank you.”

  Clearly unhappy with his decision, Gloria hurried away down the corridor.

  By the time she returned, Blake had finished packing his belongings together. “It’ll be about five minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Blake replied.

  “It’s not too late for me to cancel it,” Gloria told him sternly. “I really would advise that you stay, and we can get you back so that you’re fighting fit.”

  “There’s going to be people that need that bed more than me,” Blake told her. He pulled his bag over his shoulder, trying his hardest not to wince at the pain in his abdomen. It was nowhere near as bad as it had been when he had arrived, but it was still very noticeable, as if someone was jabbing him with their finger. He took a deep breath and began walking slowly in the direction of the lif
ts.

  As he approached them, he looked all around them, trying to see if something would jump out at him. He pressed the call button and watched as the screen began tracking an elevator that was coming down from the ninth floor. As he stood back and took in the two sets of steel doors in front of him, he shook his head. They were just an ordinary pair of lifts.

  The doors opened, and Blake stepped inside the compartment that the body of Joe Tilsley was discovered in. He pressed the button for the ground floor and watched as the doors slid shut. As he glanced around, it became apparent very quickly that it was, effectively, a small prison. There were doors on both sides, which meant that the lift was accessible from both ends, but both ends had the same thick, steel doors closing him in, like any ordinary lifts anywhere would do.

  As the lift began to descend, he looked up at the ceiling. There was no hatch at the top, meaning that there really was no way of getting in here, other than the doors.

  As he arrived on the ground floor, he looked down beneath his feet and examined the floor, kneeling down to touch it. It was bone dry. Admittedly, it had been a couple of days since the murder, and if there was any water involved, it would have been at the very least mopped up by now. But the type of material on the floor of the lift was a very thin and cheap looking layer of rough carpet. As Blake frowned and felt around it, he could not help but think that water would surely have left its mark if it was in enough vast quantity to drown someone, but the floor looked dirty and tattered, but not like it had come into contact with any moisture.

  “Are you alright down there?”

  Blake looked up to realise that he had been too deep in thought to notice that the doors had opened on the ground floor and Stan and Kevin, the two porters, were looking down at him.

  Blake nodded as he carefully stood up. “Fine thanks. Just checking something.”

  Stan glanced at the floor, looking confused, then back up at Blake. “What are you doing down here anyway? Have they said you can go home?”

  Blake shrugged. “In a way, yeah. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon, Stan, Kevin.”

  Kevin nodded in reply as Blake stepped out. He glanced back inside the lift as the doors closed behind him, scratching the back of his head thoughtfully, before walking slowly out of the hospital.

  Blake had never been happier to see the familiar sights of Harmschapel as the taxi began driving through the village. As he passed The Dog’s Tail pub on the corner of the street a few yards away from his cottage, he made a mental note that it would be somewhere he would have to visit as soon as he could.

  The taxi pulled up outside Juniper Cottage and Blake delicately climbed out, having passed the driver a ten-pound note beforehand.

  The door to the cottage opened and Harrison was standing in the doorway staring at Blake in surprise.

  “Blake? What are you doing here? I didn’t think they’d be letting you out yet?”

  Blake gave him a small smile, unsure how Harrison would react if he found out that Blake had discharged himself. “Grab hold of this, will you?”

  Harrison hurried forwards to retrieve Blake’s rucksack as the taxi drove away.

  “How are you feeling?” Harrison asked him.

  “Not too bad,” Blake replied, as they walked into the cottage. “Sore. But, nothing that I can’t deal with. It’ll heal.”

  Harrison led Blake to the sofa. “You should have called me, I’d have come and met you.”

  “Don’t fuss,” Blake said jovially. “Honestly, I’m fine.”

  He sat down on the sofa and exhaled. He had only been sitting on it for three seconds and it was already comfier than the hospital bed.

  “What did the doctor say to you?” Harrison asked, once he appeared satisfied that Blake was settled. “When he said you could go home?”

  “It was one of the nurses,” Blake told him. He glanced towards the back door and chuckled. Harrison’s pet goat, Betty, had spotted him and was butting the door with an irritated look in her eyes. Blake was not the biggest fan of the goat, but he found he had even missed her bleating angrily at him whenever he passed the back door, and her frequent attempts to headbutt him through the nearest wall.

  “Doctor, nurse, whatever,” Harrison said. “What did they say when they told you were ready to go home? Just so I know. I’m going to guess you’re not allowed to go parachuting for a few days.”

