Lost Lives (Emily Swanson Mystery Thriller Series Book 1) (11 page)

“Why do you think no one else went to the police?” Jerome asked her, as he read through Reina’s article again.

“Because it was the seventies. Reina said that attitudes towards mental health were only then beginning to change. A young girl dies and it’s put down to her own self-neglect. Another patient goes to the police and has his addiction problems flagged up. If what Reina claims is true, then who was going to listen to the rest of those patients without calling them insane? Without questioning if they needed to be put back in the system.”

Emily continued to stare at Alina’s portrait. Mental health had been so stigmatised—and still was to a lesser degree—that for those patients to come forward presented too great a risk. Better then to suffer in silence. Until the suffering becomes too great to bear, Emily thought.

“I have another question for you,” Jerome said. “How is any of this connected to Alina?”

Emily hesitated before she answered, mentally plotting out the chain of events. “Reina Tammerworth believes Doctor Williams and Doctor Chelmsford are responsible for her sister’s death—that their treatment for recovery literally killed her. As a child, Reina can do nothing about it. As an adult, she goes after them. She tracks Doctor Chelmsford all the way to Australia, where she loses his trail. She tracks Doctor Williams to the Ever After Care Foundation, where both Alina and Karl Henry work. In her article she says she’s gathering fresh evidence that proves the experimentation, the unorthodox treatments are still going on. She tells Rosa to be careful of who she trusts at Ever After, that there are people working there for personal gain. Rosa tells me that patients have gone missing.”

“So Reina believes something untoward is happening at the hospice.”

“She turns up a few days after Alina disappears, looking for her. Why?”

“Because Alina knows something about what’s going on. She’s witnessed something.”

“And she was going to help Reina expose the truth.”

“Someone must have known what Reina and Alina were planning,” Jerome said. “Suddenly Alina disappears. A couple weeks later, Reina disappears too. Doctor Williams will be older now, in his late sixties, more likely in his early seventies.”

“So he would have had help.”

They both looked at each other.

“Karl Henry,” Emily said.

What had begun as a few brushstrokes of paint now spilled over the edges of the canvas. Emily’s gaze returned to Alina’s portrait.

Jerome leaned forward. “Do you think she knew about Karl too? That he was on the doctor’s payroll?”

“It’s possible. And if she didn’t at first, she certainly would have later.” Harriet’s words entered her mind, causing a chain reaction of firing synapses. “Harriet said she’d heard Karl and Alina fighting just before Alina disappeared, and that there was a third person present. A woman. What if it was Reina? What if they were arguing about exposing the truth?”

Jerome looked around the room, suddenly aware that he sat in what was once Karl and Alina’s apartment.

“You think Karl Henry double-crossed them, went to Doctor Williams and told him what they were planning to do?” Goose pimples crawled over his skin. “What if Alina and Reina are both dead?”

Emily was silent. All of these lives had been tainted by two men whose intentions as doctors should have been nothing more than benevolent. Instead, they had left a path of suicide and irreparable trauma that was signposted by missing women. Women who had dared to fight back, who had dared to uncover the truth.

“This is all theory,” Emily said. “We need evidence. We need more than Reina’s patient interviews.”

“What if we tracked those patients down, convinced them to talk to the police?”

“We’d be relying on accounts of something that happened over forty years ago. Memories aren’t evidence, Jerome. Memories aren’t going to find Alina or Reina. We need something concrete. Something that exposes whatever it is that’s going on at Ever After.”

Jerome looked up, a deep frown carved into his brow. “Wait a minute. I thought we’d agreed we’d look into Alina’s disappearance. We never said anything about exposing sinister goings-on.”

“But it’s so much bigger than Alina now. Don’t you see that? We’re talking about vulnerable people being exploited. We’re talking about gross abuse, gross malpractice.”

“And you’re talking like we’re MI6!” Jerome said, exasperated. “I serve coffee for a living, Emily. We’re nobody. Life is already hard enough without getting ourselves mixed up in somebody else’s troubles.”

Emily stalked towards Alina’s painting. Jabbing a finger at it, she said, “So we just let Alina go? And Reina Tammerworth? All those other patients? We let Doctor Williams continue with whatever it is he’s up to at Ever After? What, they’re dying anyway so it doesn’t matter?”

