Blood Brother

by Malcolm Rose

  Luke let Malc guide him towards Peter and Elisa’s house because his mobile was equipped with a detailed map of the entire country. Even though Luke didn’t know the way, it felt a little like going home because he didn’t have his own fixed address. He simply went wherever crime took him. “Just a minute,” he said to Malc. He paused by the river and, for a while, watched the Derwent surging past. He was not sure if he was looking forward to the coming interview or not. Of course, it was much more than an interview for Luke. He took some deep breaths, trying to steady his nerves and control his excitement.

  “Your minute has lapsed,” Malc informed him.

  “Yeah, all right. Let’s get going.”

  Malc led him to a small cottage, not a state-of-the-art apartment. Clearly, his parents had taken a step back after he’d gone to school. At the side of the bungalow, a man in a padded jacket was sitting at an easel, painting. Straightaway, Luke recognized an aged version of his father. Luke hesitated, swallowed nervously and then walked up to him without a word.

  The sunshine coming over Luke’s shoulder made Peter squint at his visitor. There was no sign of recognition in his eyes. “Yes?” he prompted.

  Why should his father realize who he was? He’d last seen his son eleven years ago, at the age of five. Very deliberately, Luke extracted his identity card and held it out. “Er... Forensic Investigator Luke Harding,” he announced.

  For a few seconds, Peter was dumbstruck. Then his mouth opened. “But...” His eyes flicked again between the card and Luke’s face. “I’m...”

  It was clear in his father’s moist eyes that he was overcome. But there was also the beginning of a smile on his face.

  Peter looked Luke up and down. Then he glanced down at his fingers. “Sorry. I’m covered in paint.” He wiped his hands clumsily and hurriedly on a cloth, then stood and held out his arms. Hugging Luke fiercely, he said into his ear, “Hello, Son. It’s good to see you.”

  It seemed to Luke that his father accepted him immediately and unconditionally. Taken by surprise, he whispered back, “Hello, Father.”

  Luke did not match his father in facial features but both of them were tall and had the same build.

  Peter pulled back and held Luke’s shoulders at arms’ length. “You’d look great if it weren’t for...” The doctor peered at the gash in Luke’s cheek. “Whatever you’ve been doing, someone’s patched you up well. You won’t have much of a scar. Not an ugly one. The Authorities must be looking after you.”

  Luke didn’t want to talk about his injuries. That would’ve been a wasted opportunity. Instead, he looked at his father’s unfinished artwork. It featured two sinewy racehorses. Nodding at it, he said, “Unusual.”

  “Not round here. It’s a centre for horse training.”

  “No,” Luke said, “I meant, unusual for a doctor to paint.”

  Peter smiled. “That’s what The Authorities teach us all, isn’t it? We’re supposed to become expert at one thing and stick to it, but... I paint to relax. Do you always do what The Authorities tell you?”

  Luke had been warned to stop using unorthodox methods and to heed Malc’s advice at all times. He’d also been cautioned over his opposition to pairing. “Um, nearly always,” he answered coyly.

  Peter laughed happily. “Nearly means no. Excellent. That’s my legacy to you.”

  “What?”

  “A healthy scepticism.”

  Luke nodded. He liked the idea of having a rebellious father.

  “You got good looks from your mother and a questioning mind from me.” Peter hesitated before adding proudly, “And your own efforts made you the country’s youngest FI.”

  Luke was taken aback. “How do you know that?”

  Peter smiled at him. “Did you think we’d lose track altogether, me and your mother? Do you think we wouldn’t be interested? We’ve been hoping you’d get in touch. We knew you would one day. Let’s go in.” Heading for the back door, he led the way down a path and past a greenhouse.

  “How’s Mother?” asked Luke.

