“Yes,” the doctor replied absently. “That’s as may be,” he said, making it clear that he didn’t believe a word of what Baddó was saying, “but we have an obligation to report anything that could possibly be an injury with an edged weapon to the police and they’ll be here to speak to you in a moment.
The doctor left the room and Baddó stood up to get a look in a mirror for the first time.
“Shit!”
The wound’s ragged edges had been fixed together as well as possible with tape sutures and Baddó was shocked at how raw the cut looked, not least as part of his beard had been roughly shaved away to give access to it.
“If you’d like to come this way, Jón,” the nurse suggested as she put her face around the door, beckoning him to follow. Baddó heard a blast of laughter from down the corridor as a door quickly opened and closed, cutting it off abruptly. “There are two police officers here to speak to you, but I’ll get you bedded down and then I’ll go and fetch them. All right?”
Baddó nodded, too numb and tired even to check out the nurse’s figure as he followed her along the passage, his leather jacket over his arm. He sniffed the musty air of the small room she showed him into.
“You can take a shower, but you might want to be careful of your face. The sutures won’t come off, but you really don’t want to get your face wet for a day or two,” she said, disappearing behind the door as it shut behind her, leaving Baddó alone.
He sat down on the crisp white bed, wondering how long he would be able to pretend to be Jón Daníelsson, a name he had picked from the phone book, along with an address and a national ID number that he’d stored away, ready to reel off when needed. He quickly ran the ten digits over in his mind to ensure they were there, ready for use. Baddó wondered if he should just get into bed and be asleep before the cops arrived. He suddenly felt exhausted, as if he’d run a race, and the bed looked so inviting. But thinking back to the attack cleared his mind and the rekindled anger at being jumped by two thickheads made him want to punch the walls.
He took a final look in the mirror, grimaced at the sight of the ragged cut running along his jaw and made a decision. He slipped out of the room, being careful not to let the door slam. Baddó could hear the soles of his trainers squeaking on the floor, so he trod carefully as he pulled on his jacket. The place was quiet apart from a buzz of conversation from the staff room, from where he’d heard a gale of laughter earlier. He tiptoed past, catching sight of some police uniforms inside the half-open door.
He headed for where he reckoned the door should be, guided by instinct and a faint whiff of fresh air, but a rush of hurrying feet saw him smartly step to one side into a doorway as the doctor who’d treated him and two nurses hurried past in response to an unheard summons.
He emerged into a waiting area, which was empty but for two figures surrounded by white coats. Baddó watched and stopped himself from smiling. It hurt his face, but he couldn’t help grinning at the sight of the heavy man in a blood-soaked pair of combat trousers being lifted onto a stretcher, clearly not far from losing consciousness, while his distraught friend looked on.
Baddó walked purposefully and quietly toward the entrance, where he turned and stood in the doorway. The victim’s friend looked on helplessly as the big man was wheeled away at a smart pace. He sank into a seat where he buried his head in his hands for a moment. Baddó watched as the man looked up; he could see the tears in his eyes, followed by the shock of recognition as he saw Baddó looking at him with a malevolent gleam in his eye.
The man’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to shout, stopping only when he realized there was nobody present to shout to. He was unable to drop his eyes as Baddó put a finger to his throat, made a slow, deliberate cutting movement and pointed at the man transfixed in the plastic chair with shock all over his face.
Baddó turned and was gone into the night. As he walked quickly away from the hospital entrance and past a waiting taxi with its driver asleep behind the wheel, he felt a surge of fierce pleasure at having terrified one of the idiots who’d jumped him. He would have to take a taxi, but not somewhere so obvious, he thought, deciding to flag one down closer to town.
“What a beautiful morning,” Helgi observed as the very first glimmerings of daylight appeared, mirrored in the national hospital’s windows. “You weren’t asleep when I called, were you?”
“Of course I was. What the hell do you expect me to be doing at six thirty when I’m not due on shift until ten. What’s it all about, then?”
Helgi grunted as he pushed through a heavy pair of swing doors. “A dead stoner. Name of Ásmundur Ásuson. Record as long as your arm. A bit of strong-arm stuff, but mostly dope and petty thievery,” he explained, walking fast to keep up with Gunna’s pace.
“You realize I’ve been to this hospital to see dead people more times than living ones? That’s not great, is it? I know where the morgue is, but I couldn’t find much else here without having to ask. What happened to this character?”
Helgi opened a second set of doors and the temperature dropped as they stepped into the mortuary.
“It’s not so much this guy as his friend you’ll be wanting a word with,” Helgi said, and turned as the doctor who’d been on duty that night came in. The fatigue in his face was plain.
“Not much to tell you, I’m afraid. You’ll get the post-mortem results soon enough, but that’s not my department,” he said with resigned distaste.
“You treated this man when he was admitted? When was that?”
“Just after two this morning. He appeared in casualty out of the blue. His friend brought him in a taxi, not an ambulance.”
“What happened to him?” Gunna asked.
The doctor jerked a thumb at a steel table with a sheet over it. He strode over to it and lifted one edge, exposing a thigh with a deep gash that extended out of sight behind the leg.
“That’s the cause of death?”
The doctor shrugged. “He left it too late. It looks like this happened some hours before he turned up here. A combination of shock and blood loss, probably some self-administered medication as well, and lights out,” he said, snapping his fingers. “If he’d come in right away, we’d have stitched him up, kept him in for a few days and he’d have had a limp but he’d still be alive.”
Gunna moved to the end of the table and lifted the sheet covering the man’s head. She looked carefully but quickly, and shook her head as she let the sheet fall. “Nope. Not someone I recognize. Helgi?”
“Ási Ásu? Yeah. I remember him from my days in uniform. Never out of trouble. I’d be amazed if the post-mortem doesn’t tell us he was buzzing merrily when he went.”
“And did anyone speak to him? Any idea of when and where this happened?”
“We got his name and ID number,” the doctor said, frowning. “He wasn’t properly conscious and we were more concerned with keeping him alive than getting his life history. Look, do you need me any more? I’d very much like to get out of here sooner rather than later.”
“Of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you should have questioned him. There were some police officers here last night, weren’t there?”
“There were,” Helgi said. “Tinna Sigvalds and Big Geiri were on duty and were called in to interview another suspected knife wound.”
“Then this gentleman turned up and things suddenly got very busy,” the doctor said. “I saw to the other casualty as well and I gather the man in question discharged himself, even though we were going to keep him in for observation.”
“Someone else was cut?” Gunna asked and looked sideways at Helgi with a frown. “Serious?”
The doctor grimaced. “Said he tripped with a knife in his hand, but that’s bullshit. Someone clearly cut the man’s face with a double-loaded knife.”