Chapter 7
Later that day, back at the station, Rachel and Jamie had come in to take Ritchie home. He and Denton would have to face charges relating to the faked robbery, but Ray had already spoken to Stella about the circumstances and he was hoping that she could arrange something. He didn't care about Denton of course, his motivations had been purely commercial, but Ritchie had just been trying to help his family.
Fraser was a little worried about Cleveland. He'd admitted to everything. He'd given them all the details of how he'd managed to slip the drugs into her food and he'd become emotional at many times during the interview. Fraser had requested that a uniformed officer be posted in the interview room once they'd finished talking to him, as he was concerned about leaving the man alone given his current state of mind.
Ritchie was signing the last of the forms that Francesca had given him in order to facilitate his release. "I should have realised that Anna would never have killed herself," he said sadly to Ray, handing the pen back to Francesca.
"Ya thought ya were doin' the right thing," Ray shrugged as they walked back towards his desk where Rachel was giving Dief some attention and Jamie was talking to Fraser.
Rachel stood up. "Thank you both so much," she said, looking from Fraser to Ray. "I promise you I won't let my idiot brother skip bail," she added with a grin.
Ritchie looked at the floor, embarrassed. "Maybe if I'd been more involved," he said sadly, "maybe I could have seen what Jon was thinking. I stayed out of their way most of the time, I felt like a jerk in that department. I don't understand half of the things they do there."
"Ritchie that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say," Rachel admonished her brother. "No one could have known what was going through his mind." She stopped and looked at Fraser, before adding, "and from what you tell me, I think his mind is very troubled."
Fraser nodded. Then he turned to Ritchie. "You shouldn't put yourself down," he said, "the work you do for us in your department is vital to our investigations. You have helped put many dangerous criminals behind bars. Not many people can say that."
Ritchie looked at Fraser and a brief smile crossed his lips. "Thank you, I appreciate that," he said.
Just then, Mort appeared. Fraser waved him over to Ray's desk. "Mort, I'd like you to meet Anna Cortez's family," he said. "This is my good friend Mort, who's help has been invaluable during this investigation."
Mort shook hands with everyone. "Don't over do it," he said to Fraser with a wink.
Fraser shrugged. "It had to be worth a try," he said, indicating to Mort to step away from the crowd so that he could speak to him. "I meant what I said though."
"Fraser," sighed Mort, "please, I've already told you. What do you think this is?" He held up a sealed envelope with Lieutenant Welsh's name on it.
"Mort, no!" exclaimed Fraser. "I thought you were going to take your time over this decision."
"What's the point?" shrugged Mort. "I can't afford to waste time, not at my age. I can't do this job any more Fraser, it's as simple as that. I don't want to do it any more."
Fraser sighed and looked across at Ray who had been listening in. "If that's your final decision, then of course I respect that," he said. Then he took Mort's hand in a firm handshake. "It's been an honour to work with you," he said.
"Stop it Fraser," replied Mort, his voice cracking slightly.
"I must say, it is a pleasure to see you up here in daylight," Fraser continued with a smile.
Mort laughed. "Well, I haven't burst into flames yet," he said and the two turned to see Rachel, Jamie and Ritchie about to leave.
"I've got to get back to Georgia," said Rachel, shaking Fraser warmly by the hand, "I left her with our neighbour."
"She's a very bright child," smiled Fraser. Rachel smiled and nodded.
Jamie and Ritchie shook everyone's hand and headed for the door. "Hurry up," laughed Jamie, "the car's on a meter."
Rachel turned to Ray and shook his hand too. "Thank you," she said, "for everything."
Ray nodded and Rachel turned to catch up with her husband and her brother in law, but nobody could have predicted what happened next. They heard yelling and shouting as Detectives Huey and Dewey appeared with Jon Cleveland. Cleveland was clearly distressed and Huey and Dewey were struggling to restrain him, even though his hands were handcuffed behind his back. "We're taking him down to the cells," explained Jack Huey as he struggled with the man. "He keeps saying he wants to die."
Fraser and Ray stepped forward to help, but suddenly, fuelled by despair, Cleveland launched his weight at Dewey, knocking him to the floor and the detective managed to hit his head on the corner of Francesca's desk before he hit the ground. Francesca screamed and leapt from her chair to help her now unconscious colleague, and Mort also came to his aid. Fraser was about to grab Cleveland by the shoulder when he lunged again, this time at Jack Huey, letting out a deep throated yell as he did so. It was clear that Cleveland had no idea what he was doing now. Ray tried to move Rachel, Jamie and Ritchie to safety, but before he could get them all out of the way, Huey and Cleveland fell together with all their weight against the filing cabinet that stood to the side of Francesca's desk and sent it crashing down on top of Ritchie.