  “She’s up at Fylingdales – North York Moors Observatory – still gazing at stars for a living.” He looked into Luke’s face and said, “She’ll be home soon. She’ll be pleased to see you, to say the least. Like discovering a new planet, but...” For an instant, his expression darkened. Then he stripped off his coat, brushed a bit of dandruff from its collar, and waved Luke towards a seat. “What do you want to drink? Pomegranate juice? Or something stronger, maybe a tiny bit illegal?”

  “Just pomegranate juice, thanks.”

  Peter grinned. “When you were little you wanted so much of the stuff, I almost gave you an intravenous drip.”

  Bracing himself, Luke said, “I’m not sure I’m really ready for this get-together in the way you meant it. I’ve come to see you, for sure, but I’m on a case. Sorry. I need to ask you about the hospital.”

  Peter nodded, trying not to look disappointed. “I’ll get us that drink. I’ll put a drop of something in it to give it a kick. Sounds like we’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Five

  When Peter returned to the compact living room with a glass in each hand, still stained colourfully with dried paint, he said, “I can’t get over... Anyway, let’s get the business done, before your mother gets back.” He gulped down a large part of the juice.

  “Are there any medicines based on heather?” Luke asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of, but some people say it brings good luck. Rubbish, of course. But you’ve told me you found out what I do, just like I found out what you do.”

  “Chief Consultant of the Department of Alternative Medicine.” Luke sipped the pomegranate juice and found that it did have a kick. A pleasant, warming kick. He didn’t ask what was in it, though, because Malc would probably report Peter to The Authorities if it was prohibited.

  “You know what I do but I’d better tell you why.”

  “Oh?”

  That cloud came over his features again. “It... er... it goes back to Kerryanne. I don’t know what you remember, but... sickness is bad enough when it strikes down the old. It’s absolutely hateful when it afflicts the young.” He bowed his head. “I couldn’t save her. Modern medicine couldn’t save her.”

  “What did she have?”

  “It started with headaches that wouldn’t go away. Then came poor eyesight, nausea and vomiting. She went deaf and got terribly confused.” Peter finished off his drink as if he were parched. “It was a brain tumour. A rapidly growing medulloblastoma. She saw a hundred and one specialists, had a hundred and one scans and X-rays, every medication going. And she hardly ever complained. A couple of operations only proved the tumour was inoperable. She went through everything that conventional medicine could throw at her, but it was useless. Nothing loosened the cancer’s grip.” He put his head in his hands briefly and then looked up again, but he didn’t make eye contact with Luke. “She was discharged from hospital because she’d exhausted every option. She died a few weeks later. You see, modern medicine can’t solve everything. That’s why I looked around for something extra. That’s why I set up an alternative medicine unit.”

  “I remember being outside with her – and you – one night. Under the stars. Wrapped in a blanket. She held my hand.”

  A single tear ran down Peter’s cheek. “That was your mother’s idea – to make her last night special. We knew we were going to lose her the next day. She died with dignity.”

  Lost for words, Luke nodded.

  “I’d better tell you...” Peter continued. “But do you want another drink first?”

  Luke shook his head. “Still got plenty.”

  Peter got up. “I need another one.” When he returned with a full glass, he said, “It’s not just physical wounds that leave a scar. Me and your mother, we never really recovered. Do you know what I mean? We’d been happy, but after Kerryanne...” He sighed deeply. “I blamed myself because I was a doctor, and your mother...” He ground to a halt.
r />   “What?” Luke asked softly.

  “The tumour was left over from nerve cells that didn’t develop properly while Kerryanne was growing inside your mother. Because it was something that happened inside her, Elisa blamed herself. That’s why we never had another baby – in case she inflicted the same thing on another child.”

  Luke nodded again. It all made sense now.

  Plainly, Peter couldn’t take any more. He needed to talk about something else for a while. He said, “It’s not about mystical nonsense, you understand. My department, that is. It studies natural remedies and things like that, scientifically.”

  “Including acupuncture.”

