Jonathan Taylor - Meyer-Hofmann AG

The bodies of the Singh Family had been moved to the offices of the State Examiner in Augusta, Maine, a short drive north of Portland. The box-shaped grey building could have housed any manner of office facility, giving no clue as to its actual purpose. Only the ambulance parked at the rear loading bay gave anything away. Dr Michelle Jackson was waiting for Joe on the front steps, when he got to the Examiner’s Offices in the State House Station. The young examiner was an attractive woman, and Joe was pleased to see her again. Despite her lack of makeup and the boring white lab coat, she exuded a quiet confidence in her appearance. She had a mane of shiny auburn hair, tied up in a ponytail, and dark brown eyes, sharp and intelligent. Joe took the opportunity to greet the doctor with a warm handshake and a peck on the cheek, which she didn’t try to avoid. He had been there only four days previously, investigating a woman’s death. The young doctor had been able to identify the cause and time of death, and she had found traces of the attacker’s DNA all over the victim’s body, making his job a formality.

She is not only a looker, but good at her job, he said to himself.

For some reason, the Singhs bodies had not been sent to Augusta for their post-mortem, instead being examined at Portland’s City Hospital. According to the hospital report, they had been delivered by the Chebeague Island Coroner’s Office. Documentation included time and cause of death on all of the victims, which the hospital had verified and entered in the death certificates. It was highly irregular for victims to be treated in this manner, and Joe wondered who had organised it.

“Whoever it was, they must have had a lot of influence.” Joe was talking aloud to himself, a habit he couldn’t seem to shake. He gave Michelle a smile and shrugged his shoulders.

She seemed agitated, ignoring his behaviour and ushering him into her office. The office was a relief for Joe, who was very squeamish, and didn’t enjoy the sterile world of dead bodies and formaldehyde that would have greeted him down in the morgue.

“Joe, I have examined the family, and there are some abnormalities with the male child. The boy had fragments of human skin under the middle and forefinger fingernails of his right hand, consistent with him scratching someone. We are cross-checking the DNA database now, to see if we can find a match. He also had contusions around his neck, consistent with throttling, bruising on his shoulder blades, and to the back of his head.” She was quickly flipping through her report, checking she had not forgotten anything.

“Excuse me?”

She looked up again.

“Choking and bruising—the boy was probably restrained and choked, shortly before his death.”

“Whoa. Are you sure? And what about the carbon monoxide poisoning?”

“That was undoubtedly the cause of death, but I believe he was restrained by someone before he died.”

“Murdered?”

“Most probably. Yes.”

“And the rest of the family?”

“It’s too early to say for sure, but there are no marks on any of the other bodies. They most probably died of carbon monoxide poisoning, but we can’t see any signs of a struggle. There is something else as well. We got the blood work back and found traces of a sedative in the boy’s blood.”

This was a lot of information to take in, and Joe gestured for her to slow down.

“There was a sedative? What kind of sedative?”

“Sevoflurane, it’s a sedative used a lot in paediatrics.”

“That doesn’t make sense, does it? Who would use a sedative on a small boy, outside of a hospital?”

“I can’t say. It’s quite readily available, and it is very effective.” Michelle raised her eyebrows.

“And the others?”

“Nothing. We are checking if the boy underwent any medical procedures recently. It is, however, possible that the whole family was subjected to the sedative, and the boy was simply administered a higher dosage.”

“Can you prove that? This servoflurane, can it knock out an adult?”

“Yes.” Her answers were always to the point. He liked that about her, no messing around the bush. His mind was racing, running scenarios against the evidence. The mumbling began again.

“They could have been sedated, maybe.” He had not meant it as a question, but she answered it anyway.

“It’s a pretty mild drug, but it could certainly be used for that purpose.”

“If you were just trying to keep someone quiet long enough to administer something more potent.” Again, he orated his thoughts.

They were standing in the middle of Michelle’s office. She had started reciting her findings before they had even closed the office door. Joe sat back on the edge of her desk and took a deep breath, taking in the implications of her report. She moved up close to him. Close enough that he could smell her perfume.

Not one that he recognised.

Picking up the file from the desk behind him, she offered it, the crease of a smile on her lips.

“I will let you know when the DNA tests get back.”

“Thanks, but somehow, I don’t think we will find a match. How did we miss this?”

“We never got to see them!”

“I know. I will have to look into that as well! When I arrived on the Island, the local police were all over it, couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Whoever organised the whole thing, it had to be someone high up. To get the post-mortem done by the local hospital, in the case of a suspicious death, breaks all usual protocol. Even if it were just a faulty boiler, there could still be litigation. They should have been sent here.”

“Who were these people?”

“The Singh Family. He was the CEO of a big finance company in New York. A major player by all accounts.”

“Why would anyone want them dead?”

“According to my source, it was racially motivated, but I am still checking that out. If it is true, whoever it was certainly went to a lot of trouble!”

The headache started on the plane ride home. Michael had never suffered a migraine before, and if this was normal, he never wanted to again. The right half of his head throbbed like it would burst, accompanied by a general feeling of nausea that he fought all the way home. Everything had gone so well.

It must just be the excitement, he thought.

The sound of the plane seemed to be magnified, and the sun’s light through the windows was blinding. Lisa did what she could for him, reclining the seat and blacking out the cockpit. The stewardess supplied paracetamol and a cold, wet towel, which they placed over his eyes. When they arrived at Leeds-Bradford, Heinz carried him to the limo, then up the stairs to his bedroom. Unfortunately, even the comfort of his bed could not alleviate the symptoms. Michael spent the following two days in his room, with little improvement. The local GP was called to the house, but was of little help. Prescribing bed rest, more paracetamol, and trying to convince them to visit the hospital, if it didn’t get better within twenty-four hours, was all he could do.

The following day, the migraine was gone. Michael lifted his head cautiously from the pillow, a movement that would have resulted in an explosion of pain the day before.

Nothing.

He shook his head unconsciously, as if trying to get his bearings.

Still nothing. The pain was gone.

Looking around the room, he noticed it seemed strangely unfamiliar. He knew where he was, but at the same time, didn’t feel he was at home. Spontaneously touching the furniture and curtains as if searching for some connection, Michael wandered through the house like a guest.

The sound of cooking was coming from the kitchen. Steel pans could be heard colliding with one another, as they were released from their cramped cupboards. The clink of porcelain cups and saucers being set at the table, the whistle of the escaping steam as the kettle boiled. Then the smell of fresh pancakes, and he remembered his favourite breakfast and his beautiful wife. By the time he entered the kitchen, there were tears streaming down his face. Lisa, hearing him enter, let the last pancake slide onto a serving plate and turned to face him, a bright smile instantly transformed into a look of fear and concern.