The Secret Anatomy of Candles

by Quentin Smith

  I am sorry you felt the need to leave this evening’s session. I am concerned about you, particularly in light of certain physical signs you were displaying. If you do not wish to return to group therapy, which is entirely at your own discretion, please take my advice and seek a medical opinion. I urge you not to ignore the problem.

  Jasper deleted the message and savoured the glow of a mouthful of Chivas. He scrolled to the second with a deep frown. It was from Jennifer’s sister in Esher.

  Hi Jasper. I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Please call me, I’m concerned about Jennifer. Charlotte.

  Jasper stared at the message without moving a muscle, except for the twitch of his left eyebrow, glancing at his wristwatch. It was 9pm.

  “Sod it!” he said aloud. He could not understand why Jennifer would not call him herself. Why would her sister call when he had left countless messages for Jennifer over the past few days?

  Jasper’s fingers attacked the iPhone as he dialled Jennifer’s number in frustration. It rang nine times before clicking to voicemail.

  “Brad Pitt!” he muttered, staring at the cactus and taking another large mouthful of Chivas.

  The afterglow of his reflective moment was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door to his offices.

  ELEVEN

  Magnus Burns was a tall, wiry man with a hawkish nose and a tousled mass of grey hair. He wore a knitted cream turtle neck shirt beneath a tailored, platinum Karl Lagerfeld suit, smelled of powerful musk and the only thing missing was a conducting baton in his hand.

  Jasper ushered him in and offered him a drink.

  “No, I don’t want a drink. I want to know what is happening about my father’s death.”

  Magnus spoke in manicured English, with just a hint of Teutonic inflection.

  “There have been some interesting developments,” Jasper said, pouring more whisky for himself at the corner cabinet.

  “I have been away with the orchestra in Berlin and have just returned this evening, but I have heard nothing from you, Jasper.”

  Jasper returned to his desk and sat behind it. Magnus paced up and down on the plush blue carpet, turning every six or seven paces, and rubbing his chin as he did so.

  “Our investigation is still underway, Magnus. There is a lot to discover about what happened.”

  “What do you mean, discover? What about my father’s surgeon, this Mr Keys, surely you must concentrate there?”

  Jasper shook his head and sat forward, parting his hands in the air.

  “He’s as clean as a Partick Thistle.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Magnus said.

  “We can find no fault with the surgery, no fault with his medical care, and it does not seem likely that the surgeon is the root cause of your father’s death.”

  Magnus’ piercing blue eyes glowed as a puzzled look crossed his tanned face.

  “But how can this be? My father had surgery, then suddenly died from major complications a few days later. He was a fit man, Jasper, as I recall anyhow, how else can something like that be explained?”

  Jasper wagged his index finger.

  “There are so many other aspects to consider. Patients in hospital are not just at the mercy of the surgeons, you know.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Let me explain. We have uncovered the fact that your father may well have been the victim of an outbreak of gastroenteritis on the ward. If so, that had absolutely nothing to do with his surgery.”

  “What?” Magnus said in disbelief. “Gastroenteritis? And you think this may have been the cause of his death?”

  “We’re looking into this possibility very seriously.”

  Magnus digested this unexpected revelation quietly, then sat down with a submissive creak from the leather chair in front of Jasper’s desk.

  “You know, I was not close to my father when he died. Apart from the fact that I travel a lot with the orchestra, we had fallen out over my second wife. Too many years passed during which we barely spoke. Life is filled with regrets, Jasper, as I’m sure you understand, and I regret not making amends before it was too late. I feel that this course of action is my only way of doing so now.”

  Jasper felt himself resonating with Magnus on this issue of paternal discord, for he too had not been close to his father when he had died. But closure had been more elusive for Jasper, because there was seemingly nobody to blame for his father’s death, something which Jasper now pursued on an almost daily basis – blame, retribution, and closure.

  “I can understand how you feel, Magnus, I will do all I can to help you resolve and close this painful chapter and to find a peace you can live with,” Jasper said.

