The Secret Anatomy of Candles

by Quentin Smith

  “Mainly a few questions, Mr Candle.”

  ‘Mainly’, he mulled over that word and wondered what further surprises awaited him. He watched her pull out a dictaphone from her desk drawer.

  “Do you mind?”

  He shrugged, aware how many times he had inflicted this on his own clients.

  “Can you remember when last you saw your wife, Mr Candle?”

  Jasper breathed out and placed his fingertips together meticulously.

  “I have told the police all of this. Do you not have their reports?”

  “It’s not an interrogation, Mr Candle, I assure you. Please indulge me.”

  Jasper cleared his throat and adjusted his position in the uncomfortable square seat.

  “I had spent at least four nights, maybe five, at my office. I often do this when I’m in court, it’s easier with the hours I need to work,” Jasper explained, rubbing his face with a self conscious hand.

  Whitehouse frowned, ever so subtly, as she watched his facial display.

  “Are you a barrister?” she asked cautiously.

  He both nodded and shook his head.

  “Solicitor, specialising in…” he hesitated, fully aware of how his occupation inevitably put medical staff on the defensive, “medico-legal and negligence work.”

  Whitehouse rubbed both her cheeks thoughtfully with the splayed thumb and index finger of her left hand.

  “Jasper… Candle… yes, I have heard of you…”

  He watched as she connected the dots in her mind.

  “All good I hope,” he quipped with a slight smile.

  She did not reply but instead looked down at the notes in front of her on the desk.

  “So, five days perhaps. Is that definite?”

  Jasper felt his neck twist to the side and his shoulder roll demonically as his eye twitched. He cursed inwardly as he began to feel self conscious and on show, like a freak.

  “I am not exactly sure when last I saw her. She left a message with my secretary to say she was going down to London, but I only received that message a few days later.”

  Jasper felt his tics deteriorate under scrutiny, as Whitehouse paused, formulating her questions.

  “So, in other words, you don’t know what your wife’s movements were in perhaps… her last week alive?” Whitehouse said sharply.

  Jasper recoiled somewhat at what sounded like a rebuke, what felt like a rebuke. Deep within himself, however, he acknowledged that he probably deserved it.

  “I thought she was staying with her sister in Esher,” he replied meekly, lowering his eyes and rubbing his face to assuage the twitching.

  Suddenly a flash of anger penetrated his mind, shaking him into belligerent action.

  “Why do you need to ask me this again?” Jasper said, looking at Whitehouse out of the corner of his eyes.

  Whitehouse sat back and played with a Bic pen between the fingers of her right hand.

  “We’re trying to explain the inconsistency between the timeline of her likely death and the physical findings at post mortem.”

  Jasper frowned as he felt his left arm slightly defying gravity again. He had increasingly little control over its paroxysms.

  “You’re saying everything doesn’t add up?”

  Whitehouse shook her head, her tight copper mane moving en masse as though expertly choreographed.

  “It can add up, I just want the known facts to be clear first before we draw conclusions.”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor, what are you saying here? Do you suspect something out of the ordinary?”

  “We need to explain why it appears that your wife has been dead for longer than you say she has.”

  Jasper felt his throat close as his mouth pouted uncontrollably several times.

  “Are you all right, Mr Candle?” Whitehouse asked.

  Jasper just stared at her sky blue eyes as he rubbed his cheek.

  “Do you not believe me, Dr Whitehouse?” Jasper said bluntly.

  “It’s not a matter of belief, Mr Candle, it’s a matter of gathering the facts that will speak for themselves. I am not in the business of judgement, merely of establishing facts.”

  Jasper ruminated over her words, wondering if she was ridiculing him.

  “There will be phone records, CCTV from her appearances on Durham and Kings Cross railway stations, and…”

  Jasper trailed off as it hit him; Jennifer had been to see someone in London, the context of which could well be significant to her suicidal intent. He had to find out with whom and what the content of her meeting, or meetings, in London were.

  “That will form part of the standard police investigative work,” Whitehouse confirmed.

  “When will the report be completed?” Jasper asked, trying to sound affable again.

  Whitehouse hesitated.

  “I’m afraid there is one other matter that I wished to discuss with you in person, prior to the release of the report, Mr Candle.”

  Her tone was such that Jasper could feel his neck hairs rising in step with a rash of facial twitches. He swallowed noisily.

  Whitehouse made careful eye contact with Jasper before she continued. Jasper held her gaze apprehensively.

  “Did you know that your wife was pregnant?”

  Jasper felt a buzzing in his ears and blood draining from his face. For a moment it felt as if he could not draw breath.

  “What?”

  “She was pregnant, about ten, perhaps twelve, weeks.”

  Whitehouse could see from the pallor in Jasper’s face that he was shocked by the revelation.

