Trinity's Legacy

by P A Vasey

  “He will survive,” he said to me, “but he needs urgent medical attention.”

  With that, he strode out of the room, gown flapping, broken wires trailing behind him. A cold shiver trickled down my neck and the hairs stood up as the micropapillaries of my follicles reacted to the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  His voice, calm and toneless, echoed around my head.

  You are all in danger.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Indian Springs Hospital and Medical Centre

  The door was half open so I knocked softly and entered without waiting for an answer. Reynolds was sitting behind his desk, fingers steepled, deep in thought. He looked at me through lidded eyes, opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and two shot glasses. “Close the door, Kate. Pull up a chair.”

  I shook my head.

  Reynolds frowned. “The police are here. We’ve only got five minutes or so. We need to get our story straight.”

  My eyes narrowed but I said nothing. He looked at me, a hangdog expression on his face.

  “He assaulted a cop, Kate. A cop who’s now a patient here with a fractured sternum and a significant pulmonary contusion.”

  I walked over to the window, and peered out through the slatted blinds. Reynolds’ office was on the second floor, with a view of the car park and the suburbs of downtown Indian Springs. Streetlights were flickering epileptically, and shopfront neon signs were beginning to fluoresce.

  “What are we going to tell them?” I said without turning. “I mean, what sort of story are you thinking of? I’ve spent the last hour trawling though his scans trying to make sense of it all and I tell you Clem, I’m out of ideas.”

  Reynolds arranged the shot glasses on his desk, and moved them around absentmindedly as if he was going perform a magic trick. “Kate, he’s almost certainly a sick man. Possibly dying somewhere.”

  I gave a heavy sigh. “We both looked at the same images. Those CT scans were perfectly normal. How can that be…?”

  “He put a police officer into hospital,” he interrupted, choosing to ignore what I’d said. “They’re going to find him and they’re going to throw the book at him. From a medico-legal perspective, we should say - let’s see - that we found some kind of brain abnormality. I think it’s not a stretch to say that when he woke up he was confused. Then, he became agitated, and hence the violent act towards that officer. That’s not uncommon with brain injuries as you well know.”

  I turned back to the window, puzzled and frustrated. I’d been trying to find some kind of coherent explanation, but this wasn’t it. It wasn’t even close. “Clem, stop just there.” I said. “You remember those strange lights on his retina? We both saw those.”

  He didn’t answer, so I took a deep breath and decided to dive in. “Clem, he spoke to me… in my mind. Like some - some fucking form of telepathy.” I stopped, and wondered how much I could say to Clem without him thinking that I was flaky.

  He pursed his lips, and reached over to pour himself a generous shot of Jack. He wiggled his eyebrows invitingly, but I shook my head. He sniffed it and took a little sip, before downing the glass in a single gulp and sat back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling, seemingly fascinated by the cracks in the emulsion.

  “Clem…?” I pleaded.

  He put the glass down and swivelled in the chair to face me.

  “Kate, Dr Navarro has forwarded those scans to a colleague in Vegas. A neuro-radiologist. Until we know what’s going on, I respectfully suggest that the police have no right to our speculations. We owe them facts.”

  “What facts might they be?” I said, folding my arms.

  Reynolds started counting with his fingers. “One, we were prepping him for an emergency operation to evaluate his neurological situation.”

  “Which you argued against,” I pointed out.

  “Two, he regained consciousness and so the operation was abandoned. Three, he became aggressive and assaulted a police officer and his doctor…”

  “That’s not quite right though, is it Clem?”

  “… And his doctor. Four, subsequently leaving the hospital without medical consent. End of story.”

  “End of story? We’ve no idea where he is. Don’t we have a duty of care, for fuck’s sake? It’s entirely possible that he could be lying in an alleyway somewhere, having seizures, anything …”

  “Kate, Indian Springs is a small town. He’ll be found soon enough. Telling the police he was hit by a truck will’ve given them enough reason to expedite the search.” He poured another shot of bourbon, shrugging, “I mean, how far can he go wearing a hospital gown?”

  I knew Clem was right about that, and the fact that our duty of care actually ended when he kind of self discharged. But I wasn’t going to let this go and was about to reply when there was a knock on the door. Reynolds grimaced and rolled his eyes before indicating that I should open it. I did, and facing me were two uniformed police officers.

  I recognised Sheriff Woods of course. A sandy-haired middle-aged man, huge in every way, wide and tall. The doorway wasn’t made for people like him, and he kind of turned sideways to pass through. He was that guy who had to get two airline seats in coach just to stop other passengers giving him a hard time. He was also the opposite of the fat and jolly stereotype. In my previous encounters with him he’d always been a miserable and ornery bastard, but a straight shooter. A no-bullshit kind of guy. I realised now why Reynolds wanted to play this as easy as possible.

  The other officer, a female, was new to me. Her red hair was braided under her hat, and her bony, angular features gave her a hard-faced look. There was something in the way she held herself, as if unsure of where her limbs should be.

  “Dr Morgan, always a pleasure,” said Woods, removing his hat. He smiled past me at Reynolds, cold-eyed, “Clem, nice to see you.”

