Heller's Regret (24 page)

Farrell helped me to my unsteady feet just as
one of the detectives came to get us.

“What’s the matter with her?” he enquired,
his suit rumpled from the long day.

“She’s been very unwell lately,” Farrell told
him. “And this waiting around all day is not helping the matter.
I’m taking her back to her place. You can interview her there
whenever you get around to it.”

“I’ll decide who goes and who stays. And
nobody’s leaving until we finish our initial interviews. I don’t
want to risk anyone else doing a runner on us.”

“And I don’t want to risk her health. She’s
been seriously ill. Are you going to bully a sick woman or are you
going to show some compassion?”

“I have a job to do,” he snapped. “I can’t be
distracted by every sob story I’m given.”

“This is unbelievable,” Farrell muttered,
preparing to square up to the man.

Not wanting him to get into trouble,
especially with the cops, I spoke up. “Hugh, let’s just get it over
and done with. The sooner we do, the sooner we can get home.”

“Listen to her. The woman speaks sense.”

“You can interview us at the same time,”
Farrell insisted, helping me to my feet. “God, Chalmers, you’re
dripping with sweat and you’re burning up.”

“It’s okay,” I said weakly. “Let’s go.”

I needed Farrell’s help to reach the
interview room. I barely remembered the journey, rather dazed and
disoriented. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was fine this
morning, only starting to feel sore after that fall. But this pain
just hit me like a truck.

I slumped down into a chair, leaning heavily
against the back. Farrell took the other chair, his eyes constantly
fixed on me. He searched around his pockets, producing a hanky,
handing it to me. I mopped my face, the hanky soon drenched in my
sweat. I spotted a water jug and glasses and shakily poured myself
some, splashing half of it over the desk.

“She doesn’t seem very well,” said the second
detective, concern on his face.

“She’s not. I told your friend here about a
hundred times she’s been very sick lately and is still recovering.
You should have interviewed her first,” fumed Farrell.

“Why?”

“Because she’s your main witness. She was the
first to discover the necklace had been replaced with a replica and
she noticed some very suspicious behaviour between the two
accused.”

“She should have told us.”

“You should have asked. You’re probably so
ecstatic you’ve cracked the case so easily that you’ve forgotten
basic procedure, like establishing the damn facts.”

“That’s enough smart talk from you, tough
guy. Just answer our questions.”

“I will when you start asking them.”

They began with me. One of the detectives
spoke to me but it sounded as if his voice came from a long
distance away. “Are you up to a few questions?”

“I’ll try.”

He interrogated me for about five
minutes.

I held out my hand to Farrell. “Hugh,
please,” I begged. “I feel like I’m going to faint.”

He took my hand, holding it firmly, though
even though it was unpleasantly slick with sweat.

After a few more minutes of questions, my
mind increasingly befuddled, it became unbearably hot in the room
for me. The smell of the men pressed in on me. I swallowed more
water, mopped my face again and undid the last button on my polo
shirt.

“Are you all right? You look very pale,”
asked one of the detectives.

I stood up shakily to do something that I
couldn’t later recall, and said, “I can’t . . .”

When I surfaced, I was lying on the floor
with a king-sized headache.

“Ooh,” I groaned, reaching up to touch the
sore spot on my forehead. My fingers navigated a huge, tender lump.
Blood dampened my hand. “What happened?”

Farrell kneeled next to me, pulling my polo
shirt out of my cargo pants and taking off my boots. “You fainted
and hit your head on the table.”

“Oh God, it hurts.”

“I bet it does. Stay still now.”

The detective closest to me barked into the
phone. “Get a first aid officer up here with a first aid kit.” He
caught Farrell’s attention. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No. I’m taking her home. Like I wanted to do
fifteen minutes ago.”

“She should be assessed by
professionals.”

“I’ll call her doctor. He’s familiar with her
medical history.”

A first aid officer, one of the counter
staff, arrived, swiftly followed by the store manager. The
detectives told him to leave as he wasn’t needed and would just get
in the way. The woman efficiently patched up my forehead, making
reassuring small talk about things I couldn’t remember
afterwards.

