Pulse (A Dick Francis Novel)

Pulse (A Dick Francis Novel)

New York Times -bestselling author Felix Francis is back with this thrilling adventure in the Dick Francis tradition. A smartly-dressed man has been found unconscious at the local racecourse and is rushed to the hospital, where he subsequently dies. But who is he? Where does he come from? He had no form of identification on him, and no one claims the body. Doctor Chris Reynolds, a specialist who treated the deceased—and who struggles with mental health issues—is intrigued by the nameless dead man, obsessed even, and starts asking questions. However, someone doesn't want the questions answered and will go to any lengths to prevent it, including an attempted murder. But when no one will believe that someone tried to kill Chris, the doctor is left with no option but to discover who the nameless man was and why he died...preferably before following him into an early grave. Praise for Pulse   “[Felix Francis] has filled the family stable with more winners, including this one...wonderfully evocative...riveting throughout. Exciting at every turn.”— Booklist (starred review)   “[A] moving fourth thriller...Francis devises a subtle, clever scheme for the heart of the mystery, and he excels at making his broken lead credible and sympathetic.”— Publishers Weekly Praise for Triple Crown “Felix has proven a champion storyteller.... Triple Crown is an engaging thriller that bursts out of the gate and maintains a good place throughout. Francis pulls back the curtain on American horse racing, giving readers what goes into getting a thoroughbred ready for the starting gate, as well as the stark differences between racing, and law enforcement, on either side of the Atlantic.”— Mystery Scene “Felix Francis continues the run of his 'Dick Francis novels' (after his father) with this sixth solo racetrack mystery, and it's another well-crafted nail-biter....Felix Francis has his father's gift for deft plotting and for creating memorable characters, but his prose is much more expansive....As in all novels in the Francis line, readers will learn a great deal about horses, racetracks, and, here, the tough life of grooms. The action builds to a hold-your-breath climax and brilliant resolution. Another winner in the Francis stable.”— Booklist Felix Francis , a graduate of London University, is an accomplished outdoorsman, marksman, and pilot who has assisted with the research of many of his father's novels. The co-author and author of numerous Dick Francis novels, most recently Triple Crown , he lives in England. 1   I didn’t expect the patient to die but, of course, he did, and it was my fault. While my colleagues told me that it wasn’t, and I shouldn’t blame myself, I knew better. I was a bad person, and my inadequacy and foolishness  were  the reasons the man died. I felt wretched.   The man had arrived at the hospital by ambulance, ­unconscious but still breathing, and with a weak but rapid heartbeat. “Unknown middle-aged male,” said one of the paramedics loudly as he handed the patient over to the hospital emergency staff. “Found fully dressed but unresponsive in a cubicle of a male restroom in the main grandstand at Cheltenham Racecourse at about ten past seven this evening.” I looked up at the clock on the wall—it was now half past eight. “There is no indication of how long he’d been there,” the paramedic continued. “The last race today was at five after four, so it could have been a while. Both pupils large and ­unresponsive, blood pressure high but stable at a hundred and seventy over one-ten, pulse one-eighty. He has symmetrical breathing and O2 saturation is at ninety-five percent. Body temperature high at thirty-nine degrees Celsius but not extreme. No obvious trace of trauma but fitted with a collar as a precaution and given supplementary oxygen at four liters per minute on-site and since, plus two ­hundred and fifty milliliters of IV saline en route. No sign of awareness throughout.” “Blood sugar?” I asked. “Tested on-site at one-twenty. Retested in the ambulance. Same result.” One hundred twenty milligrams per deciliter was well within the normal range, so the man wasn’t hypoglycemic—very low in blood sugar—my first guess for someone unconscious with such a high pulse rate. “ECG?” I asked. The paramedic pulled a long strip of pink paper from his pocket and handed it to me. “Shows typical SVT.” I glanced at the electrocadiogram trace on the paper and it certainly looked like SVT—supraventricular tachycardia—a ­malfunction of the heart’s electrical system resulting in a resting pulse rate in excess of 150 beats per minute. “Any medications?” I asked. “Nothing on him and nothing given other than the saline.” “Right,” I said. “Thank you.” The paramedics collected their gear and departed. Off to ­another Saturday night crisis. I looked down at the man lying face-up on the gurney in front of me. He was probably in his early forties, just like me, and he didn’t look unusual or remarkable, merely another