Sally Donovan checked her watch discreetly. She didn't know who might be watching – some god or the universe or luck or fate, perhaps – but she didn't want any of them to notice.
Just past three in the afternoon. She was off at five. Then, God help her, she was going home, turning her phone off, opening a bottle of wine, running a hot bath and enjoying an evening to herself. She had nothing she needed to do that evening – no social plans, no family obligations. Her mother had recently been appeased by Sally going for tea and promises that she would do so again this weekend. An old friend – her first partner on the force who had since transferred to Manchester – was coming for a visit this weekend, too, and she had a baby shower to attend on Sunday. Between that and work and errands, her weekend was completely full.
But tonight was hers. She looked forward to an evening to relax, where she could ensure that everything went precisely the way she wanted it to go.
Since she was so often responsible for dealing with everything that went wrong.
But no one had mucked up spectacularly yet and they'd even resolved a missing person's case, bringing home a fourteen year old girl who had run off with her eighteen year old boyfriend. The rare reunions were a welcome change from her old stint in homicide; it was nice to see things end well once in awhile. So, nothing too unusual. Which might mean either nothing disastrous was going to happen at all or that the universe might just be waiting until 4:30 for the other shoe to drop. Things had a way of working like that.
Donovan took some time to get updates from her officers on their various cases. She made sure everyone was keeping an eye on new incoming reports; it was almost time for schools to be letting out for the day, which meant a large number of children potentially at risk. Part of her didn't like that she thought that way but she'd been a police officer for so long that it had become standard.
None of that tonight, he promised herself. Just a bath, music, then telly. She'd bought a new jazz album that she'd been saving specifically to listen to on a night like tonight, had even dug out the vanilla scented candles her sister had given her last Christmas to make sure the relaxed atmosphere was complete. It was going to be a perfect night in.
She was about to head back into her office to hide from any fresh trouble when a constable materialized in her path, holding a file. Donovan sighed inwardly – the other shoe had dropped, then. No surprises there.
"If it's going to take more than two hours, send it over to DI Clarence," she ordered.
The constable, Phillips, raised his eyebrows.
"Sorry, ma'am, he said to do the same to you."
Of course, she thought ruefully. She was the newest DI in Missing Persons, only five months there. She had no seniority, not yet. In the meantime, she got the cases the other DIs didn't want to contend with, especially those that cropped up at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon.
"All right," Donovan sighed. "What is it?"
"St. Thomas' just called. They have a John Doe in their A&E."
"Shot?" Donovan asked. Phillips shook his head.
"No, ma'am, but attacked. He walked in of his own accord, but they don't know from where. No memories of what happened to him – no memories at all, actually. No ID, of course. The doc said head trauma so they're not surprised by the amnesia."
"He doesn't remember anything at all? Nothing?"
"Just his name – well they assume it's his name. John."
Donovan snorted and folded her arms.
"Good name for a John Doe," she commented. "Description?"
"White male, early to mid-forties, brown hair, brown eyes, average weight, average height."
"And may or may not be named John. Brilliant," Donovan said, rolling her eyes heavenward as if to beseech help that would never come. "That narrows it down."
Phillips smiled.
"Eliminates women anyway," he said with a grin. Donovan took the proffered file and skimmed its contents – nothing more than what Phillips had already told her. St. Thomas' hadn't seen it fit to fax over a picture – although since their John Doe had been attacked, a picture probably wouldn't help much.
"All right, Constable," she sighed. "Let's go sort this out in an hour and a half. You're with me."
Donovan recognized Doctor William Bannerjee as soon as she saw him. She could identify many of the central London A&E doctors on sight – as long as they were in their scrubs and lab coats and had stethoscopes around their necks. The doctor looked tired – hard to say if that was because he was nearing the end of his shift, though. In the Donovan's experience, A&E doctors always looked tired, especially when they were dealing with the police. It added a nice extra layer of complication to their jobs. But she didn't miss the flicker of relief in Bannerjee's eyes – the doctor was happy to hand off this problem to the police. Donovan would have been happy to reroute it to someone else. She wondered what their John Doe would think of being bounced around the system.
"Inspector Donovan, isn't it?" Bannerjee asked.
"Doctor Bannerjee," Donovan greeted in return, shaking the doctor's hand perfunctorily. "What have you got?"
Bannerjee sighed, giving her a rueful look.
"Not much more than you already know. White male, early to mid-forties, came into the A&E about six hours ago. Walking and responsive, but he had no memory of who he is beyond the name 'John'. We've been calling him that – but it could be anyone. No wallet, no phone, no identification of any kind. He'd been attacked, but we're not sure when – recently, I think. He probably came here after that, but god knows how long it took him to get here."
"I'll need to talk to security and review the tapes for the time he came in. We might get lucky – maybe someone dropped him off," Donovan said.
The doctor gave her a look that said he believed that as much as she did. Over fifteen years on the force and she still held out hope. She swallowed a wry chuckle and wondered how she remained an optimist.
"He suffered some serious head trauma – not to mention some internal injuries. To be honest, I'm not sure how he managed to walk in or stay conscious as long as he did. We had him in surgery and he's in recovery now. Prognosis is tentatively good. He was damn lucky, Inspector. Could have been a lot worse."
Donovan nodded. She'd seen a lot worse in her time in assault victims. She wondered who had gone after their mystery man and why. Even after all this time on the job, it appalled her what people could do to one another.
"What kind of injuries?" Donovan asked.
"Mostly abdominal – some intestinal bleeding and associated trauma, no arterial bleeds in his abdomen, though. Broken ribs that were threatening his lungs – we think he's in the clear on that and he's been breathing well enough since coming out of surgery, but we need to keep a sharp eye on it. It's the head trauma that worries me the most and the fact that he couldn't remember anything before he lost consciousness. Someone took a special interest in battering his head. Wouldn't be the first time by the looks of him – he's been through some fighting before. Wars maybe. No swelling in his brain – like I said, he was lucky. Still… I can't say what he'll be like when he wakes up. Or what he'll remember, if anything. We're keeping watch for any swelling that might occur post-op, but all we can do is wait."
Donovan sighed. She wondered who might be missing their John Doe, who might be looking for him. Were they waiting as well, waiting on news, waiting for him to come home, waiting to see him again?
"No chance of talking to him anytime soon then?" she asked with undisguised resignation. Bannerjee gave her a knowing, sympathetic look.
"Not unless you can get information from an unconscious man, Inspector," he replied. "He should be out of recovery in about half an hour and then we're moving him to the ICU. I can't even guess as to when he'll wake up. Could be a matter of hours. Could be never."
"Brilliant," Donovan sighed. "Anything else you can tell me?"
Bannerjee shrugged.
"He wasn't showing any signs of exposure when he came in, so wherever he'd been, he hadn't been outside for too long. He wasn't wearing gloves or a scarf but his jacket was good for this kind of weather. That's it."
Donovan nodded, exchanging a look with Constable Phillips.
"I'd like to leave a constable with him overnight, in case whoever did this comes back to finish the job."
"Of course," the doctor replied.
"And I might as well see him, since I'm here. I'll get onto the reports back at the Yard, see if they have anyone matching his description in the last twenty-four hours."
"I hope they do, Inspector. I hope they do."
Donovan sighed and nodded. She and Phillips fell into step with the doctor as he led them toward post-op recovery. Donovan consented to put on a mask and gloves outside the room. Phillips took up a position near the door without being prompted and she wondered how much of that was anticipation of her orders and how much was a desire not to go in and see a ward full of patients who had just come out of surgery.
She nodded to Bannerjee and followed the doctor inside to meet their John Doe.