Rachel screamed and Jamie held her back as she tried to run towards her brother. Fraser and Ray managed to grab hold of Cleveland and handed him over to two of Ray's colleagues who had rushed over to help and they bundled the man out of the squad room, then Fraser, Ray and Jamie took hold of the filing cabinet and were just about able to lift it off Ritchie.
Fraser dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse as Francesca picked up the phone to call for an ambulance. He breathed a small sigh of relief as he felt Ritchie's heartbeat beneath his fingers. He was still breathing too, but Fraser was more worried about the damage that had been caused by the incredibly heavy cabinet. He ripped open the man's shirt and drew a sharp breath as he saw the man's chest and abdomen turning a very unhealthy colour before his eyes. "Mort," he shouted, as he carefully examined the damaged area with his fingers, hoping it wasn't as bad as it looked. Mort left the now conscious Detective Dewey in the capable hands of the slightly stunned Jack and Francesca and crossed to Fraser, his knees complaining slightly as he joined the Mountie kneeling next to the injured man.
Mort also examined Ritchie's injuries and looked extremely concerned. "Help him, please," begged Rachel, and Jamie and Ray had to support her as the situation became almost too much for her to bear.
Fraser looked at Mort, waiting for the older man to say something. When he didn't, Fraser knew he had to take action or Ritchie would be dead before the ambulance arrived. He lifted the man's arm and draped it around his neck, before lifting him up into his arms and getting to his feet. "I'll carry him downstairs," he said as he headed for the door. "I know you haven't got exactly the right equipment, but we can improvise."
"Stay there," instructed Ray to Rachel and Jamie. He had no idea what was going on, but he had a feeling that Rachel would be better off waiting in the squad room. He helped Mort to his feet and they headed out after Fraser. Fraser was still talking to Mort, but the older man was having trouble taking it in. He heard the words 'ruptured spleen' and 'massive internal bleeding', but a terrible feeling had come over him, a feeling of dread, of fear and he felt suddenly light headed.
They got down to the morgue and Fraser carefully laid Ritchie out on the examination table. "Ray, be prepared to perform CPR if necessary," said Fraser urgently as he rushed around opening cupboards and drawers and gathering equipment. Ray was suddenly aware of his own heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't believe that this was happening. He couldn't bear to think how Rachel would take it if she lost her brother too and by the look of him right now, Ray thought that was a distinct possibility. He desperately tried to recall his first aid training.
Fraser finished assembling the instruments and laid them all out on a tray. "Mort, if I bend these around you can use them to..." he began, picking up something that Ray didn't know, or want to know, what it was for, but Fraser stopped talking when he noticed the look on Mort's face. "Mort," he said quietly, but Mort was just staring into space, "Mort, Mort, Mort!"
Mort tuned slowly to face Fraser and spoke in a low, shaky voice. "Fraser, I haven't performed surgery in almost twenty years...I...I can't..." his voice trailed off.
"Mort, this man will die unless you go in and control the bleeding," said Fraser, trying to remain calm. It hadn't occurred to him that Mort would react this way, but of course, considering his recent disposition, Fraser could have kicked himself for not realising that this might happen. Mort just stared at his younger friend, with a terrified look in his eyes. Fraser stared back for a moment, willing Mort to find some inner strength from somewhere, but Mort didn't move. Fraser knew that Mort was probably Ritchie's only chance of survival, so he suddenly looked away, quickly pulled on a pair of gloves and picked up a scalpel and a huge wad of gauze. He took a deep breath and moved towards Ritchie's swollen, distorted body.
"Fraser, you can't," whispered Mort, "you have no idea what you're doing."
"On the contrary Mort," replied Fraser, keeping his voice as even as possible, "I have read several library books on the subject of emergency surgical procedures, one as I remember had particularly detailed diagrams."
"Diagrams!" exclaimed Mort and Ray caught Fraser's eye as he realised what his partner was trying to do. He'd seen Fraser's mind games work so many times before, but this was a life or death situation. This one had better work buddy,thought Ray, as panic set in.
Mort blinked twice and took a deep breath before reaching across and snatching the scalpel from Fraser's hand. "We'll have to do this quickly," he said, "you must do exactly what I say."
"Understood," replied Fraser, allowing himself a tiny sigh of relief.
XxX
At the hospital, Rachel sat in the waiting room, her body trembling, just staring at the wall. Jamie sat with his arm around her wishing there was something he could do to make everything right again for his wife. Rachel had been living through a nightmare for the past few days and Jamie didn't want to think about how she'd cope if her brother died now.
