“I’m not complaining Doctor,” said Jill.
Saracen leaned over and kissed her softly. He ran his fingers lightly round the line of her cheek bone and felt her shudder slightly. “Are you all right?” he whispered.
Jill sighed unevenly and nodded. She said, “I’m sorry, it’s been so long.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have…”
Jill looked into his eyes and smiled. “Oh yes James Saracen,” she said, “Oh yes, you most certainly should.” She put both her hands behind Saracen’s head and pulled him towards her.
Saracen felt a passion, stronger than he had known for many years, grow within him. He felt Jill’s tongue enter his mouth as he cupped his hand over her breast and sought her nipple with his thumb. Her back arched to press herself to him. “God how I want you,” Saracen murmured.
“I’m still not complaining Doctor,” murmured Jill. Saracen lifted her gently from the couch and looked to the two possible doors. Jill smiled and pointed lazily over her shoulder with her thumb. “That one,” she said.
With all passion spent Saracen buried his head in Jill’s hair while her fingers soothed the back of his neck in a circular motion. “There, there my gentle James Saracen,” she whispered. “I only hope you feel as good as I do.”
Saracen laughed and kissed the side of her neck. “I’d forgotten it could be that good,” he murmured.
Jill’s arms tightened around him a little. “I’m glad,” she said.
After half an hour or so of nuzzling tenderness Jill said, “Do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we should shower together.”
“You do?” smiled Saracen.
“Uh huh,” replied Jill, running her fore-finger down Saracen’s upper arm.
Saracen gave in to Jill’s giggled demand that she be allowed to soap him all over. She recited nursery rhymes as she applied the suds with the palms of her hands with a gentleness that made Saracen’s skin tingle. “You’ve got hard thighs my Prince,” she murmured, her fingers kneading them as she watched his face. Saracen groaned with pleasure as Jill’s hands continued their odyssey over his body.
“And strong arms…”
Saracen tilted his head back to rest it against the wall. Jill’s hands moved over his chest. “I want to know every inch of you… How tall?”
“Six one,” groaned Saracen.
Jill took his now erect penis into her soapy hands and said, “I can see that you are not Jewish…”
Saracen drew Jill towards him and brought his mouth down hard on hers but suddenly he froze. He pulled away. “But Cohen was,” he said slowly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Would you say that someone with a name like Leonard Cohen was Jewish?”
“Almost certainly,” replied Jill, bemused by what was going on.
“Have you ever known a Jewish male not to be circumcised?”
“Well, I’ve not examined them all but no.”
“The body they showed me at Dolman’s was that of an uncircumcised male. It was the right age but the wrong religion. They didn’t show me Leonard Cohen at all. They switched the bodies!”
“Maybe they just took the wrong body out of the fridge?” suggested Jill.
Saracen considered that but then said, “There were only four and three of them were women, the two from Skelmore General and a Miss Carlisle who was being buried at noon. Don’t you see? Leonard Cohen’s body wasn’t even there.
Chapter Six
The phone rang. “I think you better get in here,” said Tremaine’s voice.
“What’s up?” asked Saracen.
“Chenhui Tang. An ambulance has just brought her in.
“What?” exclaimed Saracen.
“She’s in a bad way. She fell from a window at Morley Grange.”
“How the hell…”
“I don’t know any of the details. I just thought you should know.”
Saracen was at the hospital within ten minutes.
“She’s in Intensive Care,” said Tremaine.
Saracen nodded and backed out through the swing doors to hurry along the bottom corridor to the IC suite. As usual he was aware of the sudden rise in temperature when he entered. Clothes and covers were a dispensable encumbrance in IC. Naked patients were easier to deal with, easier to keep electrodes attached to, tubes inserted into, shunt needles in place.
There were three patients in the Unit which was equipped to accommodate six. One was being ventilated artificially and the intermittent hiss of air and the click of the change-over relay interrupted the soporific calm of the place, breaking up the regular flow of soft bleeps from the cardiac monitors.
Chenhui, her head swathed in bandages lay in an apparently deep and peaceful sleep. Saracen thought how like a little girl she looked, her body so frail, her skin so smooth, marred only by a recent graze along her left cheek bone. The sister in charge came up and stood beside Saracen. “Severe skull fracture,” she said quietly.
Saracen nodded but did not say anything. He watched as pulses chased each other along the green screen of the oscilloscope and wondered about their regularity. “Are the X-Rays up here?” he asked.
“In my office.”
Saracen followed the sister and took a large envelope from her. He removed the film from it and clipped it up on the light box to wait for a moment until the fluorescent tubes had stuttered into life. “God what a mess,” he said softly as he followed the crack lines on the image of Chenhui’s skull.
“Dr Nelson says it’s a wonder she’s still alive,” said the sister.
Saracen unclipped the X-Ray and returned it to its envelope. He said, “If, by any chance she should come round Sister, I’d like to know as soon as possible.”
“Of course, I’ll leave a note for my relief too.”
Saracen returned to A amp;E to speak to Tremaine. “Does Garten know about this?” he asked.
“He was out when I called,” replied Tremaine. “How is Chenhui?”
“Bad” replied Saracen.
“Will she make it?”
Saracen shook his head. “I doubt it.”
Tremaine made a face. Saracen pulled up the collar of his coat and said, “I’m off.”
Saracen poured himself a whisky and sat down wearily in front of the fire. He hoisted his feet up on to a stool and let out his breath in a long sigh before massaging his eyelids with thumb and forefinger. Things could not go on like this, he concluded. The sight of Chenhui lying in IC close to death had just been too much coming on top of everything else. What had she been trying to do when she had fallen? Could she even have been pushed? Saracen baulked at the thought of Garten being involved in murder but still clung to his original suspicion that Garten had been keeping Chenhui out of the way at Morley Grange. Perhaps she had been trying to escape when she had fallen? If only he could speak to her but that seemed a remote possibility in view of her condition. The other alternative was to confront Garten straight out. Saracen drained his glass and decided that that was exactly what he would do. He poured out more whisky and started to think about how he would do it when fate pre-empted him and the phone rang; it was Garten.
“I’ve just heard about Chenhui. Tremaine told me you’d been up to see her?”
“Yes,” said Saracen flatly.
“Well?” The irritation showed in Garten’s voice. “How is she?”
“Multiple skull fractures. Looks bad.”
“My God, what was she trying to do,” muttered Garten.
“Escape?” ventured Saracen, jumping in with both feet.
The silence seemed to go on for ages before Garten said, in a voice that had been filtered clean of any emotion, “Would you care to explain that remark?”
Saracen took a deep breath and said, “I don’t think Chenhui should have been admitted to Morley Grange in the first place. I think you arranged it to keep her quiet.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses Saracen?” spluttered Garten. “Quiet about what for God’s sake?”
“I don’t know,” confessed Saracen, “But it has something to do with the deaths of Myra Archer and Leonard Cohen. What happened to them Nigel? What are you up to?”