“I’m afraid she did. She bought a fully-grown male lion from a dodgy zoo in Bolivia and had it imported to Chadwick Manor. Then she got her gardener to make an enclosure for it out of chicken wire and installed Leo the lion in his new home.”
David clutched his brow. “Chicken wire? This is a whole new level of eccentricity, even for Lady Chadwick.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I presume the lion escaped immediately.”
“It did. And roamed the island for days before she told anyone about it.”
“Was anyone attacked?”
“Miraculously enough, no. Lady Chadwick put out raw deer meat for the lion each night, so it wasn’t hungry.”
“What will happen to it now?”
“I spent most of the day on the phone trying to find an animal sanctuary that would take him. I finally lucked out and found a place called Noah’s Ark in Norfolk. The animal control people will take him there.”
“Good job. That’s a relief.” They had already reached the surgery. Fay’s fears that they would have nothing to say to each other were unfounded. The moment she had started speaking to him, the words came bubbling out of her. It was as though she had been storing them up for weeks. It seemed to be the same with him. His manner had gone from guarded and a little subdued to happy and animated.
In the past, David had always been fascinated by the details of whatever mystery Fay was in the process of unravelling. That had clearly not changed.
As they reached the surgery, all thoughts of Dr. Farlow went out of Fay’s mind. The short flight of stairs leading to the surgery was flanked on either side by stone pillars. On each of these pillars sat a kitten. They looked as though they were trying to imitate a pair of ancient statues.
“Hello, you two! Hello, my darlings.”
The moment they heard Fay’s voice they came to life and began arching their backs and uttering little squeaky noises.
“Tigger!” She stroked the larger male. “And Zorro!” She scratched the head of the little grey female. “I haven’t seen you guys since … well, since yesterday. They just love perching on these pillars and watching the world go by, don’t they?”
“They do indeed. And it’s good to know that they are safe because it’s a pedestrianized street.”
“That’s part of why I thought they would be happy here.”
“I couldn’t believe how much they had grown when I got back today,” said David. “They’re teenagers now.”
“Your father seems to be enjoying them.”
“He is besotted. I think he barely noticed I was gone because he was having so much fun with the kittens.”
Fay fussed over them until they were both purring loudly.
“What can you tell me about Dr. Farlow apart from the fact that he’s a little unusual and that I should make up my own mind about him?”
“Well, he’s originally Canadian, but he’s been living in England for about twenty years. He hasn’t had his own medical practice since he left Canada. He says he prefers locum work because it allows him to see different parts of the country. There have been no complaints about him from the patients, although he does come across as odd at first, as you’ll see. My father says he’s punctual and hard-working, so he’s happy with him too.”
“I can’t help noticing that the four deaths at Sunset Acres all took place during the time that he has been working on the island. It’s almost like - he arrived, and people started to die.”
“Correlation is not the same thing as causation.”
“True. But I still need to speak to him.”
“Now might be a good time. He’s probably wrapping up his consultations for the day. He’s staying at the Royal Hotel, by the way.”
David called the kittens to come inside for their dinner and held the door to the surgery open for Fay.
The reception area was empty of patients. Isobel, the receptionist, was packing up for the day.
“Afternoon, Fay love. Look how well Cheeto is doing.”
“He certainly is.” Fay could only admire the deep golden color and increased size of the goldfish. His accommodation had recently been upgraded once again to a large and palatial tank with lights, bubbles, tunnels, real plants, and everything a fish needed to keep it interested and stimulated.
“Is Ben still here?” asked David.
“I think so,” said Isobel. “His last patient left ten minutes ago, but I haven’t seen him come out. Normally, he leaves at about the same time as I do. Sometimes I give him a lift down to the hotel.” Isobel draped a dust-cover over her computer and lifted her purse onto her shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.” She left the surgery with a word of farewell for both of them.