  “Yeah, they did say to knock that on the head.” He looked at Harrison’s expectant face and sighed. “Alright, look, promise me you won’t go mad.”

  Harrison’s eyes narrowed. “Mad? Why?”

  “I discharged myself.”

  “You did what?”

  “Look, calm down. I’ve got medication, all I need is a bit of rest. You know me, Harrison. The thought of being cooped up in that hospital for another day was driving me mad. I’ll still recover at home, if not quicker, because I’m in a familiar environment.”

  “Oh, and that’s medically proven to be a quick cure, is it?” Harrison said sharply. “To escape from hospital?”

  “I wasn’t under lock and key!”

  Harrison shook his head in disbelief. “You bloody should be.”

  Blake looked up at him, doing his best to appear endearing. “I thought you’d like the chance to look after me instead.”

  “Yeah? And I think you’d like the chance to be back at that station trying to work out how that guy died in the lift.” Harrison replied, folding his arms. “Come on, Blake, I’m not stupid. You’re right. I do know you.”

  “I promise you I will not be going back to work until I am better,” Blake told him. “How can I catch murderers if I can’t walk any faster than a hobble?”

  “I don’t believe you, Blake,” Harrison exclaimed. “You collapsed. Right there in the middle of the kitchen, before which we were arguing about how you never turn your head off from work. Now, you discharge yourself from hospital, when you’re clearly not ready to come out, just so you can get back to work. You’re unbelievable!”

  Blake attempted to stand up and defend himself, but a slight spasm in his side prevented him, so he flopped back onto the sofa again. “Alright, fine, I get your point. But, someone was murdered in that hospital, Harrison. This isn’t just me dying to get back to helping old ladies across the street. Somebody was murdered. This is real crime we’re talking about here!”

  “And the rest of the station isn’t capable of dealing with it?” Harrison asked him.

  Blake hesitated. Before he could come up with a reply, Harrison groaned in frustration.

  “You actually don’t think they can cope without you, do you? You don’t think that Michael Gardiner is going to catch whoever did it, so you’ve got to get back and take over again before the station burns down. Don’t pretend, Blake, I can see it in your face.”

  Harrison’s words stung slightly, mostly because deep down, Blake knew what he was saying was true.

  “Patil and Matti came to see me in hospital. They told me that they didn’t think Gardiner was doing a good enough job, and they want me back. And honestly? He’s not. He’s not doing things properly.”

  “You mean he’s not doing things the way you would do them?”

  “I do my job properly!”

  “So?” Harrison said, holding his arms out in confusion. “Are you not allowed to have time off?”

  “Of course I am.”

  Harrison sat down next to Blake. When he took hold of Blake’s hand, Blake realised that he was not that angry, more frustrated. Blake could understand why, which was the reason that they seemed to have reached such an impasse with the topic.

  “You know what your problem is?” Harrison said quietly. “Your ego. You genuinely don’t think that station can cope without you, do you?”

  “It’s not that,” Blake said. “They’re all excellent officers in their own way, and every single one of them is capable of solving this case.”

  “But?”

  Blake let out a resigned sigh as he
came to his realisation. “But, I want to be the one that solves it. It’s not ego, Harrison, it’s never been about that. But when I’m out there stopping these people from committing the sort of atrocities we come across, I feel like I’ve got a purpose. It makes me feel like I’m helping people.”

  Harrison squeezed Blake’s hand. “You’ve already got a purpose, you doughnut. And don’t think I’m fooled by the Ghandi act either, I know somewhere in there is a big old kid who likes playing the superhero and saving the day.”

  “No…” Blake began, but could not stop a grin from appearing across his face.

  “Yeah…” laughed Harrison. “I get it though. Sometimes, when I’m standing behind the counter of that shop, I wish I could do something that actually made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile. Sometimes, I’m jealous. Sometimes, I want Master Detective Blake Harte all to myself.”

  Blake was touched. “I’m always coming home, you know. Every day.”

  Harrison smiled. “You better be.”

  10

  For the past couple of days, Kelsey felt like she had done nothing but merely exist. She was lying on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, the third cup of tea she had made for herself that day, sat cold and untouched just like the other two had been.

  The feelings of shock and untold anxiety she had felt in the aftermath of Joe’s death had been replaced by numbness. Her ward sister’s assurances that she could take as much time off as she needed floated around her brain aimlessly. Kelsey had no idea how long she would need in order to feel somewhat normal again, or indeed if she ever would.