Goldenviron

Goldenviron

By

E.D. BIRD

Copyright

Registered with the IP Rights Office Copyright Registration Service

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, localities and incidents revealed within its covers are a result of the author’s imagination

I began the writing of this novel when my father was still alive. Since he was my hero, my idol, I now dedicate its completion to his memory.

My grateful thanks go to a dear friend, Jenny Nielson, who was the first to proof-read the manuscript and offer invaluable advice and criticism. Also, for the same reasons, I thank Ray Smithwick, my friend and lawyer. Another dear friend, Tricia Bowie, read the completed book and claims to have thoroughly enjoyed it; for that I am deeply indebted.

One

Sabrina’s eyes fluttered open, but she immediately closed the lids against the glare and a searing pain that roared through her head like a blazing inferno. What was that... she wondered... and where am I? The brief glimpse she’d had of her surroundings gave no clue of her whereabouts; just dazzling light. She thought her aching head must be resting on pillows, or was it swaddled in something? She felt certain her body lay on a bed, but almost in a sitting position, her legs outstretched.

Instinctively, she tried to raise her left hand to touch her head, but it felt weighted down; there seemed to be a tonne of lead preventing its movement. Relief flooded through her when she was able to wriggle her fingers, even if she couldn’t lift the hand from her side.

She carefully raised her lids open again, her eyes just slits, and peered through the long lashes. After a while the irises adjusted to the brightness and she slowly moved them from left to right, surveying her surroundings. Noting the tubular metal end of the bed and the food trolley just beyond it, she guessed she must be in a hospital.

Sabrina’s head was propped up by pillows and the bed was raised at the top end providing support for her shoulders. The side rails were pulled up like a child’s cot, preventing her from falling out.

Bandages swathed her head and the visible parts of her face were badly battered; she looked as if she had recently completed ten rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson. The scrapes and scratches had been dabbed with gentian violet which blended well with the multiple bruises.

White provides a sterile-looking environment and is generally accepted therefore in hospitals around the globe, but this private ward was impossibly so. Everything in the room was painted white and remarkably there were no varying degrees. Where white is defined in the dictionary as simply white, a white fabric held against a white wall will provide a subtle difference in shade. Here, however, everything was perfectly matched as if after curtaining and furnishing the room, the entire area had been dusted with a spray gun; the result was astounding. The fluorescent tube in the centre of the ceiling, which provided the only source of light, accentuated the brilliance; not one scrap of colour was present anywhere.

The room was silent and no sounds emanated from the corridors beyond the closed door, not even hushed whispers from passing nurses or the padding of soft footsteps. It appeared to Sabrina that she was the only inhabitant within the entire complex.

As her consciousness gradually improved she glanced, without moving her head, toward what she assumed were the windows; curtains were drawn tightly shut providing no view beyond them. Then she heard a gentle click from the opposite side of the room; a door closing perhaps? But she had been alone, hadn’t she? Had somebody just retreated from the room in which she lay? Am I actually awake or is this just a really bad dream, she asked herself.

Her body ached so much she knew it would be impossible to move from the confines of her bed and explore her location. She had already guessed from her sanitary surroundings that she must be in a hospital or similar institution, but could not recall what events had brought her here.

Lying perfectly still, her eyes closed again, she allowed her wakefulness to return at its’ own pace. She wondered where her beloved husband was, why he wasn’t here. Had she been involved in an accident and if so had Hilton been with her? Was he too injured, or worse still, taken from her for all eternity? That idea didn’t bear thinking about... What was her last conscious memory?

She had visited the local hospital on numerous occasions, but never recalled wards with such conspicuous contents; so where was she? She cautiously opened her eyes again and glanced around the room. It was absurd. Every item of furniture, the entire room and its contents were painted the same pristine white.

She tried to turn her head, rather than just her eyes, toward the windows again, but found she was restricted with a neck brace; that attempt hurt like hell. Instead she twisted her body which brought intense stabs of pain to her shoulder, but she persevered.