Ray was pacing up and down, occasionally stopping to run his fingers through his hair. "More coffee?" he asked. Jamie shook his head and looked at Rachel, but she didn't reply. Ray nodded and turned to Fraser and Mort, who were sitting facing the others. "Tea?" said Ray. Not that he really wanted another drink himself, the vending machine coffee in the hospital was probably worse than back at the station, he thought and he was struggling with the images in his mind from earlier in the morgue.
"No thank you Ray," replied Fraser. He glanced at Mort. His admiration for the man had already been very high before the events of today, but now it was almost immeasurable. He knew Mort had had to battle against his fear and his self doubt to do what he'd done. Fraser just hoped that it had been enough. "Mort," he prompted gently, "can Ray get you anything to drink? Water perhaps?" Fraser wasn't sure if Mort had even heard the question.
Just then, a doctor appeared from around the corner. "Family of Mr Cortez?" he enquired and Rachel leapt to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Is he alright? Please tell me my brother's alright," begged Rachel.
"I'm Dr Starnes, please sit down," replied the doctor and Ray held his breath. "Your brother is a very lucky man," Dr Starnes began and Ray slumped down in a chair next to Fraser as the relief washed over him. "His injuries were severe and he's lost a lot of blood, but I am cautiously optimistic that he will make a full recovery."
Rachel couldn't help the tears that ran down her face. "Thank you," she whispered.
"You should be thanking whoever it was who carried out the emergency procedure," Dr Starnes went on, "he undoubtedly saved your brother's life. Who was it?"
"This man," Fraser spoke with pride as he looked at Mort.
The Dr Starnes stood up and held out his hand for Mort to shake. Mort hesitated for a moment, before going along with the handshake. "Nice work, doctor," said Dr Starnes.
"Oh I'm not a doctor," replied Mort, quietly, unable to make eye contact with the younger doctor, then he added, "not any more. If you'll excuse me..." and without another word, Mort got up and walked away.
Fraser stared after him for a moment, before turning back to Ray. Dr Starnes was leading Rachel and Jamie off to see Ritchie. "Go after him buddy," said Ray, nodding down the corridor towards the doors that Mort had just walked through. "I'll stay here for a while." Fraser nodded and ran to catch up with his older friend.
"Mort," Fraser called out to him, "wait."
"Fraser, I'd like to be left alone," Mort replied without stopping or turning round.
"Mort, what you did today..." Fraser was unusually lost for words.
"Fraser please," Mort half whispered. Fraser stopped following him and stood watching as Mort walked away. He wanted to respect Mort's wishes, but decided that they definitely needed to talk some more later. He thought that Mort probably needed some time to reflect on the events of today and Fraser hoped that it would also give Mort some perspective on his life.
XxX
A few days later, Fraser, Ray and Diefenbaker arrived back at the Consulate after a typically bizarre day. "Ray, you may wish to wash that tomato juice out of your shirt, or it will stain. If you soak it in vinegar that should lift the mark. I must say though, if you'd just let me talk to the woman, she may not have felt it necessary to attack you with her salad."
"Fraser," snapped Ray, "can we just get one thing straight here, OK, she, er, she did not attack me with a salad. That sounds stupid. She attacked me with a knife."
"I beg to differ Ray," Fraser replied, placing his hat on the table and unbuckling his Sam Browne. "If you recall the details of the incident, although she was holding a knife in her hand, it was the salad vegetables that she was using as projectiles. Perhaps if you'd been a little more polite..."
"Polite!" Ray interrupted him, angrily, "Fraser, she was robbin' the restaurant!"
Fraser was just about to argue some more, but then he heard laughter coming from the other room. He looked at Ray, puzzled and followed Dief out of the room to the source of the noise. As he pushed open the door of Inspector Thatcher's office, he was quite surprised to find Turnbull and Mort sat watching an old comedy show on the television. As soon as Turnbull realised that Fraser was there, he jumped up and turned of the TV. "I'm so sorry Sir," he began, hurriedly trying to dust off the seat of the chair he was sitting on.
"Fraser it was my fault," laughed Mort, "Constable Turnbull invited me to join him while I waited for you to return."
"I'll make some tea," said Turnbull, rushing out of the room.
"It's good to see you laughing," noted Fraser.
"Fraser," began Mort, suddenly serious, "I wanted to thank you."
"What on earth for?" queried Fraser.
"For knocking some sense into a silly old fool," replied Mort, "for believing in me."