“You’re attacking me again,” Jerome said, folding his arms. “I’m not the enemy.”

“I can’t let them vanish. I can’t let their lives mean nothing. I—” Her voice trailed away. “What was Doctor Chelmsford’s first name?”

Jerome scrolled through Reina Tammerworth’s article on the screen.

“Alan.”

“Doctor Chelmsford’s not in Australia,” Emily said, pointing at the painting. “He’s right here.”

In the bottom right hand corner, in a flourish of white paint, were the artist’s initials. AC.

Jerome’s mouth fell open. “
He
painted that monstrosity?”

“Whatever’s going on, he must be involved. Reina must have known. She must have finally caught up with him.”

Jerome leapt up from his chair. “I’ve remembered something else! That nurse that showed us around Ever After—Nurse Bates—she told us she’d worked with Doctor Williams
before
coming to work at the hospice.”

“Nurse Bates may have worked at Ravenshill.”

A quiet dread had slipped into the room.

“Jesus,” Jerome whispered. “What do we do now?”

Emily looked into Alina’s cold blue eyes.

“We need to talk to Rosa.”

Night fell down with the snow. Soon, the city was as quiet as a morgue. Bars and restaurants stood empty, while on the streets signs of a living, breathing populous were erased flake by flake.

By morning, the landscape had hardened and taken on a bluish sheen. In the city centre, road workers were out in force clearing the snow and ice so that business could begin again. Beneath the streets, hundreds of thousands of commuters filled tube station platforms, shoulder to shoulder and front to back, huffing and puffing as digital timetables announced severe delays.

Emily hadn’t slept. Thoughts had scrambled over one another like a nest of weasels, refusing to let her slumber. She had moved from her bed, to the sofa, to the dining table, watching scraps of television shows and reading Reina Tammerworth’s notebooks from cover to cover. She had gleaned nothing new. The patient interviews were all in journalistic shorthand, which to Emily was akin to Egyptian hieroglyphs. The remainder of Reina’s notes were mostly angry and incoherent ravings.

Her eyelids at last growing heavy, Emily curled up on the sofa. She had been asleep for five minutes when the intercom buzzed through the apartment, startling her awake. Dragging her leaden limbs into the hallway, she scrabbled for the answer button.

“Hello?” She waited for a response. “Hello, who’s there?”

Static crackling answered her. Karl Henry’s cruel face swam behind her eyes. She thought about what she should do next, mentally running through each option. There was Nurse Bates, who had more than likely worked at Ravenshill Clinic and who now headed the nursing team at the Ever After Care Foundation. She had already opined her devotion to Doctor Williams, and so the chances of Emily getting her to speak about his unethical practices were non-existent, especially when talking might incriminate herself.

Next, there was Karl Henry. If Emily’s suspicions were correct—that he was involved in the disappearance of both Reina Tammerworth and his own wife, Alina—then he was indeed a dangerous man to become acquainted with. His motivations had to be financial. Why else put himself at risk of getting caught?

The doctors were a mystery to her. The newspaper articles had shown photographs of them as young men; grainy images yellowed by forty years of ageing. Who knew what they looked like now?

Doctor Chelmsford had painted Alina’s portrait and the knowledge both unnerved and intrigued Emily. It suggested a relationship between the two; not necessarily sexual or romantic, but a bond that had led the nurse to sit for him as he put brush to canvas. If Doctor Chelmsford was the artist behind the painting, did that incriminate Alina as his model? It was a fact that Emily needed to consider.

Lastly, her thoughts turned to Rosa. Even though the girl couldn’t tell her what was happening at the Ever After Care Foundation, her fear was more than evident. Whether she was sharing her burden or ridding herself of it like a cursed object, Rosa was now appeased. She could return to her desk, knowing that responsibility had been shifted to another.

What Rosa hadn’t realised though was that by opening up to Emily, she had effectively transformed herself into the gateway that all those other dark paths ran through. Alina Engel, Karl Henry, Nurse Bates, Doctor Williams, Reina Tammerworth—she was connected to them all.

She answered the phone after two rings.

