ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 9 страница

‘Well, the first time he used his own entry code, but at a time when he was not allowed to be here. But that code was suspended once he was expelled. ’

‘So how did he get in last night? ’

‘Let’s see, ’ said Jarvis, and fired up the computer. He stared at the screen, while making annoying little half-sounds that he seemed to imagine were keeping Williams informed.

‘That’s there. Here we … There. Now we’ll see … OK, I get it … Cheeky little bastard! ’

‘What? ’

‘He must have used another student’s code. Belongs to a girl called Megan Jones. Here, you see? At a quarter past midnight. ’

Williams nodded slowly. He had a thousand questions, but as he dunked, he asked the one he felt was most pertinent. ‘This sounds like a silly question, Mr Jarvis, but I’ll ask it anyway. Is it at all possible that Number 19 was a murder victim? ’

Jarvis laughed. It was a strange sound in a strange place and from a strange-looking man. ‘Absolutely not. Our donors have generally died from age-related heart conditions or cancers, or complications like pneumonia. Every death is properly certified by an attending doctor. Even then, we can only accept donations if the body has not been too badly damaged by an illness or injury. We need them to be in reasonable shape so that students know what a standard body looks like. There’s no point training students on bodies with broken limbs or with severe internal degradations.

‘For the same reason we can’t accept autopsied bodies, so the donors will have been expected to die from their disease or injuries. Autopsies are always performed on murder victims. ’

‘If you know they’ve been murdered, ’ mused Williams.

‘True, ’ nodded Jarvis and took another biscuit, so Williams did the same. He’d missed breakfast because of all this.

‘Would it be possible to see the paperwork relating to Number 19? ’

‘Of course. ’ Using a key that was poorly hidden under a saucer, Jarvis opened one of the two filing cabinets and withdrew a slim folder.

Emrys Williams studied the records. The first form was a donor application in the name of Samuel Galen.

‘This is dated almost ten years ago! ’ he said.

‘Yes, ’ said Jarvis. ‘People can make a donor application at any time. If they change their minds, they only have to let us know and we destroy the documentation. ’

Williams ran his eye down the form. He noticed that Samuel Galen and he shared a birthday. Same day, same year. Emrys and Sam. He wondered whether Sam had celebrated his birthdays the same way he did – with a few pints down the Three Tuns and a phone call from his aged mother, who never forgot.

It gave him an uncomfortable sense of his own existence being on temporary loan, and he had to brush the idea aside to concentrate on the matter at hand.

The donation form was short and contained questions that left no room for sentiment.

I consent to my body parts being retained by the nominated establishment.

I consent to unidentifiable photographs of my body parts being taken and retained for training, education and research.

Burial/cremation

All the donor had to do was tick boxes. Mr Galen had ticked burial, then apparently changed his mind and gone for cremation.

In a different pen.

Williams pointed it out to Jarvis, who frowned.

‘I don’t know how I missed that. Any changes should be signed at the point of the change, or a new form must be filled in. They can’t just cross things out! ’

Williams flicked to the back of the thin sheaf. Attached to the rear of the form was a largely blank page headed PERSONAL DECLARATION (OPTIONAL).

Samuel Galen had exercised the option.

My daughter, Alexandra, is an alcoholic. I am donating my body to help to train doctors who may one day find a solution to this heartbreaking disease.

Emrys Williams was caught off-guard. The declaration was an oddly moving thing to hold in his hands when just this morning he had found the man’s head in a fridge, crammed between the best and the worst of student cuisine.

‘Most applicants attach a personal statement, ’ said Jarvis. ‘Why they choose to donate is important to them. ’

Williams went through the rest of the file more quickly. There were next-of-kin consent forms, signed by a Mrs Jackie Galen one day after the date of death, transfer documentation from the local hospital to the university, undertakers’ permissions, and a copy of the death certificate, which gave the cause of death as ‘heart failure due to complications of coma’.

‘Another HobNob? ’ said Jarvis, shaking the packet at him.

Williams didn’t hear him.

The death certificate had been signed by a Dr D. Spicer.

