CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Lyle just finished pouring their traditional burgundy champagne when a subdued knock on the Bartholomew’s door startled him. Ethel went to answer it noting the pork roast she’d been working on added the distinct smell of Christmas to the house. They were expecting Megan and the children, it was almost lunchtime, but was shocked to see who the visitors were.
Obscured behind the screen mesh of her front door stood the outline of a man and woman dressed entirely in blue and black. Police officers.
“Merry Christmas mam. I am sorry to trouble you. My name is sergeant Osborne and this is constable Reilly,” the elder said holding up his identification. The younger woman didn’t utter a word. Given the vacant look on her face Ethel sensed she was displeased working on the holiday.
“Would you mind if we ask you a few questions regarding a neighbour of yours?” Osborne continued.
“Not at all sergeant. I was expecting my daughter but please come through and have a seat.” Mrs Bartholomew was bemused as to the neighbour in question and only hoped everything was fine. She introduced Lyle to the officers and thought better than to offer champagne as she normally would on such a day. They took chairs in the atrium and constable Reilly produced a small notebook and pen still without saying a word.
“I will be brief,” the sergeant said getting straight to the point, “are you acquainted with Mitchell Atherton of 15 Mortimer Place?” he asked robotically. A routine question no doubt asked many times over his career.
“Yes I am Sergeant Osborne. Is Mitchell all right? He isn’t in any trouble is he?” Ethel became very worried for her neighbour.
“He is fine I assure you. However, from what we can tell he’s unfortunately been in a car accident and currently heavily sedated in hospital.” Ethel’s heart raced and she turned to Lyle for support. Mitchell was a good person, only ever doing the right thing by her, she wondered what kind of accident he could have been in. Lyle sensed her apprehension and held her hand while directing all further questions to him.
“Mitchell is our neighbour. He lives just behind us and helped us in many ways,” Lyle said steadying the tone of enquiry. “What happened to him, why have you come to us for help?”
Sergeant Osborne shared little more on the matter. His job was to retrieve information, not disclose it. All he said was that Mitchell was found unconscious on a pathway with injuries consistent to a collision with a speeding vehicle. He had been taken to hospital where the paramedics passed his driver’s license to the police. That led the officers to the neighbourhood for their current line of questioning. As the Bartholomew’s couldn’t add any further information, the last notation made in the notebook of the young constable was their phone number and offer to help in any way. As they were leaving, Megan and the children arrived confused by the presence of a police car in the driveway and why their family Christmas hadn’t started the way they intended.
Hours before the police visited the Bartholomew’s a young boy joyously rode his new bike along the local footpaths. Santa had visited overnight and the lad was anxious to ride his gift on the perfect summer morning. The joy was short lived though following his discovery of a man’s body curled almost fetaly on a metal manhole cover. He was covered in sweat and dirt as equally as blood, his right leg lacerated from knee to ankle. The exposed shinbone was fractured in two places but thankfully the young boy hadn’t noticed that. What a Christmas that would have been for him. The boy rushed home to his mother and father who initially didn’t believe his tale. It took some convincing but his parents finally made the short journey to discover he was telling the truth. They found the man dressed in running clothes; shorts and singlet only, his bare skin covered with numerous lacerations and grazes. His hair was matted with blood and sweat and a purple bruise had already formed over his left temple. Blood gushed from the deep incision to his leg covering his shoe in a thick glaze of red plasma, pooling in places around his body. They tried in vain to wake the man careful not to cause further injury. But no matter how hard they shook the body he didn’t respond. The father phoned for an ambulance, another Christmas morning not as planned, and the family waited awkwardly by the side of the road for its arrival. While they did the boy’s mother found an expired drivers licence in the bludgeoned man’s pocket.
Years ago Mitchell read an article about clever little uses for items otherwise past their usefulness. One suggestion was for cyclists and runners to keep an expired drivers licence on their person for identification. Mitch liked the idea and had ever since carried an old licence on him whenever he ran. Today that gesture might very well have saved his life.
His blood loss was extreme and the attending paramedics quickly stymied the flow before radioing ahead for transfusion reserves. The license detailing his blood type. Mitchell was non-responsive during the roadside treatment and despite all efforts to revive him during the trip to hospital, he remained unconscious.
At the hospital Mitch was rushed through triage and shown priority given his injuries. The duty doctor later admitted his comatose state helped the situation ensuring Mitchell remained calm during the ordeal. It was only after he was taken to the Intensive Care Unit that the physicians informed the police of his identity; thanks to the aged, laminated document found in his pocket. Osborne and Reilly were halfway through their shift when they arrived at Mitchell’s home and heard Peanut barking at their persistent knocking.