“Jesus Christ, Val. Are those teeth? Whose teeth are they?”
“Mine.”
“These are your teeth?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“You think so?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
Phillips puffed out his cheeks. “Maybe you’d better start somewhere that makes sense.”
Val nodded. “Yeah. When I woke up this morning, I was naked.”
“I sleep naked too. Mrs. Phillips likes it that way.”
That prompted a smile from Val. “I’ll bet. Well, naked’s no big thing. Except that I wasn’t in my house.”
“Someone else’s house?”
“No. Well, I was at my house, right, but I was outside. On the porch.”
“You woke up outside? It was below zero last night!”
“It was? Okay, whatever. I woke up on my porch. And there was a small collection of teeth next to me. And like I said, I was naked.”
Phillips paused jotting notes down. “Anything else?”
“I was sporting wood.”
“I’m not sure if that’s medically relevant. I meant, do you know how you got there?”
“No clue. I think John and I went for some drinks after the gym—”
“You went to a gym?” Furious scribbling in the notebook. “That probably explains the weight loss.”
“First session yesterday.”
“You had your first session yesterday?”
“Yeah. John took me for some drinks—”
“I can’t believe you went to the gym. I mean hell, Val. We’ve known each other for years. I keep telling you to get some exercise. Take a walk maybe. How did it go?”
Val paused for a moment. “I’m not sure. Good, I guess. John said I benched a lot.”
Nodding, Phillips continued writing. “Great, great. He’s a good man, your friend John. You said you went for some drinks?”
Val smiled. “I met a girl.” He remembered those bouncing curls, the easy grin.
“Is that why you woke up naked?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
Val looked down at his hands. “I don’t actually remember.”
This time Phillips paused. “Did you have a lot to drink last night?”
“I don’t remember that either.”
Phillips nodded. “We’ll say yes, then. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I remember leaving a bar, Presence Unlisted.”
“That where you met the girl?”
“Yeah. But she wasn’t with me when I left.”
“You’re sure.”
Val nodded. “I don’t think I’d forget something like that.”
“What next?”
“That’s all I’ve got.” Val reached out and tapped the Tupperware box. “Except for these.”
Phillips picked up the box, turning it around in front of his eyes. “They don’t look broken. Nothing wrong with them as far as I can see. Except for the obvious, of course. They’re not in your head. Let me see where they came from.”
Val held up his hands. “Wait. We haven’t finished.”
“There’s more?”
“Not a lot more. I mean, aside from having to break into my own house.”
“How’d you do that?”
Val looked at him sideways. “I’m not sure that’s medically relevant.”
“Touché.” Phillips chuckled. “I’m curious. This is the most interesting story I’ve heard this year.”
“I leave a key with a neighbor.”
“You…” Phillips looked down at his notes. “I don’t think I need to know any more.”
“Right.” Val had blushed a little. “So after I’d got inside, I grabbed up the teeth, right? They were all lying about next to where my face had been on the ground. That’s why I guessed they were mine. I went to check myself in the mirror.”
“You guessed? But you’re not sure?”
“That’s the crazy thing. I’ve got all my teeth.”
“In your mouth?”
“Where else?” Val looked at the plastic box again. “Okay, that was a fair question. Yeah, in my mouth.”
“So whose teeth are these?”
“No, really. I think they’re mine.”
Phillips snorted. “Val. You don’t just grow new teeth. It’s impossible.”
Val nodded. “I know. It sounds crazy. But I was thinking about it, about the teeth inside the plastic box, and about how I still had all these teeth in my head. Then it came to me.”
“What?” Phillips had stopped taking notes, his pen held only loosely in his hand.
“My teeth have fillings.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“My teeth,” and here Val shook the plastic box, “Have fillings. My teeth,” and here he tapped his jaw, “don’t have fillings.”
“Let me see.” Phillips leaned forward with a tongue depressor, looking in Val’s mouth. “Hm.” He threw the wooden instrument into a small trash can by his desk.
“See? No fillings.”
Phillips put his notepad on his desk and placed his pen on top of it, straightening the edges with deliberate care. “Val, I think we’d better run some tests.”
“What kind of tests?”
“I don’t want to get you alarmed at this point, because none of this makes a lot of sense to me. But if we run some tests, we get a little more information to work with. I’d like to run up a complete physical on you. Draw some blood, get that looked at. Is that okay?”
“Can’t you just give me a pill?”
“What for? There’s nothing wrong with you. And that’s got me confused all to hell. Been practicing medicine for forty years now, this is the first time I’ve seen someone who claimed they grew their teeth back.”
Val rattled the box of teeth. “I’m not claiming anything. I’ve got the teeth right here.”
“Like I said. First time. I’m sure you believe it too, but it’s just not possible. I’m not … this might be a bit out of my league.”
“You can’t help me?”
“Oh hell Val. Of course I’ll help. You’re my patient.” Phillips rubbed his chin. “I’d say your health is improving. We doctors don’t usually try to cure those who aren’t sick, but I’ll give it my best shot.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Mr. Miles?” The voice was a woman’s, but not a bedroom voice. Usually he’d expect a bedroom voice when he was in bed. “Mr. Miles? Can you hear me?”
