by Malcolm Rose
There was nowhere for Luke to sit so he leaned against a wall. Pushing his long hair behind his ears, he said, “Do you like your job here?”
She frowned, probably unsure where Luke was going with his questioning. “Yeah, it’s great. Kind of weird to be a mathematician when everyone else is into medicine and biology but...”
“When did you start?”
“Er... six months ago. Almost to the day.” She began to fidget with her fingers as if she weren’t used to doing nothing with them. Or maybe she was nervous.
“It’s a strange set-up, isn’t it? The Department of Alternative Medicine.”
“I think it’s good. More interesting than strange.”
“You want it to be successful,” Luke said.
“Of course, but... What are you getting at?”
“I suppose you calculate results, doing all the statistical stuff, finding out if a treatment’s better than a placebo?”
It was a simple question but the answer came very slowly and deliberately. Tara was probably still trying to figure out if there was any harm in telling the truth. “Yes.”
“Every time you get a positive result – showing some therapy really works – it’s good for the department and keeps you in a job.”
She didn’t reply at once. After a moment’s thought, she said, “It’s even better for the patients.”
Luke smiled and nodded. “Good point.”
“As far as I can see, it’s not about conventional versus alternative. It’s about finding out what works and what doesn’t. A lot of conventional therapies do wonders and some don’t. Quite a few alternative medicines work as well, and some are rubbish. So what if we don’t understand why? When I get ill, I just want something that works. I don’t care if it’s alternative or not understood, as long as it makes me better.”
“Sounds sensible to me,” said Luke. “Do you know Julian Bent?”
She didn’t need to refer to her computer files. “Kind of. Acute pain case. Acupuncture treatment.”
“I’m surprised you remember one patient so well.”
Tara swallowed before replying. “He died. That’s terrible – and memorable. Anyway, it was only the day before yesterday.”
“He didn’t really have acupuncture, did he?”
“No. He was on the dummy needles.”
“You remember that as well.”
“Dr Sachs came in on Wednesday afternoon – to see his records.”
Luke was careful to avoid reacting to his father’s name. He interpreted Peter’s reaction as perfectly innocent because he’d admitted that he kept an eye on the hospital’s death statistics and checked out the fatalities. “When you test a treatment, you do a double-blind experiment. Why do you keep the doctors and nurses in the dark? Why aren’t they told who gets the remedy and who gets the placebo?”
“Two main reasons. If a nurse knows she’s giving a dummy, patients can tell. They pick up little clues from her manner. That invalidates the trial. Everyone involved has got to behave the same way – thinking they’re giving or getting the same thing. If they don’t, you’re kind of testing psychological effects, not the treatment. And when it comes to looking at the results, you don’t want the doctor to be influenced by knowing who got what. You’ve got to be objective.”
As a forensic investigator, Luke was supposed to be blind to bias as well. That’s the way he’d been trained. But he couldn’t be blind to the fact that Peter Sachs was his father. He was bound to be influenced. That’s why he regarded Tara Fortune as a more serious suspect than his father.
“Did you ever visit Julian Bent?”
“No,” she answered. “Patients are just names and numbers to me.”
“So, you won’t mind me taking a DNA sample to check.”
Tara caught her breath but relented. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Normally, he would opt for a hair with its root but Tara’s hair was too short to tug out. Instead he took a cotton bud and rolled it against her inner cheek, then sealed it in a small evidence bag. “Thanks,” he said. “That’s about it. Except, do you keep a record of who carries out which test?”
“Yes. It’s essential.”
“Who gave Julian Bent his pretend-acupuncture?”
This time, Tara did have to resort to her computer. After a few seconds, she answered, “That was Dr Unwin and Nurse Young.”
****
Luke learned nothing new from the Department of Alternative Medicine’s acupuncture team of Nurse Young and Dr Unwin. They’d treated Julian Bent two days before his death and they hadn’t noticed any flowers in his room. Neither of them had seen anything suspicious or heard of Alexia Ridge. And they’d both worked at the hospital for far more than six months.
Luke took a couple of hairs from the doctor and the nurse – to identify any DNA that they’d left behind in Julian’s room – and then went back to his hotel. He needed a break and a chat with Jade.
Appearing on Luke’s telescreen, Jade said, “Hiya. Are you okay?”
“I’m flying, thanks,” he replied, keeping quiet about his headache. “I saw my parents yesterday.”
“You did what?” Jade exclaimed.
“My mother works just north of here and, in a way, my father’s a suspect. Peter Sachs. He works at the hospital.”
Jade hesitated and then laughed. “He must have loved seeing you! ‘Here I am after eleven years. Your son. Now, answer these questions or I’m arresting you.’ Fantastic.”
Luke had to smile. “It didn’t happen quite like that.”
“What did you think of them?”
“Well, they know you’re the games’ musician. They’ve seen you on telescreen. They said you looked nice.”
“Yeah, but you’re avoiding telling me what they’re like,” she replied.
“Mother’s still grieving for Kerryanne – even after all this time. Father’s almost as tall as me. Clever. And he drinks too much of something strange. He’s grieving as well, I suppose.”
“At least they’ve got each other.”
