The Police Doctor's Discovery

The spark had been there with Nick. The thought, unbidden, came into her mind. Why should she think of that now? Only because she had seen him again that day, she told herself fiercely. Her relationship—if you could even call it that—with Nick had been years ago. They had both been very young and they had both, without a doubt, changed in the intervening years. But that spark had been there. It had been there all those years ago, it had been there every time he had as much as looked at her and even more so whenever he had touched her. And her skin, without fail, had tingled in response, and it had been there again today.

She gave an angry little gesture as the realisation hit her. It was ridiculous that she should even think such a thing. It had simply been the shock of seeing him again after all that time that had done it—nothing more at all. Nick Kowalski was bad news. He’d been bad news then with his high-speed motorbike and his wild ways and he was probably bad news now. It was surprising that he’d done so well in the police force—he was young to be a DCI but, no doubt, he had ridden roughshod over anyone who had got in his way on his passage through the ranks. Somehow she couldn’t quite think of him as an utterly reformed character. No doubt his wife had suffered—by his own admission his marriage had ended in divorce—and there was a child, a little girl. She couldn’t imagine Nick as a father but his face had softened when he’d mentioned his daughter.

But what in the world was she thinking about Nick for anyway? Hadn’t he hurt her before—dumped her unceremoniously without so much as a word of explanation, leaving her desolate? The last thing she wanted now was to have too many dealings with him. That she might have to spend time with him occasionally in her work with the police was quite enough, although with a bit of luck even that shouldn’t be too often. Rachel knew from experience that most of her work would be not with plainclothes CID officers but with the uniformed station staff and, provided that Westhampstead was still the quiet country town it had always been, she saw little reason that should change.

With that slightly reassuring thought uppermost in her mind, she stood up and made her way into the kitchen where she began preparing pasta and salad for her supper.

She had barely finished eating when her phone rang and, desperately trying to swallow the last mouthful, she answered it, expecting it to be her father or perhaps Jeremy, although she and Jeremy had agreed to have as little contact as possible during this trial separation period.

‘Hello?’ she said. There was a silence on the other end then the caller hung up. With a little grimace Rachel replaced the receiver, only for the phone to ring again immediately.

‘Hello?’ she said, ‘Who is this?’

‘Rachel?’

Her heart jumped. ‘Yes...?’

‘It’s Nick. Nick Kowalski.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘hello.’ She’d known it was him as soon as he’d spoken her name—had recognised his voice.

‘You’re eating,’ he said abruptly. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, it’s all right,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve just finished.’

‘I understand you are duty doctor for the station tonight.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s right.’

‘I need a doctor to examine a man who has been brought in for questioning.’

‘What’s the problem?’ She hoped she sounded professional and efficient even though for some extraordinary reason her pulse was racing.

‘He seems disorientated and his movements are uncoordinated.’

‘Has he been drinking?’

‘Not as far as we know.’

‘I’ll come down now.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Oh, Nick?’ There was a slight pause.

‘Yes?’

‘Did you phone just now—a moment ago?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter—it must have been a wrong number. I’ll be with you shortly.’

She hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. Why in the world had she reacted in such a silly way to the sound of Nick’s voice? Had it been because she hadn’t imagined that he would phone her? But that was stupid—given the fact that she was area police doctor, it was quite on the cards that he might phone her. Usually she would expect it to be the duty sergeant who would do so but it certainly wasn’t outside the realms of possibility for a DCI. Hastily she took her dishes to the kitchen then ran upstairs, changed her skirt for a pair of trousers and pulled on a warm sweater before picking up her case and leaving the house. In spite of her earlier conclusions that Nick was bad news and should be avoided at all costs, she found that as she drove to police headquarters her pulse was still racing and she felt a level of excitement at the thought of working with him that she hadn’t felt for a very long time.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS quite dark by the time she reached police headquarters, another indication that autumn was almost upon them. Locking her car, Rachel climbed the steps at the front of the building and on opening the main doors found Nick waiting for her in Reception. He looked tense, wound up like a tightly coiled spring, and for one moment she was tempted to apologise in case she’d kept him waiting. Then she thought better of it. This man was not her boss or her superior, she was not answerable to him and it would be as well for her to remember that fact in all her dealings with him.

