Andrew Grant - Even

I didn’t go, myself. The way I saw it was that if something bad was waiting around the corner, I’d rather not know. And that didn’t just apply to health matters.

My view had made sense, back then.

I wasn’t so sure, anymore.

I passed four more agents on the stairs, on my way up to the first floor. All of them were carrying equipment-guns; an aluminum stepladder; a folding metal arm with a kind of claw on the end, like a larger version of the things park keepers use to pick up rubbish; a video camera on an extending pole. But none of them would look me in the eye. And I noticed something else. They were all breathing through their mouths.

The closer I got to the top of the stairs, the more I understood why. The hallway had stunk of disinfectant, like most hospitals do. The odor had lingered as I began to climb. But once I’d reached the midpoint it gave way to something else. A harsh metallic tang that coated the roof of my mouth and clung to the inside of my nostrils. It was unmistakable. The heavy, cloying stench of blood. An unhealthy smell. The kind that humans are programmed to avoid.

The final three agents were gathered outside the entrance to the OR. I walked toward them, and the stink grew worse with every step I took. They watched grimly as I drew closer and finally all three backed away, leaving me with a clear view through the door.

The body had been left neatly on the operating table. Its head was missing, but taking that into account, I figured the person would have been around five feet eight. Tanya’s height. The hands were also missing, but I could see one severed wrist peeping out from under the blood-soaked theater greens. It was slender and delicate and hairless, like a young woman’s. So were the feet. They were still present. And both big toes were bent slightly inward, as if she’d been used to wearing pointed shoes or boots.

Something had been left on her chest. A stainless-steel kidney dish. A small object was propped up inside. It looked like a computer memory stick, but I couldn’t get close enough to check. Not without wading through an unbelievable amount of blood. I’d never seen so much in one place before. I didn’t know a person contained so much. The stout pedestal holding up the operating table had literally become an island at the center of a sticky, red lake. It was almost perfectly circular, and had already flowed around two trolleys of electrical equipment and a yellow surgical-waste bin. No way was any part of me going to be next.

A sudden agitated rustling sound behind me broke my concentration. I looked around and saw four people in white paper suits emerging from the staircase. They had clear plastic bonnets on their heads, like hotel shower caps, and similar covers stretched over their shoes. Their faces were hidden behind thick breathing masks, and each one was carrying an aluminum tool case like an artist or a fisherman.

“My name’s Maher,” the first of them said. “Dr. Melvyn Maher. Now. You, in the leather coat. Step back. This is my crime scene. Go and wait at the MCC with the others.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t feel like cricket.”

“What? Are you part of this investigation?”

“No. I just came to laugh at the clowns.”

“Who are you?”

“Nice outfit, by the way. It could do with some color, though. Red might suit you.”

“Are you threatening me? I’ll have you removed.”

“You can try. But the remains of my friend are lying in that room. And until I know who’s responsible, I won’t be leaving.”

Varley’s patience with the forensics crew lasted just less than an hour. Then he summoned Dr. Maher to the command center. I followed him to the control room. Weston and Lavine were already there.

“I know you’ve just got on this, Doc,” Varley said. “But something’s way out of whack, here. That’s obvious. So I need an early heads-up. What can you give me?”

“Nothing,” Maher said. “It’s too soon. We’re still processing. I wouldn’t want to draw any conclusions at this stage. You’ll have to wait.”

“Nobody’s going to wait, Doc. Talk to me now.”

“Don’t pressure me. You’re being unreasonable.”

“Kidnappers and murderers can have that effect. Now give me what you’ve got. Qualify it later if you need to.”

“And if you run off down any blind alleys as a result?”

“Forget ass covering, Doc. That’s not what this is about. The buck stops with me.”

Maher looked down at the table and silently chewed his upper lip.

“I think this is unwise,” he said, after a moment. “I want you to know that. But if you insist, there are a few things we can be reasonably certain of. Three so far, I believe.”

“Sometime today, Doc?” Varley said.

“OK, then. Don’t rush me. First thing. Let’s start with the victim. I understood you were aiming to rescue a woman hostage?”

“Correct.”

“Well, the body in the OR isn’t hers. It’s male.”

Weston, Varley, and Lavine exchanged puzzled glances.

“Are you sure?” I said.

“Of course,” Maher said. “It’s hardly the kind of thing I get wrong. He was skinny and slightly effeminate, yes, but certainly not female.”

“So it’s not Tanya,” Weston said. “She could still be alive.”

“Are you anywhere with an ID?” Varley said.

“There was nothing helpful on the body,” Maher said. “And the head and hands had been removed, presumably to hinder identification. But fortunately we’re a little more resourceful than that. One of my technicians hacked into the building security system. Only one person swiped in, but not back out again. His name was Kelvin Taylor. It gave his position as a director of the parent health care company.”

“Kelvin Taylor?” Weston said. “We know him. Naughty.”

“He should have stayed in jail,” I said.

“This is unconfirmed, remember,” Maher said. “Nothing’s guaranteed till we hear back from the lab. We need a DNA match to be sure who he was. Assuming we have a reference sample, of course.”

“Understood,” Varley said. “But put a rush on it, will you, Doc? It could be important.”

“What about Tanya Wilson?” I said. “The hostage. Any trace?”

“Not at this stage,” Maher said.

“They must have taken her somewhere,” I said. “Any indication?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid,” Maher said. “But we’ll keep looking.”

“Keep us posted,” Varley said. “Meantime, what else?”

“Second thing. Cause of death.”

“Let me guess. His head was cut off.”

“No. Seems that nothing in this case is as it appears on the surface. The decapitation occurred postmortem. So did the removal of the victim’s hands.”

“How do you know?”

“The blood tells us. Think about the vessels in the neck and wrists. If the heart had still been beating when any of those were severed, blood would have been forced out under considerable pressure. It would have sprayed in a series of diminishing arcs, leaving a completely different pattern. Very recognizable. Whereas in this case, you can see from the extensive pooling that the blood literally drained out of the victim.”

“So why the chop job?”

“I don’t know. We may not be able to make sense of it till we find the missing body parts.”

“Then what did kill him?”

“Preliminary findings suggest exsanguination due to the introduction of a catastrophic blood thinning agent.”

“Bleeding to death?”

“Yes. But no ordinary bleeding. The blood was thinned to such a colossal extent it would have escaped from the vessels even without them being cut.”

“What can do that?”

“I’m not sure. A drug of some kind, I’d imagine. But nothing I’ve encountered before. Nothing that acts so fast, anyway. We found a syringe in the sharps bin with traces of an unidentified clear liquid, and several unopened vials in the controlled-drugs cupboard. No labels, obviously. We’ll know more at the lab, but it looks to me like an extreme derivative of heparin or possibly warfarin. Both are commonly available. They’re used legitimately as anticoagulants.”