Ken McClure: Past Lives

Klinsman nodded. ‘OK, but no more.’

‘Do you think we can rely on Francini staying away for a few hours?’ asked Macandrew.

Klinsman looked surprised at the question. ‘I got the impression he wouldn’t be back until his wife came round. He’ll probably be on the phone most of the morning, making arrangements for some fat cat from LA or Frisco to come out here and teach us to suck eggs. Why?’

‘I’d really like to have someone from psychiatry take a look at Jane Francini. What do you think?’

Klinsman folded his hands in front of him on the desk and thought for a moment before saying, ‘Well, I don’t suppose that could be construed as administering any kind of therapy to the patient. As long as we put it through as an internal matter and don’t add it to Francini’s bill I guess it’ll be OK. Anyone in mind?’

‘I thought maybe, Karen Bliss?’

Klinsman nodded. ‘Good choice. Dr Bliss does seem to have brains.’

Macandrew smiled. Klinsman’s lack of regard for psychiatrists was something of a legend in the Med Centre. He returned to his own office and left Macandrew to call Karen Bliss. She wasn’t in her office and didn’t respond to her bleep. Macandrew left a message for her to call him when she got in. She called an hour later.

‘So you finally got round to asking someone how the thing you cut up all the time really works?’ said the female voice.

Macandrew smiled and said, ‘I thought maybe between us we could come up with something.’

‘What can I do for you, Mac?’ asked Karen.

Macandrew told her about the Francini case. ‘I keep thinking she’s not deranged in the usual sense. There’s more to it but I can’t say what.’

‘From what you say, it sounds like a gross personality change post surgery,’ said Karen. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. But I’m intrigued. What kind of tumour did you say she had?’

‘Hartman’s. It’s a pineal gland tumour.’

‘The third eye,’ said Karen.

‘What d’you think?’

‘Okay, I’ll take a look at her,’ said Karen.

‘Good,’ said Macandrew. ‘There’s just one little problem.’ Macandrew told her about Jane Francini’s husband.

‘I’m not so sure I like the sound of this any more.’

‘He’ll be gone for the best part of the morning,’ said Macandrew. ‘I was a bit conservative about when Janey would come round. I told him four hours but the truth is she should be starting to come round by eleven. I’d particularly like you to see her at that point. If you could come down about then you should have a clear hour with the patient and map the changes in her.’

‘Okay, see you a little before eleven.’

‘Bring some recording equipment with you. I don’t think we’ll get a second chance.’

Jerusalem

Eli Aswar was uneasy. He’s been given pills but hadn’t swallowed them: he was suspicious of everything. He’d let Benny have most of the wine to overcome his early reluctance, so he didn’t even have Dutch courage to help him combat his long-time fear of all things medical. He kept the pills under his tongue until Ignatius turned his back for a moment and then spat them into his palm and pocketed them. He suspected it was some kind of drug to put him to sleep and he was having none of it. They were questioning Benny and he wanted to know why they needed needles and just what they were going to do with them. It was one thing to be hypnotised, quite another to be injected with some truth drug. He’d heard about these things. Once you’d been given one, you couldn’t help but tell the truth and there had been one or two things in Eli’s past life that he would rather be kept under wraps.

His blood ran cold as he heard Benny cry out in distress. Confusion and fear threatened to become panic. His mouth went dry. He forced himself to think clearly and it didn’t take long to decide that he wasn’t going to hang around any longer. He had to get out but how? There were no windows: they were below ground level.

There were two doors leading out of the room. One led to the place where they were holding Benny and he had just discovered that the other was locked. Slowly he released the handle so as not to make any noise. He supposed he could charge straight out through the room where they had Benny but he suspected that the upstairs door would be locked. The alternative was to try and pick the lock of the door he was still holding. The mechanism looked simple enough and he was not entirely inexperienced in such matters: he had not always been a dish washer. This was the option he’d go for.

Stroud had left some instruments lying on the table by the bed. Eli selected what experience told him would be most suitable for the job and started to probe the lock. He heard more anguished cries coming from his friend next door and felt a pang of guilt in taking comfort from the fact that the sound would cover any noise that he might be making. Ignatius was shouting. He sounded angry but not at Benny because he could hear Stroud shouting back. He couldn’t make out what the argument was about but he wasn’t going to hang around to find out. With a final twist of the improvised pick, the lock turned and he stepped out into a narrow stone passage.

His heart sank when he saw that it didn’t seem to lead anywhere. In fact, it appeared to end about five metres to his left in a solid stone wall but he decided to check it out anyway. He edged his way along, stretching his arm out in front of him. It did end in a wall but there was a small recess to the left where a wooden ladder was propped up. It was rough to the touch and smelt old and dry.

As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he could see that the ladder led up to a trap door in the roof. There was no place else to go so he climbed up and started to work on freeing the rusty bolt that secured it.

It took several attempts before the bolt finally yielded and slid back in a shower of metallic dust. He blinked to clear his eyes and spat out the rust that caused his mouth to pucker. He moved up another rung and applied his shoulder to the hatch cover, only to be rewarded with another shower of dirt but at least the cover moved. He raised it a little and looked out through the gap to see a broad, stone-walled passage. It was considerable wider than the one he was currently in and had lights along it at regular intervals. There were also lit candles in small alcoves, flickering in front of religious statues. The passage seemed deserted so he opened the hatch fully and hoisted himself up through the space to sit on the edge of the opening and pausing to consider whether or not it was wise to burn his bridges.

The passage was clearly part of the convent but it didn’t smell like it. No incense. It didn’t have the clinical smell of the cellar he’d just left either; it had a different smell. It smelt... like a prison. For Eli it had been a while but it wasn’t a smell you forgot easily, if ever. He was still in two minds about continuing when he was distracted by a cry of anguish echoing up from the tunnel below. He didn’t feel good about it but he let the hatch cover fall back into place and committed himself to going on.

He listened for a moment before setting off along the new passage, taking comfort from the fact that he must now be up at ground level. With any luck he could be out of here soon. He would raise the alarm and get help for Benny. He turned the first corner then froze as he heard sounds coming from up ahead. His first thought was that it was the chanting the Christians were so fond of, but, as he neared the wooden door it seemed to be coming from, it was clearly too discordant for that. It was more like the moaning of people in torment.

The door suddenly opened and a nun stepped out into the passageway. She was wearing a plastic apron over her robes and carrying a tray with crockery on it. She got as much of a surprise as Eli and dropped the tray. Plates smashed on the stone floor as she opened her mouth to cry out but Eli hit her before she could make a sound. She fell over backwards and cracked her head on the floor — a sound which paralysed Eli with fear for a few moments. He’d never meant for this to happen. He’d acted on impulse and was now filled with remorse. Whatever way he looked at it now, he was in big trouble. The nun might even be dead! She was lying very still and he couldn’t find a pulse in her neck when he tried but his hands were trembling so much he couldn’t be sure.