15
The floorboards squeaked as Narette Philips moved through the wooden house. On her return to the desert, she’d seen to her patient first. With the drugs and other medical equipment she brought from the clinic, she was able to care a lot better for Ellis. Although it was a bold and risky idea to enroll him as a patient in the clinic, it seemed the best option. Alternatively, she could bring him to her house in LA and sign him in as an outpatient. With the clinic nearby, she could get supplies any time she wanted. There was no way she could keep on driving the 170 mile round trip to the house in the desert.
“If I could bring him to a hospital” Narette thought. There wasn’t much space to move around in the room where Ellis was lying. His bed and the equipment around him took up most of the space.
She checked on Ellis once more, she suddenly realized the bandage around his head protected him from being recognized. Even in the clinic he‘d be relatively safe. With the bandage nobody knew who he was.
After Edgar’s arrival, she’d done her best to get as much medical equipment from the clinic into her car before she left for the desert. She never been a good liar, but a few evenings ago, she somehow managed to create a believable story of why she needed the stuff. Due to his condition, she should have taken the whole clinic with her.
A soft moan coming from the patient startled Narette from her thoughts.
*
Shortly before lunch time, Serge Santovitz and his assistant, Peter Black, were in a debate about taking on a new client.
“I am not working this way,” Santovitz glanced in Peter’s direction. “We can’t take on a case because we feel sorry for the person,” shaking his head Santovitz returned to his work.
“Her husband never got a fair trial,” Peter Black said
“I don’t care how or what. Gosh Peter, you’re like a puppy chasing its own tail.”
“They’re going to use her husband for medical experiments, right here in LA.”
Serge looked up in surprise, tilting his head sideways his eyes narrowed, “Let me see, they haven’t got a penny and they’re Irish.”
“There is nothing wrong with helping my fellow countrymen,” Peter raised his voice.
“You don’t have to get upset, it doesn’t get you anywhere in this profession. The first thing an attorney needs to learn is to control his nerves. I gather you still have a long way to go on that one.” Moving a rebellious lock of hair back into place, Santovitz got up to exit the office, leaving Peter behind in astonishment.
I’m sick and tired of doing the same thing day-in and day-out, Peter thought. Work at the office had become a drag for him. What once had been his dream job had turned into a boring routine. When is Santovitz ever going to trust me to do more than filing? “Why can’t I take the woman’s brief”?
Of all the tasks he was given, Peter detested cleaning the office the most. Four months ago, when he’d taken on the position, his first task had been to file all the dossiers in alphabetical order. From an enthusiastic law school graduate, he’d become an ordinary office clerk. The dossiers were stocked in piles on two desks. What was left was placed in a corner on the floor. Santovitz did not believe in computers. When Peter suggested one, the man had laughed patiently. The only filing cabinet in the office was used for everything but files.
Peter swept the crumbs of a half-eaten baguette from his lap, grateful he at least owned a desk. Traffic passed by on the street. He was able to hear the cars through the letterbox in the front door. It left a chink of almost a quarter inch. The large, heavy door dated from the 1940’s, like the rest of the building.
He turned his laptop on and a moment later the Google vignette appeared on the screen. When he opened his Yahoo account, he’d 113 new messages. He ignored all of them but one. Against Santovitz advice, he composed a reply to May Baker’s email.
“It may take some time to process the paper work. No, the case wasn’t going to be easy. But, that doesn’t matter. The trick is to find an article within the law or a similar case, which can benefit the case. In other words, I have to prove that my client wasn’t ill and therefore did not require any medical intervention.
Wait a minute, if Anthony Baker wasn’t ill, he needs to get a new trial.
Well past two o’clock Santovitz arrived back in the office. “Had a nice lunch?” he asked. “I’ve been pondering about that case you were talking about earlier. You might want to contact the Medical Counsel. Perhaps they can help.”
“Are they the head of the Irish Health Service Executive?” Peter asked.
“No they are an independent body who has a register of medical practitioners. They review and approve training and education for doctors and nurses. They also make sure certain standards and ethics which are required to run a profession practice are met. And last but not least, they have disciplinary procedures for those who are not obeying within the law,” Santovitz answered.
“Yes, because I wonder if The IMC can do anything about those doctors if they’re not registered?”
“Do the case over to the IMC it will save you a lot of time and hassle.”
“Why are you saying that?” Peter asked
“Well this woman and her husband are residing in Ireland aren’t they? So let the authorities over there sort things out. There is no need for us Americans to interfere.”
*
After she‘d been taken off Rodrigo’s murder case by Dupree, Sarah learned that one of their agents had visited Garnham in the hospital. She was anxious to know how he was doing. In the hospital, Sarah found another man in Garnham’s bed. I must have the wrong room, she thought. She walked back to the nurse’s office halfway down the corridor.
“Mr. Garnham discharged himself this morning,” the nurse on duty was so helpful to tell her.
Deep in thoughts Sarah left the hospital. Garnham couldn’t have recovered from his wound in such a short time, what is going on?
Outside, she put her helmet on and turned the key in her Kawasaki. The sun reached its highest point as she approached Garnham’s house 35 minutes later.