JUST BEFORE THREE p. m., Emrys Williams opened the double doors and said, ‘Thank you for coming back down so quickly, Dr Spicer. ’

‘No problem. ’

Williams stood aside for Dr Spicer to pass him, then lingered for a moment to listen to the national anthem swell out of the stadium and float across the city – a sound that never failed to take hold of his heart and give it a patriotic squeeze. The city would be loud tonight and filled with Welshmen dressed as daffodils with their arms around the shoulders of Frenchmen in berets, all celebrating the result in the common language of not being English.

Williams sighed and closed the door.

They talked while they walked. ‘There are just a few things we hope you can help us with. About Patrick Fort, mostly. ’

‘Of course, ’ said Spicer. ‘Is he OK? ’

‘Oh yes. ’

‘Good, ’ said Spicer. ‘Because he’s quite vulnerable, I think. ’

‘Really? ’

‘Yes. You know he was at the university on a disability quota? ’

‘I didn’t know that. ’

‘Yes. He’s autistic. ’

‘I thought he had Asperger’s? ’

‘Well, it’s all on the spectrum. He can be quite detached from reality at times. Paranoid. Confused. That kind of thing. ’

‘Sounds like my ex-wife. ’

Spicer laughed.

Williams opened the door to Interview Room Three and ushered him inside.

‘Dr Spicer, this is DCI White, who is in charge of the case, ’ he said. ‘And you already know Mr Galen. ’

The head was on the table in a clear plastic evidence bag.

There was a long silence.

Spicer finally looked at White and said, ‘Hi. ’

‘Thanks for coming, Dr Spicer. ’

‘No problem. ’

‘We’ll try not to keep you long, ’ said White. ‘DS Williams is a long way past the end of his shift, and I’m supposed to be at the match. ’ He smiled ruefully. Spicer only nodded.

They all sat down, the head between them. Williams and White never glanced at it; Spicer could look at little else. The head was a magnet for his eyes, dragging his gaze back to it whenever it strayed. A fold in the plastic touched the remaining eyeball, making it stand out as if peering directly at Spicer through a peephole to another dimension.

DCI White opened a folder. ‘Patrick Fort has told us some story, Dr Spicer. ’

‘I’m not surprised. World of his own. He needs help really. ’

‘I agree. But maybe together we can separate fact from fiction. ’

‘Yes. ’

‘Good, ’ said White. ‘Patrick says that you tried to kill him last night. ’

‘Does he? That’s ridiculous. ’

DCI White flicked through the folder in a show of not knowing what it contained. ‘He says you knocked him off his bicycle on Dumballs Road and then tried to run him down in a car park. ’

‘That’s not true. ’

‘But he was injured. ’

‘How would I know? ’ said Spicer. ‘Look, Patrick came to a party at my flat last night. He got very drunk. He left early. If he fell off his bike or got knocked off it, I wouldn’t be surprised. ’

DCI White nodded and flicked through the paperwork again. ‘This morning he had a blood alcohol level of zero. ’

‘I’m surprised, ’ said Spicer, and folded his arms across his chest.

‘Did you leave the party at all? ’

‘Yes, ’ said Spicer. ‘I went out to get more beer. ’

‘Bad planning? ’ said White.

‘Students. Free booze. You know? ’

‘But not Patrick Fort. ’

‘Not if you say so. ’ Spicer shrugged. ‘He appeared a little irrational. I assumed he was drunk. ’

‘What time did you go out? ’

‘I’m not sure. ’

‘Guess. ’

‘About eleven. ’

‘And what time did you get back? ’

‘About half past, I should think. ’

‘Get a receipt for the beer? ’

‘I’d have to check. ’

‘Which shop did you go to? ’

‘Asda. In the Bay. What has this got to do with Patrick Fort? ’

‘I’m getting there. You didn’t go out again? ’

‘No. ’

‘You have witnesses? ’

‘Yes! Everyone. My fiancé e, other students. Anyone can tell you where I was. ’

‘Patrick tells us you were trying to run him over at the time. ’

‘Well, he’s wrong. ’

‘We found his bicycle. Someone threw it over a fence. Certainly looks mangled. Forensics are taking prints from it now. ’