‘Rachel.’ He turned on his heel.

‘You have a patient for me?’ She nodded at the sergeant on the desk, not Harry Mason this time but a younger man who likewise acknowledged her with a nod. ‘Yes,’ Nick replied curtly, ‘come this way.’ She followed him out of the reception area down two corridors to the cells at the rear of the building. The place smelt of pine disinfectant. A radio somewhere played rap music and occasional shouts and mutterings could be heard from the cells they passed.

‘Has this man been charged?’ asked Rachel.

‘No, not yet,’ Nick replied, ‘but I’m anxious to tie this case up—these arrests have come at the end of a lengthy operation involving a large number of my men.’

‘So...’ Rachel raised one eyebrow. ‘Inconvenient that one is sick at the eleventh hour, is that what you’re saying?’

‘If you want to put it that way.’ Nick’s jaw tightened.

‘Why is he in a cell?’

‘Because it seemed the best place—he collapsed and we put him on the nearest bed.’

‘Can you tell me anything about his behaviour before the collapse?’ she asked.

‘Very erratic,’ he replied, ‘bizarre almost—he was acting as if he was drunk but there was no smell of alcohol. He also seemed to have some sort of tremor which is what led me to suspect this may be a medical problem.’ As he finished speaking Nick opened the door to a cell where Rachel could see a man lying on the bed and a uniformed officer standing beside him.

‘Do we know his name?’ asked Rachel.

‘Masters,’ Nick replied.

‘And his first name?’ Rachel bent over the inert form of the man.

‘Paul.’

‘Paul, can you hear me?’ The man’s eyes were closed and as Rachel took his wrist she found him to have a rapid pulse. He appeared pale and his skin was cold and clammy to the touch. There was also a distinctive, sweetish smell about him.

‘Did he have anything on him to indicate that he may be diabetic?’ asked Rachel, checking around his neck to see if he was wearing any sort of tag and failing to find one.

Nick glanced up at the officer who shook his head. ‘No, nothing,’ he replied, then after a moment’s pause, he said, ‘Do you think that’s what this is?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Rachel nodded and opened her case. ‘A pinprick test will decide it.’ Carefully, watched by Nick and the attending officer, she carried out the test then nodded. ‘As I thought,’ she said, ‘his blood sugar’s very low—he’s in a hypoglycaemic coma.’

‘Can you treat that?’ asked Nick.

‘I can give him an injection.’ Rachel opened her case and took out packets containing a syringe and ampoules of dextrose.

Moments later she identified a vein in the man’s arm and administered the injection. Almost immediately he began to stir then he opened his eyes.

‘Paul,’ she said gently after a few moments, ‘are you with us again?’

Paul Masters gazed up at her, his expression almost one of disbelief, then as he moved his head and caught sight of Nick and the officer behind him he rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘You know something?’ he said. ‘I thought I’d died and gone to heaven and this was an angel.’ He inclined his head in Rachel’s direction. ‘Then I see your ugly mugs and I know it was all a dream.’

‘No, Paul,’ said Rachel briskly, ‘it wasn’t a dream—it was a diabetic coma. Your blood sugar had dropped to a critical low. Don’t you wear a tag to alert anyone to the fact that you’re diabetic?’

‘Yeah, I do,’ the man replied rubbing his eyes with one hand, ‘but the chain broke—needs fixing.’

‘Well, I suggest you get it fixed.’ Rachel began clearing up her equipment and medication packaging. ‘And that you wear it at all times,’ she added. ‘So what caused your blood sugar to drop so low—have you missed a meal?’

‘Yeah, a couple probably—thanks to this lot.’ Paul Masters’s gaze flickered to the two police officers.

‘If you’d told us you were diabetic we could have taken the appropriate measures,’ Nick replied tersely.

‘Yeah, right,’ Paul Masters grunted. Looking hopefully up at Rachel, he said, ‘Are you going to send me to hospital?’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said Rachel.

‘But I need time to recover,’ the man began to protest.

‘I’m sure DCI Kowalski will give you an hour or so recovery period,’ Rachel replied, ‘but first I want to check your blood sugar again.’

