Page 95 of Death at a Scottish Halloween

“What? Is he in there?” she asked.

“No. But it’s very tidy.”

“It is?” She sounded as surprised as me. She maneuvered so she could sit on the top step, and leaned back, her eyes growing bigger. “He must have cleaned up.”

“At least, he didn’t leave a mess.”

She made another face. “Um. Doc, can we check on him? I’m worried. He was in such a state. I should have come back.”

“Don’t panic. I’m sure he’s sleeping it off.”

“Please,” she said. “I can’t leave unless I know he’s OK.”

“OK.”

She scooted over on the step so I could pass.

“It’s that one?” I pointed to the caravan on the other side of the sidewalk.

“Yes.” She followed me.

This home was smaller, but he was used to living on the rig. It probably didn’t bother him.

I knocked on the door. No one answered. “He doesn’t seem to be home.”

“He sleeps hard. Go on in, he won’t mind.”

He might not mind, but I did. I didn’t know what to expect. But I wasn’t one to back down from the challenge. I tried the knob, and I wasn’t happy when the door opened.

Crud. Now, I’d have to go inside. My heartbeat quickened, as I stepped up. The caravan was small but appeared empty.

“Baird? It’s Doctor McRoy. I’m doing a welfare check. I took a few steps into the camper. There was a weird sound. A thumping from what looked like a closet. My heart rate went even faster. “As I said, I’m on a welfare check. No need to be alarmed. Whoever is in there, I’m here to help.” My voice was squeaky, and my palms were sweaty.

Where the other caravan had smelled strongly of lemons, this one had a dank odor, as if someone had drunk too much. The whiskey bottle in the kitchenette’s sink spoke volumes. There was also a pill bottle on the counter. It was empty. The drug was equivalent to Tylenol #3 in the states, but a bottle could do serious damage, especially mixed with alcohol.

The doctor in me won out. I opened the door quickly. It was a toilet. He was fully dressed, but sitting on the floor. There was a lot of sick in the sink, which may have saved his life, as there were a few pills in it. When I opened the door, he fell forward. He had a pulse, but barely. I ran to the door. “Call 999. Tell the dispatcher I need a bus.”

“Oh no! What’s wrong?” she cried out.

“I found him. I need you to call 999. Now.” Then I ran to the back of my car where I kept a travel kit. I carried it into the caravan. As I worked on Baird, I could hear people gathering outside.

“Someone, help the doctor. Please.” Isobel screamed.

A man came rushing in, I glanced up and saw it was Pete. He was one of my patients. “What do you need, Doc?”

“Help me straighten him out.” Baird was in a fetal position, and too heavy to move on my own. Pete was in his sixties but worked on one of the local farms. He was strong.

Together, we straightened Baird out and rolled him on his back. I went to work on him, barking orders at poor Pete. He followed without question. By the time the ambulance and Ewan arrived, I had him stable.

Ewan assessed the situation quickly. “Tell me what you need.”

“Let’s get him back to mine and wake up poor Abigail. I’m going to need you both.”

He nodded.

Ewan and the EMTs had Baird on a stretcher and into the ambulance quickly. They started an IV. I tossed my keys to Henry. “Can you get it back to my place? No rush? And look after Isobel?”

“I’m coming to yours,” she said. “I have to know he’s OK.” She was a mess, but I had someone who needed critical attention.