‘Good. I hope you catch whoever did it. If someone did it. ’

‘DS Williams here also found paint and headlight debris from a car that hit a nearby car park wall at speed. What kind of car do you have, Dr Spicer? ’

Spicer paused. ‘A Citroë n. ’

‘Colour? ’

‘Grey. ’

‘Silver grey? ’

‘Sort of. ’

‘In good nick, is it? ’

‘I’ve had a few bumps. Nothing major. My fiancé e drives it too. ’

‘That’s nice. ’

Spicer shrugged and looked at his watch. ‘Is this going to take much longer? ’

‘I’m sorry, ’ said DCI White. ‘But you appreciate we have to check out Patrick’s story, Dr Spicer. We wouldn’t be doing our jobs otherwise. ’

‘Of course, ’ said Spicer.

‘Thanks for your forbearance, ’ smiled DCI White.

‘No problem. ’

‘Can we get you a cup of coffee or anything? ’

‘No. I’m fine. ’

‘Good. Patrick admits that after he escaped from you, he went—’

‘He didn’t escape from me, ’ said Spicer with air-quotes. ‘I wasn’t there. ’

‘After he was knocked off his bike, ’ amended White, ‘he went to the dissecting room, where he removed the head of poor Mr Galen here. ’

‘That’s appalling. ’

‘Indeed. Although he says he removed the head to preserve the evidence that shows that Mr Galen was in fact a murder victim. And that you followed him there to try to stop him doing just that. ’

White raised his eyebrows at Spicer, who gave an expansive shrug.

‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but you can’t expect me to comment on paranoid delusions. ’

‘I don’t, ’ said White. ‘And it’s Detective Chief Inspector. ’

‘Sorry, ’ said Spicer. ‘I’m just getting a little bit fed up with you seeming to believe everything this clearly delusional student has told you, however bizarre. ’

‘Oh, we didn’t believe it! ’ said White. ‘Not one little bit! ’

Spicer looked surprised for the second time and White went on, ‘That’s why DS Williams here took it upon himself to see if his story was supported by any physical evidence. ’

DCI White waited for Spicer, but when the young doctor said nothing, he continued. ‘And it was. Apart from the bicycle and the evidence in the car park, DS Williams discovered that you used your dissecting-room code twice last night – once at 11. 45 and again at 11. 57. ’

Spicer stared at White for a long moment. ‘That’s not true. Someone else must have stolen it. Patrick no longer had a code; it was suspended when he was expelled. He had to get in somehow. Why don’t we ask him? Why don’t we get him in here and ask him a few questions? I don’t see why I should have to sit here and listen to all these accusations and insinuations without my accuser being present. ’

‘Patrick Fort is no longer in our custody, ’ said DCI White.

‘Well, whose custody is he in? ’

‘Nobody’s. ’

Spicer looked stunned.

‘What? He cut off a man’s head and you let him go? ’

‘Wasn’t that what you wanted? ’ said Williams.

‘No! I mean, not now I hear all this other stuff. Now it seems he’s more crazy than I thought. ’

‘Well, you’re the doctor, of course, ’ said White. ‘But, all things considered, we felt there was no need for anything stronger than a caution. ’

‘That strikes me as very odd. ’

‘Well, we’re all capable of odd things at times, Dr Spicer, wouldn’t you agree? ’

Spicer frowned. ‘I’m not sure I would. ’

‘Anyway, ’ continued White, ‘before he left, Patrick told us that he thought it was possible that Mr Galen here died after being force-fed a peanut, to which he was dangerously allergic. ’

Spicer made a sound that was a cross between a bark and a laugh. ‘That’s ridiculous! Look, Detective Chief Inspector, this is a mentally disturbed student who spent two days a week for six months doing a pretty poor job of learning anatomy. He wasn’t even doing medicine! And he was expelled for discreditable behaviour. Now you’re relying on his diagnostic expertise? ’

‘Mr Galen’s allergy was clearly stated on his hospital notes. To which you had access. ’

‘Along with many other people, ’ said Spicer.

‘I’m told – and I’m sure you’ll correct me if I’m wrong – that anaphylactic shock can cause death by the swelling shut of the airways. And that such swelling would subside to the point of being almost undetectable after death. ’

Spicer shrugged.

