A siren ripped this thought to shreds, before the same knocking sound which had woken him in the first place, hammered the thought out of his head completely. He moved his head back round to the left to see the milkman knocking on the window, a look of panic on his face. He tried to get up but it was no good; his body simply would not respond. Having seen the blood splattered window, the milkman had rushed next door and dialled 999. Now, the uniformed men hurriedly joined him at the window to see the horrific scene..
Through the glass they saw a large bedroom with what looked like a blunt metal instrument on the floor, in the opposite corner of the room to the window. From the haphazard position of the object, droplets of blood stained the cream carpet up to the white quilt of the double bed, upon which an elderly man lay still. He was attired in a white shirt, black trousers and black leather shoes, with a dress jacket and tie strewn on the floor beside him. Though this was an unusual scene it itself, the group were only driven into action by the site of the man’s head. Blood stained the pillow around it, and the terror on his face told them what they needed to know. They needed to act fast.
As he lay motionless, the paramedics smashed the window. The men in green uniforms rushed in through the gap they had created. They found him paralysed from the neck down, with a bloody gash across the back of his head. Though the blow which had been delivered to him would have been sufficient to knock him out, death was not instantaneous. As he could not move to get help, blood loss would have killed him eventually, had the milkman not found him. The paramedics rolled him off the bed and onto a stretcher, before loading him into the waiting ambulance, and off to hospital.
Paralysis was temporary, and the doctor deemed it fit to allow the police to see him as he recovered. He relayed the events of the night before, and supplied them with a photograph of his wife, from his wallet. Later that afternoon, they returned to the hospital. “Good afternoon sir,” said the police inspector as she shook his hand. “You will be pleased to hear that we found your wife. She was pulled over for dangerous driving on the M18, near Doncaster.
She pulled over, and, while performing the breathalyser test, the officer noticed the blood stains on her blouse. He put two and two together and so checked the photograph he had been supplied with. When he asked her to step out of the vehicle, she tried to escape on foot. Unfortunately we were unable to apprehend her before she got run over while attempting to cross the motorway. She died on her way to the hospital. We offer our condolences for your loss.” He nodded in reply. “So, it turns out you were right – she thought she had killed you. We found the family portrait in the glove compartment.” The inspector placed it on the table beside his bed. “By the way, she had five times the allowance of alcohol in her blood.” Again he nodded.
The following week, as he was being discharged from the hospital, the nurse informed him that his lawyer had called to arrange a meeting about his wife’s life insurance. He could hardly suppress a smile as he boarded the elevator down to the hospital reception. As he left the hospital he flagged a taxi and stepped inside. “Any idea where the nearest Ferrari dealership is, mate?”.