The Consultant's Italian Knight

‘Paddles, Terri!’ she exclaimed.

Swiftly, the sister handed them to her, and equally quickly, Kate rubbed the defibrillating paddles together with electrical conducting gel. It was on occasions like this she wished she was six feet tall instead of five feet nothing. To successfully shock a patient you had to lean over the examination trolley, place the paddles in exactly the right place, then press down really hard, but the trolleys had metal rails and if any part of you touched them…

‘Instant cardiac arrest, Kate,’ she muttered, standing as high on her toes as she could. ‘Stand clear, Terri!’

The sister stepped back from the trolley, Kate pressed the paddles down as hard as she could on either side of Duncan Hamilton’s chest, and he convulsed briefly.

‘Nothing,’ Terri said, her voice tense.

‘I’ll tube him,’ Kate declared. ‘The ambu-bag’s not enough any more, so I’ll tube him and then I want the power up to 300.’

Terri waited until Kate had inserted an endotracheal tube down Duncan Hamilton’s throat, then upped the power on the defibrillator paddles to 300, but though Duncan Hamilton’s body convulsed again when Kate placed the paddles on either side of his chest the monitor reading didn’t change.

‘IV bolus of 500 milligrams of beryllium,’ Kate said in desperation. ‘Power up to 360 joules.’

Again, and again, she placed the defibrillator paddles on either side of the young man’s chest, but no amount of electricity kick-started the young man’s heart and eventually she stepped back from the trolley, and switched off the current.

‘You did your best, Kate,’ Terri declared, watching her. ‘It’s just…’

‘This time we didn’t win.’ Kate’s eyes clouded. ‘I know.’

‘Look, why don’t you take a break, grab yourself a cup of coffee?’ the sister suggested. ‘I’ll clear up in here for you.’

‘Thanks,’ Kate replied. ‘I just want…’

‘A few minutes alone with him,’ Terri finished for her. ‘I understand.’

And Terri did, Kate thought. The sister knew how much she hated losing a patient—any patient—and this man was so young. Nineteen, the paramedic had said. Nineteen, and his whole life should have been ahead of him, but now…

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and desperately she tried to blink them away. It wasn’t like her to break down like this, and if the other consultants at the hospital could see her they’d have a field day.

‘Head of A and E isn’t a suitable position for a woman,’ they’d whispered when she’d got the job three years ago. ‘And thirty-two’s far too young.’

Maybe they’d been right, she thought as she gently closed Duncan Hamilton’s eyes, and whispered, ‘I’m sorry—so sorry,’ as she always did when she lost a patient. Maybe if she hadn’t been quite so driven, quite so determined to prove she was up to the job, but the glossy magazines had said she could have it all, and she’d believed them.

She’d kept on believing them even when John had started muttering that he hardly ever saw her. She hadn’t even worried when he’d begun booking himself on seminars without talking to her about them first, but her morning’s post had burst her illusory bubble once and for all. You couldn’t have it all. Or, at least, she couldn’t.

‘Did you forget something, Terri?’ she said, wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand as she heard the sound of the cubicle curtains opening behind her.

‘I’m not Terri.’

He wasn’t. He was the dark-haired, olive-skinned man from the waiting room and, as he advanced towards her, she wondered why she had ever thought him attractive. Up close, with a twoday stubble that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a convict, and a good sixteen inches taller than she was, he looked even more intimidating than he had at a distance.

‘I’m sorry, but we don’t allow friends or family members into this part of A and E,’ she said with a calmness she was very far from feeling. ‘If you’d care to wait outside—’

‘I’m not a friend or family.’

That didn’t surprise her. In fact, she had a sudden horrifying suspicion that he was probably the man who had put Duncan Hamilton into A and E in the first place.

‘If you’re not a friend, or family, you’ll definitely have to wait outside,’ she said. ‘Somebody—’ hopefully not her ‘—will be able to give you an update on Mr Hamilton’s condition in a few minutes.’

The man glanced down at Duncan Hamilton.

‘Not much need of an update when he’s rather obviously dead,’ he said. ‘What I’m more interested in is what he might have said to you before he died.’

That didn’t sound good, and neither did the way this man was looking at her.

‘We don’t give out information to non-relatives,’ she declared, ‘so will you please go back to the waiting room.’