She parked her bike beside the gate. Garnham was reading a newspaper outside on the porch. He stopped reading and glanced at her.
“Well this is a nice surprise.” He closed the newspaper and put it aside. He was about to stand up when Sarah waved her hand.
“Don’t.” She took a seat across from Garnham on a wicker chair. A large red tomcat sat on one of the window sills; he was licking one of his front paws.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be at home so soon. What’s going on? Your arm can’t be better yet.
“Of course my arm isn’t healed but I feel much better here at home. I hate hospitals. I heard you’re officially off your boyfriend’s son’s murder case. I appreciate your input, Detective Wolters, you can focus your time on the TRS personnel.” Garnham coughed with the greatest care the pain went right through his wounded shoulder.
“I’d like to carry on with both cases. I do believe there is only one case.” Sarah said firmly.
“Why are you so sure of that?” Garnham asked.
“I don’t believe it was a coincidence Rodrigo Mendez was found in Ellis’s car. It wasn’t just a random car theft. He was deliberately selected to do the job.”
“How can you be so sure of this?”
“First of all, the virus was found in the Ford. Next, Edgar Ellis vanished and someone got rid of the evidence, which is his car. They needed someone to dump the car.” Sarah leaned forward in her chair.
“And this someone was Mendez?” Garnham frowned.
“That’s what I’m saying. Listen up Cedric, if I find out that you’re keeping information from me, you’ll regret it, and I will find out, one way or another.”
“Is that a threat?” Garnham tilted his head.
“I just want you to be honest with me.”
“I am honest with you. These are dangerous waters we’re floating in. At least one man has died as far as we know. They’ve shot me. God knows what they‘ve done with Ellis.”
“You don’t think he was killed in the fire?” Sarah asked.
“No, I received a call from forensics. A boot found near the victim is two sizes larger than Ellis shoe size.”
“What about an address book, laptop or any kind of Ipad? Did the forensics find any of them in his house?”
“Everything was too damaged by the fire.”
I see. If you don’t want me to be involved any longer, why did you send me an email saying you had information about the case?” Sarah grew increasingly agitated with her colleague.
“I want to protect you Sarah.” After hesitating for a short moment, Garnham continued. “If you must know,” he took his glasses in his hand and studied them if they were a subject of great interest. Heaving a sigh from deep within, he finally said, “Those people are merciless. They won’t hesitate to kill again. If you don’t mind, I want you to go now. I want to lie down for a while.”
What a jerk.
Once Sarah took her leave, Cedric Garnham went inside the house, where he opened an envelope.
‘Compelling evidence found by Thompson Research Station scientists has implicated the discovery of the Caryo.32 virus was one in a million. Although research is still in its infancy, we are confident we will be able to treat people with all kind of brain damage in the foreseeable future. One of the problems we currently face at the moment is the medicine we have developed can only be used on people who have blood type A. No one with another blood type will benefit from the medicine. They might even have a severe allergic reaction to the A antigen in the medicine. We are working around the clock to develop another form of microorganism to solve this problem.’
Garnham picked up the phone.
“Dr. Simon,” a voice cracked through the receiver.
“What was Rodrigo Mendez’s blood type?” Garnham asked.
“B.”
*
At a quarter past three in the afternoon, Anthony’s host had still not returned from his evening out. Martin had been rather secretive about where he was going and whom he was going to meet. “Perhaps he’d spent the night with a woman”? Anthony wondered.
The living room was quiet, except for a bluebottle. The fly was rather annoying. Anthony followed the fly everywhere with a folded newspaper. When the nasty insect rested against one of the windows, Anthony hurriedly stepped on to the sofa, raising his arm he smashed the newspaper against the glass. With one swift move of the limb, he killed the fly. When he tried to pick up the fly with a pair of tweezers, the creature rose to its feet and crawled around in an inebriated state. Another slap with the murder weapon finished off the fly for good. He clipped the animal between the pincers and fed it to the Venus flytrap, which lived in the hall.
Out of the blue he felt a presence behind him even though he was sure the outside doors were locked. When he turned around he couldn’t see anyone. Re-entering the living room, Anthony’s heart skipped a beat. In one of the easy chairs sat Andrew Crosse. Crosse had first appeared to him in Dublin after a 21 birthday party.
He’s not real, you imagining it. It’s not possible for someone who’d died in 1855 to reappear in the 21st century.
“Baker,” Crosse declared. His fingertips formed a triangle. “Baker, you mustn’t think you’ll get away with this. You of all recruits must know better. I always keep a close eye on all my men, past or future. There is no escaping me.”
The man looked terrifying with his bushy whiskers. His dark voice went right through Anthony’s bones.
“I believe you are avoiding me, Baker. I will always be with you, no matter where you go or whom you’ll meet.”
Crosse rose from his chair and walked towards Anthony. Their faces were only a short distance away from each other. Cold eyes stared into Anthony’s. He did not dare to look away. Several moments passed and perspiration was pouring from his pores. When Crosse finally sat down again he focused his attention to a newspaper. The same one Anthony used to kill the bluebottle. With the dead man not looking at him Anthony took the opportunity to leave the room.