Chapter 87
When he came to he was lying on the grass. Blue lights bounced all around and a fine wet mist was falling over him.
“Are you ok now? Can you sit up?”
He couldn’t see who spoke, the bright white light shone in one eye then the next. “Yep, he seems ok. I’ve put a dressing on a head wound. Apart from the cuts and scrapes to his hands, no other obvious injuries,” the paramedic told her colleague. “Come on, let’s get you up and into the chair, we need to let the fire brigade do their stuff.” He sat up and began to cough, deeply and painfully, spitting mucus onto the grass. He could hear himself wheezing when he breathed.
A uniformed police officer crouched down next to him. “Are you DCI Baddeley?” He nodded and began coughing again. The Officer stood up and moved away as he spoke into his radio.
In the chair, covered by a blanket, his head throbbed relentlessly. He looked up at the bungalow. Smoke billowed from the roof and blackened windows. Firemen continued to spray it with a fine fog of water.
“You’re very lucky,” she said. “If he hadn’t pulled you out when he did, well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Who?” was all he could manage before a spasm of coughing took hold of him yet again.
She wheeled him to the open rear doors of the ambulance. “This gentleman,” she said. “Oooh! Where’s he gone! Bernie! Where’s the other chap gone?”
Bernard popped his head around the door. “He was there a couple of minutes ago. I left him with the oxygen.”
“That’s strange!” she said, peering up and down the street as she was strobed by the blue light from the MIT vehicle that handbraked to a halt in front of her.