Death…
In her time as a doctor, she had grown at times, expectant of it. Her first experience of it was at the tender age of four when she held the hand of her dying father as he took his final breaths. He had pancreatic cancer and passed away shortly after the diagnosis as his health skied down a steep piste. Pancreatic cancer was usually diagnosed late on and nothing late in medicine was a blessing, just like nothing late in crime-solving was good either, as she was fast realising.
The sweeping reassurance she felt from the warm embrace her sister Julia, just five years her senior had given her was unforgettable. Julia had desperately tried to be an example and keep a brave face though Philippa often caught her crying in the garden.
On one such day, Philippa had asked, ‘Is this about Daddy?’
‘No Pips, Dad’s gone to a better place remember?’ replied Julia, using her t-shirt to dry her eyes.
‘With no us?’
‘One day we will be with him too. Just not now.’ Then she added, ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘How did you know?’
She shrugged, ‘I just know. But remember what Mum said?’
‘We have to be big girls and be strong.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But Mummy said that will take one hundred years!’ groaned Philippa.
‘She was only playing. But that’s why she also said we need to be patient…’
Patience was something Philippa would definitely accrue over the next thirty years but she never foresaw that Julia would not be with her in the same concise timeframe. Julia remained to this day, missing-presumed-dead along with seven other people…
Philippa’s last contact with her sister Julia occurred at the end of November last year. Her sister was happily married to Philippa’s ex-colleague, Charles Spence-Jones, a rising name in the field of liver disease, for four years. Julia was proving to be the wiser of the two, having chosen a career away from medicine. Together, her and Charles formed a real power couple. Their children would have no limits; they just had to inherit the right gene combination.
‘Are you excited?’ Philippa had asked, on the phone.
‘Of course, you so have to come out here one day. This country is true paradise.’
Julia and Philippa, though very contrasting in appearance and life values were extremely close siblings. It was a cliché but they were best friends and opposites certainly attracted. Whilst Philippa grew her hair long and kept it her natural medium brown, Julia went for the dyed blonde look and liked to have it shorter with curls. Philippa preferred lighter lipsticks; Julia suited dark red. In fact, Julia never left the house without a full face of makeup – even if it was just to buy some essentials from the local store.
‘I will, if ever I get enough leave to take in one go – you know they only allow me ten days every four months. That’s not really enough to go visit a country that far away.’
Philippa pictured Julia rolling her eyes in her hotel room with glorious sea views, which she had not hesitated to boast on a wide array of social media platforms.
Julia Spence-Jones was in Brazil for an all-expenses-paid business trip. As a management consultant, she was abroad a lot of the time, much to her husband’s dismay. Philippa never really understood what her role entailed exactly but then again; Julia always found the medical field equally confusing.
‘Take a year out Pips, who gives a toss about work; life is either a daring adventure or nothing. Go travelling or something; enjoy yourself, who knows you might even meet the man of your dreams out there.’
‘I wish I could, but it would get frowned upon and I probably wouldn’t be able to get back into training afterwards.’
‘The news says we always need doctors and you are the best doctor I know so there isn’t a chance in hell they wouldn’t jump to have you back,’ she replied. ‘PS don’t tell Charlie I said that.’
Philippa laughed. ‘Your secret is safe with me, sis.’
‘How is he anyway? I haven’t called him today; he’s going to be grumpy with me.’
‘He’s fine. Charles is in the lab nearly all the time but he’s very excited about his work. He’s making good progress but also keeping rather tight-lipped about it. I suspect he’s onto something big. Typical academics.’
‘He’s always onto something. Right, Mataware calls and I absolutely cannot wait. My company basically said to me, whilst you’re out there, take a week of leave and visit some indigenous tribes. Why not?’
The perks, thought Philippa enviously. We don’t even get free prescriptions working for the NHS – or free parking at the hospitals we work at, for that matter! ‘That sounds amazing, sis. I’m really proud of you.’
‘Pips, you need to work for a real company, one that looks after its staff. I mean… you don’t even get free prescriptions being a doctor. How hilarious is that?’
‘I was literally thinking that right now. How can you always tell what I’m thinking?’
‘I’m your older sister. There’s no other secret to it.’
‘I nearly forgot,’ replied Philippa playfully. ‘What time is your flight?’
‘Around midnight local time.’
‘Well have a fantastic trip.’
‘Oh, you bet I will.’
Philippa was genuinely delighted for her sister.
‘Look, I probably won’t have very good signal in Mataware. Apparently, it’s a bit foresty over there, but I’ve sent Charlie a message on Whatsapp. It hasn’t gone blue double-tick yet but remind him to check his phone when you speak to him, will you?’
‘Will do. Miss you, sis.’
‘Miss you too Pips. Don’t worry, I will be home in ten days to see you and Charlie. A catch-up is long overdue!’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
‘Do. I’m sure I’ll have lots of photos to show you.’