  “Do you know who is responsible for the outbreak of gastroenteritis?” Magnus asked.

  Jasper took a deep breath and sank back into his desk chair, cradling his whisky tumbler in cupped hands. That question really summed up both the strength and the gaping weakness in his case. Who indeed was responsible for the outbreak of gastroenteritis? Could it be whittled down to one person? An old patient with dementia from a care home would not make a likely defendant, whilst class actions were always so cumbersome and complex.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of it, that I promise you.”

  Magnus held Jasper’s gaze.

  “Where there is a will, there is a way.” Magnus suggested.

  “That’s what my father used to tell me,” Jasper replied with a thin smile.

  “Thank you, thank you so much. Do you have enough money from my initial advance?”

  Jasper gestured nonchalantly.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get Stacey to check in the morning, if we’re running short she’ll be in touch.”

  Jasper suddenly noticed something as he and Magnus moved on to discuss the orchestral tour of Germany. For once, his hand was not trembling. He put it down to the Chivas and submitted to another malty mouthful.

  Lying back on the black quilted corner bed, Jasper dialled Jennifer’s number again. The call was re-directed to voicemail.

  “Friar Tuck!” Jasper cursed.

  TWELVE

  Dr Potter had metamorphosed from soft and cuddly children’s doctor into uncompromising, unyielding professional adversary. He still wore a brightly themed Disney bowtie, but now the round, gold rimmed spectacles perched halfway down his nose created the impression of intellectual determination rather than eccentric affability. His smooth, bald pate reflected the bright fluorescent light from the ceiling, as he sat with hands clasped defiantly in front of his face.

  “Yes, of course I recall the name Ollie Kowalski,” Dr Potter said. “But I also recall the name Jasper Candle.”

  Jasper tried to appear friendly and relaxed as he sank into the chair in front of Potter’s desk, but he hated surgeries, the smell of antiseptics and the possibility of unwanted revelations. The anatomical diagrams on the walls only served to remind him that beneath his unwanted and uncontrollable muscular spasms lurked a sinister labyrinth of body parts, amongst which lay the cause of his affliction. He wanted Potter to like him, to become talkative, informative, but he was frightened that the spasms and tics, which were totally beyond his control, might betray something to the ever watchful eyes of the astute doctor studying his every move.

  “I’m only here on behalf of my client, Debra Kowalski, in which respect I am here exclusively to learn more about measles and vaccines, Dr Potter,” Jasper replied.

  “That may be, but your reputation precedes you, sir, and it is not reassuring from my perspective.”

  “We are both on the same side here, Dr Potter,” Jasper said with an embracing gesture. “You treated Ollie when he was desperately ill, now I am trying to help his mother understand how and why Ollie got measles in the first instance.”

  Potter considered Jasper with a look of deep distrust and suspicion.

  “I don’t know how you talked my secretary into giving you an appointment, but knowing that you operate on a strictly profiteering basis
I certainly hope for her sake that no money changed hands.”

  Jasper held his hands out in a gesture of clemency, then withdrew them quickly as he noticed the worsening tremor in his left hand.

  “Please, Doctor, I am here only to learn about the medical condition that so tragically took Debra’s, that is Mrs Kowalski’s, only son from her. I have no axe to grind here, you have my word.”

  “A lawyer’s word,” Potter scoffed. “Okay, you’ve got twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jasper sat forward, not wanting to waste a precious second.

  “Firstly, Ollie had been vaccinated with the MMR vaccine, right, so how did he then become infected with measles?” Jasper asked.

  He had decided not to jeopardise his welcome further by pulling out a dictaphone, so Jasper sat instead with a yellow legal pad perched on his crossed knee. He looked uncomfortable and the pad shook erratically from the trembling in his left hand.

  “Ollie did receive the first dose of MMR vaccine when he was around two years, quite correct. This is normally followed by a booster before the age of five. Some children will be fully immune to measles after the first MMR, but a significant minority may be vulnerable to developing measles if exposed to it before the booster.”

