said.
‘Andrew had to make a call down the police station. As soon as he’s finished, he’ll be here to pick us up. Could you and Will pack their clothes, Tina? You know where Diana kept – keeps them?’
‘Yes, I do, and thanks, Beth,’ Tina said gratefully.
‘Good, the sooner we get started the sooner we can move them out of this house.’
*……*……*
‘We tried to get you an hour ago, Dr John.’
‘I was operating.’ Andrew refused to elaborate further. The worst part of being a small-town doctor, and the only aspect he truly resented, was the universal assumption of Pontypridd’s inhabitants that they had the right to demand his undivided attention at any hour of the day or night and this was proving to be an exceptionally long night.
‘He’s in the cells. If you’d like to follow me, doctor …’
The duty sergeant reached for the keys behind the reception area and unlocked the door that led to the stairs and basement.
‘Constable Davies mentioned that you’d picked up a drunk in Leyshon Street.’ Andrew chose his words carefully, knowing that Huw had told him more about Tony Ronconi and his bizarre confession than he should have.
‘Drunk with cuts and bruises. If he’d been the run-of-the- mill Saturday night troublemaker we wouldn’t have bothered you, Dr John. To be honest there wasn’t even much point going through the usual “walk the white line, touch your nose with the tip of your finger” tests. The man was almost comatose. But he looked as though he’d been in a fight and you know about the rumpus in Graig Street. We heard you’d operated on the woman,’ he answered in response to Andrew’s quizzical look. ‘So, we decided to hold him until he sobered up to see if he could help with our inquiries.’
‘What do you call cuts and bruises?’ Andrew enquired.
‘His nose was bleeding and he had a few scratches and bruises on his head and hands but nothing that the duty first aider couldn’t cope with.’
‘So why am I here?’
‘When we looked in on him over an hour ago he seemed a bit more than just drunk.’
‘That’s hardly surprising, it’s freezing down here,’ Andrew remonstrated as they reached the bottom step.
‘Stone basement, doctor.’
‘And you keep people here?’
‘It’s only a holding cell, Dr John. We’re not here to mollycoddle them.’
‘Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?’ Andrew ducked his head to accommodate a dip in the ceiling that dropped it a couple of inches short of six feet. He hung back as the officer unlocked the first cell they came to.
‘When we noticed he was ill we gave him an extra blanket.’
‘I trust he was duly grateful,’ Andrew commented sarcastically as he entered the stone cell. He sniffed the air. ‘It’s not only cold, it’s damp.’
‘We’re below ground level here, doctor,’ the sergeant observed as Andrew went to the narrow, drop-down, steel shelf that held a spartan board bed. Tony Ronconi was lying alarmingly close to the edge, tossing restlessly beneath two grey woollen blankets.
‘I’m Doctor John. Do you know where you are?’ Tony’s eyes were open but Andrew noted the classic symptoms of delirium and doubted he was capable of focusing. ‘You’re in the police station. Do you remember how you got here?’ His second question elicited an incoherent mumbled response.
Andrew turned to the sergeant. ‘Have you sent for an ambulance?’
‘Thought it best to wait until you got here, doctor.’
‘Do it now, Sergeant.’
The sergeant ran off. Andrew heard him shouting up the stairs as he removed his stethoscope from his bag, folded back the blankets, and began his examination.
‘Is it bad, doctor?’ The sergeant returned and hovered anxiously at the cell door, as Andrew closed his bag and replaced the blankets.
‘Both lungs are infected. It looks like pneumonia and, frankly, I don’t know if he’ll survive. Have you contacted his family?’
‘We were going
‘Andrew had to make a call down the police station. As soon as he’s finished, he’ll be here to pick us up. Could you and Will pack their clothes, Tina? You know where Diana kept – keeps them?’
‘Yes, I do, and thanks, Beth,’ Tina said gratefully.
‘Good, the sooner we get started the sooner we can move them out of this house.’
*……*……*
‘We tried to get you an hour ago, Dr John.’
‘I was operating.’ Andrew refused to elaborate further. The worst part of being a small-town doctor, and the only aspect he truly resented, was the universal assumption of Pontypridd’s inhabitants that they had the right to demand his undivided attention at any hour of the day or night and this was proving to be an exceptionally long night.
‘He’s in the cells. If you’d like to follow me, doctor …’
The duty sergeant reached for the keys behind the reception area and unlocked the door that led to the stairs and basement.
‘Constable Davies mentioned that you’d picked up a drunk in Leyshon Street.’ Andrew chose his words carefully, knowing that Huw had told him more about Tony Ronconi and his bizarre confession than he should have.
‘Drunk with cuts and bruises. If he’d been the run-of-the- mill Saturday night troublemaker we wouldn’t have bothered you, Dr John. To be honest there wasn’t even much point going through the usual “walk the white line, touch your nose with the tip of your finger” tests. The man was almost comatose. But he looked as though he’d been in a fight and you know about the rumpus in Graig Street. We heard you’d operated on the woman,’ he answered in response to Andrew’s quizzical look. ‘So, we decided to hold him until he sobered up to see if he could help with our inquiries.’
‘What do you call cuts and bruises?’ Andrew enquired.
‘His nose was bleeding and he had a few scratches and bruises on his head and hands but nothing that the duty first aider couldn’t cope with.’
‘So why am I here?’
‘When we looked in on him over an hour ago he seemed a bit more than just drunk.’
‘That’s hardly surprising, it’s freezing down here,’ Andrew remonstrated as they reached the bottom step.
‘Stone basement, doctor.’
‘And you keep people here?’
‘It’s only a holding cell, Dr John. We’re not here to mollycoddle them.’
‘Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?’ Andrew ducked his head to accommodate a dip in the ceiling that dropped it a couple of inches short of six feet. He hung back as the officer unlocked the first cell they came to.
‘When we noticed he was ill we gave him an extra blanket.’
‘I trust he was duly grateful,’ Andrew commented sarcastically as he entered the stone cell. He sniffed the air. ‘It’s not only cold, it’s damp.’
‘We’re below ground level here, doctor,’ the sergeant observed as Andrew went to the narrow, drop-down, steel shelf that held a spartan board bed. Tony Ronconi was lying alarmingly close to the edge, tossing restlessly beneath two grey woollen blankets.
‘I’m Doctor John. Do you know where you are?’ Tony’s eyes were open but Andrew noted the classic symptoms of delirium and doubted he was capable of focusing. ‘You’re in the police station. Do you remember how you got here?’ His second question elicited an incoherent mumbled response.
Andrew turned to the sergeant. ‘Have you sent for an ambulance?’
‘Thought it best to wait until you got here, doctor.’
‘Do it now, Sergeant.’
The sergeant ran off. Andrew heard him shouting up the stairs as he removed his stethoscope from his bag, folded back the blankets, and began his examination.
‘Is it bad, doctor?’ The sergeant returned and hovered anxiously at the cell door, as Andrew closed his bag and replaced the blankets.
‘Both lungs are infected. It looks like pneumonia and, frankly, I don’t know if he’ll survive. Have you contacted his family?’
‘We were going
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