“I don’t like to disturb him while he’s wrapping up for the day.” Fay cast a doubtful glance at the closed door of the consulting room.
“I agree. Let’s give him a minute. He’ll probably feel less put on the spot if he thinks you ran into him accidentally in the waiting room.”
“Fay love!” Doc Dyer emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dishcloth. “Those monsters you saddled me with are constantly starving. Whenever I feed them, they act like they haven’t had a meal in weeks. Zorro climbs up my leg to get onto the counter and Tigger tries to knock the food out of my hand when I’m putting it on the floor for him.”
Fay laughed. “I can assure you they didn’t learn those manners at Penrose House. You must have been spoiling them since they came to live here.”
“It’s our cook who spoils them. She would be slipping them treats all day long if I hadn’t put my foot down. Where’s Laetitia, by the way?”
“I left her at the hotel,” said David. “She wanted to do some work this evening. She says she’ll dine there.”
“Such a pity she’s allergic to cats.” Doc Dyer winked broadly at Fay behind his son’s back. “She won’t even cross the threshold to the surgery as long as the cats are here.”
“Just give her time. I’m sure she’ll come around.”
Fay changed the subject. David and his father had never seen eye to eye on the subject of Laetitia.
“I was hoping to speak to Dr. Farlow. Do you think he’ll come out of the consulting room soon?”
Doc frowned as he looked at his watch. “He’s usually out by now. Maybe he’s working late.” He stepped forward and knocked on the door. “Ben? There’s someone here to see you.”
There was no answer.
He knocked again. “Ben!”
“Maybe he has headphones on,” suggested Fay.
Doc Dyer hammered on the door. “Ben! Are you there?” There was still no response.
“That’s strange.” David pushed down on the door handle. “I’m going in.”
A shocked sound from David told Doc and Fay that all was not well.
“What is it?” asked Doc.
Fay stepped into the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
David moved aside so they could see the man sprawled on the floor.
“Is he breathing?” asked Doc.
David had two fingers on the man’s neck and a hand on his chest. “He’s breathing, but his pulse is rapid and massively irregular. I think he’s having a heart attack.”
Fay moved out the way as the two doctors swung into action. They lifted him onto the examination table and immediately set up a drip to stabilize him. The defibrillator was used to shock his heart into a better sinus rhythm.
As they worked on him with calm efficiency, his shirt became untucked from his belt and pants and Fay caught a glimpse of his stomach.
“What’s that?” She pointed. “That looks like needle marks.”
“Oh, that.” David glanced briefly at his abdomen. “He’s a diabetic. Those marks are from where he injects himself four times a day.”
“I’d better check his sugar levels.” Doc Dyer reached for a finger-prick device that measured blood glucose. He performed the test and waited for the result to flash up on th
e tiny screen. “Normal. And here I thought I might have discovered the cause.”
“That’s true,” said David. “An attack of hyper- or hypo-glycemia could cause extreme tachycardia like we’re seeing here. Maybe you should repeat that glucose test in a few minutes, Dad.”
But when Doc Dyer did so the locum’s blood sugar remained stable.
“We’re down to a hundred beats a minute.” David glanced at the heart monitor they had set up. “That’s much better.”
“His blood pressure is stabilizing too,” said Doc. “I think we’re doing the trick.”
Fay’s own heart settled down too. She felt as though she had been in panic mode ever since they had walked into the consulting room and seen him lying on the floor. Even she could see that he was looking better. His face had been bright red when they found him, but it was now a much more normal color. He had stopped gasping. His breathing was almost back to normal.
As they watched, his eyelids began to flutter.
“Does that mean he’s waking up?” she asked
They watched him for a moment, but he settled down again.
“It’s strange to see him without his tics and twitches,” said Doc Dyer.
“What do you mean?” asked Fay.
“He has a form of Tourette syndrome,” said David.
“Is that the one where people say curse words compulsively?”
