Chapter 11 day one tuesday
The owner of a small convenience store on the corner saw the whole incident.At least, he claimed to have seen it.
He was in the store near the window, rearranging the display to make it look more pleasing.When he looked up, he saw a man crossing the road.The man was unremarkable, and if he hadn't walked with a slight limp the innkeeper would surely have looked away in no time.The shop owner later testified that no one else was on the street at the time.
The weather was hot that day, and the air seemed to freeze, making people feel hot and uncomfortable.Under a thin gray cloud, the ludicrously named Paradise Road is as desolate and dilapidated as ever, in the center of a graffiti-ridden, lifeless, sin-infested residential area that stains Leighton, Ed The landscape between Monton, Dalston and Tottenham.
Thirty years ago, at the grand opening ceremony, Qinglinyuan Community was praised as "a new type of affordable government housing for working people".The name of the district alone is enough to make people suspicious.There is no grass, no woods, and no orchards have been seen since the Middle Ages.In fact, it was a gray concrete gulag planned by the World Communism City Council and designed by architects who actually liked living in country houses.
Since then, Qinglinyuan has gone downhill faster than a Tour de France cyclist in the Pyrenees.By 1996, the crowded corridors, underpasses and alleys that connected the gloomy residential areas were full of stains and urine stains. Roam your turf and engage in dirty dealings with local drug dealers.
Quite respectable retired workers trying to protect the old virtues of their youth, guarding behind security doors all day, lest they encounter gangsters outside.
The buildings on this block are all seven stories high, with an open walkway in front of the building, a greasy stairwell at either end, and what used to be green grass between the buildings.A few rusty, abandoned cars, hollowed out of their interior parts, crawled along several paths across the public entertainment plaza.Passing through these narrow passages is Paradise Road.
There was a time when shops on this shopping street prospered, but theft, vandalism, smashed window panes and racially motivated bullying had worn out shop owners and most shops have since gone down. Closed for business.More than half of the shop fronts are covered with graffiti-smeared plywood or roller shutter doors, and the few shops that are still working hard have installed fences.
On the street corner, Mr. Vij Patel is still struggling to support his storefront.At the age of ten, he immigrated here with his parents from Uganda because of the unbearable tyranny.England accepted them.He is grateful, loves his adopted country, abides by the law, strives to be a good citizen, and is puzzled by the continued degradation of moral standards in the 90s.
There was an area called the North-East Quadrant by the Metropolitan Police, and it was not wise for strangers to wander there.The lame man was a stranger.
When he was only fifteen yards from the corner, two men emerged from a cement alley between two boarded-up shops and came up to him.Mr. Patel froze and continued to watch.They look different, but both menacing.He knew both kinds of people well.One of them was huge, with a shaved head and a pig's face.Even at a distance of thirty yards, Mr. Patel could see the glittering earring on the lobe of his left ear.He wore baggy jeans and a dirty T-shirt, with a huge beer belly hanging down his wide belt.He assumed an even and steady posture in front of the stranger, who had no choice but to stop.
The second was a slimmer figure, wearing pastel chinos and a gray zip-up windbreaker, with long, greasy hair stuck behind his ears.He slipped behind the stranger and watched.
The big man raised his right fist and extended it to the man who was about to be robbed.Mr. Patel saw the glint of metal on the fist.He couldn't hear their conversation, but he saw the big man opening and closing his lips, speaking to the stranger.At such times, the victim should surrender the wallet, watch, and any valuables they were carrying.With luck, the looters would run away after taking the loot, and the victim might survive a physical injury.
Strangers are probably too stupid to do that.He is no match for his opponent in terms of quantity and weight.He was middle-aged, as could be inferred from his gray hair, and with his limp, he was obviously unable to move freely.But he fought back.
Mr. Patel saw the stranger's right hand come up from his side, quite quickly.He seemed to sway his hips a little and rolled his shoulders to increase the punch.The punch landed heavily on the bridge of the big man's nose.Even through the glass wall, Mr Patel could hear the pantomime silence broken by a scream of pain.