Ten minutes later Nick escorted Rachel out of the cell, leaving Paul Masters with the officer. ‘Was that really necessary?’ he asked as they reached Reception.

‘What?’ Rachel frowned, thinking he was questioning her treatment or diagnosis of the patient.

‘The period of recovery.’

‘Probably not.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘But it’s better to be on the safe side in these matters. I also suggest he is given something to eat.’

‘Would a three-course meal be sufficient?’ There was a trace of sarcasm in Nick’s voice now.

‘A couple of rounds of cheese sandwiches should do the trick,’ Rachel replied sweetly.

‘As if he hasn’t wasted enough police time as it is,’ muttered Nick.

‘You think he put himself into a coma deliberately?’ Rachel raised her eyebrows.

‘I wouldn’t put it past him. Let’s face it, he wasn’t wearing his tag and he must know he shouldn’t miss meals...’

‘Even so—it’s a bit drastic.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, an hour is not that long.’

‘In that case, you won’t mind coming and having a drink with me,’ Nick retorted swiftly.

‘I’m sorry?’ She stared at him.

‘You’ve put me in this position of having an hour to kill—I would say the least you could do is to keep me company in the meantime.’

‘Oh, I don’t think...’ she began, desperately trying to think of an excuse, any excuse, not to go with him. ‘I have things to do.’ It was the last thing she wanted, to establish any sort of relationship with him other than a purely professional one.

Nick, it seemed, had other ideas. ‘Nonsense,’ he said firmly, then after a brief word to the duty sergeant he took her elbow and propelled her out of the station doors. ‘What could be more important than renewing acquaintance with an old friend?’

Weakly Rachel allowed herself to be guided down the steps of the police station and a hundred or so yards down the street towards a sign, which swayed and creaked in the wind and stated quite clearly that the Red Lion served the finest ale in town. It was warm inside with a welcome from a crackling log fire, and briefly the chatter from the locals gathered around the bar ceased as they recognised Nick and curiously eyed Rachel up and down.

‘What’ll you have?’ Nick half turned to her.

‘A lager would be nice,’ she replied.

‘There’s a table over there in the corner.’ Nick nodded towards an alcove on the far side of the room. ‘I’ll bring the drinks over.’

Almost with a sense of unreality Rachel sat down and looked around the pub with its low beamed ceiling and flagstoned floor. If anyone had told her only the day before that she would be sitting here sharing a drink with Nick Kowalski, she would never have believed it. She watched him as he turned from the bar carrying two glasses and crossed the floor, placed the drinks on the table and sat down opposite her. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his glass.

‘Cheers.’

‘Yes,’ Rachel replied, ‘cheers.’ Lifting her own glass, she took a sip as Nick did likewise.

They were silent for a moment as if each of them was searching for something to say. As their eyes met across the table it was Nick who broke the silence. ‘It really is good to see you again, Rachel, after all this time.’

‘Yes, Nick.’ She nodded. ‘It’s good to see you as well.’ Suddenly she realised she meant it—it was good to see him in spite of what had happened.

‘We had some good times, didn’t we?’ he said softly.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘we did.’ There was something in his eyes now that was decidedly disconcerting and wildly she grabbed her glass again and took another mouthful—too much this time, which caused her to cough. ‘But...’ she spluttered, ‘it...it was all a very long time ago.’

‘True.’ Nick nodded. ‘Even so, there are some things you never forget.’ He paused, took another mouthful of his own drink then set his glass down again and leaned back in his chair. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘about this relationship you are in now...the one you feel isn’t going anywhere.’

Rachel shrugged. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Well, for a start, who is the lucky man?’

‘His name is Jeremy Lisle,’ she replied reluctantly, ‘he’s a doctor.’

‘Ah, very appropriate.’

‘What do you mean?’ She stared at him.

‘For you,’ he said, ‘and for your parents, of course. I’m sure they approve.’

‘Well, yes, they like Jeremy...’

‘Now, why doesn’t that come as a surprise?’ Nick lifted his head and laughed. It was the same easygoing, infectious laugh she remembered so well and which for a long time had haunted her dreams. ‘I’m sure they see a doctor as far more suitable marriage material for their only daughter than a mere garage hand with a rather dodgy reputation to boot.’ He paused. ‘Although, from what you say, it doesn’t sound as if there are wedding bells in the air.’ When she didn’t reply he lowered his head, tilting it to one side in order to look into her face. ‘Rachel...?’

