mask, several tubes snaking in and out of her body. And that sighing sound as the bed moved up and down as though it and not the patient were breathing.
Murdoch said nothing but sat down heavily on to a plastic chair next to the bed and slipped his fingers over the wasted hand lying on top of the sheet.
‘Shall I leave you two with Mrs Murdoch for a while?’ the nurse asked.
‘Oh, I’ll wait outside,’ Kirsty replied hastily, the sudden realisation of what was happening making her feel a mixture of embarrassment and shyness. She had no business being here at all, she told herself, slipping out after the nurse and forcing herself not to look back at the man sitting by his wife’s side.
‘I… I’m just Detective Sergeant Murdoch’s driver,’ Kirsty explained once they were out of earshot. ‘I didn’t know…’
‘He didn’t tell you we’d called?’
Kirsty shook her head.
The nurse made a face. ‘Poor soul. Some men are like that. Can’t talk about it, can they?’
‘What’s…?’ Kirsty glanced behind her in the direction they had come from.
‘Mrs Murdoch? Oh, we don’t think she’s got long to go now. On a ventilator all night.’ The nurse sighed. ‘She’s peaceful enough. No pain. But her lungs aren’t going to last much longer. We called him as soon as we were sure,’ the nurse added in a tone of defensiveness.
‘He knew she was…?’
‘Oh, sure, we’ve been keeping in touch ever since he came in with her the night before last,’ the nurse insisted.
Kirsty nodded, remembering the dishevelled state of her mentor the previous day, the sudden change from a smart working suit to jeans and leather jacket. He must have come straight from the hospital.
‘Isn’t there any family?’
The nurse shook her head. ‘Couple of sons. Both overseas. Probably won’t come until there’s a funeral.’ The nurse’s eyebrows rose as if commenting on the unfairness of life in general. Then she patted Kirsty’s shoulder. ‘Look, why don’t you grab a coffee from the machine along in the day room? I’ll come and collect you when it’s time for him to leave. If you need me before that, just ask for Nurse Milligan, okay?’
Kirsty nodded and walked slowly along the corridor, blinking in the artificial light. How strange to be busy at work with Murdoch for two whole days and not to know what was going on in his personal life. Did that account for the grumpiness? The sarcastic manner? Suddenly she was willing to ignore the several instances of DS Murdoch’s overbearing manner in the face of his dying wife. And yet, try as she might, Kirsty still could not rid her mind of the image of the scene of crime manager stooping over that tray of watches.
It was barely twenty minutes later that the ginger-haired nurse came and sat beside Kirsty, a mug of coffee clutched in both hands as though to warm her fingers.
‘I’ve got a wee break,’ Nurse Milligan explained. ‘Thought you might like a bit of company.’ She shot Kirsty a sympathetic smile. ‘She’s still here. But, like I said, she won’t regain consciousness.’
‘This ward, is it for terminally ill patients like Mrs Murdoch?’
‘Aye.’ The woman made a face. ‘We’re not MacMillan nurses but we all have specialist training in palliative care. There’s a higher ratio of nurses to patients up here than anywhere else in the hospital. It’s sad, really. We don’t get to know our patients for very long. Most of them are transfers from other wards. Like the one who passed away during the night, God rest her soul. Next room to Irene Murdoch,’ she said with a frown. ‘It was funny. One minute she was okay then the next…’ The nurse shrugged and shook her head.
‘Must be a hard job. I couldn’t do it,’ Kirsty told her.
‘And I couldn’t be a polis, that’s for sure. You must see the dregs of society all the time,’ she said shrewdly.
Kirsty laughed. ‘Well, I attended my first post-mortem yesterday.’
‘With
Murdoch said nothing but sat down heavily on to a plastic chair next to the bed and slipped his fingers over the wasted hand lying on top of the sheet.
‘Shall I leave you two with Mrs Murdoch for a while?’ the nurse asked.
‘Oh, I’ll wait outside,’ Kirsty replied hastily, the sudden realisation of what was happening making her feel a mixture of embarrassment and shyness. She had no business being here at all, she told herself, slipping out after the nurse and forcing herself not to look back at the man sitting by his wife’s side.
‘I… I’m just Detective Sergeant Murdoch’s driver,’ Kirsty explained once they were out of earshot. ‘I didn’t know…’
‘He didn’t tell you we’d called?’
Kirsty shook her head.
The nurse made a face. ‘Poor soul. Some men are like that. Can’t talk about it, can they?’
‘What’s…?’ Kirsty glanced behind her in the direction they had come from.
‘Mrs Murdoch? Oh, we don’t think she’s got long to go now. On a ventilator all night.’ The nurse sighed. ‘She’s peaceful enough. No pain. But her lungs aren’t going to last much longer. We called him as soon as we were sure,’ the nurse added in a tone of defensiveness.
‘He knew she was…?’
‘Oh, sure, we’ve been keeping in touch ever since he came in with her the night before last,’ the nurse insisted.
Kirsty nodded, remembering the dishevelled state of her mentor the previous day, the sudden change from a smart working suit to jeans and leather jacket. He must have come straight from the hospital.
‘Isn’t there any family?’
The nurse shook her head. ‘Couple of sons. Both overseas. Probably won’t come until there’s a funeral.’ The nurse’s eyebrows rose as if commenting on the unfairness of life in general. Then she patted Kirsty’s shoulder. ‘Look, why don’t you grab a coffee from the machine along in the day room? I’ll come and collect you when it’s time for him to leave. If you need me before that, just ask for Nurse Milligan, okay?’
Kirsty nodded and walked slowly along the corridor, blinking in the artificial light. How strange to be busy at work with Murdoch for two whole days and not to know what was going on in his personal life. Did that account for the grumpiness? The sarcastic manner? Suddenly she was willing to ignore the several instances of DS Murdoch’s overbearing manner in the face of his dying wife. And yet, try as she might, Kirsty still could not rid her mind of the image of the scene of crime manager stooping over that tray of watches.
It was barely twenty minutes later that the ginger-haired nurse came and sat beside Kirsty, a mug of coffee clutched in both hands as though to warm her fingers.
‘I’ve got a wee break,’ Nurse Milligan explained. ‘Thought you might like a bit of company.’ She shot Kirsty a sympathetic smile. ‘She’s still here. But, like I said, she won’t regain consciousness.’
‘This ward, is it for terminally ill patients like Mrs Murdoch?’
‘Aye.’ The woman made a face. ‘We’re not MacMillan nurses but we all have specialist training in palliative care. There’s a higher ratio of nurses to patients up here than anywhere else in the hospital. It’s sad, really. We don’t get to know our patients for very long. Most of them are transfers from other wards. Like the one who passed away during the night, God rest her soul. Next room to Irene Murdoch,’ she said with a frown. ‘It was funny. One minute she was okay then the next…’ The nurse shrugged and shook her head.
‘Must be a hard job. I couldn’t do it,’ Kirsty told her.
‘And I couldn’t be a polis, that’s for sure. You must see the dregs of society all the time,’ she said shrewdly.
Kirsty laughed. ‘Well, I attended my first post-mortem yesterday.’
‘With
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