  “Yes. The science isn’t convincing, but we know acupuncture releases natural painkillers from the brain. It can help with nausea and some chronic pain. But don’t get bogged down with one branch. I’ll fill you in on the bigger picture.” He took a moment to think, and then said, “There’s conventional medicine and what I do. The difference isn’t always obvious when you look at cures. A herb with an active ingredient sounds alternative but a lot of conventional drugs come from trees and plants, even aspirin. But there’s a big difference in approach. Conventional medicine says the body’s a big machine with lots of parts that can go wrong. It’s all about fixing the bits that break down. My department’s not like that. We think of the body as a whole, not a collection of parts, and illness is when the entire network goes out of balance. It’s all about problems with the relationships between interacting systems, not just the breakdown of one cog in a machine. Think of a body as a self-regulating network that gets itself in a twist sometimes and settles in the wrong place. We aim to treat the whole thing, not fix the bits. In fact, we don’t really aim for a cure as such. The network’s too complicated for that. We just disturb the balance – nudge the system – and let it settle in the right place. Sometimes we’re successful, sometimes not. We always do it scientifically, though. It’s not magic.”

  “Did you treat someone called Julian Bent?”

  His father shrugged. “The name’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t keep track of everyone.”

  “I’m checking it out because the hospital’s death rate has gone up.”

  “That’s because we’re taking on trickier cases, I guess. Tougher diseases, more deaths.”

  “My job’s to prove that, or come up with the real reason.” Luke took another sip. He couldn’t delay any more. He had to throw some suspicion at his father’s unit. “About twenty-seven more patients than normal have died. It might be coincidence but twenty-six people in your trials of alternative treatments have died.”

  Peter did not look surprised. “I know. I keep my eye on statistics as well. I’ve already checked them out as much as I can. The fact is, they were in four totally different trials and they weren’t getting any treatment anyway so it couldn’t have been a trial going wrong.”

  Luke was puzzled. “Oh? How come they didn’t get anything?”

  “They were what we call controls. They thought they were guinea pigs for an experimental remedy but actually they were only getting placebos. That means dummy treatments. We’ve got to have controls to compare with patients who are getting the real remedies.”

  “So, a dodgy new drug didn’t kill them, but your cures must’ve looked pretty impressive when they died. People carry on living if they’re getting the experimental treatment and die if they don’t.”

  “True,” Peter admitted. He leaned forward towards his son. “But what are you saying? Having a placebo is a motive for murder? That’s an extreme way of improving our statistics. And impossible.”

  “Impossible?”

  “My medical team doesn’t know who’s getting the genuine treatment and who’s getting the dummy. Neither do the patients.”

  “Someone must know,” Luke said, “or you wouldn’t be able to work the results out afterwards.”

  “Yes, but she’s not part of my medical team. She doesn’t have an interest in the success or failure of a treatment. Deliberately. She’s a young mathematician and she’s the only one who knows who gets what. I give her twenty names and say, ‘Put ten people on a test remedy and ten on placebos,’ and she gets on with it. She assigns each name to a remedy or placebo at random. It’s called double-blind because the patients and the medical team are blind to who gets what. Not even I know until the trial’s over.”

  “What’s her name? This mathematician.”

  “Tara Fortune.”

  “When did she start work with you?” Luke asked.

  “I don’t know. Hospital files will tell you. I guess it was about six months ago.”

  Luke and Peter exchanged a glance when they heard footsteps approaching the house. Standing up, they both faced the front door and waited.

  Chapter Six

  Elisa Harding walked into the living room. For a moment, she was startled to see two people. Then a look of delight came to her face. “Luke!” she cried. “It’s you!”

  Unable to keep a babyish grin from his face, Luke found himself in another enthusiastic embrace. “How did you know?” he asked her. “It’s been eleven years.”

  His mother pretended to be insulted. “Are you trying to tell me I can’t recognize my own son, no matter how long it’s been? Hey, you’re tall.”

  “Taller than the last time you saw me.”

