Free Dead in the Water by Peter Tickler

blue — her name was Kaila according to her badge — offered him some toast. “You’ve missed supper,” she said. “But we don’t want you fading away.” She had a nice smile and an ethnicity he couldn’t place. Not that her ethnicity mattered, but he was curious nevertheless. “You missed a visitor too. I sent him away.” Mullen was grateful. He couldn’t think of any ‘him’ that he would want to be visited by. Maybe it was Dorkin. He seemed to turn up everywhere.
    Mullen slept through the night. “Like a baby,” he said to Raheema when she asked the next morning. Raheema had replaced Kaila. Mullen was feeling much better, with just a dull throb at the back of his head. He thought he should try and be a bit chatty. ‘Like a baby’ seemed a good way of doing so.
    Raheema looked at him as if he was deranged. “I presume you’ve never had a baby?”
    He shook his head.
    “They don’t sleep — not more than a few hours.”
    “It’s a saying.”
    “It’s the stupidest saying I’ve ever heard.”
    He fell silent. It was evidently a sore subject. Or was she always like this?
    “Is there someone we can contact for you?” The storm had passed. “The doctor will be doing his rounds a bit later and if he is happy, we will discharge you. We would prefer it if someone drove you home. Or we can order a taxi.”
    Mullen tried to think. Only two names came to mind. “Rose Wilby.”
    “Girlfriend?”
    “No,” he said quickly, irritated by the nurse’s prying.
    “Would you like me to ring her for you?”
    “Please.” Mullen leant back into his pillows. He really would have preferred to stay in hospital for another day or so. He could sleep lots and have nurses waiting on his every need. Maybe Kaila would be back on shift again later. That would be nice. Or maybe Raheema would be replaced by Raheema Mark 2. That would be less nice. He closed his eyes.
    When he opened them, time had passed and the figure in front of him was male. The doctor was ridiculously young and wore a stethoscope slung round his neck as if to prove his status in case anyone should mistake him for a schoolboy on work experience.
    “That’s a nasty blow you got there, Mr Mullen.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Luckily you’ve got a very tough skull.”
    Mullen said nothing. Was that the culmination of years of expensive training? God help the patients if it was. Or perhaps the man really was a schoolboy on work experience, and masquerading as a doctor.
    “As far as we are concerned, you can go home.”
    “Thanks, Doc.”
    The doctor-schoolboy sniffed. “Maybe after you’ve taken a shower.”
    It wasn’t the subtlest of hints, but Mullen wasn’t bothered.
    He lay there a bit longer, reluctant to do anything. Someone in a green uniform appeared with a trolley. His name was Rick. It said so on his badge. He chatted so volubly that Mullen decided maybe he would like to get home after all.
    “Will you be wanting lunch?” Rick asked, ever helpful.
    “Not if my lift turns up first.”
    Rick moved on. Mullen, who had opted for a cup of tea, drank it slowly. Then he went in search of the shower room.
    * * *
    Becca Baines had only been in the hospital car park ten minutes when Mullen appeared out of the main entrance escorted by a man and a woman. She didn’t know either of them. The guy was wearing bright orange-brown chinos and a summer jacket, and the woman was neat and precise in both clothing and movements. Even the dark curls of her hair seemed well controlled. Baines walked slowly towards her own car, a red Fiat Punto, trying to keep an eye on the trio as they made their way across to a blue Vauxhall Astra. Suppose Mullen looked over, saw her and recognised her? But surely he wouldn’t. She was wearing sunglasses, a long black wig and a retro dress from the back of the wardrobe which she wouldn’t normally be seen dead in. Wasn’t that enough of a disguise? She had bought the wig for a fancy dress party, as a bit of a laugh, but it