  “What sort of minority?”

  “Let’s say around ten percent,” Potter said.

  Jasper scribbled and sensed Potter’s analytical gaze staring at the writhing in his wrist and hand.

  “You see, vaccination works in two very different and important ways. Firstly, it protects the individual from developing the disease, but almost more importantly it reduces the pool of disease circulating in society, thereby reducing the likelihood of any individual becoming exposed to measles.” Potter said, using his hands animatedly as he spoke.

  “Is that what is called herd immunity?” Jasper asked.

  Potter sat back with a wry smile and wagged a finger at Jasper.

  “You see, Mr Candle, that is precisely the sort of insightful question that makes me uneasy about you.”

  Jasper managed a dismissive chuckle and shrugged his shoulders coyly.

  “So vaccination doesn’t necessarily prevent a child from developing measles?” Jasper said.

  “Ollie was very unlucky. A healthy boy, vaccinated at the right time, ninety nine times out of a hundred would be perfectly safe. Circumstance played cruelly against the poor boy; if he hadn’t come into contact with measles at such close quarters in school, it is very unlikely that he would ever have got measles.”

  “Yes, the boy at school with measles,” Jasper mused, sucking on his pen. His mouth suddenly contracted into a series of three or four pouts that closed around the pen and pulled at his cheek. Jasper pulled the pen from his mouth and scratched at his cheek self consciously.

  “He wasn’t vaccinated with MMR,” Jasper said.

  “The boy with measles?” Potter asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Is it relevant?”

  Jasper paused.

  “Is childhood vaccination compulsory in the UK, Doctor?”

  Pushing his gold rimmed spectacles further up his bony nose, Potter sat forward.

  “Now that is exactly the kind of question I expect from a compensation lawyer. That is where the money comes into it.”

  Jasper ignored the remark.

  “Debra Kowalski is very interested to know if her son died because of someone’s negligent failure to vaccinate their children with the MMR vaccine. I see this as relevant to the health of the wider public, Doctor. How many other children out there are at unnecessary risk?”

  Potter sat back, surprised and caught unprepared by Jasper’s retort. Jasper decided to press home the slight advantage he perceived.

  “I am struggling to see where the rights of an individual actually infringe on the rights of society. Surely there must be a boundary, if not legal, then at the very least ethical?” Jasper said.

  Potter tapped his fingers together thoughtfully in front of his face, his eyes not moving from Jasper’s reassured gaze, albeit corrupted occasionally by obtrusive tics.

  “You’re into deep waters here, Mr Candle, very controversial ones too. Vaccination is not compulsory in the UK, not currently anyway, but the issue is very divisive.”

  “Meaning the law might change?” Jasper asked.

  “Meaning the rate of MMR vaccination uptake is falling, probably because of negative publicity causing parental concerns and mistrust. Doctors and politicians are debating how to increase uptake and in many countries, yes, vaccination is compulsory.”

  “So challenging the existing laws would be well timed,” Jasper remarked, scribbling untidily on the legal pad.

  “You’d face a mountainous task to change public health policy.”

  “With sufficient effort, application, and determination… ” Jasper said, almost hearing his father’s voice echoing in his head.

  Potter glanced at his watch.

  “Is there sufficient reason for parents to refuse the MMR? I mean, is measles a dangerous disease?” Jasper continued quickly.

  “Measles is a more dangerous disease than many realise. A child with measles has a one in 3000 chance of dying, the risks of anything similar from having the MMR vaccine is one in a million. To me, as a health professional, this is a no brainer.”

  “Except, Doctor, that Debra Kowalski wants to know why her vaccinated child died from measles.”

  Potter reflected on this for a moment, studying Jasper thoughtfully, before adjusting the spectacles on his nose and leaning forward.