“Good morning, you’ve reached the Ever After Care Foundation. This is Rosa, how can I help?”

“It’s Emily. Emily Swanson.”

There was quiet. Then, Rosa’s voice rang out in a frightened whisper. “You shouldn’t call me here.”

“I’m sorry. Please, don’t hang up. There are some things you need to know about. Things I need to warn you—”

“I told you everything I know. I don’t want to be involved. Now please, leave me alone.”

“Karl Henry knows about me,” Emily said. “Which means there’s a real possibility they know you’ve talked to me.”

Rosa fell silent; long enough for Emily to think she’d hung up. But then she spoke, and her words trembled with worry.

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll call you back.”

Beneath her exhaustion, Emily felt a delirious rush of exhilaration that threatened to unbalance her. Moving to the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet, chose two bottles and tapped out a pill from each. She drank them down with water, then made her way to the kitchen. Making a cheese sandwich, she took a bite, then checked the time. Seven minutes had passed. She binned the rest of the sandwich and returned to the living room.

By the time eleven minutes had ticked by, her head buzzed. She paced the length of the living room, watching the icy street below. Her phone began to ring.

“I can’t talk long,” Rosa breathed.

Emily wasted no time. “Reina was right. Something’s going on at Ever After, and it’s not good. We think that Alina found out about it and was helping Reina to expose Doctor Williams. We think—”

“Wait, who’s we?”

“A friend of mine is helping. You can trust him.”

“That guy who came with you? Jerome?”

“Yes,” Emily said. “Listen, we think Karl Henry is involved in whatever’s going on at the hospice. And we think he’s responsible for Alina’s and Reina’s disappearance.”

“The journalist? She’s missing too?”

“There’s more. Do not trust Nurse Bates. She may be involved.”

“Olivia?” Rosa gasped. “Involved in what exactly?”

Emily ran her fingers over Reina Tammerworth’s notebooks.

“We’re not certain yet, but judging from Doctor William’s history it could be anything from treating patients without their consent to illegal experimentation.”

“Jesus, that’s insane!”

“Whatever it is, two people have gone missing because of it. More if you count your vanishing patients. Have you heard of a Doctor Chelmsford?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Doctor Alan Chelmsford. He’s a colleague of Doctor Williams, and he’s almost certainly involved in whatever’s going on.”

“Different doctors come in and out of here all the time, but I’ve never met a Doctor Chelmsford. Look, I have to get back. Sandy’s covering the desk for me.”

“I need your help, Rosa.” Emily paced up and down in front of the windows. The dextroamphetamine she’d taken had come into full effect.

“We need evidence. Papers, files—something that exposes what’s happening up there. It’s the only way we’re going to find Alina.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t go sneaking around, I’ll get caught. Besides, I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“Please Rosa. You’re the only one that can help us. You’re the only one that has access.”

“I don’t want that responsibility.”

“But you have it all the same. Please, Rosa. Think of Alina. Your help could make the difference between her living and dying.”

Rosa began to cry.

“I know you’re scared,” Emily said. “I know I’m asking a lot of you. But you came to me, remember? You came to me because you wanted to help.”

“I thought you were a journalist!” Rosa sobbed. “I can’t just walk into Doctor William’s office and start going through his files! There has to be some other way.”

Emily was quiet as she waded through her thoughts, searching for the answer. An idea came to her.

“Do you have access to staff contact details?”

“Yes.”

“Get me Karl Henry’s address and I won’t ask for your help again. Can you do that for me?”

Rosa hesitated. “What are you going to do?”

“We need evidence. If we can’t get it from Ever After, then we need to start looking elsewhere.”

“You’re going to break into his house?”

Emily thought about it. She wondered if she had the courage to do something like that. At this very moment, her central nervous system crackling like lightning, she felt she could do anything.

“What other choice do I have?”

The phone line crackled.

“Karl keeps a spare set of house keys at work,” Reina said. “A couple of staff who live alone do it. I can get you the keys and his address if you promise it won’t be traced back to me. I’m finished here. I’m getting out as soon as I can. But I want Alina found, and I want that bastard to get what he deserves.”

Emily stopped pacing. “What time do you finish work?”