“Actually, no. Only about ten percent of people with Tourette’s use inappropriate language. That’s a stereotype that always appears in the media, but is actually quite rare. Tourette syndrome is characterized by twitches, blinks, grimaces, tics, and sometimes vocalizations like throat clearing or singing, or other noises.”
“So that’s why you said he was unusual.”
“That’s right. It takes a bit of getting used to, but after a while you hardly notice it.”
“Look,” said Doc Dyer. “He really is waking up now.”
Chapter 10
“Should I go?” asked Fay.
“No, it’s okay,” said David. “You can stay. If you hadn’t been here waiting to speak to him, we wouldn’t have noticed that he hadn’t come out of the surgery. He might have died.”
“That’s right,” said Doc Dyer. “David and I would only have found him in the morning.”
The patient made a groaning noise, so David went to his side.
“Take it easy, Ben. You’re okay now, but you need to keep still.”
Dr. Farlow’s eyes opened and focused groggily on David’s face. “What happened?” His voice was so weak that Fay could hardly make out what he was saying. She realized that he was considerably older than she had expected. His locum work must have been a retirement job for him.
“We found you unconscious in the consulting room,” said David. “It seems to have been a syncope brought on by severe tachycardia. What do you remember?”
Dr. Farlow looked around as though struggling to recall where he was. “I remember … I’d seen my last patient for the day. Mrs. Collins. I showed her out and went back into the rooms. I was already … feeling sick. Light-headed … dry mouth. My heart was racing. I thought … my sugar had crashed.”
“When last did you take your insulin?” asked Doc Dyer.
Dr Farlow stared at the ceiling, as though trying to gather his thoughts. “I took it at four o’clock this afternoon, which is my usual time. I ate a snack of almonds and a bran muffin and injected myself just before eating. I don’t know what could have gone wrong.”
“Your sugar is normal,” said David. “We’ve tested you twice already.”
“Maybe … a clot?”
David indicated the drip. “We’ve put you on blood-thinners to break up any clot that might have formed. I’ll do an ECG and chest ultrasound later when you’re feeling stronger.”
“Who’s that?” Dr. Farlow stared at Fay. As he became more awake, his Tourette syndrome was beginning to reassert itself. He grimaced with his mouth and squeezed his eyelids together.
“This is our friend, Fay Penrose,” said Doc Dyer. “She was hoping to speak to you this evening. It’s thanks to her that we found you and were able to revive you.”
“What did you want to speak to me about, Miss Penrose?”
Fay shook her head. “It can wait until you’re feeling better. Your health is the priority.”
“No,” he insisted. “Tell me now. Otherwise I’ll just wonder about it.”
Fay glanced over at David, who nodded. “The thing is … I’ve been asked by one of the families to look into the deaths of four residents at Sunset Acres retirement estate. You were the treating doctor in each case. I wanted to ask you about them.”
“Four deaths?” Dr. Farlow frowned. “Don’t you mean two deaths?”
“At this stage, I’m including Mr. John Chandler and Mr. Albert Tait in the reckoning, even though they were both very elderly. Their deaths were strikingly similar to those of Mrs. Sophia Binnie and Mrs. Iona Busby.”
Dr. Farlow sniffed. “I wouldn’t have said so myself.”
“That can be discussed,” said Fay. “But I do believe there were similarities.”
“Extreme old age is a sufficient cause of death in and of itself.”
“Agreed. And that’s why the deaths of Mr. Chandler and Mr. Tait raised no red flags at the time. But in the context of the subsequent and much more unexpected deaths of Mrs. Binnie and Mrs. Busby, I’m having a rethink.”
David kept an eye on Dr. Farlow’s vital signs. His heartbeat was accelerating again. “I think that’s enough for one evening. Ben needs to rest.”
“Absolutely,” said Fay. “I hope you recover quickly, Dr. Farlow. We’ll speak again when you’re feeling stronger.”
It was dusk by the time Fay got back to Penrose House.