The big man staggered back, covering his face with his hands.Mr. Patel saw blood dripping from between the man's fingers.Later, during the statement, the boss had to pause to reflect more closely on what happened then and after.The long hair shot the stranger from behind, punched him hard on the waist, and then kicked the middle-aged man's leg.This is enough.The victim fell to the sidewalk.
In the Qinglinyuan residential area, people wear either sports shoes (for fast running) or leather boots (for kicking).Both perpetrators were wearing leather boots.The man on the pavement was curled up in a fetal position to protect his vitals, but four boots kicked at him in turn, and the big thug, still with one hand to his nose, kicked him in the head. go up.
The shopkeeper estimated that they kicked about two dozen times, maybe more, until the victim stopped writhing and rolling.The long-haired man bent over and pulled open the stranger's jacket, reaching into the inner pocket.
Mr. Patel saw the hand outstretched, holding a wallet between thumb and forefinger.Then both of them straightened up, turned and ran back to the concrete alley, and disappeared into the maze of crowded alleys in the residential area.Before leaving, the big man pulled the T-shirt out of his jeans and covered the blood streaming from his nose.
Mr. Patel, the shop owner, watched them disappear, then went behind the counter where he had kept a telephone.He called 999 and gave his name and address because the female operator insisted she could only call emergency services if the caller identified.After completing these formalities, Mr Patel asked the operator to send the police and an ambulance.Then he went back to the window.
The man was still lying motionless on the sidewalk opposite.No one to take care of him.This is not the kind of street people like to join in the fun.Mr. Patel wanted to cross the road to help, but he didn't know first aid and was worried that it would be a disservice to move the man, and he was worried about his small shop and that the criminals would turn back.So, he had no choice but to wait there.
The police car arrived first and it took less than four minutes.The two patrol officers in the car happened to be patrolling the highway within half a mile when they received the call.They all know the neighborhood and the location of Paradise Road.They were also on duty during the spring race riots.
When the police car squeaked to a stop and the siren faded away, the policeman sitting in the passenger seat got out of the car and ran towards the person on the sidewalk.The other stayed behind the wheel and radioed to confirm that the ambulance had departed.Mr Patel could see both officers looking at his shop across the street to verify the number of the 999 caller, but neither of them came towards him.This can be left for later.As the ambulance turned the corner with its lights flashing and its horn honking, the officers all looked away.Stunned passers-by had gathered at both ends of Paradise Road, but they kept their distance and did not approach.The police would come to them later for witness statements, but that would be a waste of time.In the Qinglinyuan community, people only watch the excitement and never help the police.
Two professional and experienced first responders got off the car.For them, as for the police, procedures are procedures and must be followed.
"It looks like he was robbed and beaten up," said the officer kneeling beside the victim. "It looks like he was beaten pretty badly."
The first responders nodded and got to work.There is no trauma that requires hemostasis, so the first thing to do is immobilize the neck.For a victim who has suffered a collision or severe trauma, if the cervical spine is already damaged, and then further injured by layman's random moving, it is likely to die on the spot.The two men quickly fitted the victim with a semi-rigid neck gaiter to prevent the neck from swinging from side to side.
The next step is to put him on a stretcher to immobilize the neck and spine.This job can be done on the sidewalk.After that, the man could be put on a stretcher and loaded into an ambulance.The first responders were quick and efficient.In less than five minutes, they were ready to go.
"I'll go with you," said the officer on the sidewalk. "The victim may have to take a statement."
Professionals in emergency services know exactly who does what and why.This saves time.The paramedics nodded.The ambulance was his job and he was in charge, but the police also had a job to do.He already understood that the possibility of the wounded man speaking was very small, so he just said softly: "Stay away. This is a seriously wounded man."
