I’d accepted that fact recently. At least, I thought I’d had. I could feel the old depressive feelings coming back, threatening to drown me. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I shoved a grape into my mouth and grabbed my phone.
Hey, you doing anything? I texted Brianne. Luckily, I got a reply a minute later.
I’m at the hospital. I’ll be done in about 20 though if you want to meet up?
Definitely yes. I need to talk to you about… well, medical school stuff.
And I need to talk to you to know if the hospital’s isolation ward is about to get a few hundred new patients or not.
My news on that front isn’t great. Meet you at the normal place?
I’ll get the first round.
I smiled as I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door, giving Biscuit a pet as I walked past the ray of sunshine in which he was lying. I needed a friend right now. A friend who knew what I’d gone through, a friend who could give me advice.
Half an hour later I walked into The White Hart, a small, classy pub where Brianne and I often found ourselves if we met up after she’d been doing her studies at the hospital.
I plopped myself down into the seat across from Brianne at a round table. There were two glasses of beer on the table, and I grabbed the one that was still full and took a big swig of it.
“So, I see your murder case is going well then?” Brianne asked, and I grinned.
“It’s that obvious, huh?”
“It is. But that’s not what’s bothering you right now, is it?”
I shook my head no. “No. Well, yes. But also no. I just… I kind of feel like I want to do something, you know?”
“Is the life of leisure just not cutting it for you? You poor baby,” Brianne teased, and I stuck my tongue out at her. “But seriously,” she continued, “what are you considering?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, a part of me wants to go back into medicine. Being in the hospital again the other day, seeing how it worked, seeing the sounds that I’m so used to… that was such a big part of my life, you know?”
Brianne nodded. “I know what you mean.”
“So a part of me wants to do that, but then I’m not sure if I’d be happy doing something other than surgery. That was my whole goal. And then remember when that house blew up in Belgravia? Around then I helped someone else I knew from the park, just a minor detective thing, but I tried to do what Violet did and it worked, and that felt good. But at the same time, I know I’m not actually good at what she does.”
“Would you enjoy doing it though? As a living, I mean.”
I thought about the question for a few minutes, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess that’s where all of my confusion right now is coming from; I don’t know anything. I want to do something though.”
“Well that’s already such a huge step forward for you,” Brianne said. “Up until now, you haven’t wanted to do anything. Sometimes I’ve had to work to get you to even get out of the house for a girls’ night out. This is a big step, and it’s normal not to have all the answers.”
I sighed. “I’ve always had all the answers though, and I guess that’s what’s frustrating me. I decided I wanted to become a doctor when I was fifteen. I knew when I was nineteen that I wanted to go into surgery, and when I was twenty-two I settled on orthopedics as my specialty. Now I’m pushing thirty and it feels like I’m a teenager again, starting over.”
“You’re not starting over completely, though. You have your undergrad degree; you have most of your doctor’s studies done. You could always change your disciplines and you’ve still done a good 80 percent of the work. All you’d have to do would be a few classroom courses in whatever your new specialty would be, and then a year or two of specialized residency.”
“That’s true,” I said. “I still don’t know if I want to try something else. Jake invited me to listen in on a speech he’s giving about pathology tomorrow to pre-med students, so I might decide I like to study germs and dead people.”
Brianne laughed. “I don’t really see that as being your ‘thing’.”
“Me neither, to be honest.”
“When you did your initial rotations, what did you like other than surgery?”
I thought back to the years that had passed. “Definitely not family medicine,” I said, scrunching up my face and Brianne laughed.
“You mean you don’t like looking down people’s throats and telling them they have a cold?”
I laughed as a tall man who looked to be in his early thirties and was already balding slightly sat down at the table next to us with a friend, who was also tall, but significantly more muscular and better-looking. I was going to reply to Brianne when the first man started talking. He had definitely never learned the difference between ‘inside voice’ and ‘outside voice’ when he was a kid.
“So what are ya gonna have to drink, Billy?” the man boomed to his friend.
“Just a beer, mate,” came the reply, and the guy made his way up toward the bar.
“Wow, that guy’s mom must have enjoyed his childhood,” I said to Brianne, who laughed.
“He’s a creep, too, that guy. He works down in the basement, I guess because the walls down there are pretty soundproof. Has a job in one of the labs. He’s always trying to hit up new nurses and medical students. He says the actual doctors are ‘too old’ for him,” Brianne said, using air quotes.
“Sounds like a winner to me,” I laughed.
“I know, right?” Suddenly I stopped.
“Wait. He always talks like that?” I asked.
“That loudly? Yeah.”
“And he works in one of the labs in the basement? What’s his name?”
“Rupert something? I only found out today, one of the nurses was complaining about him. Up until now I’ve just been calling him ‘creepy basement guy’.”
I leaned back against my seat and groaned. “What is it?” Brianne asked.
“One of the major questions we had was how on earth Anita Turner could have found out about the Ebola vials being stored in the hospital.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well Rupert Jones was one of the eight people that knew about it. He could have told someone from the next room over and Anita could have overheard it.”