He didn’t look as though he was going to. In fact, a look of distinct irritation appeared on his face and, as he reached inside his leather jacket, every police drama she had ever seen on TV suddenly flashed into her mind.

He was going to kill her. He was Duncan Hamilton’s fixer, or agent, and though his accent was surprisingly Scottish he was probably a member of the Mafia as well, and he was going to kill her.

But that didn’t mean she had to give in without a fight, she decided.

‘OK, I’ve tried polite!’ she exclaimed, snatching a syringe from the instrument trolley beside her, ‘but polite is clearly something you don’t understand. This syringe contains a sample of your friend’s blood and if I’m not very much mistaken he’s probably HIV positive. Come one step closer to me and you’re going to be HIV positive, too.’

He glanced down at the syringe, then at her. ‘That syringe is empty.’

Damn, and blast, but she’d picked up the wrong one.

‘It’s…plasma.’ She bluffed. ‘Plasma is a part of blood, but it has no colour—’

‘Lady, that syringe is empty, and I am…’ He reached inside his jacket again, and she closed her eyes.

This was it. She was dead, finished, history, and she could see the newspaper headlines now.

Forty-five-year-old, divorced female consultant…because the newspapers always got your age wrong…murdered at the General Infirmary. Ms Kate Kennedy was found lying in a pool of blood having been shot at close range by—

‘…Inspector Mario Volante.’

Her eyes flew open to see the man was holding out a police identity badge towards her and felt more foolish than she’d ever done in her life.

‘You’re a policeman,’ she said faintly. ‘But you…’

Quickly she bit off the rest of what she’d been about to say. Maybe he was undercover, and it was part of his brief to look scruffy. And then again, maybe she was just an idiot.

‘You thought I was some sort of hit man, didn’t you?’ he said, his mouth twitching into a smile, and she flushed.

‘What else was I supposed to think?’ she demanded. ‘You appear out of nowhere, looking like…’

‘Like what?’ he said, clearly confused, and the colour on her cheeks darkened.

‘The way you’re dressed…All the policemen I’ve ever seen have worn uniforms, with caps, and badges, and…and stuff.’

‘I’m CID, Drugs Squad, as is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Evanton. We don’t go in for uniforms, and caps, and badges, and…stuff.’

He was laughing at her. She knew he was, and nobody—but nobody—laughed at Kate Kennedy.

‘You don’t sound Italian, Inspector Volante,’ she said tersely, and his eyebrows rose.

‘I was born in Aberdeen to an Italian father and a Scottish mother, but even if both my parents had been Italian that doesn’t mean I have to sound like I’m auditioning for a part in The Godfather.’

It was a rebuke, and a just one. It also, she thought, explained his amazingly blue eyes.

‘Let’s cut to the chase, Inspector Volante,’ she declared, tossing the syringe back onto the instrument trolley. ‘As you so correctly noticed, Mr Hamilton is dead, so neither you nor your colleague is going to get any information out of him.’

‘Did he say anything to you before he died?’

‘Just some names and addresses—nothing that made any sense—and now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a waiting room full of sick people—’

‘I want to hear what he said.’

‘And didn’t you hear what I said?’ she exclaimed. ‘It was just a random list of names, and addresses, and I’m busy. B-U-S-Y.’

He squinted at her name tag.

‘Dr Kennedy, I’m busy, too,’ he said, his tone even, ‘and if you don’t give me ten minutes of your time I’ll take you downtown and book you for obstruction and, believe me, that will take a whole lot longer than ten minutes particularly if we include the strip search.’

He meant it. She could tell from the cold, hard gleam in his blue eyes that he meant it, and she gritted her teeth.

‘OK. All I can remember him saying—’

‘Not here,’ he interrupted. ‘I want somewhere quiet—private—where we can’t be overheard. What’s through there?’ he added, nodding at the door at the end of the treatment room.

‘A store cupboard.’

‘Perfect.’

Not for her, it wasn’t, Kate thought, as Mario Volante steered her into the cupboard and shut the door. If she’d thought he was big and intimidating in the treatment room, it was as nothing to how big and intimidating he felt when he was standing toe to toe with her in a cupboard.

‘Cosy, isn’t it?’ he said, as though he’d read her mind, and her chin came up.

He was laughing at her again—she knew he was—and she’d had enough of him laughing at her. More than enough.