She could now see the bedside table on top of which stood a plastic beaker and an opaque jug. She presumed the carafe must contain water and imagining its contents instantly made her thirsty, but her arms still felt weighed down. A sense of helplessness engulfed her.

Her mouth was drying rapidly; she continued staring at the water jug longingly, wondering how she might get to it. She tried lifting her right hand, but that movement resulted in piercing pain. Rotating her body agonisingly in that direction she saw a stand with a drip attached to it and realised the source of the stinging sensation. Even the drip bag, tube and stand were white and she marvelled at this since she knew the plastic should be clear to allow visuals of the fluid flowing through.

She wriggled the toes on her right foot, but was rewarded with excruciating agony when attempting the same thing with her left. She reasoned there must be an injury about which she would no doubt learn in due course.

Sabrina closed her eyes again and tried to relax. Gradually, faded memories began creeping forward until eventually she was able to recollect some of the events leading up to her current circumstances.

Two

A few hours earlier…

It was Sunday 2nd August, at approximately 16:10hrs, when the bone-chilling explosion had thundered through the suburban house. It was unmistakable. The simultaneous screech of grazing metal, the shattering of glass, the grinding resonance of a heavy object being pushed along with great force, all these noises merely confirmed his immediate suspicions; silence returned a few moments later.

Hilton had no idea why he should be so alarmed, so filled with dread, but his body shuddered, convulsed. He had been preparing the evening meal for himself and his wife, Sabrina, as she was embroiled in a ‘cold’ murder investigation. Being a difficult case from the start, it kept her away from home virtually all day long, leaving little or no time for household chores.

He hadn’t expected that the dinner would be delectable due to his poor culinary expertise, but it may have been edible had it not been for these events. At the sound of blast, the bowl of chicken casserole he’d prepared and had been carrying to the eye-level oven, slid from his shell-shocked fingers and crashed to the tiled floor. The Pyrex glass disintegrated on impact, discarding its contents in a cascade of creamy white wine and mushroom sauce. The lumpy concoction spattered, almost in slow motion, then dribbled down the blonde oak doors of the kitchen cabinets. The floor was a mess and Hilton’s legs and feet were dotted with slimy chunks, fortunately not yet oven hot.

He stood glued to the spot for a moment watching these events unfolding, then snapped into action. In his haste to get outside, fear churning in his belly, he slipped in the spilled dinner and almost landed on his back. Steadying himself on the banister just the other side of the kitchen door, inhaling deeply, he pressed forward toward the frosted-glass front door at the other end of the entrance hall. In a state of pure panic he tugged it open.

The sight that greeted him was worse than he’d imagined. He could not, in the brief seconds it took to survey the scene, fathom how two vehicles could possibly have collided head-on at such apparently immense speed in a quiet residential neighbourhood such as this.

There was an unrecognisable heap of mangled yellow metal, alien to Hilton, and an extremely distorted bright red sports car. They were jumbled together as one, a hideous red and yellow monster. Steam billowed from the radiator of the unfamiliar vehicle, but because the red one was a mid-engine, the motor seemingly remained unscathed, though its front end was pushed in like the nose of a bulldog. Both had come to rest half on the curb, directly in front of Hilton’s garden gate.

The once spotlessly sparkling red MR2 belonged to his wife, returning home early for whatever reason. With his heart in his throat, struggling to draw enough air, Hilton lurched forward.

The expansive lawn rolled down to the road, ending with a picket fence. Hilton ignored the meandering pathway leading to the front gate, instead covering the distance in a straight line.

With an abysmal sensation of running through treacle, his eyes were glued to the wreckage of his wife’s car. As he drew closer, Hilton could at last make out the shape of Sabrina slumped over the steering wheel, motionless.