Brianne’s eyes widened. “Geez. You’re telling me Mr. Charming over there’s big mouth might be the entire reason there’s an imminent threat of terrorism?”
I nodded. “I don’t know for sure, of course. But that certainly would explain it.”
“Just when I thought I couldn’t like the guy any less,” Brianne muttered. “Do you think you’re going to find the vials in time?”
I shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. Every minute that passes without us doing anything is agony, but I also know Violet and I can’t do anything until tonight. Hopefully tomorrow morning the internet will be filled with people rejoicing that the vials have been found.”
“I sure hope so,” Brianne muttered. “Keep me up to date, will you?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“And in the meantime,” she continued, “you should put an application in for medical school here. Your grades were good enough you’ll be accepted, but it’s too late to apply for the summer semester, you wouldn’t start until January at the earliest. That gives you lots of time to decide if you really do want to go back to being a doctor, and you can always say no if you decide you want to become a detective or do something completely different.”
“That’s a good idea, thanks,” I told Brianne, giving her a smile before finishing off the beer. “Hey, this is going to be a weird question, but do you own any good clothes for clubbing?”
Chapter 14
Two hours later I was headed back to my place from Brianne’s apartment, where she’d lent me some clothes that would hopefully be good for that night. We weren’t exactly the same size, but it would be close enough, and seeing as the most risqué my current wardrobe got was a pair of Lul
ulemon capris I used to go jogging three times when I decided on a whim I was going to get healthier–the downside to that was I’d forgotten that I thought running was invented as a special form of torture–and a tank top that I wore exclusively inside my apartment when it got to be too hot, which had had more food than I was willing to admit to spilled on it right now.
But, thanks to Brianne, I was now the proud owner of a tight, pastel pink skirt that ran about halfway down my thighs, a black halter top, more chunky jewellery than I ever expected to wear at once, and a pair of heels so high that just looking at them made me hope we were taking a cab to the club.
Violet texted me to come by any time before ten, as that was when we were leaving for the club, so I made my way to her place just after nine. I knew I was early, but I was anxious to find out where the Ebola vials were, before it was too late.
With Brianne’s outfit and an hour spent making my hair nice and wavy, combined with my makeup done in shades I hadn’t thought looked good since before I could legally drink, I definitely looked ready to hit the clubs. Looking at myself in the mirror, I didn’t know if I’d say I looked hot–it certainly wasn’t my favorite look in general–but I could definitely say I looked ready to hit the clubs like a twenty-two-year-old all over again.
“Don’t worry Biscuit, I’m not bringing anyone home tonight,” I reassured my cat before heading out. Seeing as he was curled up in a little ball in an old box on the floor, I didn’t think he was that concerned.
What was immediately concerning was my skill in walking in Brianne’s heels. In the sense that I had absolutely no skill at all at walking in them. I stumbled out the door like a drunk, giggling at my own complete inability to do something so simple as walking in heels. I hadn’t worn any since the surgery on my knee, and even in the few years preceding that heels were maybe a once-a-year sort of thing. Medical school didn’t exactly invite a thriving social life.
I looked at the four steps leading up to the street from my apartment dauntingly. Carefully, I made my way up them, feeling like a tightrope walker the whole time. But, I managed to make my way up all the steps without falling over onto the pavement. As I made my way toward Violet’s house I started to slowly gain a tiny bit of confidence. After all, I’d made it a whole twenty yards without pitching forward into one of the neighbor’s fences. That counted as a win, right? I made my way up to Violet’s door and knocked. She yelled at me to come in, and I opened the door and practically collapsed onto the couch in her study.
“You are not used to the high heels, I presume?” Violet said with a small smile, making her way in from the kitchen.
“How do people stand on these all day?” I asked. “Not only do I feel like a circus freak, but my feet are killing me already!”
“If you really need them, I have flats that you may be able to get away with,” Violet offered, but I shook my head.
“No, if we’re clubbing, it has to be heels. I’m just being a big whiny baby about it. I’ll be fine.”
Violet was wearing a pair of high-rise black leggings with a black crop-top and an oversized flowery shirt on top of it. Her hair was tied up into a high pony, with strands of dark brown hair around her face. The scarlet lipstick contrasted well with her pale skin and dark hair.
“Good. We cannot go too early, however.”
“Aren’t you as nervous as I am?” I asked. “I mean, going to this club tonight, we might actually find out where the Ebola vials are being stored.”
Violet shrugged. “What is the point in nerves? Either we will find the location of the vials, or we will not. There is no way to know until we get there, so no point in worrying about it. What I do know is that arriving at a club too early will appear suspicious, so our chances of a successful night improve by waiting for the correct time.”
“I swear you’re like 80 percent robot,” I replied, Violet grinning in reply.
“I’ll take it as a compliment, that comment.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t one,” I replied as Violet made her way to her computer in the corner.
