Dr Patel Gupta sat in his car parked on Woodcote Lane, a few hundred metres back from the junction with Silver Lane. In his passenger seat was a female social worker, Rosie, who he had worked with before. It was five a.m. Dr Gupta was glad it was Rosie, she was good at engaging with people who were acutely mentally ill. She often could negotiate an informal admission.
Behind Dr Gupta’s black Volvo was a police car with three officers in it. Behind that an ambulance. All standard fare for an assessment under the mental health act. Dr Gupta had hoped to avoid this but four hours earlier a neighbour had phoned his surgery. She was a close friend of his wife’s and had seen Jack Splinter rush out of the garage with a small plastic canister on fire. Jack had put it out with water but was very clearly talking, no arguing with himself she had said.
In their wisdom the Police, via the duty Inspector, had said there was not sufficient evidence to warrant a section seventeen entry under their powers. So Rosie had been called via the duty system and she had had the unenviable task of waking the local magistrate to secure a Section 135 Warrant under the mental health act. This provided the powers to enter a home and remove someone to a safe place for mental health assessment.
A fourth vehicle arrived and a tired looking duty Consultant Psychiatrist stepped out of his car.
“Okay Rosie, shall we pull everyone together?” Dr Gupta suggested.
Curtains twitched from the large houses set back from Woodcote Lane. The wealthy residents were not used to such a gathering in this leafy serene residential suburb.
The three police officers and two ambulance paramedics, Dr Gupta, Rosie and Dr Finnegan the psychiatrist stood together and planned.
“Have you got the one three five warrant?” asked the Police Sergeant.
Rosie handed him the papers and he studied them briefly, familiar with the forms as he was.
“Okay, what’s the plan?” he asked.
“I am hoping he will cooperate, I have known the family for a long time,” Dr Gupta said.
“First episode?” asked Dr Finnegan.
“Mild depression a few years ago, but he’d lost his mother so yes really, as acute as he sounds this is a first episode,” Dr Gupta said.
“We should try to avoid using the one three five if we can,” Rosie urged them.
With agreements made they all returned to their cars and the mental health act convoy drove slowly along the road and turned onto Silver Lane. They cruised halfway down the road with Dr Gupta and Rosie at the front in his Volvo.
Dr Gupta pulled up at the foot of Jack Splinters drive. The house was in darkness except for a dim light in the porch way.
The assessment team stepped out of their vehicles and approached the house. The ambulance crew stayed back. The police held off a few feet away with Dr Finnegan. Rosie and Dr Gupta approached the house and knocked at the door.
“I need to see you Jack, we are very worried about you,” Dr Gupta called through the letter box.
There was no reply for over ten minutes. One officer had circled the house and could see no sign of movement. After the second time of calling through the letter box Dr Gupta turned to the officers, he pinched his nose to make his point.
“There is a funny smell coming from the hallway, chemicals or something,” he said.
The Sergeant organised his men and the Door Ram was taken from the boot of the Police Car. A few moments later and a loud bang, the front door burst open. The smell of peroxide made them draw breath and hold back.
“Jesus,” said the officer who had breached the front door.
“I don’t like that,” the Sergeant said.
He told one officer to stay at the door and to call in for a response team on his command. Whilst he suspected suicide the Police Sergeant had been on different types of raids in recent years with the same strong bleach like smell upon entry.
Dr Gupta and Rosie stepped away under instruction, confused by the change in demeanour of the police.
The Police Sergeant and his officer entered the house in darkness. They took out torches and move around the premises.
“Downstairs first,” whispered the senior officer.
With batons drawn and torches shining down them they made their way around the large open plan interior. It soon became clear the strong odour was emanating from the open door which led off of the utility into the garage. They approached with caution and stepped into the triple car garage space.
As they searched the space from just inside the door, the first thing they noticed was the absence of any vehicles. Both officers shared a knowing look that they suspected the house owner had left. They then turned their torches for a more detailed search to find the source of the smell.
In the middle of the garage the two officers stared with disbelief at the objects littered across the floor. Dozens of empty commercial chemical bottles were scattered around. Their concern rose as they noticed lengths of wire which had been cut and discarded amongst the plastic containers. Then they saw the empty battery packs, discarded syringe packets and a half burnt container. This finally confirmed what the Police Sergeant had briefly suspected when the first wave of odour wafted through the front door. The middle class business man, the quiet owner of the house, with a suspected mental illness, had been making an explosive device.