‘Look, can we get on with this?’ she demanded.

‘Fine by me,’ he said, extracting a small black notebook from his pocket and elbowing her in the ribs in the process. ‘OK, tell me exactly what Hamilton said.’

With an effort she forced herself to think of nothing but the few minutes she’d spent alone with Duncan Hamilton.

‘First he told me some names. Di Angelis was one, and Mackay was another. Fascali—’ She frowned. ‘No, that’s not right. Faranelli. Yes, that was it. Faranelli.’

‘Any other names?’ he said, his pen flashing across the page of his notebook.

‘There was one more. It was the name of a town, but…’ She thought hard, and eventually shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, it’s gone.’

‘Don’t worry about it. It might come back to you later. Tell me the addresses.’

‘Inspector Volante,’ she protested. ‘Duncan Hamilton had pulled off his ambu-bag, and I was trying to get it back on again so I wasn’t really listening.’

‘Please,’ he insisted. ‘Anything you can tell me—anything at all—might be vitally important.’

His blue eyes were fixed on her, searching, intent, and she swallowed hard. Concentrate, Kate. Concentrate.

He has beautiful eyes.

No, not on that. Concentrate on remembering what Duncan Hamilton told you.

‘He mentioned a house in Mount Stewart Street,’ she said quickly. ‘Number 6, I think. And somewhere in Lansdowne Drive. Number 4—or maybe it was number 5. Then there was 55 Cedar Way, and somewhere in Picard Avenue, and…’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember any more.’

‘You’ve done very well,’ he replied, snapping shut his notebook.

‘I just wish I could have saved Duncan Hamilton’s life,’ she murmured.

‘Once a packet bursts, it’s odds on that the body-packer will die.’

‘Then why in the world would anyone choose to do it?’ she protested, and he shrugged.

‘Because money can be a very powerful persuader if you’re poor and up to your eyeballs in debt.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And they don’t all do it for the money,’ he continued. ‘Some of them are offered safe passage into a country that wouldn’t take them if they tried the legal, immigration route, and others do it because their family members are being held as collateral to ensure their cooperation.’

‘But that’s blackmail,’ she gasped, and he smiled a smile that held no warmth at all.

‘Welcome to the twenty-first century, Doctor.’

‘Are you always this cynical?’ she exclaimed before she could stop herself, and his eyebrows rose.

‘No, I’m not. According to a very reliable source, I’m also occasionally a complete and utter bastard.’

‘Then maybe it’s time you got out more,’ she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. ‘Opened your eyes, smelt the flowers, and saw what a beautiful world this can be.’

‘Despite all the wars, famines, drugs, unnecessary deaths and diseases?’ he observed.

‘Despite even that,’ she said stoutly, and to her surprise he smiled again, but this time it was the smile which completely softened his face.

The smile which stupidly—ridiculously—made her wish she’d made time for that hairdresser’s appointment, lost some weight, maybe even bought herself a new blouse. Something pretty, feminine, and…

She really had to get a grip. Good grief, her divorce had only just come through this morning, and just because this man was standing close to her—so very close—and smiling that smile…

He was probably married, with umpteen kids, and, even if he wasn’t one look at him should have been enough to tell her she’d be toast if she ever got involved with him.

‘Look, can we get out of this cupboard now?’ she exclaimed.

‘What?’

‘This cupboard—I don’t think we need to be in here any more, do you?’

‘Probably not, but I was kind of beginning to enjoy it.’

He was also enjoying wrong-footing her, she realised, seeing the glint of laughter in his blue eyes, but she wasn’t going to play. Not when she had the very decided feeling that she would lose.

‘If there’s nothing else, I really do have to get back to work,’ she said, reaching for the door handle only to feel an annoying jolt of sensation as her arm brushed across his chest.

‘There’s just a couple more things,’ he replied. ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell anybody what you’ve told me, and I’d also prefer it if you didn’t tell your colleagues that Ralph Evanton and I are policemen. The fewer people who know anything about what happened here tonight the better.’

‘That’s fine by me,’ she said but, as she opened the cupboard door, and squeezed past him, her heart sank.

Terri was standing outside in the treatment room, and it was all too obvious from the look on her face that she’d got completely the wrong idea of what she and Inspector Volante might have been getting up to in the cupboard.