“This afternoon, I have done research on the club,” Violet told me. “It is owned by a Serbian, Filip Petkovic. He is the head of a gang comprised mainly of Serbians or the children of immigrants from the region.”
“So Dragan was a gang member?”
“Yes. They do not seem to be an especially violent gang; they generally attempt to smuggle drugs from the European mainland into the United Kingdom, but they are not the sort to be committing random acts of violence in the streets.”
“I don’t get it. Why would a Serbian gang want a whole bunch of Ebola vials?”
“They may want to return them back to their homeland. Tensions between the various ethnic groups in the former Yugoslav states have not disappeared. However, that would leave the people in the region they would be targeting–most likely Kosovo–quite vulnerable. We will see.”
I really, really hoped these vials weren’t going to be used to trigger another war in the Balkans, or whatever this gang hoped to achieve with it.
“Do you know how they found out Ed Harding had the vials?” I asked Violet, who shook her head no.
“I do not know that, no. But believe me; Lily’s information is not wrong. If she led us to the Serbians, they are the ones who did it. As we gather more information, we will be better able to determine the details of how exactly the Ebola vials ended up in the hands of a Serbian gang.”
Violet showed me a picture of Filip Petkovic; he was a man who looked to be around thirty, with black hair and deep-set eyes. “You need to know his face, in case we come across him in the club,” Violet told me, and I nodded.
“Good. Now it is after ten. We can go now.”
The two of us made our way slowly toward the main street, where we hailed a cab. Violet instructed it to take us directly to The Graffiti Club. I didn’t even know that place had a name. The driver didn’t know it, so Violet simply told him to make his way to Rupert Street and she would direct him from there.
Fifteen minutes later we were standing in the same spot we’d stood only a few hours before, and it couldn’t have been more different.
Whereas the middle of the afternoon saw a small amount of traffic, comprising mainly of ambling tourists and businesspeople making their way to their destinations with purpose, this was very different.
Now, the office buildings around were all dark, the businesses closed for the day. The creatures of the night were out; young people looking to forget their troubles and dance the night away. A big guy who had to weigh at least three hundred pounds stood in front of the door Dragan had gone through, his legs spread apart and his arms crossed threateningly. People gathered in small groups around the front of the club, cackling with the laughter of the tipsy people who had been pre-drinking before making their way to the club.
Violet and I walked up to the bouncer. I actually managed to not embarrass myself completely walking in the shoes; Violet of course walked like a runway model in her four inch heels. I was starting to legitimately wonder if she actually was a robot and this was just some kind of weird experiment. Surely nobody could be that good at practically everything.
Violet flashed the man a smile. “Sorry ladies, back of the line,” the man said.
“But Filip said we could come straight in,” Violet begged, changing her accent slightly. Was she pretending to be Serbian?
The man looked uncomfortably to the side, unsure as to whether or not his boss really wanted these two ladies in the club. Finally, deciding that two additional bodies was probably better than getting fired, he stepped aside.
“Have a good night,” he said.
“Hvala!” Violet replied, and I smiled at him as we moved past and through the door.
I realized I was getting old when the first thing I thought when Violet and I made our way into the main part of the club was “Wow, the soundproofing in this building must have cost a fortune!”
The whole thing looked
like a purple factory exploded. Everything was a different shade.
The bar at the far end of the room had neon purple lights shining upwards along the front of it. Violet spotlights shone around the room at random angles from the ceiling, where mauve cloth draped in soft waves toward the ground. A small VIP area at the back featured plum-colored chairs and tables. It was all incredibly overwhelming. The dance floor was filled with people dancing to the latest Shawn Mendez remix while purple lights danced along with them.
“People come here willingly?” I practically shouted in Violet’s ear in order to be heard.
“It does seem quite… excessive,” she replied as we both looked around. Violet nodded toward a door at the far side of the room, right next to the bar. It read EMPLOYEES ONLY in big red letters. Apart from the entrance we’d just come in from, it seemed like the only other door anywhere in this club. Given as there were at least a hundred people on the dance floor, and more standing around and at the bar, I figured this place probably wasn’t exactly up to the latest fire safety codes.
Violet and I meandered over to the door, but there were two people working behind the bar, only a few feet away, and it became instantly obvious that no matter how subtle Violet and I were, there was no way we were going to be able to make it through that door without at least one of them seeing us.
Looking over at the two people, I noticed the woman was making up a tray of drinks, probably to take to one of the VIP tables. I motioned for Violet to wait by the door for a minute while I made my way to the other side of the bar. It was so crowded in here that I had to squeeze past a few people, but that was fine. The more crowded things were, the better I expected my plan to work.
I hung around next to a group of young girls who were giggling to themselves about how hot the bartender was when the waitress finally came by, carrying the tray of drinks precariously with one hand. I timed my ‘accidental’ bump into one of the girls perfectly; she was tipsy enough that she lost her balance and fell into the waitress, whose drinks all went flying.
Whacked in Whitechapel (A Cozy Mystery) (Cassie Coburn Mysteries Book 3) Page 8