Before Farrell took me back to the Warehouse,
he pulled out his wallet, rummaged around and threw a
Heller’s
business card on the desk. “If you want to finish
your interview with her, you can do it here. But I doubt she’ll be
up to seeing anyone for a few days.” With that, he scooped me up in
his arms and departed, leaving the two detectives not daring to
stop him.

The journey home was a nightmare. I slumped
in the front seat, unable to muster the energy to stay upright. My
body core was over-heated and the blast of air con chilled my
sweaty skin, giving me goose bumps. I shivered uncontrollably.

Farrell pulled out his phone and called
Clive. “Chalmers is sick. She fainted in the store and hit her
head. I think some of her previous wounds are infected. Can you
call the doctor and have him on hand. I’m bringing her home
now.”

Farrell slowed down for a busy roundabout,
but I didn’t remember the rest of the trip home, drifting off. I
only stirred when Farrell lifted me out of the car and carried me
upstairs.

Clive had been keeping an eye out for us and
followed us up to my flat, taking my boots off my stomach where
they’d been resting. “The doc’s going to take longer than expected.
He’s out on a shopping expedition in a small town up in the
hinterland with his girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever he
has.”

“How long will he be?” Farrell asked curtly,
as Clive unlocked my door.

Clive shrugged. “He said he’d hurry.”

Farrell carried me to my bed, laying me down
gently. He loosened and removed my belt. I hovered in that strange
state of illness where you can hear conversations around you, but
not participate in them.

“We really should dress her in something
cooler. She’s sweating so much,” Clive suggested.

Farrell shook his head. “I’m not taking her
clothes off.”

“Neither am I,” Clive agreed. “It will have
to wait until the doctor arrives.”

Farrell went to fetch a damp cloth, while
Clive brought back a bottle of cold water.

“Why didn’t you bring her home earlier?”

“We had some dumbshit detectives who insisted
on interviewing her, even though she was obviously not up to
it.”

“That wound on her head. How bad is it?”

“It seems pretty bad. You can see it’s still
bleeding. But it would have been a lot worse if she landed a smidge
to the left on the corner of the desk.”

“Poor girl. She’s been through a lot over the
last few months.”

“Yep.”

“Heller’s going to be furious about
this.”

“He should never have gone away. He should
have made sure she was okay on her first job after being so sick.
Do you know where he is? Someone should tell him about
Chalmers.”

“He’s not contactable.” Which was no answer
at all. “You can go now, Farrell. I’ll wait for the doctor.”

“I’d prefer to stay and wait for the doctor
too.”

“I know you would, but go home.” With every
sign of reluctance, Farrell did what he was told and left.

I drowsed for a while. When I woke again,
Clive took my washcloth and refreshed the water, laying it across
my forehead again. I opened my eyes and looked around me. I reached
over to grab the water bottle, struggling with the tight lid. Clive
took it off me and opened it in one go. “Thanks.” I drank deeply,
holding the cold bottle to my cheek.

“The doc should be here soon,” said Clive,
sitting on my bed, creating such an indent that I almost rolled
over on top of him.

“My head’s killing me, and my arm’s so
painful.”

“It looks very infected. It’s really red and
there’s pus oozing out of the edges of the scars.”

“Yuck! You didn’t have to tell me that. It
makes me feel sick.”

“I thought you’d want to know.”

“I don’t. I just want Dr Kincaid to hurry.”
That very man walked into my bedroom as I said that.

“It’s nice to be wanted,” he said drily. “And
believe me, I did hurry, leaving behind a very unhappy partner to
whom I’d promised a pleasant day browsing through antique shops. I
also promised I wouldn’t be interrupted by any emergencies.”

“A brash promise for a doctor to make,”
grunted Clive.

“Who asked you? And get off the bed, you big
lunk. I’m surprised you didn’t catapult the poor girl into the
atmosphere when you sat there.” He sat on the bed in Clive’s place,
taking out all his doctor’s implements. “I hear some of those cuts
have become infected.”

“I guess.”

“That’s something you really must be keeping
an eye on, Miss. There can be terrible complications from bacterial
infections in deep wounds, some of them very risky to your health.”
He looked at Clive. “You can leave.”

“Heller will expect me to report to him about
everything relating to this.”

“If Heller’s so desperate to know about Miss
Tilly’s health, then he should be here himself. So, goodbye and
close the front door when you leave.”

I wished everyone would stop talking about
Heller and his notable absence. It only increased my misery.