‘Is that possible? ’ asked White.

‘Many things are possible. ’

White went on, ‘Forensics haven’t yet found any evidence of a peanut, but they say that gouges in the palate and throat of Mr Galen were likely to have been made very shortly before his death. If there were a peanut in Mr Galen’s throat – and I’m sure other students will remember if that was the case – then it’s possible that somebody tried to retrieve it as he was dying. And that that alone could have led to something called …’ He looked down at his notes in a show of getting it right. ‘Vagal inhibition. Have you heard of it? ’

‘Of course, ’ snapped Spicer.

‘Oh, ’ said White. ‘I hadn’t. Apparently pressure on certain parts of the body, or extreme shock, can cause such a sudden drop in blood pressure that the heart simply stops beating. It fails. ’ He made a helpless gesture with his hands. ‘Heart failure, Dr Spicer. ’

‘Yes? ’ said Spicer.

‘Which is what you wrote on Mr Galen’s death certificate. ’

Spicer stared at him for a long, long time.

‘I don’t remember, ’ he said tightly. ‘I’ve signed a lot of death certificates. ’

‘I’m sure you have, ’ said White. ‘We’ll take a look at those, too. ’

‘What are you saying? ’ Spicer stood up, angry at last. ‘If I’m being accused of something, then say so. And if I’m not, then I’m going home. ’

White and Williams remained seated and looked up at him calmly.

‘Sit down please, Mr Spicer, ’ said White. ‘We’re nearly finished. ’

Spicer stood for a moment longer, then sat.

White continued, ‘Have you ever been bitten by a patient? ’

‘Bitten? ’

‘Yes. Teeth. You know? ’

‘I have been bitten by patients. ’

‘But not by this patient? ’

‘I have no idea. ’

‘I see you have scars on your fingertip. ’

Spicer looked down at his own hand. ‘Yes, ’ he said. ‘I cut it on the tin-opener. ’

‘Really? ’ White raised his eyebrows. ‘Because Patrick Fort seems to think that you may have been bitten by Mr Galen while he was alive – or in the process of dying. ’

‘Patrick Fort is mistaken. Yet again. ’

White leaned back in his chair and glanced at Williams. ‘That’s possible, I suppose. ’

‘Many things are possible, ’ agreed Emrys Williams.

‘Well, there’s an easy way to find out, ’ said White cheerfully and nodded at Williams, who pulled on blue latex gloves with some difficulty, and then started to remove the head from the evidence bag.

Spicer tucked his hands into his armpits. ‘What are you doing? ’ he said.

‘You just pop your finger in the mouth, would you? ’ said White.

‘What? Why? ’

‘Because if the marks don’t match the teeth then we’ll all agree that Patrick Fort is completely deluded. ’

Spicer licked his lips.

‘Don’t worry, ’ said White. ‘I have hand sanitizer. ’

To prove it, he put the little bottle of gel on the table between them and smiled reassuringly while they waited for Williams to complete the unveiling.

Finally the head was exposed on the table, the teeth showing between the strange, stretched lips, the single eye glaring from the sunken socket.

‘This isn’t scientific, ’ said Spicer.

‘No, but it’s a start, ’ said White. ‘It seems like a simple way of discrediting Patrick Fort’s story, and I don’t want to waste your time, Mr Spicer. ’

‘Doctor Spicer. ’

‘We’ll see, ’ said White. ‘Now, would you mind? ’

He gestured towards the head. Spicer didn’t move.

‘Would you mind? ’ said White again.

Emrys Williams noticed that Spicer’s fingertips were pressed so hard into his own sides that they had gone white. It made the pale-pink scars on the right index finger stand out even more starkly.

The silence was so deep that the loudest sound was the electric flicker of the fluorescent lights.

‘Would you mind? ’ said White again, more softly.

Still Spicer did not move.

Williams realized that the clock on the wall was starting to tick. Or maybe it had always been ticking. He’d never noticed it before.

‘You don’t understand, ’ said Spicer tightly. ‘People like you – ordinary people – don’t understand. ’

‘What don’t we understand? ’

Spicer hugged himself and shook his head slowly.