  Reynolds was standing up and shuffling around his desk having hurriedly secreted the bourbon and glasses back in the drawer. “Hello Doug. Please come in.”

  Woods walked up to the desk and pulled out a seat, gesturing for his companion to take the other one. He introduced her as Officer Chatfield, on secondment from Pahrump, the largest town in Nye County, fifty miles south of Indian Springs. He squeezed into the chair opposite Reynolds, which creaked ominously, pulled a notebook and pen from his back pocket and opened at a blank page. He looked at me and gave another slight smile.

  “Thanks for meeting with us,” he said. “Hopefully this won’t take too long.”

  “How can we help, sheriff?” I said.

  He leaned in, brows furrowed. “How can you help … let’s see now. I’ve got a man down in this here facility, put there by one of your patients who is now AWOL. Am I doing well so far?”

  “You know that’s the case, Doug,” said Reynolds, a placating look on his face. “As I said on the phone, the patient was almost certainly suffering from concussion following his accident. I think he was confused, probably disorientated.”

  He glanced at me. I shrugged, “Happens a lot.”

  “Well, we’d certainly like to find him for everybody’s sake,” said Woods. “Do you have a name for him yet?”

  Reynolds shook his head. “Adam something. That’s as much as we got from him. I don’t think he could remember. There was no ID on him. We tried to get a photograph but that was when he crazied out and made his exit.”

  Woods’ eyebrows went up. “Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious? Like he had something to hide?”

  “He did appear confused,” I said. “He awoke very abruptly after being unconscious for a good few hours. I think maybe the whole situation threw him, what with the cop and all the questioning.”

  Woods nodded slowly, staring at me. “Did you talk to him?”

  I started chewing my nail, then stopped self-consciously. I went round the corner of the desk and perched there. I looked down briefly at Reynolds who gave a slight shake of his head. I turned to Woods, “I’m afraid that could be per
ceived as falling within the realms of patient-doctor confidentiality.”

  He leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers giving Reynolds and I a withering look. “Doctors, really? Is this the game we’re going to play? Your patient isn’t charged with any crime - yet. I’m merely looking for information that might help me locate him and hopefully return him safely to your care for further treatment.”

  I tried to look conciliatory. “Look, Sheriff Woods, he really didn’t say much at all. Just that he needed to leave.”

  Woods coughed into his hand, and put down his notebook. “Alright then, let’s start with a description? Or is that against medical ethics, too?”

  “Doug, we’ll give you anything you need to find this poor fellow,” Reynolds interrupted. “It’s just that there isn’t much to tell.”

  I got up off the desk and started pacing, while Woods flipped open a notebook. He licked the end of his pen. “Dr Morgan, how about we start with his appearance? Perhaps how he was dressed when he was brought in to your emergency room?”

  “That was the weirdest thing,” said Reynolds before I could reply. “He was wearing a wetsuit. You know, one of those neoprene things people go diving in…”

  Woods looked over at his companion and gave her a look that I couldn’t decipher. He screwed the top back on his pen and placed it next to his notebook on the desk. The two cops pushed back their chairs and stood up.

  “Is that it?” said Reynolds, puzzled.

  Woods was staring at me. He looked grim. “Not by a long shot, Clem. Dr Morgan, I need you to come to the station with me. Someone you need to meet.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nye County Sheriff's Office, South Area Command, Pahrump

  I drained my second cup of stewed police coffee in as many hours and sat back in a very uncomfortable (purposefully, I was sure) plastic chair. I glanced up at the one-way mirror dominating the far wall and shot daggers at whoever was watching me. The lighting was oppressively stark and intrusive, emanating from a single UV strip bisecting the ceiling. The room was painted an insipid shade of lime green and a single door with a peephole slider comprised the far wall. There was a sickly sweet odour of sweat that was partially masked by disinfectant, and for a moment I wondered whether it was coming from me. I lifted my armpit up to my nose just as the door opened.

  Woods entered, carrying a manila folder and mug of coffee with “World’s Best Dad” emblazoned on it. He flopped into the chair opposite and took a sip from the mug before looking up. “You want more coffee? Pot’s still hot.”

  I felt my irritation building, augmented by the caffeine taking over my bloodstream. I leaned forward and tried to look intimidating. “I’ve been gone from the hospital over three hours now, drinking your shitty coffee. So, remind me why I’m here?”

  Woods gave me a stony-eyed look, and said nothing. I sat back and seethed. “Am I under arrest or something? I mean, what the fuck?”

  The door opened a second time and Officer Chatfield entered, accompanied by a thin, balding man in his fifties, all dishevelled hair and a scraggly salt and pepper beard. Chatfield sauntered over to the windowed wall and nonchalantly leaned back against it, looking at me with barely disguised boredom. The man remained by the door checking out the room, and his eyes alighted on me after a few seconds.

  “Who’s this?” I said to Woods.

  The Beard continued to look nervously around and I noticed he was wearing a Nye County Sheriff’s Office cape on top of what looked like a diver’s wetsuit. He glanced over at Woods who gestured for him to sit down next to him, which he did somewhat reluctantly.