“Yeah,” Luke replied, “but I don’t think it works like that. I got the feeling they don’t get on very well. I reckon what happened to Kerryanne broke them up more than it pulled them together.”
Jade nodded slowly. “Shame.”
“Mother gave me some photos of her.”
Jade cheered up. “Oh? What does she look like? Who does she look like?”
“I don’t know,” Luke confessed.
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I can’t look. Not yet. Today, I saw a little girl...”
“What? Dead?”
Luke nodded. “Probably poisoned by her mother. I couldn’t look at photos of Kerryanne without thinking about her.”
A look of horror came to Jade’s face. “Are you saying your mother...?”
“No. Nothing like that. It was a brain tumour. That’s all. It’s just that... I suppose I don’t want to see Kerryanne and feel guilty.”
“Guilty?”
“Yes,” Luke replied. “Guilty that she died and I didn’t.”
“You can’t think like that.”
“Mmm. Anyway,” he said, steering her away from an uneasy topic, “they want to meet you.”
“Me? Why?”
Luke shrugged again. “I don’t know. They’re interested in me, so I guess that makes them interested in you. Actually,” he added, “it’s strange. All through school, you get judged by results. Good marks and they like you. Bad marks and you’re in trouble. But I got the impression my parents would like me for who I am, whether I did well or not.”
“Unconditional support, eh?” Jade thought about it for a second and then grinned widely. “Weird, yes, but it sounds nice to me.”
****
Luke gripped the sharp knife in his right hand and plunged it through the tough bronzed skin and into the soft flesh beneath. He lifted up the first quarter to his mouth and, avoiding the bitter membranes, sank his teeth int
o the red cells.
Watching the gruesome procedure, Malc said, “I have observed that you do not like to be interrupted during a pomegranate breakfast but you should know that you have been removed from the Wendy Ridge case.”
Luke frowned, concerned that he didn’t miss any of the seeds. “Oh?” he said. “Why?”
“Because it has been concluded overnight. When confronted with the evidence of excess salt in her daughter’s body, Wendy Ridge confessed to making her ill but denied any intention to commit murder. She has been removed from her son to protect him.”
“What’ll happen to her now?”
“She will be tried on a nominal charge of malicious wounding. If found guilty, she will receive treatment rather than punishment.”
“Sad but fair, I guess.” Once Luke had finished breakfast, he pushed the wreckage of the pomegranate to one side and swallowed some painkillers. “Time for a shower. Do me a favour. If you receive any more messages while I’m in there, wait till I get out, eh?”
“I am expecting the first results from the analysis of traces in Julian Bent’s hospital accommodation. If they are transmitted to me in the next few minutes, I will inform you after you come out of the bathroom.”
“Tempting to stay in all day,” Luke mumbled to himself.
He couldn’t avoid Malc for long. As soon as he came out of the shower, Malc started to recite the findings from Julian Bent’s room. DNA fingerprinting had shown that Nurse Young and Dr Unwin had left fragments of skin behind. As Luke expected, there was no indication that Tara Fortune had been in the room. But the fourth result surprised and horrified him.
Malc announced, “A faint DNA trace matched perfectly against the hospital records for Dr Peter Sachs.”
“What?”
“A faint DNA trace matched...”
“But...” On edge, Luke folded his arms tightly across his stomach. “It can’t be!”
“The chances of an accidental match are...”
“Yes, I know,” Luke snapped. “It’s unheard of.”
“Your presence is requested at the hospital,” said Malc.
Luke did not respond. He was still thinking about his father.
Malc repeated, “Your presence is requested...”
“What is it?” Luke muttered.
“Another death has occurred.”
Chapter Nine
Outside the hotel, the air was rich with the characteristic sweet smell from the chocolate factory. As Luke walked away, his hair still wet, he asked Malc to provide a sound-only link to Peter Sachs. When Malc made the connection, the doctor was in a cab making for the hospital from the opposite direction. Hesitantly, Luke said, “You... er... you told me Julian Bent’s name sounded familiar but you couldn’t remember him being your department’s patient. But Tara Fortune said you checked his file out on Wednesday afternoon.”
Malc relayed Dr Sachs’ voice. “Sorry, Luke. It slipped my mind. Elisa’s always going on about how forgetful I am these days. Must have been the excitement of seeing you.”
“Did you ever go to his room?”
“No.”
“Sure?” Luke checked.
“Absolutely certain.”
Luke could not cope with any more questions right now. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
“Excellent.” His father sounded pleased.
Luke felt the opposite.
When he reached the hospital, he made directly for the orthopaedics section where a middle-aged man called Charlie Illingworth had died one and a half hours previously. Luke had never seen anything like it. The body in the bed was not limp. He was as stiff as a stone statue. His arms were folded across his chest and his hands were clenched tightly into fists. His head was not resting on the pillow. It poked up unnaturally, locked into position by a totally rigid neck.
“I don’t know why you’re getting involved,” the doctor said. “There’s an obvious cause of death. He had fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva – or FOP for short. It’s rare but it turns muscle, tendons and ligaments slowly into bone. Inside him, there’s a second skeleton that should be muscle. That’s why he’s so solid. The staff call it stone-man syndrome for obvious reasons.”
