Blood on the Strand by Chris O'Donoghue

Author:Chris O'Donoghue [O'Donoghue, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boghopper Books
Published: 2019-03-18T22:00:00+00:00

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Nipper Crabbe was worried. He wasn’t in as much pain as before but he was still worried. He sat up in the iron-framed bed, his arm in plaster; a large white bandage round his head. An X-ray revealed that he’d only sustained a hairline fracture of his right forearm but had dislocated his shoulder. The ambulance man had popped it back in while the morphine was still doing its work and the hospital had provided a plaster cast. But despite his good thick skull it seemed the head injury may have been more serious. The doctor was concerned that there was a possibility that it could be more than just a mild concussion so wanted to keep him in for a couple of days, just to make sure he was okay. But Crabbe was worried about his friend, Ted Stump. He hadn’t seen him since they were jumped by Salle and his henchman outside the Shipwrights Arms. He had no idea what had happened to him but was starting to fear the worst. He needed to discover his whereabouts.

He was wearing a regulation hospital gown but he knew his own clothes were in the locker next to him. He also knew that the copper who had come in the ambulance would be sitting outside the door to his room. He wondered how he would be able to get away unnoticed. He didn’t want to talk to the police – he suspected they would be asking some difficult questions. And if it was that Russell bloke doing the questioning, well, he’d heard that he was a tricky bugger. But how to get away?

The fisherman eased his legs out from under the bedclothes and swung his feet on to the floor. Holding on to the bedhead with his uninjured arm, he stood. He was still shaky from the after effects of the anaesthetic and his head swam. He sat back on the bed, his breath coming in gasps. This was not good. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. After a couple of minutes he felt a little easier. This time he leant carefully forwards and opened the door to the locker. Movement was awkward with his plastered arm but he managed to drag his clothes out and place them on the bed. First the trousers. It took effort to slide them up his legs and soon he was sitting still, breathing heavily again, sweat soaking the bandage round his head. Standing, Crabbe managed to tuck the gown into the trousers, then fumble the fastening of one fly button; he couldn’t manage any more. Sitting again he looked at the shirt and ragged jumper and decided it would be more than he could manage to get them over his head, let alone over the injured arm. So he just screwed them up in a bundle. With a struggle he wriggled the patched jacket over his shoulders and jammed the cap on his head over the bandage. He didn’t bother with his thick woollen socks, just pushed his feet into his sea-boots.

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