She took a deep breath. She didn’t really want to discuss Jeremy or her relationship with anyone, least of all Nick. ‘No,’ she said coolly, ‘I don’t think there will be any wedding bells, at least not in the foreseeable future.’

‘You said this morning that you felt the relationship wasn’t going anywhere.’

‘Did I?’ How she wished she hadn’t said that. She’d hoped he might have forgotten it but it seemed there was no chance of that. She shrugged. ‘Well, let’s say it had all become a bit static and when the chance of this job came up—’

‘You grabbed it?’ He raised innocent eyebrows.

‘Well, no, not quite like that, but I thought it might be an opportunity to get a better perspective on things...’ She trailed off as she saw his lips twitch.

‘You make it sound like a business arrangement,’ he said.

‘It’s not,’ she replied hotly, ‘of course it’s not!’

‘No, I’m sure it isn’t.’ He paused again reflectively then said, ‘And this guy, what did you say his name was—Julian?’

‘Jeremy.’

‘Oh, yes, Jeremy, that’s right. Well, what does he think of this perspective exercise?’

‘As it happens, he’s in full agreement with it,’ she replied.

‘Wouldn’t suit me.’ Nick folded his arms and shook his head.

‘No, Nick, I’m sure it wouldn’t.’ She paused then mercilessly she said, ‘So tell me about your wife.’

‘My wife?’ He looked up sharply. ‘I don’t have a wife.’

‘I know. You’re divorced now, you said, but you were married once. I understand she was the daughter of a friend of your mother.’

‘How in the world did you know that?’ He stared at her.

‘I heard it somewhere,’ she said vaguely, not wanting to tell him that it had been her own mother who had told her, relating the news to her with a decided note of relief and satisfaction in her voice. ‘Did I know her?’

‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Her name is Marilyn—she was Marilyn Rooney.’

‘I remember the Rooney family,’ said Rachel slowly.

‘Yes, well, Marilyn and I went to the same school—Westhampstead High—a bit different from your posh boarding school for young ladies.’

‘Still taking the mickey?’ she said coolly. ‘You always did if I remember rightly.’

‘Not at all,’ he replied firmly. ‘It was quite something for me—a no-hoper from the wrong side of town to be going out with the local doctor’s daughter. My poor old mum never did quite get over it. She used to worry about the wedding—you didn’t know that, did you?’ He looked at Rachel and chuckled. ‘But she did—not that she need have worried in the end, the way things turned out. Marilyn’s and my wedding was a very low-key affair...registry office, then down the local for a bit of a knees-up.’

‘How is your mum, Nick?’ Desperately Rachel interrupted him, not wanting to hear these details of his marriage.

He stopped in mid-sentence and stared at her while behind them someone began feeding coins into a fruit machine. ‘My mum died four years ago,’ he said at last.

‘Oh, Nick.’ Her hand flew to her mouth and she stared at him, instantly recalling the bustling little woman who had shown her nothing but kindness on many occasions. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘No,’ he said, and there was a touch of bitterness in his tone now. ‘I don’t suppose your parents thought to let you know that.’

‘I liked your mum,’ she said slowly. ‘I really did.’

‘She liked you as well,’ he said simply. ‘In spite of the fact that she was in total awe of your situation and background, she really liked you. She thought you were a lovely girl.’

‘Did she like Marilyn?’ Rachel leaned forward slightly and noticed that at mention of his ex-wife’s name Nick’s jaw tightened and a bleak expression came into his eyes.

‘I don’t know really.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘I suppose she did. Maud Rooney was her friend so, yes, I dare say she liked her daughter—we never really discussed it.’

‘So what happened between you and Marilyn?’ she asked tentatively at last. From wanting to know nothing, for some reason she now suddenly needed to know more.

His expression changed yet again, his eyebrows drawing together in a black line, and just for a moment Rachel wished she hadn’t asked.

‘We weren’t suited,’ he muttered. ‘Incompatible is the word used, I believe. Marilyn wanted a stay-at-home guy with a nine-to-five job. Someone who would always be there in the evenings and at weekends—that sort of thing.’