“That’s terrible,” Luke said, pulling a face. “Couldn’t you do anything for him?”
“There’s no treatment, no cure. We just tried to make him comfortable.”
“Did the Department of Alternative Medicine have anything to do with him?”
“No.”
“Not even as a control?”
“No.”
Luke almost breathed a sigh of relief. His father did not have a motive for murder because Charlie Illingworth’s death could not improve his department’s results. Luke looked around the room. “I’ll tell you why I’m getting involved.” He pointed to the clutter on his bedside table. “That.”
The doctor looked amazed. “Flowers?”
“Check it, Malc. Is it the same heather as the bit in Julian Bent’s room?”
“Confirmed.”
Talking to the doctor again, Luke asked, “Do you know who gave him the bunch of heather?”
“That’ll be the Heather Man.”
“The Heather Man? Who’s he?”
“Oh, he’s harmless. Been handing it round for years. No one knows who he is, but some say he was a patient here once.” She shrugged.
“Have you seen him?”
“Not personally, no. But everyone knows about him. A bit of a legend.”
“Why does he do it?”
She shrugged. “It’s supposed to be lucky, isn’t it? Maybe he’s just kind, trying to cheer people up who haven’t got much to be cheerful about,” she said, glancing down at the human statue.
“If you – or any of the staff – see him, let me know.”
“Not much chance of that. As I understand it, he doesn’t exactly keep a schedule. He just appears now and again.” The doctor hesitated and then said, “It’s pretty obvious what killed Mr Illingworth. So, will you release his body? Sorry, but the Institute of Biomechanical Research is eager to get their hands on him before decomposition sets in. They don’t often get the chance to study an unusual specimen like this.”
“Have they got permission already?”
“From me, yes. He hasn’t got a partner so there’s no one else.” She shrugged. “It’s sad but who would you pair him with? A normal life’s out of the question. He was born with a death sentence and he’s been edging towards it ever since, getting progressively worse. More and more bone built up, forcing him into this shape.”
“Are any of his organs up for any transplant?”
The doctor grimaced. “No chance. Look at him. No one would want the heart of a stone man.”
Luke nodded. “All right. Give me a few minutes to scan around, then you can take the body away. But I don’t want anyone else in here till a team of agents comes to collect forensic samples.”
“Well, I think you’re wasting your time, but it’s up to you.”
Left alone in Charlie Illingworth’s room, Luke said, “Take a full scan, Malc, but there’s something I want you to look for in particular.”
“Specify.”
Luke sighed. “My father’s DNA.”
“Processing.”
Watching his mobile float across the room from side to side, Luke asked, “Has Julian Bent’s body gone to this Institute of Biomechanical Research?”
“No.”
“But have they used more bodies than normal in the last six months?”
Already engaged in scanning and sampling for DNA, Malc took nearly three minutes to consult hospital records. “They have taken possession of a slightly greater proportion of corpses than they did in the same period last year. It does not amount to an increase of twenty to thirty bodies.”
“So, it’s out of step with the number of extra deaths. Even so,” Luke replied, “it’s time I paid them a visit.”
While Malc completed his tasks, Luke
was transfixed by the sculpture of Charlie Illingworth. The man’s unusual disease had turned him into a wasted figure before it had finally brought him to a permanent halt, like a robot with an exhausted battery.
“I have collected sufficient samples,” Malc announced. “A rapid assessment of the DNA present will occupy my analytical resources for three to three and a half hours. Full DNA analysis of any traces that may have come from Dr Sachs will take further time.”
“All right. Get on with it. But have you detected any biscuit crumbs?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’m going to take a look at the Institute of Biomechanical Research.”
****
The institute’s laboratories were cooled to prevent rapid decomposition of the specimens. Malc could have measured the low temperature precisely with his digital thermometer. But the atmosphere was also cold in a way that Malc could not calculate. It was the chill of the department’s unsettling work.
Oscar Hislop was wearing two jumpers underneath his lab coat. “This is a liver,” he said, slapping a squishy organ down on the bench as if he were an attendant serving Luke with a dish of raw meat. “If I press it hard but slowly with my hand, the water inside moves out of the way. The liver flattens out and comes back to shape when I take my hand away. It’s bouncy like a ball. But if I apply the same pressure suddenly with a hammer – something that might happen if someone got hit by a fast cab – it shatters. That’s because the internal water doesn’t get the time to move away from the blow. Not good news if the liver’s inside you at the time. And it’s even worse after a meal because the liver stiffens up a bit then.” Clearly enthusiastic about his work and fond of shocking visitors, the biomechanical engineer grinned. “It’s an organ that bounces or splats depending on how you apply the force.”
Luke shivered. Behind him, there was a loud bang that made him jump. “What was that?” he exclaimed.
Unperturbed, Oscar said, “One of my colleagues is in the cold room – really cold, not like in here – with a fresh corpse. He’s firing some new types of bullet into its head and heart, studying what happens.”
Luke did not reply but he screwed up his face in disgust. The place seemed to be a twisted cross between an abattoir and a testing station.