  Elisa was so mesmerized by Luke’s appearance, she forgot to laugh. She didn’t greet Peter or even smile at him. Maybe she ignored her partner because she couldn’t take her eyes off Luke. Maybe it was the effect of familiarity. Or maybe there was another reason. She nodded towards Luke’s cheek and said, “You’ve been in the wars.”

  “Just got thwacked by a branch.” Luke wasn’t entirely truthful because he thought she might worry if he told her that a falling tree was a deliberate attempt on his life.

  “It’s still a dangerous job.” Elisa frowned at him.

  “It’s okay. And Malc looks after me.” He jerked his thumb towards his mobile.

  His mother said, “I heard about you on the news.”

  “Oh?”

  “They said you were investigating the Emily Wonder murders.”

  “Oh, yes. That was one of mine.”

  “You solved it.” Elisa oozed satisfaction and pride.

  Malc did not distinguish between a social chat and an interview. “Forensic Investigator Luke Harding has a one hundred per cent clear-up record,” he reported. There was no pride in Malc’s tone. He was simply supplying a fact.

  “That’s brilliant,” Elisa said to Luke. “And exactly what I’d expect.” Then she changed the subject. “You’ll stay for dinner.” It was not quite a question, almost a demand. “And we’ve got a spare bed. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.” She glanced at Luke’s mobile and added, “You know, for some reason, I expected you to bring a girl, not a tin machine.”

  At once, Malc objected. “I am made from an advanced alloy that...”

  Luke smiled and said, “Silent mode, Malc.” Then he turned back to his mother. “Funny you should say that. I always imagined bringing...”

  Elisa still hadn’t taken her coat off. “So, there is a girl. Are you going to be paired? What’s her name?”

  “Jade Vernon.”

  His mother hesitated. “Why do I know...?”

  At last, Peter intervened. “I see,” he said thoughtfully.

  Impatiently, Elisa asked him, “What do you see?”

  “She’s the musician doing the anthem for the International Youth Games. We’ve seen about her on the telescreen.”

  Luke nodded. “She’s also my girlfriend. Has been for ages. She saved my life.”

  For a moment, neither of his parents spoke. They didn’t have to. Luke knew what they were thinking. A musician would not be paired with a forensic investigator because The Authorities formed couples on the basis of career, genetics, age and intelligence. Luke’s parents were regretting that he’d fallen for the wrong girl.

  Luke gazed at
his father and said with a smile, “That’s your legacy coming out in me. A healthy scepticism for pairing.”

  Peter thought about it before nodding. “Good for you. She looked nice.”

  Elisa stared at her partner as if he’d trivialized an important issue.

  Peter knocked back more of his drink. “Have faith,” he said to her. “Luke will figure it out. He’s got a one hundred per cent record.”

  ****

  Over the meal, Luke almost forgot his persistent headache. He talked about himself, about his job, Malc, Jade and her music. He watched his father drink a large volume of the juice with a kick and his mother ignore her husband. It was odd that these damaged people he didn’t know had taken to him at once. He got the impression that they would have supported him through success and failure, through good times and bad. He was troubled that his job required him to regard his father as a potential suspect.

  Luke’s role of forensic investigator was never far from his mind. Thinking of Nyree Max, the gaunt girl with the lucky charm, he said to his father, “This’ll sound a bit silly, but have you ever heard of a pyramid being used to make people better?”

  “A pyramid? No. I haven’t come across that. There’s a superstition about living in the shadow of a pyramid. It’s supposed to be good luck. I think that’s why some city centres have got a tower-block in the shape of a pyramid but...” He shrugged.

  “You haven’t heard of it in health?”

  “Architecture, maybe. Health, no. Superstitions comfort people who believe in them, of course, so they make some patients feel better. No doubt about that.” He wasn’t making fun of the superstitious. Rather, he seemed to think they had an advantage over everyone else.

  “There’s something else,” Luke said. “Placebos. I see how you could give someone a dummy pill and make them think they’re getting the real thing, but how do you do placebo acupuncture?”