  Woods continued with his poker face, and nodded at me. “Dr Morgan, meet Professor Gabriel Connor from the University of Las Vegas. Palaeontology department, right Prof?”

  The Beard granted me a half smile and nodded a greeting. Woods placed the folder on the desk between us, licked his right index finger, and started deliberately turning through the pages. I glimpsed photographs of Connor along with copies of his university degrees, driving licence, and what looked like lists of cell phone numbers.

  Connor looked uncomfortable and had started squirming in his chair. “Look, what have I done, other than, I don’t know, trespassing through a deserted old military testing site? Nothing but big holes in floor of the desert.” He had a high-pitched voice, and spoke very fast. A muscle twitched at the corner of his eye, and he folded his arms tightly across his chest.

  Woods stopped flicking through the file and looked up. He sat back and the chair creaked ominously. He glanced over at Chatfield, who continued to silently eyeball Connor.

  “Tell me again what you were doing in a prohibited radioactive area, Professor Connor,” said Woods.

  Connor sighed dramatically. “I told you already. I was looking for new cave systems to explore. Part of my academic research. I wandered off the trail, and got lost.”

  “And that’s why you dialled 911?”

  “Yes, I panicked at first but then I killed the call when I realised I was okay.”

  Woods seemed to consider this. He leaned forward and put his mobile phone on the table. He pressed a button and tinny voices came out of the speaker.

  “Hello, this is the emergency service. We’ve been trying to contact you. Are you in need of assistance please?”

  Connor closed his eyes and I saw him take a deep breath as he heard his own voice.

  “Hello, thank you. No, we’re okay; I must have dialled 911 by mistake. All good. False alarm. Thank you again.”

  There was a brief hesitation on the other end before the operator’s voice came back more insistently. “Please give your name and the nature of your emergency.”

  Connor’s voice sounded flustered, “I’m good thanks. It was a mistake. We don’t need any assistance.”

  The operator was having none of it. “State Police vehicles are within two minutes of your location, please stand by.”

  Woods killed the playback and knotted his eyebrows at Connor. “‘We’. Sounds plural don’t it? I’ll ask you again - were you on your own, Professor?”

  “Yes. I was.”

  Woods stared unblinkingly at him and I could tell Connor found it hard to keep eye contact but stared back anyway. I’d read somewhere that if you averted your gaze it would suggest duplicity, and perhaps give away the fabrication or falsehood that you were developing. After what seemed like an interminably long minute Woods languidly nodded then continued his perusal of the folder. He stopped at a page that contained a black and white CCTV photo. I squinted, trying to make out what it was showing but it was grey and blurry as well as being upside down.

  Woods looked up at Connor like a predator homing in on its prey. “What happened down in the crater?”

  Connor swallowed, and I watched him as he ran his tongue around his teeth trying to lubricate his mouth. I would have felt sorry for him, if I wasn’t so pissed.

  “I was clumsy,” he began. “I fell backwards and hit my head on some rocks. I blacked out for I don’t know maybe five maybe ten minutes. When I woke up I was disorientated and so I called 911. But then I killed the call and decided to head back up. When I got to the surface I saw the missed calls and you guys were already heading in. That’s it, really.”

  He tried a smile, looking at Woods and then at me. He tapped his fingers on the desktop, a nervous gesture. “I should thank you for coming so quickly in case I was in trouble. Did you triangulate the call like they do in the movies?”

  Woods’ lips pouted, like he was mulling this over, and there was an awkward silence in the room. I’d had enough and stood up, glaring down at him. “I’m sorry Sheriff but I fail to see what relevance this has for me?”

  Woods raised a finger and picked up his cell phone and speed dialled a number. He sat back and looked at Connor again, seemingly revelling in the uncomfortable silence. He pointed at my chair, indicating that I should sit down, but I ignored him and folded my arms. After a few seconds the phone was connected. I c
ould hear a deep male voice at the other end talking slowly and continuously but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. This went on for a couple of minutes while Woods’ face remained impassive as he stared at Connor. There was a gap in the monologue and then Woods said with eyebrows furrowed, “Are you sure?”

  There was more talking, to which Woods nodded a few times and then hung up. He regarded Connor again silently for what seemed an eternity before sitting back and folding his arms. “Now Professor, I’m going to ask you again. Were you alone today?”

  Gabriel was overtly perspiring now, and not just because of the wetsuit. He glanced over at me, but I gave him nothing. “I think I’ve answered that question,” he stammered.

  “Not to my satisfaction, you haven’t,” said Woods, shaking his head. He leaned forward. “I’ve just spoken to the team onsite at the crater. They recovered two large and very heavy duffle bags stuffed with two sets of diving equipment from the floor of the cavern.”

  I could see Connor thinking fast, the cogs ticking over and the mechanism chugging to come up with another lie. “So what? I’ve been down there before. I left that other bag there last time for backup. Also, I was hoping to be joined by a friend, but he backed out at the last minute”.

  Woods glanced up at Chatfield, who was now listening intently, and then lazily brought his gaze back to Connor. “So this isn’t your first trespassing offence, is that what you’re telling me? Thought you said you just got lost?”

  “Look, there were no ‘Do Not Trespass’ signs. Just signs about the radiation.”