The Good Patient

THE GOOD PATIENT ALEX STONE For Abhi. CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Acknowledgments More from Alex Stone About the Author About Boldwood Books The Murder List 1 NOW (SEPTEMBER) Not again. The foggy drowsiness that weighed against me was disturbingly familiar. As was the throbbing in my head that penetrated through the darkness. It was persistent. Nauseating. I knew pain. I was used to it. Numbed to it. It had been a part of my life for so long. But it was a part that I had promised myself was over now. Enough was enough. At least that was the plan. And yet… My eyelids fluttered as I tried to summon the strength to open them. Shards of bright sunlight instantly blinded me and I scrunched my eyes closed again. I lay still, sheltered in the darkness. My brain felt lethargic and hazy. It was tempting to allow myself to drift back to sleep. Not again. That one thought was enough to cling to. Enough to keep me going. Enough to survive. I fought to focus my thoughts, internally checking in with every part of my body, assessing the damage. Nothing felt broken. Nothing else hurt. Cautiously I wiggled my toes. I could still move them. A rhythmic beep caught my attention. There was something familiar and calming about it. I inhaled deeply. The overpowering bitter clinical scent filled my nostrils. I smiled slightly. I knew that smell. Most people hated it and what it represented. Where it represented. But to me it was safety. It was kindness. ‘Ms Taylor,’ a deep voice disrupted my thoughts, and I cautiously opened my eyes again. I squinted at the figure beside my bed, dark haired with a light-brown skin tone. He was wearing blue scrubs and the stethoscope around his neck gleamed as the sunlight reflected off it. He poked his black framed glasses with his forefinger, pushing them higher on his nose. ‘I’m Dr Menon,’ he said, with a soft, lilting accent. ‘I treated you about six months ago.’ Abhilash. ‘I remember.’ My voice was groggy and faint. Despite the drowsiness, I remembered him. How could I forget? ‘That was quite a blow you took to your head,’ he continued as he studied the notes in his hands. He looked up and his eyes met mine. ‘You had us worried.’ I could see the concern etched into his features. He was telling the truth. His concern was genuine. He had been worried. About me. I swallowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled softly. Guilt pressed against my chest. Another sensation I was too acquainted with. ‘I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s all that matters.’ I started to nod, but the pounding in my head made me instantly regret that action. But he was right; despite the pounding in my head, I was okay. In fact, I was better than okay. I was back in hospital, but this time was different. Everything was different. ‘Keep your head still and follow my finger with your eyes, please,’ he said as he leaned towards me and raised his index finger. Disappointment washed over me as he moved his finger slowly in an H pattern about thirty centimetres in front of my face. What had I expected? He was just doing his job. ‘There are a couple of police officers here,’ he said, straightening his back. ‘Police?’ I shifted awkwardly. ‘They want to ask you some questions if you feel up to it?’ There was a protective tone to his words. He would send them away if I asked him to. He’d do it for me. ‘It’s fine,’ I told him. There wasn’t much point in delaying it. He would only be able to hold them off for so long. I might as well deal with their questions now. He nodded and backed out of the cubicle. ‘Okay,’ I heard him say. ‘You can go in now, but only for a couple of minutes. She needs to rest.’ I swallowed as two uniformed officers walked towards the foot of the bed. ‘Ms Taylor, I’m PC Smith and this is PC Jennings.’ The other officer nodded as PC Smith said her name. ‘Can you tell us what happened?’ PC Jennings asked. I tried not to flinch at the question. It was one I’d been asked so many times before. People always wanted to know. Wanted to help. At least that’s what they claimed. But the reality was no-one was that selfless. There was always a reason. A motive. Something to gain. I glanced at the open doorway. Well, maybe not everyone. ‘Ms Taylor…’ PC Jennings prompted, stepping into my line of sight. I drew in a deep breath and tried to recall. How had I got here this time? ‘I was in the water,’ I said slowly, the vague memory of my body rhythmically bobbing, swept up in the current, as darkness descended upon me like morning fog creeping in. ‘Yes, you were found unconscious in the water. The coastguard said your life vest saved you from drowning.’ ‘My head.’ I lifted my hand and tentatively touched my forehead. It was bandaged, but even so, my gentle touch