The rhythm of a heart monitor underscored the quiet everyday noises of the ICU, and to add to the quiet cacophony of sound a ventilator hummed, pushing air into Barrymore's damaged lungs.
At his bedside a female police constable sat quietly watching the forced rise and fall of the man's chest, occasionally letting her eyes wander to the white sterile dressings that covered burns and grazes caused by the incendiary device.
"He was lucky," A nurse had entered the curtained area quietly, and was checking the pump that fed drugs into the unconscious man's vein. "They said the bomb didn't detonate properly."
"Luckier that the poor buggers caught in the other bombs this morning." The constable replied, her eyes returning to the face of the gang leader. "Or the ones that went off yesterday."
"You waiting to interview him?"
"No," the officer shook her head. "That will be down to my DI."
xXx
Cold, and the solid uncomfortable floor underneath him had kept Greg awake for most of the night, but the sound of frantic discussions outside the door of their prison woke Sally, and she raised her head rather sheepishly from where she'd curled up on his chest.
Greg smiled reassuringly.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Looks like we might be here a while," he replied. "Barrymore's house has been bombed."