‘I’m sure I’ll see them on your Facebook before then!’
Julia giggled. ‘I’ll try and message you when I arrive.’
Her sister never managed to message in Mataware but it was her next fateful flight to a town called Leranjal do Jari near the Amazon River, that never landed where it should have. The Brazilian Airforce ended its search after a fortnight and its disappearance remained a mystery to this day. Philippa and her mother had accepted the worst – that her gorgeous sister Julia was dead and unlikely ever to be found…
‘I wish you were still here,’ she whispered aloud, seeking solace in her prayers within the portacabin. ‘I miss you, sis. If you’re up there, please give me the strength to find this killer tonight.’
Philippa dabbed her damp eyes leaving her navy dress lightly seasoned with speckles of mascara. She glared at the flask in her hand, as if it was a tarantula locked in a glass enclosure. Her thumb rubbed the embossed pattern.
The laboratory was located up on the first floor. It was significantly warmer at this higher altitude. As Philippa trudged up the carpeted steps, she tried to utilise the bristles to dry the soles of her shoes that had become drenched and laced with grit. Her hand gripped the killer’s note. She wanted to rip it into pieces, but she could ill-afford to be reckless with evidence.
Another riddle… and she had yet to crack the previous.
Remember, remember!
The fifth of November,
The place where it happened, is a clue.
The fifth of November, Bonfire night… why was that significant? Guy Fawkes had been arrested for the failed Gunpowder Plot. Was gunpowder the clue? A patient would be shot dead for the final test?
The place where it happened, is a clue.
The plot was a failed attempt to blow up Parliament, but the Princess Royal Hospital was nowhere near Westminster. She would have to ask for Shinji’s opinion on the matter.
At this time of the morning, no one manned the desk and the hatch for dropping off specimens was sealed from the inside.
Philippa rang the buzzer several times before being greeted albeit unenthusiastically by a lab technician.
‘What do you want?’ he asked. His left hand was occupied by a plastic basket filled with multiple purple-topped blood bottles. He took one glance at the doctor then gestured with his head to a tray just beneath the window sill. ‘Chuck it in there, with the rest of them.’
Given the paucity of helpfulness, Philippa gathered swiftly this was not the same technician she had spoken to earlier regarding Jonathan Wickshaw’s potassium level.
We’re all working through the night. Get over your high horse, she thought. ‘It’s not blood,’ Philippa told him. She raised her hand to bring the flask into his field of vision.
The technician seemed confused. ‘Is that for me?’
Philippa could not tell if he was joking about the possible gift of alcohol or if it was a genuine question. ‘It’s not what you think it is.’
The bespectacled man finally put down his samples and ambled over with his buffalo hump protruding lazily through the back of his lab coat. ‘How can I help?’
‘Are you able to run the contents of this flask for certain substances?’ She shook it gently.
The technician changed his clear latex gloves and adjusted his circular rimless glasses. ‘What sort of substance are we talking about?’ he asked with a yawn. ‘We can test for ethanol, methanol, heavy metals and –’
‘What about strychnine?’
He stared at Philippa as though she was crazy.
‘Very funny. I don’t have time for jokes right now.’
Or ever, thought Philippa. ‘I’m not joking.’ She lifted her badge so he could read the words: Medical Registrar.
‘Strychnine?’
‘Do you have the facilities to run the test?’
‘It’s certainly not your bog-standard kidney function test. You have intrigued me, haven’t you?’ he said. Was that a grin spreading across his face?
‘Can you run the test or not?’
‘Whose flask is that?’
‘Why does it matter?’
‘Because it determines whether or not I should be calling the police,’ he replied.
‘The flask belongs to a patient.’
‘And you have reason to think it contains strychnine because…?’
‘He’s a – erm – psychiatric patient. He is convinced it contains strychnine and that the Government are out to get him. Paranoid schizophrenia – it can happen.’
The lab technician kissed his teeth. ‘We can run the test but it gets couriered to the centre of London. How urgent is it?’
‘As urgent as you can make it please.’
He frowned. ‘I’ll get you the result in two hours; that’s the best I can do. But you’ll need to fill out one of these forms.’
Her heart sank. Which patient details would she use?
‘You got a pen?’
She hesitated. ‘Yeah…’
Philippa filled out the little boxes.
Forename(s): Robert
Surname: Gadra
She plucked out random numbers for the date of birth and patient identifier. After all, if it was going to be sent to another lab, they probably wouldn’t be able to automatically cross-check any details – the NHS had yet to devise universal software for this type of thing.
Two hours… that would take me just past half-six… thought Philippa. ‘Here you go.’
‘I’ll call the courier now.’
‘That would be great, as soon as possible would be really invaluable.’
‘How should I contact you?’ he asked.
‘Bleep 457.’
‘Gotcha.’
It would be the first bleep on shift that she would positively anticipate.
Every few days... 