‘What it’s like on those wards. People like you think people are in a coma or out of it. That’s what you see in films. Someone dies and everyone’s sad, or someone opens his eyes and everyone’s happy. That’s just Hollywood bullshit. ’

Williams was surprised to see a sudden crescent of bright tears in Spicer’s eyes. They tipped over his lower lids and he brushed them angrily away, then stuck his hands back under his armpits once more, as if to protect them as he went on.

‘But some of them only emerge halfway. Halfway between life and death. Like zombies. Sometimes they can only blink. For the next forty, fifty, sixty years, they only blink and look at the ceiling. Sometimes they sing the same song until they die. Ask the same question. Sometimes they scream until their throats bleed. Sometimes they tear their hair out, or their eyes – or try to bite you or strangle you. Sometimes they cry and beg you to let them go. Beg you. ’ He punched the table with the side of his fist, making the head wobble. Emrys Williams briefly put out a hand to steady it; and thought of doing the same thing to the boys when they were younger. A touch of acknowledgement and of reassurance.

‘Killing them is not the sin; keeping them alive is the sin. ’

Spicer jutted a challenging chin at Williams and White, but when they said nothing, he wiped his eyes again and sighed deeply.

‘One of them was always ranting and raving. Crying. Violent. Always lashing out. He broke my fiancé e’s finger. They had to cut her engagement ring off. I only gave it to her the night before, and she was so happy. Then she came home the next day and her finger was black and twisted and her ring was in pieces and she cried and cried.

‘I had the ring repaired but she’s only recently been able to wear it again. ’

‘So you killed Mr Galen for breaking your fiancé e’s finger, ’ said White carefully.

‘No! ’ Spicer shook his head. ‘His name was Attridge. Charles Attridge. ’

Williams glanced at DCI White. Who the hell was Charles Attridge?

But Spicer went on, ‘His family were relieved when he died. They thanked me for everything I’d done. They understood. Nobody understands. Until they have to go through it themselves. ’

There was a silence that somehow made the Spartan interview room seem just a little bit sacred.

‘And what about Mr Galen here? ’ asked White quietly.

There was a long hesitation before Spicer said, ‘He saw me do it. ’

Emrys Williams’s gut twisted.

Spicer went on in a dull monotone. ‘And then … and then he started to emerge. ’ He blew his nose between his finger and thumb. He looked around, then wiped the resulting clear mucus across the front of his own sweater with a resigned shrug, and added, ‘Started to talk. ’

Williams felt his throat tighten with tears, and was grateful he was not leading this interview. Samuel Galen had not been put out of his misery – Sam Galen had been murdered in cold blood just as recovery was within his grasp. Emrys Williams was not a wildly imaginative man, but even he felt sick at the idea of the fear, the sheer terror Galen must have felt, when he realized that he was about to be murdered – and couldn’t lift a finger to stop it.

‘So you killed him? ’ said White quietly.

‘Yes, ’ said Spicer.

‘With a peanut? ’

Spicer nodded.

‘Answer verbally, please. For the tape. ’

‘Yes, ’ said Spicer. ‘With a peanut. ’

‘And what about the dissection? ’ asked White. ‘How did that come about? ’

Spicer sighed. ‘That was just bad luck. I didn’t even know until we uncovered the head. It was a shock. A terrible shock. I could barely even touch him after that. ’

He folded his arms on the table and rested his forehead on them like a man exhausted. He spoke but his words were muffled, and White and Williams both leaned in a little to hear him.

‘I did feel bad. I told him I was very sorry. ’

Then he raised pleading eyes to the two detectives. ‘But what was I supposed to do? ’

Spicer dropped his head on to his hands again, and wept.

EMRYS WILLIAMS STOOD under a streetlight on the glistening pink avenue outside the police station, and checked his watch. He only had an hour before his next shift started.

He didn’t mind. He was on an adrenaline high, and felt happier than he had in many years.

What a night and day and night again! Every part of it seemed bright and vibrant in his memory, filled with shining images of discovery and justice. Williams wished he smoked. Now would be the perfect time to light up and savour.