After what appeared to Hilton to be an interminable passage of time, but in reality was mere seconds, he was near enough to see there was nobody in the other vehicle. Even if there had been Hilton would have made no effort to assist anyone else at that moment.

Still wheezing for breath, he hurdled the low wooden fence, oblivious to trampling the new seedlings that had just been planted the day before. He was terrified that fuel would ignite and that the unavoidable detonation would occur before he was able to free her, so Hilton wrenched at the door handle, but to no avail. Trying desperately to calm himself, aware of the panic building within, he stopped briefly to take stock of the situation.

Stepping back, quickly assessing his options, he noticed the windscreen of Sabrina’s car had totally shattered, leaving a jagged-edged void. He observed with relief that Sabrina had been wearing her seat belt, but as the car was manufactured in 1990, air bags were not yet compulsory, and none had been fitted. He realised that she was bleeding profusely from a gash in her forehead; a sign, he knew, meant she was still alive.

Scrambling onto the buckled bonnet, Hilton climbed through the opening, falling forward onto the front passenger seat and painfully smashing his elbow against the centrally mounted gear lever; he felt shards of glass slashing at his bare hands.

Due to the concertina effect of the collision, there was very little space between the dash and the seats and he became anxious that Sabrina’s legs would be trapped. Impulsively reaching for the seat belt to unbuckle her, he stopped momentarily, wondering if perhaps the safety harness might be preserving a critical position, that moving her could have catastrophic results.

Apart from the hissing of the strange car’s steaming radiator, the only other sound Hilton could hear was the drumming of his own heart. Then, as he deliberated the wisdom of his actions, the sound of sirens bugled through the crisp late winter air, growing ever louder as the emergency vehicles approached.

Relieved that professional help was on its way, he clambered out of the car the same way he had entered. This proved to be trickier than his entrance, resulting in far greater injuries to his hands and legs. The space where the windshield had been now seemed much smaller, and he wondered how he had managed only two or three minutes earlier to get through it so quickly. Apparently panic and anxiety had played a major role in his new-found abilities.

Now, having finally freed himself, he stood beside the misshapen MR2, wretchedly staring at his unconscious wife, while absently dusting off splinters of glass from his bare arms. The first rescue vehicle arrived moments later and he was politely moved out of the way.

Three

Along with the ambulance and police had come the fire brigade. The sounds were ear splitting, and the flashing red and blue beacons atop those vehicles created an eerie, almost mystical effect in the dying light of the day. It was only as a result of the ‘jaws of life’, a hydraulically operated machine with cutting jaws used to tear away confining metal, that Sabrina was finally removed from the wreckage and whisked away.

Hilton travelled in the back with her, holding her hand in his own bloodied ones, talking gently, hoping she could hear his words of encouragement, wishing all the time that he himself could believe what he was saying.

The paramedics assured him they had stabilised her condition and that she would recover. However, they could not, or perhaps would not, tell him the extent of her injuries.

During the seemingly endless journey Hilton wondered why nobody had thought to perfect decent shock absorption in these vehicles. With the siren blaring all the way and the continuous swaying from side to side, obviously as the driver swung around corners at speeds too great to be safe, he doubted if they would ever reach their destination. He was on numerous occasions, almost flung off the tiny square seat upon which he was perched, and now fully understood why it was necessary to strap the patients into their securely attached stretchers. His anxiety was, of course, entirely related to the safety of his beloved wife.

Despite his misgivings regarding their welfare, the ambulance turned abruptly into the medical facility’s grounds and pulled to a halt outside the trauma centre, with surprisingly little disturbance.

Sabrina was immediately wheeled into the emergency rooms and Hilton was left alone in the waiting area, pacing back and forth in agitation. Turning slowly in a full circle he quickly took in his surroundings; the spacious area was sanitary white, including the tiled floors, which shone beyond need, dazzling in fact. The only pieces of furniture in these austere environs were a wooden pew, also painted white, and in the far corner stood what appeared to be a nurse’s station, though only large enough to accommodate one person. It too was the same stark white, and unattended. He was entirely alone.

