Confessions of a Police Constable by Matt Delito Page A

Call them now!’ Her mobile was still in her hands, her eyes flicking between the motorcyclist who’d gone flying clean over the car he hit, and the pedestrian whose life was leaking out of the gaping gash in his throat.
    Another passer-by held a phone to my ear.
    â€˜999, what is your emergency?’ the operator asked. I glanced up at the passer-by. He was only a kid, perhaps 16 years old. He looked pale. I mouthed ‘Thank you’ to him, before turning my attention to the phone.
    â€˜This is Matthew Delito, PC five-nine-two Mike Delta. I need an ambulance.’ The operator connected me to another – the dispatch unit for the ambulance service, I presumed. Meanwhile I was still trying to stop the blood gushing out of the pedestrian’s throat, and not having much luck. His lips were going blue, he was getting weaker, and now his bleeding was slowing down.
    â€˜I have two casualties – one male, around twenty-four years of age, not responding, laboured breathing. He has severe neck trauma, bleeding profusely. The other is a motorcyclist.’
    I glanced over at the motorcyclist. He was moaning and moving around, which meant he was hurt, but at least he was breathing. If a man’s breathing it means his heart is beating. If his heart is beating, well, that means he’s already better off than the pedestrian I was dealing with.
    â€˜The motorcyclist is conscious and breathing, but he’s got unknown injuries. He went flying. Broken bones at least. Oh, and get some police over here, it’s a fucking mess,’ I finished.
    A woman showed up out of nowhere and took the phone – now dripping with blood – from me. She asked if I was okay.
    â€˜Yeah, fine,’ I barked, glancing desperately at the pedestrian who had stopped any attempts at breathing. She checked his pulse, and relayed something to the 999 operator who was still on the line.
    â€˜Could you go deal with the motorcyclist?’ she asked me. ‘I don’t think there’s a lot you can do here.’ As she said this, she produced a pair of gloves out of her purse, put them on and took over from me, applying pressure to the man’s throat.
    I must have looked rather grateful, because she responded by smiling for a brief moment, before nodding her head towards the motorcyclist. ‘Go save a life, cowboy,’ she said.
    I recognised her just as I made to turn away; we bring prisoners to A&E all the time and she was one of the nurses we deal with.
    I shook my thoughts back to the task at hand as I bounded over to the motorcyclist. His arm was sticking out at a curious angle. With his other, working, arm he was wrestling with his helmet.
    â€˜Hey. I’m police. Don’t worry, an ambulance is on the way. I need you to lay down and not move for a while, okay?’ He seemed happy to take instructions. ‘What’s your name, mate?’ I asked him.
    He said something that sounded like Alexej.
    â€˜Alex. Can I call you Alex?’ He tried to nod, but I stopped him with a wave. ‘Alex, you may have a neck injury, and nodding is bad news. I need you to lay down on your back and just not move. Can you do that for me?’ He did. I opened up the visor of his helmet to give him some extra air. He was dazed but able to talk to me.
    â€˜The man. Is he okay?’ Alex asked me, straining to move his head to catch a glimpse of the pedestrian.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ I lied, hoping Alex wouldn’t notice that I looked like I’d been doing butterfly strokes in red paint all morning. ‘The ambulance will deal with him. For now, I’m just worried about you. Where do you live, mate?’ I talked to him about various day-to-day things, just to keep his mind occupied. Keeping him talking had an additional bonus: it meant that I would immediately notice if his situation worsened.
    The first ambulance arrived, and I knew it was bad news when they came over to us