The officers climbed into the ambulance and sat on the bulkhead near the cab.The driver "slammed" the rear door and ran to the cab.His companion bent over the wounded on the stretcher.As soon as the tweeters sounded, the staring bystanders moved out of the way.In less than two seconds, the ambulance sped across Paradise Road and onto the traffic-choked highway.The police officer still sat there quietly, watching the first responders at work.
The trachea, the trachea must be clear.The trachea, if blocked by blood and mucus, can suffocate the patient almost as quickly as being hit by a bullet.Responders used a small suction pump to suck out a small amount of mucus, about the amount a smoker would have, but there was no blood.After the trachea was unblocked, the breathing was still shallow, but it was enough to sustain life.For safety, first responders put an oxygen mask connected to an oxygen bag over the swollen face.Rapid swelling worried him, a sign he knew all too well.
Pulse check: normal, but very fast, another sign of possible brain damage.According to the Glasgow Coma Scale, the highest state of consciousness of the human brain is fifteen.Fifteen to fifteen when wide awake and conscious.The index shows that the coma index of the wounded is eleven to fifteen, and it is constantly decreasing.The number three is a severe coma, and if it falls further, it is death.
"To the Royal London Hospital," he yelled, over the siren of the ambulance. "Emergency and neurosurgery."
The driver nodded.Other cars and trucks had pulled over, so he ran a red light through an intersection before turning into Whitechapel and speeding away.The Royal London Hospital on Whitechapel Road has a state-of-the-art neurosurgery.The hospital closer to the ambulance location does not have a neurosurgery department, but if neurosurgery is required, it is necessary to drive a few minutes longer.
The driver spoke to control, giving his exact location in South Tottenham and his estimated time of arrival at the Royal London Hospital, and asked the emergency team to get ready.
The first responders in the ambulance were right.One of the symptoms that can occur with a serious head injury, especially after an assault, is that the soft tissues of the entire face and head quickly bulge, turning into a blurry, large, swollen face.The man's face had been swollen while he was still lying on the pavement; by the time the ambulance pulled into the driveway of the Royal London Hospital's emergency department, it was as swollen as a football.The back door of the ambulance was quickly opened, and the stretcher was lowered and passed to the rescue team.Mr. Karl Batemann, the medical consultant, has three doctors under him: an anesthesiologist, two junior doctors; and three nurses.
They surrounded the stretcher, transferred the wounded (still lying on the stretcher) to their own stretcher trolley and wheeled it away.
"Give me back the stretcher," the paramedic yelled, but no one paid him any attention.He had to come back the next day to retrieve the stretcher.The police also jumped out of the car.
"Where should I go?" he asked.
"Go there," the paramedic said, "but out of the way."
The officer nodded obediently and entered through the revolving door.He was still hoping to get a statement from the wounded, but the only words he heard came from a senior nurse.
"Sit here," she said, "and get out of the way."
In less than half an hour, Tiantang Road was already buzzing with people.A uniformed inspector from the Dover Street Police Station, known locally as "Dover Jail", was in charge of the investigation.The two ends of the street at the scene of the crime have been separated by striped belts, and a dozen police officers are busy there, concentrating on visiting the shops along the street and the six-story apartment above.The apartment building opposite the scene of the crime was especially valued, because if one looked down from there, one might be able to see the crime in its entirety, but this worked with little success.Common people's reactions have ranged from sincere apologies to outright denial and outrage.The work of door-to-door inquiries continues.
The inspector quickly called his CID counterpart, since it was clearly the job of the detectives.In "Dover Prison", Detective Inspector Jack Burns, who is leisurely drinking tea and wine in the cafeteria, is called by Detective Superintendent Alan Parfit, who asks him to take over the robbery on Paradise Road.Jack claims to be dealing with a series of car thefts and a hit-and-run case, and is due to court the next morning.His appeal was unsuccessful.Manpower is tight, there is no way.August, the nasty vacation month, he left unhappy.