Thinking back over the events as he continued to pace, he recalled that nobody had been removed from the second car, either alive or dead, or at least not that he had noticed. Of course Sabrina had had his full attention, but he could not remember any activity around that vehicle.

His thoughts were interrupted as the two paramedics, one of whom doubled as the ambulance driver, re-entered the waiting-room. The man pushing the gurney Sabrina had travelled on carried a clipboard in his hand. The tall, olive-skinned medic moved brusquely toward Hilton and patted him on the back, She’s going to be fine Mr. Shire. The staff inside asked if you would kindly complete these forms as she will obviously need to be admitted, even if only for a few days. Although his English was faultless, he spoke with a mixture of accents.

Hilton was handed the clipboard, which he took, a little dazed and flinching with pain; he watched them exit the waiting area and disappear outside. It wasn’t long before he heard the motor roar into life and the vehicle speed away.

Hilton looked down at what he was holding gingerly in his injured, shaking hands and knew he would be incapable of completing any forms, not only due to his wounds, but also his state of mind; he discarded the clipboard on the bench.

Continuing to pace, he returned to his reflections. A few moments later the swing doors at the entrance of the emergency room flew open and Sabrina’s two younger brothers, Jordan and Kyle burst in, running as if trying to break the world sprint record.

Cody called us! Jordan blurted out, How is she?

I don’t know anything yet, guys, Hilton replied, but I’m told she’ll be okay, we’ll have to wait and speak to the doctor.

What the hell’s happened to your hands? asked Kyle, noticing the bloodied cuts and scratches.

Oh, nothing serious, I can attend to those when I get home.

No way, said Jordan, you’ll have them seen to while you’re here, and he took off to find some help, returning in minutes with a glum looking middle-aged nurse at his side.

The brothers, aged thirty-five and thirty-three respectively, were unmarried though the relationships they each had with their young women seemed promising enough. The two boys had set up their own computer company some nine years earlier and had built it up to a thriving business. They were the perfect pair; one with the expertise in software, the other hardware. No staff members were required and none existed. As hardworking company directors, they apparently had no interest in settling down and having a family just yet, preferring instead to raise their company’s goodwill to even greater heights.

Cody erupted through the swing doors; a tall burly man with a clean-shaven ordinarily jovial face that was not smiling now.

Hey, guys, he muttered, nodding to Jordan and Kyle, you must’ve done some low flying to get here ahead of me. Then looking directly at his friend, We went to the hospital first; I left there ahead of them, and changing tack, there’s something off beam here, Hilton; there was nobody in the second car.

He and his wife live across the road from the Shire’s so Hilton assumed that he must have been home when the accident occurred, but he didn’t react to the comment, since he had already established that fact for himself.

Cody continued, I was watching television when I heard an engine being gunned. When I got to the window I was just in time to see that yellow vehicle hurtling down the road and head on into Sabrina’s MR2. I thought at the time that it was strange I couldn’t see anyone behind the wheel, but assumed that whoever it was must have slumped over or something, maybe having suffered a heart attack or whatever. Anyway, Sabrina had, fortunately, already stopped, or she almost certainly would have been snuffed out instantly... sorry, that was insensitive. Anyway, there was not a soul in the other car; even the police couldn’t find a trace of anyone. Neither did I see anyone fleeing the scene after the crash.

I noticed that myself, Hilton finally said, still unable to grasp the meaning of it all and becoming irritated with the nurse fussing over his hands and then the legs.

Are you saying this was no accident? asked Kyle, all five feet ten of him puffed up in rage, his face red with fury. Sabrina’s youngest brother looked remarkably like her with the radiant blue eyes. Apart from the hairstyle, spiked like Rod Stewart, naturally blonde and bleached further from the endless hours spent in the sun over weekends, they could have been twins despite the age gap of nearly eight years.

