Page 43 of His Worst Crime

“Yes, that’s best. Call me.” Ramon was almost over his crying jag and, after drying his eyes, he fished a card from his pocket. “Ah, in case I’m off duty,” and he scribbled his private number on the back of the card, “call me here, anytime, day or night.”

The man nodded. “OK, Ramon, I’ll do that. My name’s Saïd. If I’m not on duty, I’ll get my colleague Mariona to call you. She’s the blond woman who shooed you out of his room.”

“Thanks… Thank you, Saïd. That’s very kind.”

Saïd nodded again, smiling. “I’ll make sure you get called before anyone else.” He stood up. “I’ll get his passport. Do you need anything else, any of his personal effects?”

“No.” Ramon shook his head. “Sorry, I know this seems unorthodox. He’s not under arrest, but he is wanted for questioning. I will vouch for him, both professionally and… and personally.”

“I’ve worked in Intensive Care for five years now. Here we see people as they really are, not just the patients, but their loved ones too. It makes you a good judge of character. So I’m going to trust you, Ramon, that you want what’s best for David, and I won’t ask questions. Sit here for a while and I’ll get his passport.”

When he was alone, Ramon took more tissues and finished blowing his nose. What was happening to him? And how had he got into this compromising situation? If Jaume or any of his colleagues caught wind of this, it could prompt some serious questions about his behavior. Was he acting ethically and professionally here? Ethically maybe, but professionally? He was now crossing red lines left, right, and center. He didn’t care. Davey was worth it. He knew that and he’d prove it. His career might be over because of it. But he had to do this, to trust his gut. That’s what made him a good cop. If it ended up ousting him from the force, well so be it.

He wanted to see Davey again. At the same time, he didn’t want to do anything more foolish that might get him bumped from the case. He was a cop for God’s sake! He couldn’t come in the hospital and start blubbing for a suspect. The nurse, Saïd, had saved his bacon, and seemed to understand that Davey was special to him. Was he gay? Probably. He sat for a few moments more until Saïd returned.

“Here’s his passport.”

“Can I see him?” he asked. He flipped to the photo, and yes, there was his Davey, David Howard, staring out at him.

“It’s supposed to be only family…”

“Just for a few minutes.”

Saïd nodded and motioned Ramon to follow him. He pocketed the passport and they walked along the corridor and back to the ward. When they entered, Saïd said something under his breath to Mariona, the blond nurse, who nodded, before leaving them alone.

“He’s over here.”

Saïd led him up to the hospital bed. There was his Davey, lying still with an oxygen mask over his face, his breathing slow and deep.

“He’s quiet at the moment,” Saïd commented. “Sometimes he gets a bit agitated.”

Davey had a few small cuts on his right jaw and cheekbone, along with a nasty purplish bruise on his right temple. His left hand, resting on the blanket, seemed to have been caught and mashed in the accident, as it was red and sore-looking, the fingers tightly bandaged together. Different tubes and cables poked from his right wrist and index finger, while both arms were restrained with straps.

“To stop him twisting and pulling out the tubes if he partially wakes,” Saïd said, pointing to them. “Just a precaution.”

Ramon nodded. His attention was focused on Davey. The accident happened on the northbound lanes. He’d been coming back to Barcelona. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

“The doctor will be along in twenty minutes,” Saïd said. “If you want, you can sit here and wait for him?” At Ramon’s nod, he said, “Fine, I’ll go and tell Mariona I’ve OKed it.”

Once he’d gone, Ramon sat down in the chair beside the bed. Unsure where he might be able to touch Davey, he finally placed his hand gingerly on his shoulder, where it looked unblemished with bruises or cuts.

“OK, Davey,” he whispered, “we’re going to get you out of here, get you healed up.”

But if Davey was wanted for assault and battery? What would happen when he came out of the coma? What had happened back on his stud farm in England? Then he saw what he had to do.

twenty-five

“Damn, this coffee’s good! Has to be the best I’ve tasted since…”

“I told you it wasn’t true what you were going on about. They do have decent coffee in the UK, and good food. Now do you believe me?”

Jaume had spent the entire flight moaning about the supposedly terrible food traditions of the British and lamenting the fact that they’d have to survive on nothing but pizza and chips for however long their investigation took. But no sooner had they touched down at Leeds Bradford than he’d been entranced by the smell of a Cornish pasty stand, wolfing down one, and purchasing another couple for the journey, followed by the full-flavored coffee whose praises he was now singing.

“Who’d have thought! Do you think they do other foods as good as this they haven’t told us about?”

“Well, haggis is supposed to be quite a treat, but that’s a little further north, in Scotland.”

Ramon looked around the airport for the car hire office. He had asked the North Yorkshire Police for a liaison officer, a common courtesy in cases like this when they were investigating outside their jurisdiction. But he’d been told they would be met at the village of Ravenscragg. At least the British food had improved his partner’s mood. He didn’t fancy the soundtrack for the long car journey ahead being a repeat of the flight: Jaume’s endless litany of complaints.