Free Camille by Pierre Lemaitre Page B

thing is to act fast, get it over and done with.
    *
    6.15 p.m.
    Anne is asleep. The bandages around her head are stained a dirty yellow by haemostatic agents, giving her skin a milky whiteness, her eyelids are swollen shut and her lips . . . Camille is committing every detail to memory, every line he would need to sketch this ruined face, when he is interrupted by someone popping their head around the door and asking to speak to him. Camille steps out into the corridor.
    The on-call doctor is a solemn-faced young Indian with small, round glasses and a name-tag bearing an impossibly long surname. Camille flashes his warrant card again and the young man studies it carefully, probably trying to work out how to react. Although it is not unusual to have cops in A. & E., it’s rare to get a visit from the brigade criminelle .
    “I need to know the extent of Madame Forestier’s injuries,” Camille explains, nodding towards Anne’s room. “The examining magistrate will want to question her . . .”
    The on-call doctor tells him this is a matter for the consultant, only he can decide when she will be fit to be questioned.
    “I see . . .” Camille nods. “But, will she . . . How is she?”
    The doctor is carrying a file containing Anne’s X-rays and her notes, but does not need to consult it, he knows it by heart: her nose is broken (“a clean break that will not require surgery,” he stresses), a fractured collarbone, two broken ribs, sprains to her left wrist and ankle, two broken fingers (also clean breaks) and numerous cuts and contusions to her arms, her legs and her stomach, her right hand suffered a deep cut and although there is no nerve damage, she may need physiotherapy; the long gash down her face is a little more problematic and may leave a permanent scar, she has also sustained serious bruising. Even so, the results of the preliminary scan are encouraging.
    “It’s amazing, but there’s no sign of any damage to the neurophysiological or autonomic systems. There are no fractures to the skull, though she will require dental surgery. She may need a plaster cast . . . but we can’t be sure. We’ll know more tomorrow when we do the M.R.I. scan.”
    “Is she in pain?” Camille says and quickly adds, “The reason I’m asking is because if the magistrate needs to question her . . .”
    “She’s suffering as little as is possible. We have a lot of experience with pain relief.”
    Camille manages to smile, stammers his thanks. The doctor gives him a curious look, his eyes are piercing. “He seems unusually emotional for a policeman,” he seems to be thinking. He seems about to question Camille’s professionalism, to ask to see his warrant card again. In the end, he draws on his reserve of compassion.
    “It will take time for her to heal,” he says, “the bruises will fade, she may have a couple of minor scars, but Madame . . . [he glances down at his file] Madame Forestier is out of danger and she has suffered no permanent damage. I’d say the main problem now is not dealing with her physical injuries, but dealing with the trauma she will have suffered. We’ll keep her under observation for a day or two. After that . . . well, she may need some support.”
    Camille thanks the man again. He should go, there is nothing more for him to do here. But it is out of the question. He is physically incapable of leaving.
    *
    The right wing of the hospital offers no possible entry, but things are much better on the left-hand side. There is an emergency exit. This is familiar territory. It’s a door like the one in the Monier, a fire-door with a horizontal crash bar that is easily jimmied with a length of flexible metal.
    I stand and listen for a minute – which is pointless, since the door is too thick. Never mind. A quick glance around me, slide the metal between the door and the jamb, open it and find myself in a corridor. At the far end is another corridor. I take a few steps, walking boldly, deliberately