Across the Boulevard de Nantes, he could hear the sounds of liquid celebration, and he smiled, even though he didn’t know who’d won.

A white cockerel with a small French flag knotted around its neck strutted towards him from the direction of the stadium. He leaned down in a wide-armed but half-hearted effort to catch it. It eluded him with ease and a squawk, then resumed its jaunty journey to who knew where.

His phone shook in his pocket and he checked the messages. Shelli (with an i) had left several about a cruise to Mexico she’d seen online.

He didn’t call her back. He didn’t want to share this with her. She wouldn’t understand.

Because she didn’t care.

The realization didn’t hurt him, so he obviously didn’t care either. He would go home soon and tell her it was over. No hard feelings.

He was moving on.

Just the thought gave him a thrill inside.

DCI White had shaken his hand for far longer than was merely formal, and if he’d been clapped once on the shoulder by passing colleagues, it had happened twenty times. Even the forensics lads had been uncommonly chatty when they’d come to reclaim the head of Samuel Galen.

Only Patrick Fort had been unimpressed by Emrys Williams’s extraordinary accomplishment. When Williams had opened the cell door and told the boy that his story had been checked out and that he was free to go, Patrick Fort had simply shrugged and said, ‘I told you so. ’

Williams had laughed then, and now laughed again softly at the memory, as the golden moon rose slowly over the city.

Soon he would start his shift, and work and life would go on, but nothing would be the same. For the first time in years, he had a sense that life was still his to be lived.

He was too young to be a fat old man.

This is how things change, he thought.

THIS is how things change.

THE FUNERAL WAS only delayed by two weeks, because David Spicer had pleaded guilty at his very first court hearing, and the head of Samuel Galen was released to the family.

By then, Patrick had run out of rent money, but not out of goodwill, and Kim, Jackson and Lexi let him stay on the couch for free so that he would be able to attend the service.

It took place on the first weekend in April, when the verges were still sunny with daffodils and the sky was seaside blue.

It was also Grand National day, but – by his standards – Patrick barely made a fuss about missing the world’s most famous steeplechase for the first time he could recall. And the last, he vowed silently, as he watched post-time roll around, right in the middle of ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd’.

Despite the fact that Sam Galen had died almost nine months before, the church was full, and heady with the scent of spring flowers, with no accompanying smell of shit.

As he didn’t sing and didn’t pray, Patrick remembered fleeting snatches of his own father’s funeral. The day had been bitterly cold, and the church had seemed even colder, and throughout he could smell the black polish his mother had made him apply and reapply to his school shoes in an attempt to cover the scuffs.

His father had been in a box just a few feet away, and while the vicar talked about tragedy and God, Patrick had been overwhelmed by a desire to open the box and see if he was really in there. He had fidgeted and fretted until finally his mother had held his hand so tight that he’d cried.

This was very different. He had seen Number 19 with his own eyes – opened his heart, cradled his brain, sawn off his head. He knew now exactly why Number 19 was dead, and there was no doubt that he was inside the coffin that floated on a sea of flowers – some of which spelled the words THANK YOU in white and blue. Meg had organized that, and it had cost a fortune, but they had all chipped in.

Lexi sat in the front pew with Jackie and when she cried Jackie put an arm around her shoulders – and Lexi let her.

Mick was there from the dissecting room, and Professor Madoc too. As they left the church, Patrick saw DS Williams standing at the back.

‘Did you want to talk to me about Dr Spicer? ’ he asked, but DS Williams said no, it wasn’t the time or the place. Patrick didn’t understand that; they were both in the same place at the same time, weren’t they? Surely that was ideal?

Then DS Williams said goodbye and tried to shake his hand, but Patrick saw it coming.

Later, at the graveside, Jackson and Kim stood on either side of Lexi and held her hands. Not to make her squirm, but just because.

Afterwards they all went to a pub and Lexi cried some more and drank too much, but Patrick didn’t say a thing. Meg sat close to him, but not too close, and there were sandwiches and cakes and large bowls of potato salad with chives in it, and Patrick wondered if this was the exception, or whether this was the way a funeral was supposed to be.