Page 42 of His Worst Crime

“He isn’t in a very good way. They choppered him into Vall d’Hebron Hospital.”

But Ramon had already grabbed his rucksack and was heading out the door.

“I’ll go and see him. Text me through the details, his ward and stuff.”

“Wait, I’ll come—“

“No, you stay here, please, Jaume. Do some… See if you can get in touch with his family. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Ramon, this isn’t wise…” Jaume began, but his partner was already out the door.

The early morning traffic in Barcelona was intense. Ramon swore as he crawled slowly uphill through the city, toward the sprawling hospital on its outskirts. Every time he had to wait impatiently for the lights to change, his gaze would fall on the passenger seat, in which, until a short while ago, his Davey had been propped, pretending to sleep against the door. Why had he ever let him leave? He should have physically stopped him from getting out of the pickup, arresting him if necessary. Then none of this would ever have happened. He might be in a jail cell, but he wouldn’t be in hospital.

Vall d’Hebron was actually three hospitals built together: General, Maternity & Children’s, and Traumatology, where Davey was being treated. It took him about forty-five minutes to get there from the Mounted Police Unit, which was downtown, behind the Parc de la Ciutadella. Just a straight uphill journey, but the traffic was ridiculous. Finally he reached the vicinity, though finding parking became the next issue. Eventually, flashing his badge at a passing doctor, he was directed to staff parking in the rear. There he found a space and parked, leaving his police permit displayed prominently on the dashboard. Locating Davey’s room wasted another twenty minutes. Instead of the main Intensive Care ward, which was full, he’d been installed in another, smaller auxiliary one containing just three beds, on a floor above.

A friendly but no-nonsense blond nurse came to meet him as he walked in:

“I’m afraid no visitors are allowed in this section. You’ll have to talk to the charge nurse if you want to see a patient.”

Even flashing his police badge at her wouldn’t change her mind. But he could see Davey, in the second bed down. He looked like he was sleeping, and had an oxygen mask over his face. An array of complicated machinery was assembled next to the bed.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he alright?”

“Please,” she was almost physically pushing him out now. “Any questions you have should be directed at the charge nurse. And he can put you in contact with his physician if necessary.”

“But why isn’t he moving? Is he—?”

“He’s in an induced coma, to protect his brain. And he needs quiet at the moment. Now please, can you leave and talk to the charge nurse? I don’t want to have to call security.”

Outside the ward, he found the nurses’ station. The charge nurse was a slim dark-skinned man in his late thirties with soulful eyes and a gentle manner. He seemed to sense that Ramon wasn’t here just on regular police business and, taking him by the elbow, he led him into a small office.

“Can I get you a cup of tea, coffee, water?”

“No, just tell me how he is. What happened?”

“Well, he was a passenger in a truck heading north—“

“So, in the direction of Barcelona?”

“Yes. The truck overturned just outside Reus. The driver was well over the limit for alcohol, but he walked away unharmed—“

“I don’t care about him… though I’ll make sure he ends up behind bars. Tell me about Davey, I mean… David Howard.”

“He wasn’t wearing a safety belt and was thrown against the truck’s roof when it overturned. Luckily he didn’t go through the windshield or he’d probably be dead, but he was knocked unconscious. The driver gave his pack to the ambulance driver, which was how we were able to identify him. He was carrying his passport. We’re keeping him sedated until we can ascertain whether there’s any damage to the brain.”

“Any other… I mean anything broken or…”

“No other major damage, just some minor cuts and bruises, that’s all. In that regard he was incredibly lucky. But the big question is: does he have brain damage? It’s a waiting game from here on.”

The nurse eyed him with compassion.

“Is he… are you…?”

Ramon huffed, blinking the tears back. What to say? He was thankful he had managed to stop Jaume from coming up here with him. Shedding tears for a suspect… how would he explain that? He tried to pull himself together, but the tears started to flow faster. Then he was sobbing. The charge nurse just sat there, keeping him company, not trying to touch him, or saying anything, which he was thankful for. When Ramon went to wipe his running nose with the back of his hand, the nurse pulled a box of tissues off the desk and offered them. Ramon took several, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes. What a mess! A policeman sitting here blubbing over a suspect. He needed to pull himself together.

“OK, I’m going to need…” He blew his nose a final time. “Did you say you found his passport? We’re going to need to confiscate that… and when he comes around, ah… We’ll send someone over to keep an eye on him…”

“I wouldn’t worry about that just yet,” the charge nurse said. “But before we make the decision to bring him out of coma, we’ll let you know. I can call you personally. Do you have a card?”