‘And that wasn’t you?’

‘Not once I’d joined the police force it wasn’t—if it ever was. I don’t know.’ He shrugged and just for a moment Rachel witnessed something in his eyes that summed up the bleakness of his marriage.

‘So what made you join the police force?’ she asked in an attempt to draw the conversation away from Marilyn.

He didn’t speak immediately, instead toying with his glass as if deliberating on whether to answer her question or not. Then, his jaw tightening again, he said, ‘Actually, believe it or not, Rachel, it was a remark your mother made to your father that I happened to overhear that was the cause.’

‘Really?’ Rachel stared at him in astonishment.

‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘It was one evening when I called for you and I was waiting in the hallway of Ashton House. I don’t know whether they knew I was there or not—the housekeeper, Mrs Newton, had let me in. Anyway, I heard your mother say that I was a no-hoper who would never amount to anything—“a waster” was the expression she used, I think.’

Rachel stared at him. ‘Oh Nick,’ she said at last, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘don’t be sorry. It was the kick up the pants I needed. From that moment my mission in life was to prove her wrong.’

‘And you’ve done just that,’ she said softly. ‘Look at you—there can’t be too many DCIs of your age.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that.’

‘It was a shame your marriage had to suffer as a consequence though.’

‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘Sometimes I wonder if it would have worked even if I wasn’t in the force—Marilyn and I were like chalk and cheese really.’

‘But you have a daughter?’ she said gently.

‘Oh, yes.’ His expression softened at mention of his daughter. ‘I have Lucy. She was the reason Marilyn and I married in the first place. She’s the light of my life. You’ll meet her.’

‘I hope I shall but, Nick, I really do need to go now.’ She glanced at her watch as she spoke then drained her glass and stood up.

‘Yes,’ he said, doing likewise. ‘I suppose I’d better get back as well and see if our friend is ready to cooperate.’ He stood aside to allow Rachel to pass him but as she did so he caught her hand. Startled, she looked at him, unable to read the expression that had come into his eyes. ‘It really is good to see you again, Rachel,’ he said softly.

‘And you, Nick.’ Her voice was suddenly husky and as he applied a quick pressure to her hand, her skin tingled—just as it had always done at his touch.

* * *

It had shaken Rachel, seeing Nick again after all these years, and in spite of the fact that she had made up her mind from the outset that theirs was to be a purely professional relationship, she knew it might not be as easy as she had at first thought.

To her dismay she found herself looking for him in the town, when she was shopping or out on house calls, and when she was on call she found herself willing the phone to ring to say that her services were required at police headquarters. When one such call did come, it was late on a Saturday night and she was called to attend a victim of a street brawl who had collapsed. To her shame, on receiving the call, her adrenalin level soared at the thought of seeing Nick again and she reached police headquarters in record time, only to find that Nick wasn’t involved, probably wasn’t even there, and that the uniformed staff were in charge.

After that she tried to get a grip on herself and put him out of her mind. After all, what they had once been to each other had been a very long time ago and no doubt in the intervening years they had both become different people. It didn’t stop her remembering, though, and sometimes as she drove around town memories of that distant time came back in disturbing waves: the rides on Nick’s motorbike late at night; the old cinema—a snooker hall now—where they had always sat in the back row; the café in the high street—a building society had its offices there now—where they had congregated with other bikers to play rock music on the jukebox and drink endless cups of coffee. And then, of course, there was the park where they’d walked late at night, arms around each other, and where invariably they ended up on the mossy ground beneath the trees and had loved each other passionately under the stars.

As each new memory was rekindled a fresh surge of emotion was released, leaving Rachel in a strange, highly strung state not at all like her usual calm and collected self.

One evening just as she had finished surgery Danielle buzzed through to say there was a call for her.

‘Put them through,’ she replied automatically, and before she even had time to wonder who it might be she heard a voice at the other end, a voice she instantly recognised. ‘Georgie?’ she cried in delight.

‘Rachel! Oh this is wonderful. I heard today that you were back in town. I didn’t believe it at first, I said, no, that couldn’t be right, that you were up in Southport or Stockport or somewhere—but they said you were right here in Westhampstead.’