Someone was deliberately trying to kill Sabrina? Jordan asked. He had an extra four inches on Kyle and the veins standing out on his neck made him look almost feral, a giant grisly. They were both attired in brightly coloured beachwear having spent the day water-skiing at a local dam.

Hilton’s knees began to buckle beneath him and he staggered across the room, trying hard to stay upright. Managing to navigate the cold, sterile floor he slumped down on the hard bench.

Cody recovered the discarded clipboard from the seat and began completing the forms on Hilton’s behalf, leaving the space provided for a signature vacant for the time being.

As the nurse had at last finished what she was doing, Hilton leaned forward with his forehead cupped in his now bandaged hands. Speaking his thoughts aloud, to nobody in particular he said, Do you think this has anything to do with the case we’ve been working?

Sabrina, of medium build, but having fought the battle of the bulge since her early teens, now a little more rounded with the ravages of time and that middle age spread, is a private investigator. She had been hired by a woman ten days prior to find what she could with regard to the mysterious death of the lady’s husband some three years earlier. The husband, Ben Curl, had been found strangled in the boot of his car, parked twenty kilometres south of town on a lonely stretch of road. The police had found no incriminating evidence and even the crime scene investigators had come up with zero. No leads. How Sabrina Shire expected to find anything the experts had overlooked was beyond Hilton, but she was the specialist in her field and invariably solved her cases. She had been working on this one round the clock, taking on no new cases to ensure her undivided attention and felt that she was making some headway.

Hilton, a legal consultant, is her aide and confidant. Jordan and Kyle, Hilton’s golfing buddies as well as Sabrina’s younger brothers, occasionally put in some time for the cause too during off work hours. The case seemed to be coming together and Hilton wondered if this evening’s events might be the result of their combined findings. Hilton looked up questioningly from one of the three faces to the other.

Before anyone could respond, a door at the opposite end from the outer access to the waiting room opened and a doctor entered in scrubs, pulling disposable white rubber gloves from his hands. His appearance took them all by surprise not only by his sudden entrance, but by his apparel. The astonishing point was that he was attired from head to foot in white, everything entirely unspoiled. Even his shoes were covered with white paper booties; Hilton recalled that the nurse who had attended his minor injuries wore similar casings for her footwear. The white head covering that the doctor wore concealed his hair so the colour could not be determined. Until he removed the white mask all that could be seen of his face were his dark green eyes which looked like peas in the snow. Yet more remarkable was the fact that not a speck of anything could be detected, no discolouration, no blood, anywhere. Hilton rose rapidly to his feet and all four converged upon the doctor as one.

She’s pretty beat up, the doctor said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, but she’s going to be right as rain in a few days. He smiled, exposing a perfect set of teeth, all even and straight, incredibly white; the sort of smile toothpaste manufacturers would demand for their advertisements.

Is she awake? Can I see her? asked Hilton anxiously.

She has probably six cracked ribs, a multitude of bruises and a dislocated shoulder, but that has now been reset. Her right ankle appears to be broken; I’m still waiting for the x-rays to confirm that. We have affixed a neck brace since she undoubtedly will have suffered some whiplash. No internal injuries we can detect at this stage, but we’ll continue with our tests. She’s a very lucky woman. I understand her vehicle was stationery at the time of impact. That’s a fortunate contributing fact to her condition, as is the wearing of her safety harness, even if it was the culprit for the dislocated shoulder. Had those two factors not been in existence, she might be making her way to the Pearly Gates at this moment. Can you imagine driving into a brick wall at speed, because that would effectively have the same result? Anyway, she seemed to be just about coming around when I left her and the medication I’ve given will make her drowsy, so don’t spend too much time with her, the doctor concluded, nodding in Hilton’s direction. He left them.

Four

Hurrying after the doctor through the swing doors Hilton, Jordan and Kyle followed the man in white along the corridor. After being directed to the private ward that Sabrina was recovering in, they entered quietly.