  “Did either of you know?” she continued.

  Jasper covered his mouth with his left hand as a crescendo of trembling spread across his face like an electric shock.

  “That’s impossible. It must be a mistake.”

  “No mistake, Mr Candle. I am sorry to have to break such news to you under these circumstances.”

  She paused, looked down at the notes, then back up at Jasper.

  “Why do you say it would be impossible?”

  Jasper sank back into his chair and shook his head from side to side, his eyes staring ahead but fixing on nothing.

  “We had been to every fertility specialist in Durham to try and conceive, they all told Jennifer she could not have children.”

  “These things can happen, in fact are well known to happen,” Whitehouse said, sympathetically.

  “No, Jennifer would have been ecstatic, this is all she ever wanted, all we both wanted, a family. It tore the heart out of us knowing that we would never be able to have one.”

  Jasper looked stunned, his face a pallid yellowish colour, both hands trembling now, though in the context of this revelation it may have seemed quite normal to Dr Whitehouse.

  A silence enveloped them as Jasper’s eyes stared into the murky reaches of Sally Whitehouse’s office, searching for answers. It was not the pathologist’s job to explain everything beyond establishing the facts and Whitehouse did not venture into the complex arena of this evidently unexpected pregnancy.

  “Would she have known?” Jasper asked, looking up sharply.

  “Almost certainly,” Whitehouse replied softly after a brief pause.

  Jasper inhaled noisily and inclined his head to one side, as if contemplating the personal divulgence he was about to make.

  “I found contraceptive pills amongst Jennifer’s things and I cannot understand, nor explain, this. If she was infertile, why did she take the pill?”

  The look of pain and confusion was written across Jasper’s face and transmitted straight to Whitehouse’s perceptive eyes. She rested her head in the palm of one hand and thoughtfully scratched her copper curls with the other.

  “Perhaps she was not the infertile one?” Whitehouse said.

  Jasper slumped back into his seat as though he’d been thumped in the chest. This was a possibility that he had never considered and the realisation of its potential consequences shook the foundations of Jasper’s world. Hi
s face writhed, his mind swirled, but he did not know what to say.

  “Are you all right, Mr Candle?” Whitehouse asked.

  Jasper nodded, biting his knuckle to stem the tremor.

  “Can you tell if the baby is mine?”

  Whitehouse almost imperceptibly raised an eyebrow.

  “Would you like us to do DNA tests?”

  Jasper pinched his eyes shut, forcing out the painful possibilities from his mind. He felt himself nodding, stunned by the disbelief that this might have happened to him. Is this what took Jennifer away from him? Was he now chasing after the identity of a secret lover, a Lothario who had destroyed his life?

  Pangs of guilt welled up from deep within him and mixed uncomfortably with swelling anger. Was this all his fault for being neglectful, insensitive to their plight? Or was it her fault? Or was it someone else’s fault?

  “We’ll need some blood from you, Mr Candle, the rest we can take care of.”

  Jasper nodded, numb and reeling not only from what he now knew, but also from the apprehension of what might still be revealed.

  TWENTY FOUR

  Jasper walked briskly over Elvet bridge, past The Swan and Three Cygnets where he frequently met with his investigator. A frisky autumn breeze blew gold and orange leaves across the worn flagstones in swirling patterns.

  “Lazlo, yes, it’s me,” Jasper said into his iPhone, pausing beside the stone parapet on the bridge.

  “Never mind that now, we’ll meet later at the Swan to discuss it.”

  He listened, watching rowers glide through the wind rippled waters far below.

  “Lazlo, I need some urgent information. It’s about Jennifer…”

  Jasper rubbed his nose self consciously.

  “Yes, my wife, who else? Can you find out more about a medical prescription she had?” Jasper said.

  “Have you got a pen? It’s a Dr Giordano, and he, or she, is not a local practitioner in Durham…”

  He listened briefly.

  “Yes, not a local practitioner,” he repeated, emphasizing the word ‘not’.

  The rowers disappeared downstream, leaving behind them in the windswept water only a thin wake to indicate that they were ever there. Jasper watched as the water swallowed up the wake and extinguished all evidence within seconds. How poetically apt, he thought.

  “One more thing, Lazlo. Could you look into whether Jennifer was leading a… a… er… double life?”

  Jasper looked down as he said this. A mixture of humiliation and guilt chewed away at his insides.

  “No, that is exactly what I mean, did she have a lover?”

  His eyelids twitched and his left arm jumped spasmodically. For this reason, he always held his iPhone in his right hand now.

  “I’ve got her mobile phone and her diary for you to go through…”

  “Yes, of course it’s bloody important you tomtit. Do you think I’d ask you something like this if it wasn’t!”