"Mort, I never doubted you for one moment," said Fraser, seriously. "Does this mean..."
"Yes Fraser," smiled Mort, "I'm not retiring, not just yet anyway, but I have decided to reduce my hours. Before you say anything Fraser, I have a very good reason. Constable Turnbull has put me in touch with a charity that offers free medical care to the homeless and the vulnerable. They are always looking for medical professionals to volunteer a little of their time. Of course I'll need to bring some of my skills and knowledge up to date."
"That sounds like a wonderful idea," smiled Fraser.
"It will be a new challenge for me," admitted Mort, rubbing Dief behind the ears, "but I want to do this. I need to feel like I'm contributing something, after all, this country has given me so much, but I've also realised that the work I do for the Chicago Police Department is something I enjoy, as morbid as that may sound."
"You know that doesn't sound morbid to me," smiled Fraser.
"Nor me," Fraser sat bolt upright at the sound of his father's voice, as the ghost of Bob Fraser appeared behind Mort.
Mort spun his head around and then back to Fraser. "Funny," he said, "I thought I heard someone."
Fraser's eyes widened. "Told you," smiled the rather smug ghost.
Mort looked puzzled. "There it was again," he said, looking all around the room.
"It was probably Ray," Fraser said quickly as his father disappeared, much to the Mountie's relief. He thought for a moment. "What did you mean Mort, about this country?"
Mort hung his head. "It's not important," he said quietly. Fraser frowned. Mort was clearly keeping something from him, something about his past and Fraser remembered what his father had told him the other day. Fraser made a mental note to ask Mort about it one day.
Ray came into the room, putting his phone back into his pocket. "That was Frannie, she said they've moved Cleveland to a psych unit for evaluation."
Fraser nodded. "I'm not entirely surprised," he said.
Just then there was an almighty crash from the kitchen, followed by a shaky cry of "I'm OK," from Turnbull, who was clearly anything but OK. Fraser leapt out of his chair and ran to help his younger colleague who had somehow managed to drop an entire tray of teacups.
Ray sat down next to Mort. "Um, Mort," he began quietly, "there's somethin' I think ya should know." Mort was concerned by the seriousness in the detective's voice. "Look, Fraser didn't want me to do this, but I, er, I pulled the O'Driscoll file." Mort took a sharp breath. "There wasn't much to go on, but they did get a partial print at the time."
"Yes, yes, I remember, from her purse I believe," nodded Mort, his mind racing at the prospect of what Ray was about to say.
"I got Frannie to run the print against the, er, y'know, the up to date database and it came up with a match," Ray went on, "a guy called Charvet, he was charged over a kidnapping in '82, but got off on a technicality." Mort sighed, sadly. "No, wait," said Ray, "he tried another kidnapping, er, six months later, a hooker," explained Ray, "only he was under surveillance and when Vice moved in to arrest him, he took off. There was a chase and Charvet crashed his car into a tree. He died at the scene." Mort breathed out slowly. "Mort, you OK?" asked Ray.
As Mort nodded, Fraser came back into the room. "Turnbull's just making some more..." but he stopped talking as soon as he saw Mort's face. "Ray told you, didn't he," he said, glaring at his partner.
"Fraser, you shouldn't have kept this from me," Mort replied, his accent stronger than usual, as often happened when he was annoyed, Fraser observed.
Fraser hung his head. "I'm sorry Mort, but I thought it was best to let sleeping wolves lie. This information proves nothing. Charvet was never investigated with regards to the death of Mary O'Driscoll, nor was there a trial..."
Mort interrupted his young friend. "I know, I realise that there's no proof and of course it's too late now, but at least..." his voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words.
"I understand," replied Fraser, quietly, "if this gives you some peace then of course you have the right to know." Mort nodded in acknowledgement.
Ray's phone rang and he went out into the hall to answer it.
"I'm sorry Mort," Fraser continued.
"Fraser, you have no need to apologise, you were trying to protect me and I appreciate that," smiled Mort. "Now if you're interested, I have two tickets to Lyric Opera's production of The Barber of Seville next week."
"I would be delighted Mort," smiled Fraser, pleased that Mort wasn't really angry with him.
Ray came back into the room. "That was Rachel Cooper on the phone," he said, "They're letting Ritchie home tomorrow."
"Oh that is good news," smiled Fraser.
"Yeah," agreed Ray, "she said to thank you again Mort."
Mort smiled, "I was just doing my job," he replied. Fraser looked at him and nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that reviving his medical career, even if only in some small capacity, was the best thing that Mort could do and Fraser was looking forward to working with him at the twenty seventh for some considerable time to come.
THE END
