Chapter 45 – Omens

I barged my way through the crowd to get to the fallen woman. She was lying on her face, mostly.

PC Penhale was waving the crowd back and crouched down by me. "The dynamic duo – back together again, eh?"

I brushed Penhale aside and began my examination. The woman's skin was ashen, and she had shallow respirations. Pulse was slow and thready. This might be just the low blood pressure Tasha had told me of this morning. But her skin was not sweaty and she had fairly decent peripheral pulses.

"You had a nasty fall!" I told her. "She's got low blood pressure. Chair!" I commanded.

Penhale swung a chair towards me. "Not me. Her! Feet!"

"Oh, sorry, doc," answered our odd constable. He propped her feet on the chair which should improve her hemodynamics.

"I was dancing like I was an angel!" Tasha slurred as an answer. Once again it seemed to me that she was drunk or had chemical impairment. "Tommy says its stress. Says I take on too much…"

"Tommy? Tommy who?" A bulb flashed in my brain. "Tommy's Taxis?"

She grinned up at me with a silly grin. "Yeah… he's my hubby!"

I bore in with my diagnostic tools – my voice and brain. "Have you been getting headaches like him?" This sounded more like an organic poisoning.

Tasha nodded up at me. I questioned her closely if she had possible ingested solvents or cleaning agents, did she help her husband clean the taxis, or she might have ingested windscreen cleaner? I could tell she tried to answer but only babbles came from her mouth. This had to be poisoning of some sort and I said so. The symptoms were more akin to drunkenness but her report that she did not drink stuck with me. I did not smell any alcohol this morning or now.

"Pauline! Call an ambulance!" She worked at the task while I pondered what this might be and how did it tie in with Tommy's headaches? Those could not have been migraines. But what the devil was causing this?

"Will she be alright?" a little voice shouted. It was the tiny girl from yesterday and today. This must be her mum!

"She's suffered some sort of poisoning." I told her. "I need to determine what's causing it."

Alcohol was a poison. Could she have been drinking pure grain alcohol? Yet again I held to her statement that she had not been drinking and never drank. Plus her behavior this morning of fatigue and dizziness pointed to something else. Meanwhile her husband was suffering brutal headaches.

Al Large intruded into my concentration. "Doc… ah, would biofuel be a hazardous substance?"

"Yes, why?" I asked.

Bert rolled his eyes. "Don't shout at us, doc."

Al ducked his head sheepishly. "Dad and I were selling used chip oil to Tommy and his wife. They were making their own taxi fuel."

Bert added, "Saving a lot of money and helping the planet!"

I felt blood rush to my face as I shouted. "And stupidly ignoring the dangers of inhaling methanol fumes!"

I had read of the processing of diesel into biofuel by mixing it with used vegetable oil, or chip oil as Al called it. There were several careful steps that had to be done, and if not done properly, a fair percentage of the product was methanol. The fumes of such, especially if done in a confined space such as a shed or basement, could be deadly with sufficiently high dosages.

Bert blinked his heavy eyes at me. "You promised you wouldn't shout at us, doc."

"No, I didn't!" It struck me that Bert and Al were the local equivalent of Laurel and Hardy – always blundering into trouble – quite upset that they might be blamed. No help for it. I'd hold a class in biodiesel processing later. "Right! I need some alcohol!"

There were titters and a few giggles from the crowd. I could see Auntie Joan and she was one of the few not laughing. The look she had on her face was absorbed, concerned, and intent – much like mine.

The moment of sanity was broken by Joe Penhale. "Stay focused doc! But a cold beer would go down a treat!" The fool stood there grinning as he admonished me.

His silly look brought my anger to a head. Not only was this silly woman on the pavement from stupid activities I was getting advice from fools as well. "You idiot!" I screamed at Penhale. "The alcohol stops the body converting the alcohol to formaldehyde – which is the poison!"

Penhale's face fell and I realized that the new GP had better be a wizard or there will be bodies in the streets. My Aunt Joan's osteoporosis will go untreated, Penhale's agoraphobia will get worse, Pauline will start running the surgery her way with disastrous results, and Bert and Al will be running about destroying everything I had accomplished. The omens were terrible that Portwenn would quickly fall back into the medical disaster zone I'd found when I came here.

"Doc!" shouted Al. "We got some on the stand."

Bert lurched into action. "I'll get it."

"The purer the better!" I looked at up at Al. "Is her husband involved in making the biofuel?"

Al nodded. "Well Tommy told us not to tell anybody 'cause his competitors would find out… and then he couldn't be the best and cheaper than the rest!" He ducked his head and scratched his beard. "You know!"

Joan pushed her way through the crowd and yelled my name. "Marty! Louisa was waiting for a taxi to take her to hospital!"

My alarms went off. "What firm did she use?"

"I don't know! It might have been Tommy's Taxis!" Joan wrung her hands in worry.

I whipped out my mobile and rapid dialed.

Louisa's voice answered. "Hello?"

I was so relieved to hear her voice. "Louisa? Are you in a Tommy's Taxi?"

"What?"

"Are you in a Tommy's Taxi?" I nearly screamed at her.

"Yes, why?" she answered but I could barely make out her words.

"Get out of the car!" I screamed instructions at her. "You have to make Tommy pull to the side! Make him stop driving! He's been poisoned!"

I listened carefully and heard nothing. "Louisa? Louisa? Louisa!" I bellowed.

My mobile display showed the signal had gone and my heart sank into my shoes. Al slapped a bottle of vodka into my hand and I bent down to treat Tasha, my immediate patient. But my mind was out there – somewhere – in a speeding taxi.