Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

Mario McGuire had done a police driving course early in his career. It showed as he carved his way through the traffic, along Seafield Road and then into Sir Harry Lauder Road, heading for the Jewel and the Edinburgh bypass.

Dan Pringle sat beside him, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. 'They said they couldn't revive her,' he whispered, as they roared on to the A1. 'What does that mean, do you think?'

'They probably needed more equipment than they had in the ambulance,' McGuire suggested lamely. 'Don't worry, Dan. They'll have given her oxygen and everything.'

'Oh, Christ, I hope so.'

'Who was it that phoned you?'

'Ray Wilding, my assistant. There was a general 999 call; one of the officers who responded realised that it was my daughter. There was a photo on her desk and when they gave her my name as next of kin, he twigged who I was and called my office.'

'So nobody's called your wife?'

'I don't suppose so. Do you think I should?'

'It might be wise.'

Pringle took out his mobile and selected his home number; McGuire concentrated on the road, trying not to listen, but he found it impossible.

'Elma, hello, it's me. I'm on my way to the Royal. No, I'm fine, but there's been an incident with Ross, at the university. No, no, don't panic now; I'm just calling you because I thought you'd want to know. Aye, okay, if you want to come that's fine.'

'Tell her you'll have a car pick her up,' said McGuire.

'What? Aye, okay. Elma, just you wait there. I'll get a panda to pick you up. It won't be long. See you there; and don't worry.' He ended the call and looked round, helplessly. 'Who'll I call, Mario?'

'Wilding. Just tell him to fix it; nearest available car to your house, pronto, then to Accident and Emergency.' He braked, and swore, as he saw that the lights at Sheriffhall roundabout were at red, and that there was a small queue of traffic.

Fortunately it took less than two minutes to clear the junction, for Pringle was almost jumping out of his seat in his agitation. 'Nearly there, Dan,' Mario told him, as they headed through Gilmerton, ignoring the speed limit.

At last, the road signage told them that they had reached the new Royal Infirmary complex. They took the second entrance, and headed straight for the A amp;E unit, ignoring the car park signs. McGuire jerked to a halt a few yards away from the entrance, on a yellow line.

'You can't park there, Jimmy,' a security guard called out to him, before he had time to close the car door.

'Police,' he snarled, fixing the man with a glare that made him decide that he had more pressing priorities in his life. When he turned back towards Pringle he saw that he was gone, running past an ambulance that stood there, reversed into the wide doorway. It had no crew but its engine was still running.

He broke into a trot to catch up, reaching his colleague just as he arrived at the admission desk. 'Ross Pringle,' he heard him bark at the receptionist. 'She was brought here. Where is she?'

The young man looked up at him. 'Ross Pringle? We havenae had any guys brought in for a while. There was a girl just now, but that's all.'

'Where did they take her?'

'They just rushed her straight through to the emergency room.' He pointed towards a doorway facing the entrance. Pringle turned and ran towards it, with McGuire at his heels, ignoring the receptionist's shout: 'Hey, yis cannae go in there!'

They burst through the double door as if it was made of paper. The area beyond was divided into a number of cubicles. Three were occupied by patients whose injuries were visible and superficial; they were all unattended. The curtains were drawn across a fourth; from behind them, they heard the sound of quiet voices.

The realisation came to McGuire that they should hold back, but it came too late. Before he could stop him, Pringle stepped forward and swept aside the curtains.

Six faces turned to stare at him, but he was unaware of any of them: all he could see was the slim figure lying on the table. She had dark hair, close-cut in a page-boy style. She was barefoot, and wearing pyjamas. The jacket was open; her small breasts were uncovered and several coloured stickers were attached to her chest, leading to a monitor, on which a fluttering heartbeat showed. They could not see her face, for most of it was covered by an oxygen mask.

Nobody spoke. The medical staff continued to stand there as if frozen, gazing at the newcomers. If Pringle was aware of their presence, he gave no sign of it. His eyes were fixed on the table, and on his daughter.

And then he seemed to slump into himself; his knees buckled, and he might have fallen if McGuire had not caught him by the elbows and supported him. 'Come on, Dan,' he murmured. 'Let's just go next door and take care of you.'

Pringle said nothing, for he was incapable of speech, but he allowed himself to be steered into the next, empty, cubicle and sat down on a chair. A white-coated doctor followed. 'The father?' he asked. McGuire nodded. He leaned towards the shocked, ashen figure. 'It's not good, I'm afraid,' he said gently. 'She had a cardiac arrest as she arrived here. We've managed to resuscitate her, but by the time she was found her body had been almost completely starved of oxygen. I wish I could tell you that she'll be all right, but I can't.'

Pringle blinked and looked up at him. 'What? Eh? Aye?' he mumbled. He turned to his colleague. 'Mario, she's not going to die, is she?' He was begging for an answer that could not be given. McGuire, big and hard as he was, found that he could not bear the weight of those eyes on him. A lump came to his throat; he gazed up at the ceiling, fighting to keep his own control as he heard the first sobs.

'What am I going to tell Elma?' Dan Pringle moaned. 'What am I going to tell her mother?'

'Have you heard?' Bob Skinner asked, as McIlhenney came into his room, but the sight of his friend's expression gave him all the answer he needed.

'About Dan's daughter? McGurk told me just now. She's in a deep coma, he said. Bloody awful isn't it? Just turned twenty apparently. The big lad out there's in a terrible state. He was friendly with the Pringles, and so he knew the girl very well. Gas, was it?'

'So Jack told me. Ray Wilding said something about a faulty room heater.'

'She was in student accommodation, wasn't she? Surely these things have to be inspected annually.'

'I've no doubt they are. The university'll be all over it, but I've told Jack to get one of the technicians from our forensics lab out there to examine it.'

McIlhenney sighed. 'What a bloody week we're having,' he exclaimed. 'First George Regan's lad, and now this.'

'I meant to ask Dan about the Regan investigation this morning. I'd better give Mary Chambers a call instead.'

'She'll tell you that they're ready to send the file to the Fiscal as an accidental death. At least that's what Maggie told Mario yesterday.'

'Mmm,' Skinner murmured. 'I'm glad that's sorted. I'm desperately sorry for George and his wife, but a formal verdict is probably the best way for them to get closure. That could be a long way off for Dan and Elma, though, I reckon.'

'Maybe, but I'm not so sure he'll recover as well as George Regan. He's older, and he's tired, plus…'

Skinner nodded. 'I think I know what you mean. Dan's quite a volatile guy under the surface and, let's not mince words, we all know he likes a drink.' He frowned. 'Neil, if it comes to it, you know about bereavement counselling; could you give him any advice?'

'If I thought he'd take it from me, sure, but given that he and I aren't close, it might be better if you suggested it to him… and to George, for that matter. There's an organisation called Cruse; it's national, but it has branches here. All its people are trained to a pretty high standard.'