***

Rosa pulled up outside of Grange Hill Underground station a little after five and kept the engine running. It was dark already. People were spilling out through the ticket barriers, tired from their working day in the city and eager for the warmth of their homes. As temperatures plummeted below zero, what remained of the snow turned to ice. Struggling through the crowds, Emily spotted Rosa and headed towards the car.

It was a brief exchange. Rosa rolled down her window and handed Emily a sealed brown envelope.

“He’ll be at work for another couple of hours,” she told her. “You won’t have long.”

“I’ll be quick.”

“Call me as soon as you’re done. I’ll meet you back here.”

Rosa pulled away, the car’s backlights flickering as she drove into a blanket of darkness.

Karl Henry’s home was walking distance from the station and a five minute drive to the Ever After Care Foundation. It made sense that now Alina was gone, the lion remained close to its den. Rosa had written Karl’s address on the envelope and placed the spare set of keys inside. Emily entered the address into her phone’s map application, plugged in her headphones, and began following the automated voice’s directions.

Crossing the road, she soon found herself inside a maze of quiet streets lined with red and white bricked houses. Light filtered from windows, illuminating snow-covered hedgerows and gardens. Children sat at dining room tables doing homework, or transfixed and zombie-like in front of television screens, videogame controllers in hands. Parents pottered in kitchens, preparing dinner. Decorated Christmas trees winked and glinted. Each house lit up the dark with order and safety.

Karl Henry’s house was up ahead on the left. Unlike the other houses, which invited the world to marvel at their sleek interior designs and expensive furnishings, its curtains were closed.

Emily stood in front of the garden gate looking up, her breaths billowing in frosty plumes. Making sure that no one was watching, she pushed open the gate, closed it behind her and stepped onto the garden path. Rotten and decayed plants protruded like the hands of corpses buried beneath blankets of snow. She moved quickly, picking her way between patches of ice, until she was by the front door. She stood and listened to the hum of traffic, a dog barking, a child protesting against bath time. From Karl Henry’s house came silence.

Emily followed the garden path, moving around the side of the house until she came to the back yard. Undisturbed snow lay in thick layers. Tall brick walls acted as a barrier between the neighbouring gardens.

The kitchen blinds were open and although the room was pitched in darkness, she could make out a pile of unwashed dishes in the sink. Next to the kitchen, patio doors spanned the remaining width of the house.

Emily fumbled for the keys. Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to break into Karl Henry’s house, risk getting caught? Doubt flooded her mind. She had hidden her intentions from Jerome, not because she couldn’t trust him, but because she knew he would try to stop her. Stepping into Karl Henry’s house would be like stepping into the cage of a wild animal. But what choice did she have? Each minute she spent deliberating was a minute lost. If Alina and Reina were still alive, time was not a luxury to waste.

Her heart pounding, Emily moved up to the patio doors and slipped a key into the lock. She turned it and felt the grind of shifting gears. Seconds later, she stepped inside Karl Henry’s home.

Impenetrable darkness greeted her. Holding up her phone, she tapped the screen and illuminated the room in blue light. She was in the living room. A tattered sofa sat in front of a TV, while a bookshelf containing a handful of DVDs stood against the wall. On the floor by the sofa, a dirty plate contained the remnants of last night’s dinner. The rest of the room was bare.

An open door led out into the hall. The kitchen was to Emily’s left. She worked quickly, pulling open drawers and cupboard doors, finding canned food and cutlery, nothing of use. Returning to the hall, she followed it along until she came to another room. It was empty. There was no furniture, no décor. Karl Henry had been living here as long as Emily had been living in his old apartment, but it was as if he did not live in this world at all. His home was like the abandoned house neighbourhood children told ghost stories about, daring each other to knock on the door.

Emily moved towards the stairs. She climbed, each step taking her further into darkness. The first door she came to revealed a damp smelling bathroom, where mould grew like a virus around the window. Indistinguishable dark patches stained the bottom of the bath.

There were four more doors. The door on her right revealed a large closet with empty shelves. A fist-sized hole had been smashed through the wall. Emily leaned in, her free hand reaching towards the hole, slipping through it. She held her breath as she felt around, then recoiled as tiny legs scuttled over her skin.