He and his partner, Detective Sergeant Luke Skinner, arrived at the scene around the same time as the police search consultant.The Police Search Advisory Team has a very unpleasant job.Dressed in thick coveralls and protective gloves, they were tasked with scouting crime scenes for clues.But the clues are usually not found immediately, so the working procedure is to collect, bag, and then sort and identify.It was a dirty and tiring job, with hands and feet, and crawling in nasty places.Qinglin Garden is not a pleasant place.
"They stole a purse, Jack," said the inspector who had spoken to Mr. Patel, "and one of the assailants had a broken nose. He lifted his T-shirt and covered it with the hem as he fled. Cover your face. Maybe some blood was spilled on the ground."
Burns nodded.Police searched consultants hand and foot and scoured the stinking cement pavement for evidence, while uniformed officers tried to find other witnesses.At this moment, Jack Burns walked into Mr. Vikki Patel's shop.
"I'm Detective Burns," he introduced himself, showing his ID. "This is Officer Skinner. I assume you're the one who called 999?"
Mr. Patel impressed Jack Burns.Burns, a native of Devonshire, had been in the Metropolitan Police for three years and had been in "Dover Prison".In his native Devon, people are always willing to help the police as much as they can, but in north-east London, it's a completely different story.Mr. Patel reminded him of Devonshire.Mr. Patel genuinely wanted to help.His testimony was detailed, clear and accurate.In his lengthy transcript, Skinner explained exactly what he saw, clearly describing what the attackers were wearing.Jack Burns likes people like that.If only all the cases in the Antebeth and Edmonton area had witnesses like Vij Patel.As he signed Sheriff Skinner's handwritten notes, dusk began to descend on the Greenwood Park complex.
"If you'd like, sir, I'd like you to come down to the police station and look at some photographs," Burns said finally. "You might be able to identify these two men. If we can know exactly who we're looking for, that's fine." Save a lot of time."
Mr Patel apologized.
"Not tonight, please forgive me. I'm alone in the store now, and I don't close until ten o'clock at night. But tomorrow my brother will be back, he's on vacation. As you know, August is vacation season. Tomorrow morning I can come out."
Burns thought for a moment.Go to the court at 10:30 tomorrow morning. There is a prisoner who wants to be released on bail.It was a matter for Skinner to leave.
"How about eleven o'clock in the morning? Do you know the Dover Street Police Station? Just meet me at the front desk." As they crossed the street to their car, Skinner said, "It doesn't happen that often. met."
"I like this guy," Burns said, "and when we catch those bastards, maybe we'll have an outcome."
On the drive back to Dover Street Inspector Burns learned by radio where the wounded man had been taken and which officer was in his care.Five minutes later, they were connected.
"I want everything on him—clothes, belongings, all bagged and sent to the police station," he told the young officer, "and ID. We still don't know who he is. You get everything After that, call and we'll send someone to replace you."
Dr. Carl Bateman was not concerned with the name and address of the wounded man lying on the stretcher, or who had beaten him in this way.All he cares about is keeping him alive.The stretcher was pushed directly from the parking lane into the emergency room, and the rescue team started working immediately.Dr. Bateman was sure the man had multiple injuries, but the rules were clear: deal with the fatal ones first, and treat the others later.So, he started the rescue according to the ABCD procedure.
A is the trachea (Airway).The first responders did a great job.Although there was some slight wheezing, the airway was clear and the neck was immobilized.
B is for Breathing.The consultant doctor tore off the casualty's jacket and undershirt, and examined the chest and back with a stethoscope.
He found two broken ribs, but like a comminuted fracture of the left knuckle or a missing tooth in the mouth, it was not life-threatening, so it could be put aside.Despite broken ribs, the casualty was breathing regularly.There is little point in performing major orthopedic surgery if the casualty is not breathing.It was the pulse that worried him.The pulse has exceeded the normal eighty times, rising to more than one hundred times.Too fast: This is a symptom of possible internal injury.
C is for Circulation.In less than a minute, Dr. Bateman had two IV catheters ready.Twenty milliliters of blood was drawn through one of them and sent immediately for testing.Then, while other tests were in progress, a liter of crystalloid was infused into the victim through both arms.