There was soft light hitting his closed eyelids. He felt tired, although he must had slept for an age. It was unusual for him to sleep until it was light. Early to bed, early to rise, hit the gym for a workout, that’s how he started his day.
“He’s coming around.” He became aware of a soft, rhythmic beeping to his left. Must be his alarm clock. Someone should really turn that thing off.
He tried to open his eyes and failed. It felt like they were taped closed. “Mr. Miles, you’re in the hospital. You’ve been in a bit of a fight. Don’t try to open your eyes. They’re quite badly bruised and swollen, but that should go down in a couple of days.”
He tried to speak, but nothing came out except a croak — he was parched, his tongue thick in his mouth. “I’m going to place a straw next to your face, Mr. Miles. It’s just water.” He sucked on the straw. It was warm and flat, and nothing had ever tasted so good.
John tried again. “I said, ‘Where’s Val?’ Have you seen my buddy Val?”
There was a pause, then the voice answered. “You were admitted alone. There were … there are some police officers here who would like to take a statement, if you’re up to it.”
This time, a different woman’s voice. “Thanks doc. Mr. Miles, I’m Detective Melissa Carlisle. My partner Vince Elliot is around here somewhere trying to get us some coffee. Garret and McNamara are on the door. You’re safe here. How are you feeling?”
John chuckled, the sound wheezing and cracking throug
h chapped lips. “How do I look?”
“Honestly?” The cop — Carlisle? — paused. “You look like you’ve been beaten half to death.”
“Only half? I feel like it was most of the way there.” John scrabbled around. “Any chance of some more water?”
“Oh, sure. Hey doc, I got this. Why don’t you take a break?” Footsteps moved around to John’s right, the sound of leather soles softly shuffling across the floor. Water gurgled and sloshed into a cup. “How the hell do I … oh, I see. One sec, John. Can I call you John? I’m going to raise your bed up.” His bed lurched under him as the whirring of electrical motors started, raising him slowly up. “Right. I’m going to put this cup in your hand. It’s mostly full. I’ve taken the straw out, because you’re not a kid at a birthday party.”
John’s first sip was cautious as he found the water level in the cup, then he drank it all down quickly. He felt Carlisle steady his hand while he refilled the cup. “Oh man. It’s the weirdest thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I feel like I’ve got a hangover too.”
There was a scraping sound a little further away to his right. “Christ. These hospital chairs aren’t meant to make you feel welcome, are they? I’ve sat in church pews with more padding.”
John chuckled again. “Sorry, Detective. You can have the bed if you want.”
“The bed? What? Oh, right.” There was the sound of fabric rustling, then pages turning. “Just call me Carlisle. You say you feel like you’ve got a hangover?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’ve had a few. It feels just like that.”
“They’ve got a drip in your arm. I’m no doctor, but water’s the thing, right?”
“How long have I been here?”
“Clock says it’s a quarter to two. You were brought in about six in the morning, so a little less than eight hours.”
John coughed out on the sip he was trying to take. “Eight fucking hours? And you don’t know where my buddy Val is?”
There was a pause. “This buddy of yours, Val. What’s his full name? I can check with the station. See if he’s come in somewhere else.”
“Valentine. Valentine Everard. He’s a big guy, about—”
“Valentine Everard?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” John hitched himself up in bed a little more. “You’ve heard something?”
“I’ll be dipped in shi… Sorry. Pardon my language.” The voice was new, coming from John’s left. He turned his head towards the noise.
“Oh, hey Vince. John, this is Detective Vincent Elliot. He’s the hero of the hour, because he’s just brought me coffee. Vince, I love you. Give me one of those.”
Elliot’s voice still came from John’s left. It didn’t sound like he’d moved. “You know Valentine Everard?”
John turned his head between the two of them. “What’s going on? Where’s Val?”
Carlisle cleared his throat. “John, Mr. Everard is a person of interest in one of our inquiries. We can’t say any more at this stage, but we’ve been looking for him for a couple days now. Any information you have—”
“A couple of days? I was drinking with him last night! Well, this morning. It started last night. I mean.” John tried again. “We were out last night, after I finished work. It turned into a bit of a thing. You know.”
The sound of footsteps moved across the floor as Elliot bussed the coffee over to Carlisle. “Yeah, I think we know.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Carlisle started in before Elliot could. “Vince, why don’t you see if you can find me some more sugar? This tastes like swamp water.”
“You want sugar?”
“I want you to go away. You getting me sugar will help with that.”
Elliot laughed. There was no hurt in the sound. “Sure, boss. Sugar. Be back in a bit.” His footsteps shuffled towards the left, fading out with distance. There was a mumbled conversation at the door as Elliot started to talk to the door guards. John tried to pick out their voices, wondering which one was McNamara and which one was Garret.
“It’s not just an excuse.”
“What?” John wished he could just open his eyes.