It was pleasant to walk home without worrying about a slavering predator on her trail. She knew from speaking to Lady Chadwick that Leo was well on his way to his new home by now. She would phone Noah’s Ark in a couple of days to hear how he was settling in. She looked forward to seeing photographs of him on their Instagram feed, which she had started following.
Morwen had left a plate of homemade fish and chips in the oven for Fay.
This was an example of English cooking that Fay could get enthusiastic about. Morwen used real beer in making the batter for the fish, which made all the difference. Fay was pleased to see that her fish and chips was accompanied by a pile of fresh young peas from their own kitchen garden.
Morwen and Pen would have had mushy peas with their dinner. Fay was not a fan of this English culinary innovation. She couldn’t understand why anyone would take perfectly good peas and reduce them to a luminous green paste. It seemed like an act of vandalism.
She helped herself to a scoop of tartare sauce and took her tray upstairs. It had been a long day. She was looking forward to sinking into a coma in front of whatever new Scandinavian crime drama Netflix had to offer.
“Oh, you’re back.” Morwen met her on the stairs. “Mrs. Binnie wants an update on her mother-in-law’s death.”
“No problem. I’ll call her in the morning. I was just about to talk to the new locum doctor when he practically had a heart attack in front of me. Luckily Doc Dyer and David were there to stabilize him.”
“Dr. Farlow?” Morwen sounded as shocked as Fay felt. “Is he okay now?”
“He seems to be fine, but it was a scary few minutes, I can tell you.”
“Wow. We’ve had nothing but bad luck on the island lately.”
Fay had been thinking the same thing. “I’m just glad that Dr. Farlow seems to be recovering well.”
Morwen continued on her way to the kitchen as Fay took the tray to her bedroom. She had settled down to her dinner when the cats came to join her one by one.
How did they always know when she was home? Sometimes Fay thought they could hear her breathing. They were perfectly happy when she was out, but whenever she was home, they always arrived to keep her company.
The
re was Whisky, the black-and-white tuxedo cat who loved shiny things and frequently stole trinkets from the guests. There was Sprite, the lilac-point Balinese who never stopped chatting. There was Ivan, the Siberian who had been brought over from Russia and then abandoned by his family. Apart from Fay’s bed, his favorite place to sleep was outside in the rain and snow. There was Smudge – a strawberry-blonde female who defied the rule that ginger cats were always male. And then there was Olive, the grey tabby with wild markings that evoked her feral heritage.
Smudge and Olive had both had litters of their own before Fay’s grandmother had rescued them and had them neutered. They were excellent foster mothers to any kittens Fay took in and had raised Tigger and Zorro - not to mention their siblings Fred and Cinnamon - with their own four paws.
Fay watched her crime series happily, following the clues carefully and trying to keep track of who was who. She quickly identified the murderer as a serial killer and wondered, along with the detectives, when he was going to strike next.
Resisting the temptation to start another episode, she took her tray down to the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. Then she started getting ready for bed. Her mind drifted to the Sunset Acres case and she wondered if it was her steady consumption of crime shows that had led her to believe that a serial killer was at work on Bluebell Island. It didn’t seem very likely.
Her over-active imagination made her jump to another conclusion – namely that Dr. Ben Farlow’s fainting episode and near cardiac arrest were not the result of his chronic health condition, but rather a case of attempted murder. She knew it sounded crazy. She hesitated even to mention it to anyone. But if she was right and this was the killer’s fifth attempt, she couldn’t be silent much longer. She would have to start speaking up.
Fay had been happy to respect Matron Sale’s wishes to keep quiet about what was going on in the frail-care center. The extra security at the center should have been enough to discourage another attempt. She certainly hadn’t expected Dr. Farlow to be the next victim. It was hard to see what a locum doctor from Canada had to do with the residents of a sleepy retirement estate.
The Cat That Was Bigger Than You Page 6