D is for disability.Things are not good here.The injured person's face and head were no longer human-like, and the Grignard coma index was now six to fifteen, and it was still declining, which was very dangerous.The injured person's brain was seriously injured. Carl Bateman thanked the unknown first responder more than once. Fortunately, he took a few minutes to send the injured to the Royal London Hospital, which has neurosurgery.
Dr. Bateman called the scan room and told the staff there that he was taking the patient there immediately.Then he called his colleague, Dr. Paul Willis, a senior neurosurgeon.
"I have a hemorrhage here, Paul. The Grignard is five now and going down."
"Send it to me as soon as the film is done," said the neurosurgeon.
When he was knocked to the ground, the man was wearing socks, shoes, underpants, a shirt with an open collar, trousers with a belt, a jacket and a light waterproof coat.Trousers and shoes and socks below the waist are not a problem, they have been taken off directly.Coats, jackets and shirts were cut to prevent neck and head vibrations.Then, all these clothes and the contents of the pockets were put into plastic bags and handed over to the police officer waiting outside.Soon after the replacement police officer arrived, he took the items back to the Dover Street police station and presented them to Jack Burns, who had been waiting.
A head scan confirmed what Carl Bateman had feared the most: that the casualty had a brain hemorrhage.The blood is pressing on the brain, the pressure is deadly and the damage is irreversible.
At 8:15 in the evening, the wounded was sent to the brain surgery operating room.The scan clearly showed the compressed part of the brain. Dr. Willis, the attending physician, looked for it based on the scan results. He knew that from a certain point, he could go straight to the bleeding site.He drilled three small holes in the skull of the wounded, and then connected the holes with a saw in accordance with standard brain surgery methods to saw out a regular triangular skull.
After removing the triangular piece of skull, the blood pool that caused the compression was drained, and the arterial laceration that caused the blood to leak into the brain was ligated.Once the clot is removed, the pressure is relieved and the brain can expand fully to its original limits again.
After the triangular bone is put back, the scalp is stitched together and a thick bandage is applied until both naturally join and heal.Despite the severity of his injuries, Mr Willis is hopeful that surgery was timely.
The human body is an incredible and eccentric contraption.It can die from the sting of a tiny bee, or it can survive extensive trauma.When the hematoma is removed and the brain has fully regained its lumen size, the patient regains consciousness and sanity within a few days.During the first twenty-four hours, no one knew the effect of the operation because the anesthesia had not worn off.If it has not recovered by the next day, people will be worried.After washing his hands and arms with antiseptic, Mr Willis changed his clothes and returned to his home in St John's Wood, outside London.
"No fart," said Jack Burns, his eyes fixed on the clothes and personal effects.The latter consisted of half a pack of cigarettes, half a box of matches, a few coins, a dirty handkerchief, and a key with a red string, apparently a house key somewhere.These items were taken from trouser pockets.Nothing in the jacket.Whatever else the man was carrying, it must have been in his purse.
"Here is a neat man," said Skinner, who had been going over his clothes. "The shoes are cheap, and mended, but well polished. The trousers are cheap, worn, but the seams are straight. The shirt, collar and cuffs are fluffed, but also ironed. The man is very poor, but tries to keep his appearance clean."
"Well, I wish he had a credit card in his back pocket, or a letter to himself," Burns said.He's filling out endless forms as he's asked to, "For now, I'll just have to call him UAM for now."
Americans call this kind of person "John Doe", while the Metropolitan Police Service calls it UAM, or "Unidentified Adult Man".It was completely dark, but it was still hot.The two detectives locked the filing cabinet and had time to go outside for a drink before heading home.
A mile away, the neat man lay on his back in the intensive care unit of the Royal London Hospital.His breathing was shallow but regular, and the night shift nurse checked his pulse every once in a while, but it was still too fast.
Jack Burns took a swig of his beer.
"Who the hell is he?" he complained to himself.
"Don't worry, man, we'll find out soon enough," said Luke Skinner.But he was wrong.
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