  “Notwithstanding your primary motivations here, Mr Candle, I believe you are quite possibly on the right track. History tells us that there is a potential public health time bomb ticking out there. In the 1970’s, misconceptions about whooping cough vaccinations led to a massive drop in uptake, producing a huge pool of unprotected children. Cases of whooping cough soared into the thousands, and dozens of children died as a direct result.”

  “Do you think that gives me sufficient ethical mandate, in your eyes, to pursue this case of possible negligence?” Jasper asked, trying to hold back his sarcasm.

  “Ethically, perhaps so, but to pursue an individual for negligence in a case like this is, I would imagine, without precedent. You’re in unchartered waters, Mr Candle, and I can’t decide whether I find the notion despicable, or admirable.”

  Jasper smiled.

  “Despicable I’m quite accustomed to, Doctor. Admirable, on the other hand, would be unusual.”

  THIRTEEN

  Jasper cradled a paper cup of steaming coffee in both hands as he rested his elbows on the worn stone parapet of Prebends Bridge. The 250 year old tri-arched sandstone bridge across the tranquil waters of the River Wear languished between the dense canopies of golden beech and oak trees that formed a collar on each bank beneath Durham Cathedral’s majestic spires. Jasper’s eyes drifted lazily towards the rolling figure of Lazlo, who was trying to heave his bloated body across the bridge with a semblance of speed towards him.

  “Morning guv’nor,” Lazlo said cheerily as he wheezed to a halt.

  “You bar steward, you dental flosser, you Khyber Pass you,” Jasper retorted, with barely more than a twitch of disdain across his face.

  “Sorry, guv, something very important came up.”

  “You stood me up, you bottomless pit.”

  “What was it like?” Lazlo asked cautiously, trying to strike a placatory tone as he stood beside Jasper and placed his huge arms on the parapet as he tried to catch his breath.

  “It was hell,” Jasper said, turning away from Lazlo to drink coffee. “And it was your idea.”

  “Sorry guv.”

  “Friar Tuck Lazlo, how could you do that to me?”

  Lazlo lowered his head, realising he should give Jasper a moment to calm himself. His eyes wandered down the stone wall in front of him and came to rest on the engraving bearing Sir Walter Scott’s infamous description
of Durham Cathedral.

  Grey towers of Durham

  Yet well I love thy mixed and massive piles

  Half church of God, half castle ‘gainst the Scot

  And long to roam these venerable aisles

  With records stored of deeds long since forgot

  “I was drinking with the matron again last night,” Lazlo said eventually, with his head still bowed as he contemplated Scott’s deeply etched words.

  Jasper stifled a snort.

  “So I went to AA and you went drinking. Bloody marvellous.”

  Lazlo let Jasper vent his anger and waited for it to subside.

  “What did she say?” Jasper asked after draining his coffee.

  Lazlo looked up, but Jasper was gazing across the flat water at a group of white T-shirt clad rowers being put through their paces.

  “As a general rule, medical admissions do not go to surgical wards.”

  “Because they try and keep them apart?” Jasper asked.

  Lazlo nodded his huge fat head and the single broad pewter band that he wore through his right ear lobe wobbled.

  “Surgeons don’t want sick patients with infectious diseases near their recuperating surgical patients. Stands to reason, I suppose.”

  “I can see that. So what happened in Edward Burns’ case?” Jasper said.

  Lazlo exhaled loudly and turned to Jasper.

  “We know that the hospital was very full that night, emergency admissions do not get turned away… ”

  “Why not?” Jasper interrupted.

  “They can’t refuse to treat the sick, guv, that’s what they’re there to do,” Lazlo said.

  “Even at the expense of risking other patients in the hospital?”

  Lazlo was used to this devil’s advocate adversarial role that Jasper always assumed, as though he was arguing a point in court.

  “Who is going to decide which patients should be turned away, guv?”

  “More to the point, Lazlo,” Jasper said, turning to face him for the first time with a glint in his eye, “who decided to admit that sick patient to a surgical ward, against procedure?”