Lost

They won't let me see Ali. The doctors and nurses move past me as if I'm a plastic chair in the waiting room. The triage nurse, Amanda, is plump and composed. When she speaks the words tumble out like paratroopers.

“You'll have to wait for the spinal surgeon. He won't be long. There are hot drinks and snacks in the machines. Sorry, I can't provide change.”

“We've been waiting for six hours.”

“Won't be long now,” she says, counting rolls of bandages in a box.

Ali's family is listening to the conversation. Her father leans forward until his head rests on his folded arms. A gentle respectful man, he's like a torpedoed ship sinking beneath the waves.

Her mother is holding a paper cup of water, occasionally dipping her finger into the liquid and painting it across her eyelids. Three of her brothers are also in the waiting room and watch me with cold stares.

The stench of my own body odor rises from my shirt. It's the same BO smell that fills airline cabins when businessmen take off their jackets. Turning away from the nurse, I walk slowly back to my seat. As I pass Ali's father, I pause and wait for him to look up.

“I'm sorry this happened.”

Out of politeness he shakes my hand.

“You were with her, Detective Inspector?”

“Yes.”

He nods and looks past me. “What is a woman doing catching miscreants and criminals? That is men's work.”

“She is a very fine police officer.”

He doesn't reply. “My daughter was a very good athlete as a teenager. A sprinter. I once asked her why she wanted to run so fast. She said she was trying to catch up with the future—to see what sort of woman she was going to become.” He smiles.

“You should be proud of her,” I say.

He nods and shakes his head at the same time.

Moving past him, I slip into the toilet and douse my face with cold water. Taking off my shirt, I rub water under my arms, feeling it leak down to the belt of my trousers. Shutting the cubicle door, I lower the toilet lid and sit down.

This is my fault. I should have gone upstairs to find Gerry Brandt. I should have caught him before he escaped over the back fence. I can still see the look on his face as he held Ali's legs and fell backward, breaking her body against the wall. He knew what he was doing. Now I'm going to find him. I'm going to bring him in. And maybe, if I'm lucky, he might resist arrest.

The next moment my body jerks awake. I have fallen asleep in a toilet cubicle with my head against the wall. The knots in my neck feel like fists as I drag myself upward.

What day is it—Tuesday, no, Wednesday morning? It must be morning but it's dark. I don't even look at my watch.

My head starts to clear as I make it outside to the waiting room. My hair is matted on my forehead and my nose is crusted and dry.

The consultant is talking to Ali's family. Sick with fear I cross the room, zigzagging through rows of plastic chairs. Gloom seems to grow under the harsh strip lighting.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to intrude, but the need to know is too great. As I reach the cluster of people, nobody looks up. The consultant is still talking.

“She has fractured two vertebrae and dislocated them, squeezing her spine like toothpaste in a tube. Until the bruising goes down we won't know for certain the extent of the paralysis or whether it's permanent. I have another patient, a jockey, who has similar injuries. He was thrown off a horse and landed on the running rail. He's doing very well and should walk again.”

Sweat chills on my skin and the long empty corridors drop away in every direction.

“She's zonked out on painkillers but you can see her,” he says, scratching his unshaved chin. “Try not to upset her.” At that same moment his beeper sounds and concusses in my ears. He looks at Ali's parents apologetically and leaves in a clatter of shoes along the corridor.

I wait my turn outside Ali's room. I can't look at her parents' faces as they leave. Her mother has been crying and her brothers want someone to blame. There's nowhere to hide.

A wave of nausea ebbs inside me as I push open the door, taking several steps into the semidarkness. Ali is lying flat on her back, staring upward. A skeletal steel frame holds her neck and head in place, preventing her from turning.

I don't get too close, hoping to spare her my stench and ugliness. It's too late. She sees me in the mirror above her head and says, “Morning.”

“Morning.”

I glance about the room and take a chair. Gold bars of light leak through the curtains, falling across her bed.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Right now I'm flying with Lucy and her diamonds. I don't feel a thing.” She takes a breath, which is half a groan, and manages a smile. Tear trails have dried on either side of her eyes. “They say I need an operation on my spine. I'm going to get them to add a few inches. I've always wanted to be six feet tall.”

She wants me to laugh but I can't manage more than a smile. Ali has gone quiet. Her eyes are closed. Silently, I stand to leave, but her hand reaches out and grabs my wrist.