“This coffee really is terrible. Getting sugar, it’s not just an excuse.” There was a slurping sound, followed by a cough. “Elliot’s a great partner, but he lacks subtlety.”
John thought on that while he took another sip of water. “Something about this needs subtlety?”
“Sure. Do you remember anything from last night?”
John’s hand touched the side of his face, the motion light. He winced anyway. “Christ. Yeah, a little. We were looking for a taxi—”
“You and Mr. Everard?”
“You should call him Val. Every time you say, ‘Mr. Everard,’ I keep wondering who you’re talking about.”
“Sure. You and Val were looking for a taxi? How was he feeling?”
“What? How was he … what the fuck is going on?”
“John, you hear that thing about the Elephant Blues? The bar down town?”
“A little, sure. Saw something on the news last night. We actually tried to get in but it was closed.”
“Closed. Yeah, that’s one word for it.” Carlisle sighed. “So, a lot of people were killed at the Blues.”
John ran that through his head a few times. “Killed?”
“Killed. Stone dead. It’s a bit worse than that, but we don’t need to go into that.”
“What’s worse than being dead?”
“Like I said, we don’t need to go into that. Anyway, we’ve been collecting evidence from the scene.”
“The scene being the Blues?”
“That’s right.” Carlisle paused here, the sound of breath puffing out between pursed lips. “Some of the evidence is … inconsistent with what you’re telling me.”
“Inconsistent how?”
“You’re saying Mr. Everard — sorry, Val — was fine last night?”
“He was great. We’d had a few beers. Made some friends. He even beat someone in an arm wrestle.”
Carlisle started to laugh. “Wait, you’re serious. An arm wrestle?”
“He won, too.”
“Fu … sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” John tried to open his eyes again. No chance.
“Our evidence team collected a, ah, a severed limb—”
“A severed limb? Like, cut off?”
“Something like that. The forensics boys say it’s a match to Val.”
John laughed, loud and clear. “Well Carlisle, there’s something wrong with your forensics boys. Val benched over three hundred at the gym yesterday. I think I would have noticed if he only had one arm. Shit, we’ve been friends since school. I’d have thought he might have mentioned it to me if he’d lost an arm.”
“You and Val are close?”
“Close? Like friends close, or lovers close?”
“Whichever.”
“Sure,” said John. “We’ve been friends since school.”
There was a tapping like pen on paper from Carlisle’s chair. “We might not be talking about the same person. Do you have a photo of him?”
“What?”
“A photo. Like, in your wallet. You said you were close.”
“I said we were friends close. How many of your girl friends do you carry a photo of around in your wallet? It kind of says the wrong thing, you know?”
Carlisle laughed. “I know what you mean. It’s hard to explain, right?”
“Exactly.” John coughed, and took another sip of his water. “Wait. I’ve had a thought. You got a phone?”
“You want to call someone?”
“No. Yesterday, at the gym. Someone took a video of him. Uploaded it to YouTube I think. You should be able to check that out, see both of us there.”
“Wait a sec.” There was the sound of cloth rustling, then the distinctive clicking sound of an iPhone unlocking. “YouTube?”
“Yeah. I
think so.”
“What should I search for?”
“Try something like, ‘Fat guy benches six fifty.’”
“He’s fat?” More clicking as Carlisle tapped in the search.
“He’s huge, man. I keep telling him to lose the weight, but since Rebekah…”
“The accident..? Here it is.” The sound of yesterday’s gym session played out in miniature through the iPhone’s tiny speaker. “Christ. That’s him.”
“See? Both arms, right?”
“Right.”
There was a knock at the door. “I’ve got your sugar.”
“Thanks Vince. Check this out.” Footsteps padded from the doorway to Carlisle’s seat, then the sound of the video replayed again.
“What am I looking at?”
“You’re looking at you losing another bet.”
“Oh for pity’s sake.” The other cop, Elliot, sounded pissed off.
“Seriously. See that fat guy on the bench?”
“It looks a lot like Everard. From the file. Except he’s put on some weight.”
“Yep. This was shot yesterday.”
“Wait, yesterday?”
“Yesterday. John, my partner and I are going to go now.”
“We are?”
“We are. Because we’re going to see Val’s doctor.”
John broke in. “Why are you going to see his doctor? Shouldn’t you be out looking for him?”
“We already are.” There was more rustling as Carlisle put on her coat. “This way, we hopefully get some evidence to clear Val of another crime. Focus our efforts, if you like. I’ve left my card on your bedside table. John — thanks for your help.”
“Wait. What about the guys who mugged me?”
A final pause, before Carlisle and Elliot left. “They won’t be troubling you again.”
“You got them?”
“Someone got them. See you later, John.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The big car nosed through the afternoon mid-city traffic. The streets got a bit nastier as the day wore on and people got tired of not getting car parks and being cut off by assholes. Carlisle was running out of patience with it all, the old temptation to fire up the lights a familiar grin-touched craving that wouldn’t end in anything but more paperwork. She sighed, her hands tapping in absent-minded rhythm against the steering wheel in time with the radio. Her mind poked through the details of the two cases she had, comparing the details.
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