side on the floor, one hand clutching his chest, feet paddling furiously against the pain.
‘Call the paramedics,’ Ailsa shouted to the nearest scenes of crime officer. The Chief’s breathing was more reminiscent of a marathon runner than someone who had recently made a trip of a few hundred yards from a car, hauling air in and chugging it out. Ailsa removed his tie and loosened his shirt while Callanach grabbed a torch from a passing officer. The additional light showed Begbie’s face as ashen but slick with sweat. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes wide. Callanach took hold of Begbie’s right hand, half expecting rejection. The Chief squeezed Callanach’s in silent reply, gripping hard, holding on. Blood trickled from his knees and hands where he’d hit the floor and he looked unexpectedly like a victim. Confused, scared, helpless.
‘Help me sit him up,’ Ailsa said to Callanach. They sat the Chief with his back against a stack of boxes while a technician fetched a blanket. ‘George, these are aspirin. I want you to chew them slowly,’ she said, pushing two small pills into Begbie’s mouth. He grimaced but made the effort, his hands shaking as he steadied himself. ‘By God, man, I’m not supposed to be here looking after you. Have I not got enough to be getting on with? Quite the shock you gave me!’
Begbie did his best to issue a response, but managed nothing other than a breathless wheeze, and went back to chewing. Ailsa checked him over for other injuries, wiping her face when the Chief closed his eyes for a moment. If Callanach didn’t know better he’d have thought she was wiping away tears.
The paramedics were inside before anyone could get crime scene suits on them or even shoe covers. It took only a couple of minutes for them to get Begbie onto a stretcher with an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, but in that time Callanach saw the look on Ailsa’s face turn from deep concern to complete frustration. Bloody footprints ran all the way across the floor. Begbie had fallen into the middle of the key forensics area, followed out of necessity by the men saving his life. Everyone stopped, hands on hips, shaking disbelieving heads at how much more complicated and unlikely to yield results their tasks had just become.
‘I’ll follow him to the hospital,’ Callanach said. ‘Would you mind calling Ava, please Ailsa? She’s friendly with the Chief’s wife. Someone ought to pick Mrs Begbie up.’
Callanach’s mobile rang just as he arrived at the Royal Infirmary.
‘How’s the chief?’ Ava asked.
‘I don’t know yet. We won’t get anything out of the doctors until they’ve run tests.’
‘What the hell happened? Where were you?’
‘At a crime scene,’ Callanach said.
‘You’re kidding. Must have been one hell of an incident to have got the chief that worked up.’ There was an empty silence. ‘Right, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’ve already had the superintendent on the phone asking what’s going on. She’s on her way too, so make sure everything’s under control.’
Callanach’s lower back flared into a ball of agony. ‘Got to go,’ he said, grabbing a door handle to keep upright and breathing hard.
‘Sir, are you feeling all right?’ a nurse asked. Callanach tried to nod, thinking he should make a joke to reassure her so she could move on. What came out was a wail as he finally lost control of the pain. ‘I need a bed,’ the nurse shouted. An orderly came running, taking Callanach’s weight, slipping one arm around him as the nurse pulled back a curtain to reveal an unused cubicle.
A doctor was with him in moments, stripping him and rolling him onto one side to press gentle fingers down the length of his spine.
‘Could you just give me some painkillers?’ Callanach snapped. ‘I’m with the man who’s just come in with a heart attack. And the superintendent is due any minute. I really can’t be on my back when she arrives.’
The doctor wrote a couple of notes whilst managing simultaneously to look completely bored.
‘Have you had a bad fall?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Callanach said. ‘I slipped, but it wasn’t that dramatic.’
‘It was dramatic enough that it appears to have fractured your coccyx. You must have landed on the edge of it pretty hard. The injury won’t limit normal activities, but it’s going to be painful for six weeks or so,’ the doctor said.
A voice that was authoritative and impatient in equal measure echoed down the row of cubicles.
‘I appreciate the fact that I am not family but I do have an amount of authority here. DCI Begbie became ill at a crime scene for which I am responsible, in the capacity of his immediate superior representing his employer. And where’s Detective Inspector Callanach?’
Callanach rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth as the doctor pressed more firmly against the base of his spine to complete the diagnosis.
‘Sorry, who?’ a nurse beyond the curtain asked.
‘Ugh,’ Superintendent Overbeck groaned. ‘Police officer, French accent, tallish, popular with the ladies.’
‘Oh, I know,’ the nurse replied. ‘He’s with the doctor, too. Just in this cubicle. You can visit him once the doctor has finished.’
‘Finished like hell,’ Overbeck said, ripping the curtain aside and walking in.
‘I’m with a patient,’ the doctor said. Callanach frantically but ineffectually tried to cover his backside with the edge of the sheet he was lying on.
‘Discharging him will solve that problem,’ Overbeck snapped. ‘Begbie’s having a heart attack and you’re in here getting a free back massage, Callanach. Get some clothes on, man. Unless you’re actually dying I want a debrief immediately.’
‘This patient has a fractured coccyx. It’s badly damaged and he’s in a lot of pain. I need to ask you to leave,’ the doctor said.
‘It’s all right,’ Callanach muttered. ‘I’ll be straight out, ma’am.’
The nurse handed him a gown.
‘You need medication, rest and further investigations. There’s no way you’re fit for work,’ the doctor said. ‘I’m signing you off from duties.’
‘Am I right in thinking there’s another body on its way to the mortuary, Detective Inspector?’ the superintendent asked. Callanach nodded. ‘Then are you fit for duty, or shall I have someone wheel you out in a nice comfy blanket?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Callanach said.
The doctor stared at him. ‘I’ll give you a shot to kill the pain. You’ll need a prescription to get you through the next couple of weeks. Avoid sitting for too long. No cycling, rowing, weightlifting or other sports that put a strain on your tailbone.’
‘What’s happening?’ Ava asked, appearing around the corner of the curtain. Callanach sighed.
‘Apparently the detective inspector needed
