The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (44 page)

Someone else had removed Lachlan’s name tattoo.

“Not my name. Not my name. Not my name. Not my name.”

“Um, Cyrus…?”

LACHLAN’S AGITATION PROMPTED
Clara to order a sedative, and he was returned to his room.

Clara then herded Cyrus and me to a cramped administrative office. She disappeared for a short time, returning with a thin medical file in her hand. Soon after, we were joined by Dr. Pierre Marie, the Chair of Diseases of the Nervous System. Introductions were barely finished before Cyrus launched his attack.

“I do hope you understand, but I wish to take my son with me today when I leave,” he said resolutely. “Lachlan needs to be with his family during this time.”

Dr. Marie raised one eyebrow, but didn’t respond. Clara looked hesitantly between the men as a full minute passed without a word from either.

“Mr. Shepard, we do understand your situation, but I am afraid it won’t be quite that simple,” she finally said. The nurse consulted the file she’d brought in—presumably Lachlan’s. “Your son was arrested after being found wandering in the park shirtless, shoeless, and witless. The police brought him to us, and we take that responsibility very seriously. I am sure you can see why it would be impossible for Lachlan to leave today. Additionally, Dr. Marie has not yet made his final pronouncement on your son’s neurological health.”

“I have hardly begun my assessment,” Marie interjected.

“While I do appreciate your efforts, my son is already being treated privately for his ailments,” Cyrus firmly replied. “I believe it would be best for him if he continued that course, as he was showing great improvement. As for the police matters, I would be happy to pay the fines today that were imposed against Lachlan for his behavior.” My boss withdrew a check torn from the syndicate’s 1920s ledger book from his left inside jacket pocket, then a fountain pen from the opposite one. “I would like to make a sizable donation to your institution, as well. To whom shall I make out the check?”

Marie’s expression turned amused, while Clara became flustered.

“M-Mr. Shepard, I…,” she trailed off, her eyes darting to the doctor for help. He remained quiet, studying Cyrus with a curiosity that would’ve made me uncomfortable. “I am afraid that is simply not able to happen. I-I mean, not the money, well the donation…it is—”

“You cannot pay court imposed fines here,” Marie finally broke in. “We are a hospital, not the préfecture, and certainly not a courthouse.”

The beginnings of a scowl traced over Cyrus’s features.

“Dr. Marie, I’d hoped to keep this civilized, but I cannot with good conscience allow Lachlan to remain in this facility. My son has grave physical injuries that no one seems to know the origin of, or even when they were inflicted. At best, he had them when he arrived, but your staff neglected to properly care for them. At worst?” Cyrus glared pointedly before continuing in a low voice that verged on menacing. “At worst, your staff has been abusing its patients. A fact I’m sure the authorities would appreciate me sharing with them.”

Clara sucked in a deep breath, her hand flying to her heart.

“Mr. Shepard!” she cried. “We treat each patient with the utmost care and respect, we would
never
do such a thing. It is preposterous to even think that our nurses and aides are abusing these poor souls.”

My eyes flew to Dr. Marie. I expected him to be equally outraged, but he was still intently studying Cyrus like a germ in a petri dish. Though my boss was definitively difficult to read, Marie was a world-renowned expert on matters of the brain. I wouldn’t have wanted to be Cyrus in that moment; Marie’s stare was making
me
feel awkward. Nonetheless, my fearless leader was returning the doctor’s gaze, completely unfazed.

“I understand your concerns,” Marie finally said, ending the awkward silence that had descended upon our group during their little stare-off. “However, I can assure you that no one working in this hospital injured your son.”

“Though I can agree that it seems unlikely for such atrocities to happen under your tutelage,” Cyrus replied, his eyes brimming over with faux worry. “I do hope you can appreciate my concerns over the state of his injuries. Lachlan has not been properly cared for while here.”

“On behalf of Nurse Clara and her staff, I do apologize for the fact your son’s injuries might have been overlooked. That mistake will not be repeated,” the doctor assured us.

“Perhaps I may offer a solution?” Cyrus asked. “If it is amenable to both you and Nurse Clara, I would appreciate your allowing Lachlan’s personal nurse to work here during his stay. It’s a fellow named James, and I believe having a familiar face will be of comfort to my son.”

“That is not necessary,” Clara declared. “My employees are quite capable of providing excellent care. And besides, I do not have the funds in my budget to pay for another staff member.”

“You misunderstand,” Cyrus soothed. “I am just offering a bit of help for your staff, and I will of course pay for his time myself. I’d also like to make that donation we spoke of earlier. Perhaps it might alleviate any budgetary strains you are experiencing?”

Before Clara could voice the indignant words that were sure to come, the doctor interjected.

“That is exceedingly generous of you,” Marie said. He gave the nurse a pointed look. “Nurse Clara would be delighted to have James on board. And, on behalf of our entire institution, we are deeply grateful for your contribution. Clara, won’t it be a relief to have additional funding? We will be able to make some of those hires you presented.”

“Yes,” the nurse said quietly. She turned her gaze to my boss, the gift horse. “It is very kind of you to help, Mr. Shepard.”

“Marvelous,” Cyrus declared, taking up the fountain pen once more. “To whom shall I address the check?”

As the two men sorted out the donation, I glanced over at Clara. Though her disappointment in being undermined was obvious, her eyes lit up as she watched Cyrus writing zeroes on the check. Clara was smart enough to know how much the money would help, even if it meant putting up with an unwanted nurse for a few days.

