You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (snow like ashes series .txt) 📗

Bridget reaches the ambulance base at 8.25 a.m. Three ambulances are parked in the bays. A slow morning for emergencies? Normally she’d be with a colleague, but this is a tick-the-box exercise and a small detour on her way to work (if the traffic had complied). Before getting out of the car, Bridget uses the rear-view mirror to fix her hair and apply a slash of red lipstick.

‘Detective Sergeant Bridget Kennedy,’ she says to a good-looking man who is holding a clipboard and pen and checking the tyres of one of the ambulances. ‘I’m looking to speak to Megan Lowe and Lucas Halliday.’

‘I’m Lucas.’ He smiles and she’s immediately conscious of her thrown-together appearance. Is her lipstick even on straight? She sighs at the unfairness.

‘Hey, Megs,’ he yells. ‘Out here.’

A woman – thirtyish, dark-brown hair tied in an up-knot – emerges from the ambulance. She’s also holding a clipboard. The pair appear to be doing some sort of inventory, checking the vehicle and equipment.

‘Good morning.’ Megan Lowe has watchful brown eyes and a quiet capability. ‘I just need a few minutes to finish off in here. Do you mind waiting in the kitchen?’

‘Not at all.’

Lucas points her in the general direction with another smile. He has the dark good looks that Bridget has always been susceptible to. Shane, like her, is a redhead, as are their children; providing them with yet another reason to resent their parents.

The kitchen has a rectangular table and six chairs. A large glass window looks into an adjacent room, which contains several paramedics watching television.

‘Feel free to put on the kettle,’ one of them calls out.

Bridget is dying for a coffee – she only managed a few sips of the one Shane made for her this morning. She fills the kettle and lines up three mugs.

‘Tea or coffee?’ she asks Megan and Lucas when they appear about five minutes later.

Looking surprised and pleased, they both request tea with milk, one sugar. Bridget can’t help wondering what other things this pair have in common. Their hair, eyes and skin come from the same palette of browns. Even their physiques seem to match: strong, muscular. Something about them fits together.

‘I just wanted to have a chat about Tuesday night,’ Bridget says, setting the mugs on the laminate table before sitting down. ‘Thought it was a good idea to cross-check my facts and see how you’re both doing.’

Megan cups her hands around her mug. Her finger-nails are short and unpolished. Bridget notices a small tattoo – some sort of symbol – on her inside wrist. ‘We did everything we could – we’ve nearly ten years’ clinical experience between the two of us – but it was obvious at the outset that his injuries were extensive. Normally we’d have the back-up of an intensive care paramedic, but even if an ICP had been available, I don’t think it would have made any difference.’

Bridget writes down the fact that an ICP was unavailable in her notebook.

‘The patient was unresponsive when we arrived,’ Lucas adds, folding his arms across his navy short-sleeved shirt. ‘There were two neighbours assisting. Sarah and Darren, from memory.’

Bridget flicks back through the pages of her notebook, cross-checking the names. ‘Yes, we’ve spoken to those witnesses. Neither was acquainted with Mr Newson. Can you tell me what you observed about his injuries?’

Bridget expects to receive the results of the forensic autopsy later today, confirming the number of bullets, the order in which they were fired, and their trajectory within Newson’s body. A personal account from the paramedics will complement the scientific details in the report.

‘Two close-range gunshot wounds,’ Megan says in her softly spoken voice. ‘Entry wounds in the chest and abdomen, exit wounds in the back. One bullet was located in the skin of Mr Newson’s back, the other was located between the skin and clothing.’

A call comes through on the ambulance station’s radio system.

Car 410, says a disembodied voice. 1A cardiac arrest in Gordon.

Bridget sees activity through the glass window: two male paramedics leaving the room, a fleeting picture of authority and controlled calm. What scenario awaits them? No matter how much you condition yourself to expect the worst, some situations defy the imagination. Policing and paramedical practice are similar in that regard: you have no idea what you’re about to walk in to.

‘How long have you two been working together?’ she enquires out of casual interest.

Lucas answers. ‘Almost three years, on and off. We change partners every couple of months but we work in the same region, so we get stuck with each other fairly often.’ He pulls a face and Megan rolls her eyes at him.

A siren sounds as the departing ambulance begins its wrangle with the rush-hour traffic. Bridget gets back on track. ‘So, Mr Newson didn’t regain consciousness at any point?’

‘He became restless on the way to the hospital,’ Lucas supplies. ‘Not exactly conscious but not that far from it. It can happen when the patient’s blood pressure goes back up. I sedated him. The last thing I needed was for him to pull out the IV.’

Bridget writes down the word sedated before snapping her notebook shut. ‘Well, thanks for the chat and corroborating my information. I’ll be in touch if we need to know anything else.’

‘Wait!’ Megan Lowe commands just as Bridget is on the verge of standing up. ‘There is one more thing.’

Her tone is quiet and firm. Both Lucas and Bridget look at her questioningly.

‘You should probably know that Mr Newson and I were acquainted.’

Bridget’s hackles rise. She reopens her notebook. ‘In what capacity, exactly?’

A pause. Megan shifts in her seat. The subject is obviously difficult for her. ‘William Newson was the defence barrister in a case where I was the complainant.’

‘What was the case regarding?’

Megan’s gaze flits from Bridget to Lucas before drifting downwards, to her hands, clasped together. Her discomfort is painfully evident.

‘It was a rape trial.’ The kitchen is deathly quiet. Lucas seems as shocked