‘Terri, this is…’

Kate came to a halt. If she was not supposed to say who he was, then how on earth was she supposed to introduce him?

‘I’m Mario Volante,’ he declared, coming to her rescue. ‘An old friend of Dr Kennedy’s. A very old friend.’

He’d said that deliberately, Kate thought angrily, seeing Terri’s eyes glance from her to Mario avidly. He’d said that on purpose, knowing full well that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—contradict him, but she wasn’t about to let him get away with it.

‘Shouldn’t you be going?’ she said sweetly. ‘You don’t want to be late for your over forties reunion.’

‘Oh, nice one,’ Mario said, his face lighting up with genuine amusement. ‘She’s just kidding,’ he continued, flashing a smile across at Terri. ‘She knows very well that I’m only thirty-eight, but she’s right about me having to go.’

‘Must you?’ Terri protested, and he nodded.

‘Afraid so. See you around, Kate,’ he added, and before she could reply he’d gone.

‘Wow, and double wow!’ Terri exclaimed. ‘Where have you been hiding him?’

‘He’s a friend of mine from…from med school,’ Kate replied, improvising wildly. ‘I haven’t seen him for years.’

‘So, you two aren’t an item, then?’

‘No, we’re not,’ Kate said firmly, and Terri looked disappointed.

‘Pity,’ she murmured.

Not from where I’m standing, it isn’t, Kate thought as her pager went off, and she reached into her white coat to answer it. OK, so she couldn’t deny that every time Mario Volante had smiled that particular smile she’d felt odd, and hot, and totally unlike herself, but he was also rude, opinionated and arrogant, and any one of those three traits was a complete turn-off. Plus, he was also probably married, which made him a complete louse for chatting up strange women in cupboards.

‘You’ll never see him again, Kate,’ she murmured as she walked down the treatment room, ‘and you should thank your lucky stars you won’t.’

‘Did you manage to get anything out of the receptionist?’ Mario asked, pulling the parking ticket off his car windscreen, and tossing it indifferently onto the road.

‘Just the standard you’re-not-next-of-kin garbage,’ Ralph replied as he got into the car. ‘The one thing I did find out, though, was that your auburn-haired doctor is the consultant.’

‘Kate Kennedy’s head of A and E?’ Mario frowned. ‘Bright lady.’

‘Pretty, too,’ Ralph declared, shooting Mario a meaningful glance, but Mario ignored him.

‘Take a look at this,’ he said instead, extracting his notebook from his pocket and throwing it into Ralph’s lap. ‘Hamilton died before I could speak to him, but he told Dr Kennedy some very interesting things.’

‘Interesting?’ Ralph repeated as he read through the pages. ‘Mario, this is dynamite. Did you tell Dr Kennedy that what she heard could send down three of the biggest drug dealers in Aberdeen for a very long stretch, plus identify possible drug outlets?’

‘It’s better she doesn’t know,’ Mario said. ‘It’s better nobody knows for the moment.’

‘You think she’ll keep her mouth shut?’

‘I told her to, so we can but hope.’

‘Then, if your conversation with her was private—and I’m sure it was,’ Ralph declared, ‘we should be OK.’

Mario had a flashback recollection of himself crushed up against Kate Kennedy in the store cupboard, of her hair smelling of flowers and hot summer evenings, and her full breasts gently rising and falling against his arm, and stamped on the image immediately.

‘The trouble is, her conversation with Hamilton wasn’t private,’ he observed. ‘Hospital cubicle curtains are notoriously thin, and you know as well as I do that the fixers have their spies everywhere which means I’m going to have to keep an eye on Dr Kennedy.’

‘Purely professionally, of course,’ Ralph said slyly, and Mario gave him a hard stare.

For sure, it had been fun to keep wrong-footing Kate Kennedy, and to watch her large grey eyes grow more and more flustered by the minute, but it had just been a bit of fun at the end of a long and tiring day. He had no intention of taking it further. Not personally at any rate.

‘Ralph, all I want from Kate Kennedy is facts, and I want them while she’s still alive to give them to me.’

‘You think our lady doctor could be in trouble?’ Ralph asked as they pulled away from the kerb.

Mario executed a fast U-turn in front of the hospital, completely ignoring the angry cacophony of car horns that greeted his manoeuvre, and nodded.

‘Yup, I do.’

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