She looked so pitiful Hilton was reluctant to disturb her. He stood beside the bed on her left, Jordan and Kyle on either side of him. Cody had waited out in the corridor.

Wow, is this room startling or what? said Kyle squinting against the glare.

I’m going to be fine, mumbled Sabrina in response to their arrival, her eyes still shut and her words a little slurred from the drugs that had been administered.

What the hell happened? Hilton asked softly, reaching out and taking her hand gently in his.

I think I know, she answered, still no eye contact.

Feeling the bandages surrounding Hilton’s hands as they clasped her own, Sabrina opened her eyes to slits, what’s this Hilton?

There’s plenty of time to talk about me later,

Okay, but I’ll hold you to that. I need you to get out my Curl case file, it’s on my desk in the study, she muttered, her words so soft they were almost inaudible. I want you all to read its contents, discuss everything, see if you can find something that might indicate I made an unwelcome intrusion for someone, and then come back to me. Right now I need to sleep, but don’t worry, just a few cracked ribs I think, I’ll be okay.

Giving her hand a squeeze and wincing at his own pain, Hilton said, We’ll come back a little later then and talk some more. I must confess your involvement in the Curl case had also occurred to me as a possible explanation for these events.

As Hilton reluctantly departed he heard Sabrina’s soft murmurings to her brothers, noted from the corner of his eye their affectionate but gentle hugs before they followed him out of the room.

In the corridor Cody was standing with his back to them, one hand in a pocket, leaning against the wall while puffing on a cigarette, directly beneath a ‘no smoking’ sign. He turned when he heard their approach, promptly dropped the cigarette on the immaculate floor and stamped on it.

How’s she doing? his face was tense.

A little drowsy, but I think she’s going to come through it just great. Hilton replied with a little too much enthusiasm.

Come on guys, let’s get going, said Kyle, Cody can take you home Hilton so you can fill him in on some details of the case.

As the four of them reached the entrance doors, Kyle turned and said, Just a thought… do you think Sabrina’s safe here, I mean if there is any connection with the case and what happened? Only, I wonder why she was brought to this medical facility.

As if on cue, the doors swung open and a police officer tramped through coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of them, surprise registering upon his face. He was a young man of slight build, probably not long out of the academy.

Good evening. Are you the Shire family?

Hilton held out his hand, confirmed his identity and queried the reason for the policeman’s presence.

I’m Constable Bailey. Detective Chief Inspector Patrick O’Rourke directed me to wait outside Mrs. Shire’s hospital room until further notice.

So he does suspect foul play? asked Cody.

That I can’t answer, the Constable replied, but I have been given instructions that my duty is to protect Mrs. Shire at all costs and you can be sure no harm will come to her. She’s a lady I’ve always admired.

Five

Leaving the cover of the clinic, Hilton noticed that the sun had completely disappeared and with it the mild warmth of the day. He had been jogging earlier and was still wearing his running vest and shorts. The chilled air plucked at his flesh leaving his bare arms looking like newly de-feathered chicken thighs. He rubbed the skin with his burning, bandaged hands in an effort to erase the bumps.

Whilst waiting for Cody to bring the car around he gazed up into the star studded sky, wondering at Kyle’s remark about which medical facility Sabrina had been brought to. It was indeed an unusual situation since this particular institution was privately owned and he didn’t think his medical insurance would cover expenses incurred here. He thought the natural choice would have been The Metropolitan Hospital run exclusively by the Catholic Church and Nuns; he made a mental note to investigate the whys and wherefores of that questionable decision; after all none of the medical staff here were known to the locals, certainly not any of their credentials.

The old BMW seven series glided silently to a halt in front of him. He opened the door dropping into the passenger seat of Cody’s car, rubbing his arms more vigorously. He felt revived when the heater came blasting through the air vents immediately his friendly neighbour hit the button and an involuntary shiver ran down