there’s some
connection between Kal’s….” he paused searching for the right word, “…accident
…and this Markov guy?”
“I don’t think anything yet. We’re trying to look at this from every possible
angle and not make any assumptions until we have a clearer picture of the
events surrounding Mr. Gupta’s death. Did your friend strike you as someone
who’d be capable or inclined to end his own life?”
Doug pondered a moment on the inspector’s choice of words; capable or inclined.
There were no doubt people with the inclination to commit suicide, but who
lacked the conviction to go through with it. But surely almost anyone was
capable of it. Perhaps someone afflicted with vertigo would be incapable of
jumping from a great height, but then there were plenty of other methods of
self-destruction.
“Not at all, but what else could have happened? You don’t think he was pushed
do you?”
“That seems unlikely given there were no signs of a struggle.” Bullock paused
for a moment, “Was Mr. Gupta involved with drugs?”
Doug had seen this one coming, but still he hesitated. Part of him wanted to
cover up for Kal even though he could see no benefit in doing so. What about
his parents though? They were very religious. In their eyes it was bad enough
that Kal was no longer a practising Hindu. They didn’t even know he ate meat.
Did they really need to find out he had occasionally dabbled with recreational
drugs?
As if reading Doug’s mind, Bullock added, “There’s no point in trying to
protect him now! He’s dead! I’m just trying to make sure nobody follows him,
and that means I need to know everything whether you think it’s relevant or
not.”
“Yes all right!” said Doug finally, with an air of exasperation. “He had
connections. He wasn’t a heavy user – just a little dope like everyone else,
but he would get stuff for people.”
“A dealer?”
“Christ no! Well - no, not a dealer, but people would ask him to get them stuff
for a party or whatever and generally, whatever they wanted, he could get.”
The two men fell silent once again as the car pulled into the visitors’ car park
of Colchester General Hospital.
In the Accident and Emergency wing there was a
small reception desk, but nobody visibly in attendance. Doug took a seat while
Bullock went over to the vending machine in the corner. “Tea or coffee?” he
asked.
“Tea please, white with sugar, thanks!”
A small boy of about ten sat opposite, proudly
sporting a blood-stained bandage around his head. Next to him sat a balding man
distractedly trying to read a newspaper. A tall, slim nurse walked by, but
ignored them.
“Excuse me!” said the man, clearly frustrated. Do you know how much longer the
doctor will be?”
The nurse stopped, sighed and turned round slowly. She stretched a thin smile
across her face. “Not much longer now.” Then she noticed Doug and the
expression broadened into a real smile that was both warm and friendly. She had
shortly cropped light brown hair, blue eyes, gentle, well proportioned features
and a perfect complexion. “Hello, I didn’t see you there. Has anyone checked
you in yet?” Her accent had a slight antipodean twang, not quite harsh enough
to be Australian, so Doug ventured Kiwi.
“I’m impressed! Finally someone with the intelligence and good judgement not to
call me an Aussie!”
Bullock stood up. “I think I’ll leave you in the capable hands of this lovely
young lady now, if that’s okay with you, Mr. Richards. Make sure you tell the
doctor you were unconscious for over a minute. Your coach said he’d be along to
pick you up later and take you back to campus.” He started heading for the door,
then stopped and turned. He fumbled in his breast pocket for a moment and
produced a card. “If you remember anything else about the other night, call me
on this number.”
“Okay, will do,” said Doug. “Thanks for the lift,” he added, as Bullock pushed
through the door.
The nurse
connection between Kal’s….” he paused searching for the right word, “…accident
…and this Markov guy?”
“I don’t think anything yet. We’re trying to look at this from every possible
angle and not make any assumptions until we have a clearer picture of the
events surrounding Mr. Gupta’s death. Did your friend strike you as someone
who’d be capable or inclined to end his own life?”
Doug pondered a moment on the inspector’s choice of words; capable or inclined.
There were no doubt people with the inclination to commit suicide, but who
lacked the conviction to go through with it. But surely almost anyone was
capable of it. Perhaps someone afflicted with vertigo would be incapable of
jumping from a great height, but then there were plenty of other methods of
self-destruction.
“Not at all, but what else could have happened? You don’t think he was pushed
do you?”
“That seems unlikely given there were no signs of a struggle.” Bullock paused
for a moment, “Was Mr. Gupta involved with drugs?”
Doug had seen this one coming, but still he hesitated. Part of him wanted to
cover up for Kal even though he could see no benefit in doing so. What about
his parents though? They were very religious. In their eyes it was bad enough
that Kal was no longer a practising Hindu. They didn’t even know he ate meat.
Did they really need to find out he had occasionally dabbled with recreational
drugs?
As if reading Doug’s mind, Bullock added, “There’s no point in trying to
protect him now! He’s dead! I’m just trying to make sure nobody follows him,
and that means I need to know everything whether you think it’s relevant or
not.”
“Yes all right!” said Doug finally, with an air of exasperation. “He had
connections. He wasn’t a heavy user – just a little dope like everyone else,
but he would get stuff for people.”
“A dealer?”
“Christ no! Well - no, not a dealer, but people would ask him to get them stuff
for a party or whatever and generally, whatever they wanted, he could get.”
The two men fell silent once again as the car pulled into the visitors’ car park
of Colchester General Hospital.
In the Accident and Emergency wing there was a
small reception desk, but nobody visibly in attendance. Doug took a seat while
Bullock went over to the vending machine in the corner. “Tea or coffee?” he
asked.
“Tea please, white with sugar, thanks!”
A small boy of about ten sat opposite, proudly
sporting a blood-stained bandage around his head. Next to him sat a balding man
distractedly trying to read a newspaper. A tall, slim nurse walked by, but
ignored them.
“Excuse me!” said the man, clearly frustrated. Do you know how much longer the
doctor will be?”
The nurse stopped, sighed and turned round slowly. She stretched a thin smile
across her face. “Not much longer now.” Then she noticed Doug and the
expression broadened into a real smile that was both warm and friendly. She had
shortly cropped light brown hair, blue eyes, gentle, well proportioned features
and a perfect complexion. “Hello, I didn’t see you there. Has anyone checked
you in yet?” Her accent had a slight antipodean twang, not quite harsh enough
to be Australian, so Doug ventured Kiwi.
“I’m impressed! Finally someone with the intelligence and good judgement not to
call me an Aussie!”
Bullock stood up. “I think I’ll leave you in the capable hands of this lovely
young lady now, if that’s okay with you, Mr. Richards. Make sure you tell the
doctor you were unconscious for over a minute. Your coach said he’d be along to
pick you up later and take you back to campus.” He started heading for the door,
then stopped and turned. He fumbled in his breast pocket for a moment and
produced a card. “If you remember anything else about the other night, call me
on this number.”
“Okay, will do,” said Doug. “Thanks for the lift,” he added, as Bullock pushed
through the door.
The nurse
Similar Books