Truthfully, I had no idea what the hell Cyrus was up to. Lachlan was a serial killer. Serial killers did not deserve private nursing care. Though I did feel bad for the rogue runner when we saw him, he’d left a wake of people in much worse conditions while essentially forcing people to watch. What he deserved was a lifetime of negligent care in a facility much worse than this one.

“Do you perhaps have another copy of that?” I asked Clara, pointing to Lachlan’s patient file. “I don’t mean to be any trouble.”

“I’m sure I can rustle one up,” the nurse replied, perking up. “Just give me a few minutes.”

With that, she excused herself from the room. As I’d guessed, Clara was driven by being needed. She liked to feel helpful. True to her word, the nurse returned quickly. She held an identical folder in one hand, and a plastic bag in the other.

“Here you are,” Clara said, handing me both items. “I also brought your cousin’s possession inventory—it is everything he had when he was brought to us.”

“Thank you so much,” I said, holding up the bag and peering at the contents, which appeared to be only dirty blue fabric.

“Those are the trousers Lachlan was wearing when he arrived,” Clara explained, wrinkling her nose. “That was all we had in the inventory for him. Perhaps you will bring him suitable attire when you come back?”

“Of course,” I replied, placing my hand lightly on her forearm. I dropped my voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Also, Clara, I want to apologize for my uncle. He’s been overly forceful today, and I am very sorry for that. Uncle Cyrus has just been so worried for Lachlan. We both appreciate your time and graciousness a great deal. Thank you for helping us to find my cousin.”

Clara smiled brightly, as I’d hoped she would. In my experience, it was best to leave a trail of kindness behind when on a run. In our line of work, you never knew when people might become assets.

The nurse and I chatted easily while Cyrus and Dr. Marie finished their discussion. After handshakes and goodbyes all around, my boss and I headed outside. Waiting until we were in the car, safely out of range of prying eyes and ears, I turned to Cyrus and gave him a dubious look.

“Care to tell me what that was all about?”

“You haven’t figured it out?” Cyrus asked with a chuckle. “We need to step-up your deductive reasoning training.”

Being the mature professional I was, I stuck my tongue out at him. He snorted—very un-Cyrus-like—then started the car’s engine.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t understand the logic behind providing a private nurse for a murderer,” I intoned. “Maybe too much time with Gaige is dulling my mental capacities.”

“I would not be surprised,” answered my boss, the corner of his mouth quirking as he drove past the guard gate. “The alchemists will need some time to clear up the legal matters and convince the doctors that Lachlan should be released. They’ll be working overtime to solve this problem.”

My mind briefly filled with pleasant thoughts of Ines nursing scores of paper cuts after being forced to file the paperwork for it all.

“So…?” I asked, shaking my head to clear the mean notion. “Why put up such a fuss for a nurse?”

“James is not a nurse,” he replied. “James is a bodyguard. Well, he will be. He’s an alchemist, but his training included the skills we need right now. James is the perfect person to watch Lachlan for us, and pretending to be a nurse is the perfect cover.”

“Are you sending him to protect Lachlan, or to protect people
from
Lachlan?” I asked, marveling at Cyrus’s capacity for planning ahead.

“Both,” my boss said simply. He gestured to the file still clutched in my hands. “Have you looked at that yet?”

“Nope, I was busy smoothing over things with Clara.” I opened the folder and laid it across my lap. “Someone once told me that we shouldn’t leave people on bad terms, if it can be helped.”

“Thank you for being so helpful,” Cyrus replied in a dry tone.

“You’re welcome,” I declared cheerily.

Turning my attention to Lachlan’s records, I pulled the meager stack of pages from the folder and began flipping through them. Other than the police report, there were only result sheets from his psychological tests and the hospital’s medical lab.

“Lachlan does not have polio,” I announced.

“Good to know.”

“He also appears to be suffering from several psychological disorders,” I said, reading off the list of possibilities.

“Or time sickness,” Cyrus corrected.

“Blah, blah, blah, Lachlan’s only words are ‘Not my name’,” I continued.

“So I noticed.”

“They inventoried his injuries when he arrived. Contusions…abrasions…lacerations,” I recited, taking a closer look at the comments on his intake sheet. “The wound on his arm was indeed there then. According to this, ‘the wound appears to be self-inflicted, most likely within the past forty-eight hours’.” I looked up from the pages, incredulous. “How is it possible that they thought that? No one can cut a line that straight with their non-dominant hand, much less while enduring the pain.”

“He was a crazy man they found wandering in the park—I doubt they thought about it too much,” Cyrus replied.

Shaking my head, I flipped to the next page, which turned out to be the first one again. I straightened the stack and positioned it to fit the folder’s clips through the holes on top of each piece of paper.

“That’s it, there’s—”

I fell silent as something caught my eye.  Something that made me stare intently, then frantically flip back to his intake form.

“Find something?” Cyrus asked, his eyes darting back and forth between the road and me.

“I…,” I began, turning back to each sheet to confirm what I’d found.

When I’d checked each page of Lachlan’s records, I let my hands fall to my lap. Peering over at my boss, I wondered how he was going to take it.

“I have good news and bad news,” I hedged. “Which would you like first?”

“Good,” Cyrus replied without hesitation.

“Lachlan is definitely
not
the Night Gentleman.”

He shot me a severe look.

“What’s the bad news?”

“We have no idea who is.”