Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(18)
The sound of the approaching siren pulled him back to this room, these groans, this suffering man. The siren stopped. He put his hand on Griffoni’s shoulder and lifted his chin towards the other side of the room. Together they moved there. A moment later, a white-jacketed woman came quickly into the room, followed closely by one of the emergency crew carrying a canister of oxygen and a mask.
The woman looked at the man on the floor and then glanced around the room. Seeing Griffoni and Brunetti, she said, sounding inappropriately calm, ‘Tell me what happened.’
Brunetti chose to speak. ‘We’re police officers and were questioning him. He coughed a lot and seemed to have trouble breathing. With no warning, he stood, twisted his body to one side, and collapsed.’
‘When did this happen?’
Brunetti looked at his watch. ‘Sixteen minutes ago,’ he said.
She nodded and turned to the man behind her, reaching for the oxygen mask. She knelt and slipped it over Vio’s nose and mouth, felt his pulse, looking at the bruise.
The doctor took a stethoscope from the pocket of her jacket and placed it on Vio’s chest. She studied his face while she listened, moving the stethoscope to the compass points of his chest. Then she put the stethoscope in her pocket and leaned down over Vio.
Two more men came into the room: one carried a rolled-up stretcher.
‘Signore,’ the doctor said, bending down over Vio, ‘can you hear me?’
Vio made a noise.
‘We have to move you,’ she said. As she spoke, both men moved closer, and the one with the stretcher unrolled it.
‘It’s going to hurt, Signore,’ the doctor said, shifting closer to Vio and taking his hand. ‘But I want you to try not to move. I think your rib has punctured your lung, and it should – if you can stand it – remain where it is for as long as it can while we take you to the hospital. If it moves, it might do you more damage.’
Vio made no sound, and she asked, ‘Do you understand?’
This time a grunt.
She ran her hands across the sides of her trousers to warm them and leaned towards him again. ‘I’m going to touch you now. Don’t be afraid.’
Vio did not acknowledge what she said. After a moment she placed first one hand, and then the other, on the sides of his chest and moved them around, her fingers pressing lightly. Vio groaned but did not move. The doctor shifted her fingers on to the bruised flesh, and the groan became a bit louder.
She removed her hands and pulled a small bag towards her, opened it, and turned back to Vio. ‘I’m going to give you something for the pain, Signore. It will help, but you will still feel pain. Please, please try not to move while my colleagues put you on the stretcher.’ Silence. ‘Do you understand?’
In response, Vio coughed but managed to say, ‘Sì,’ nothing more. She removed a small phial of clear liquid and a plastic-wrapped syringe. Quickly, efficiently, she injected the liquid and patted his hand a few times, as if hoping to comfort him or prepare him for what was coming.
The doctor got to her feet and stood beside the doorway; the attendants drew closer to Vio. Brunetti and Griffoni passed into the hallway, moving a metre down the hall. They heard scuffling, a click of metal on tile, a sigh, a muffled groan, and then one of the men came into the corridor, then the other, a white-faced Vio lying on the stretcher they held. The third man followed, holding the oxygen and staying close to the stretcher.
Brunetti and Griffoni pressed back against the wall and watched as the attendants disappeared down the corridor. After a moment, the doctor emerged, holding her bag. She nodded to them and said only, ‘We’ll take him to the Ospedale Civile.’
Brunetti and Griffoni trailed them across the entrance hall and out the main entrance. An ambulance was moored at the dock, motor running. The attendants started towards it, and at that moment, Brunetti heard the approach of another boat. He turned in the direction of the entrance to the canal and saw the police launch, Foa at the wheel, Vianello beside him, to his left a young man with dark hair tousled by the wind.
Foa pulled up nose to nose with the ambulance; Vianello pushed past the young man and jumped to the riva, his face blank with shock. ‘What’s wrong?’ he called to Brunetti.
Before Brunetti could answer, the young man leaped from the deck and ran to the stretcher, which the attendants had set down while waiting for the confusion of boats to be sorted out. Blind to the people standing near the stretcher, he knelt and bent over Vio. ‘Marcello, Marcello,’ he said, panic searing his voice.
Brunetti took a step towards them, but Griffoni grabbed his arm and locked her fingers around it, pulling him so hard as to set him back on his heels.
Vio opened his eyes and said something, then moved his hand towards the other man. Duso – who else could it be? – covered it with both of his but said no more.
The doctor drew up beside Duso and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘All right, stop that now. We’re taking him to the hospital.’ She turned to the three attendants and said, ‘Put him on the boat.’
They did as they were told and lifted the stretcher, pulling Vio’s hand free from Duso’s. They climbed aboard and slipped the stretcher through the doors, and then the doctor climbed in after them. Duso raised a hand towards the ambulance as the doors slammed shut and the motor roared. The third man went to stand by the pilot. Duso remained kneeling on the pavement, too surprised to react, capable only of watching the ambulance disappear, first from sight, then from sound.