He slipped on gloves and took my blood
pressure and temperature. “Your temperature is very high, Miss.
Much higher than it should be. And your pulse is rather rapid. Show
me your wrists.” I turned my arms over for him. “Hmm. Hmm.”

After quickly giving them the once over, he
spent some time on the left one. He felt gently around the wounds,
telling me he was looking for any swelling. He pressed lightly on
the deepest of the cuts.

“Does that hurt at all?”

“No, it’s a little tender, but it doesn’t
hurt.”

“I think that arm’s okay.” He peered at my
right arm. “This one, however . . .” He shook his head. “I can see
just from looking at it that’s it’s infected. Didn’t you
notice?”

I felt stupid. “I noticed it was a bit sore
and red, but I thought I must have bumped it or scratched it in my
sleep. The scars on my other arm are itchy sometimes.”

“That’s perfectly normal, but you should try
to refrain and leave your arm in peace to finish healing.
Fingernails aren’t very clean, no matter how many times you wash
your hands.”

“I was pushed over today and fell on my right
arm. That’s when the pain really started.”

“This infection’s been brewing for a while.
That fall isn’t responsible for it. These wounds of yours are
swollen, heated and inflamed and this hasn’t happened overnight.”
He sat up straight and regarded me seriously. “Have you been
totally honest with me about your progress?”

“Mostly,” I said in a small voice, regretting
now I hadn’t mentioned it to him earlier. Heller wasn’t going to be
pleased with me about that.

“Miss, sometimes I think you must like me
visiting you all the time.”

Chapter 18

“You must do everything I tell you, no
excuses. If you don’t show any improvement in a fortnight, you’re
going straight to hospital, whether you want to or not.”

“No. I’m not going back to hospital. I want
to stay home. Please let me stay home. I’ll do everything you
say.”

“Okay. I’m not a monster. I can see the
benefits of you being in your home environment with people to care
for you.” He cleaned and bandaged my arm. “I think you should have
a personal nursing service visit you several times a day to make
sure your dressings are changed properly, your temperature is kept
under control, and you’re eating nutritiously.”

“I don’t think Heller would allow that.”

He sighed impatiently. “Look, if Heller can’t
get over his ridiculous paranoia to allow a nurse in to assist you,
then I’m strongly inclined to connect my shoe with his nether
regions frequently and violently.”

The thought of him kicking Heller’s butt made
me giggle. “You’re a pretty tough guy.”

“You better believe it, Miss. Something which
you’ll find out for yourself if you don’t do what I tell you to
religiously.” He sighed again. “I suppose if Mr Stupid isn’t going
let you have a private nurse, you’ll be counting on Daniel
again?”

“Yes, his nursing skills are becoming very
good.”

“Thank God there’s one sensible person
working in this business. I’ll be back in a moment.” He left, and I
heard him stomping bad-temperedly down the stairs. I had a sip of
water. A minute later he returned with Daniel, whose face fell when
he saw me in bed.

He sat on the other side of my bed,
considerately leaving the side closest to me for the doctor. But
that was the kind of person he was – thoughtful, never needing to
be prodded about how to behave. “Tilly darling, what’s
happened?”

His nice words were poisonous to me and my
eyes welled up.

“Oh, God,” said the doctor. “Don’t make her
cry. I can’t stand it.”

I shot him a dirty look. “You’re in such an
unpleasant mood today.”

“What do you expect?” he retorted. “I finally
organised a rare day off to spend some long-overdue time with
someone I care about, and now I’ve annoyed them and my evening’s
ruined.”

“I thought this was your job?”

“It’s my
other
job, Miss. I’m retired,
so I don’t need to work, but Heller pays me extremely well to be
his house doctor. Otherwise, I volunteer my time at a clinic
sponsored by a major charity. It offers free health care for people
who can’t afford to go to a GP – refugee families, single parents,
families fallen on hard times because one or both parents have lost
their job, homeless people, runaway kids, illegal sex workers. We
don’t judge them, we just treat them. A number of health
professionals volunteer there each week – doctors, nurses,
optometrists, dentists, podiatrists, physiotherapists, pathologists
and nutritionists. Some are retired like me, but many others do it
because they’re good, caring people, even though they maintain busy
practices.”