  TWENTY FIVE

  Debra Kowalski lived on Dun Cow Lane, early Georgian, terraced houses that lined a narrow cobbled street close to the University Law Department and facing Durham Cathedral. It looked untouched by time, aside from passing students wearing the baggy apparel that constituted contemporary clothing. Jasper knew the street well from his days as an undergraduate in Durham.

  A low energy light bulb, in its original gas lamp housing on the lime washed wall above Jasper’s head, flickered into life just as Debra opened the door.

  “Thank you so much for stopping by,” she said.

  Jasper stepped into the humble two up, two down home. He could smell dampness in the walls and musty old carpets on the floors, while all around him wood panelled walls were lined with shelf after shelf of books, from floor to ceiling.

  Debra ushered him into the warm living room wearing what appeared to be a black track suit and slippers. She had lost weight since Jasper last saw her and her face looked drawn.

  “My husband lectured in the English department. He loved books more than he did me, I think,” Debra said, watching Jasper stare at the books.

  They sat opposite each other on matching Fleur de Lys patterned oatmeal sofas with a well-worn wooden storage chest between them.

  “Are you… all right? What happened?” Jasper asked, unclasping and then again clasping his hands.

  Debra brushed the fabric on her thighs as if wiping away fluff. She inclined her head to one side and shrugged ever so slightly.

  “Dr Montgolfier thinks so,” she said quietly.

  Jasper felt himself stiffen in surprise at the mention of Montgolfier’s name, then he frowned.

  “What happened?”

  Her eyes were downcast now, her mouth open to speak but no words came for a few moments.

  “I… er… I just couldn’t go on anymore.”

  Jasper was surprised at how this hit him in the chest like a well aimed punch and he wondered if she could sense the colour draining from his face. Debra had survived but Jennifer had not, was his immediate thought. Was it the fact that he was just inches away from someone who had stood on the brink of the very same abyss as Jennifer, or was it the perceived injustice of the outcome that unsettled him?

  “Why?” he heard himself say. “Why would you do that?”

  He realised that his tone had been a little sharp and he could see her composure melting slightly. As his head twisted to one side and his left shoulder rolled like dough in a bread machine he felt a pang of remorse, and of sadness.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No, I’m sorry, Jasper,” she said sniffing back emotion. “I’m really sorry to hear about your loss.”

  Jasper did not know what to say, but nodded as he grasped his left hand to stop it from twitching.

  “Believe me, I know what it feels like to lose someone that close to you, and I know how difficult it is to… understand,” she continued.

  Jasper breathed deeply, trying to contain the tics that threatened his dignity, whilst biting on his lip to fight off rising melancholy. How deeply ironic, he thought, having come to visit a client and offer support, then ending up receiving it from her, a recovering parasuicide victim.

  Jasper looked up at Debra and held her gaze, the pain visible in his bloodshot eyes.

  “Can you help me understand why you would want to do such a thing?” he said.

  Debra stared at Jasper through watery eyes, unable to break the pained connection between them as she perceived the extent of his probing plea. She shook her head and wiped her eyes gently with her knuckles.

  “I don’t think I can.”

  She paused and sniffed.

  “Desperation has depths that are impossible to rationalise in the cold light of day,” Debra said.

  Jasper looked away, aware that his facial symmetry was being corrupted increasingly by the thoughtless demon within him. He could understand and possibly even accept Debra’s desperate state of mind – having lost first her husband and then, to compound this, her only child – such torments appreciably leading to plunging despondency.

  But was Jennifer desperate, was she trapped with no way out? If so, what was the underlying reason for her hopelessness? What was the reason for her perilous state of mind? He sensed the same nagging fear biting his conscience – was he the cause of her desperation?

  “Perhaps you might find it helpful speaking to Dr Montgolfier?” Debra suggested, sniffing and wiping her nose with a tissue. “He really helped me when I wanted nothing more than to…”

  “No,” Jasper said quickly, too quickly, shaking his head, and then slightly softer, “Thank you.”

  Debra took a deep breath and studied Jasper’s twisting face for a few quiet moments.

  “Do you still feel able to pursue Ollie’s case, Jasper?”

  Jasper nodded, grateful for the change of tack.

  “I am a professional, Debra, I will see your case to its conclusion. That I promised you when I first met you.�
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  She nodded without a flicker of emotion on her face, deep in contemplation as her eyes held his.

  “Is there any news?”

  Jasper nodded, squeezing his errant, twitching hand until it blanched.

  “Ollie’s case will be the greatest challenge that I have encountered in my career.”

  Her face fell slightly and she inclined her head to one side.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I thrive on challenges, Debra, and there have been numerous positive developments in our investigations to date. I remain very optimistic, very optimistic indeed, and so should you. There are many influential people whom I believe support our case in principle. So, there is no need for any…” he stopped, unsure how to finish.

  Debra smiled warmly and balled her hands excitedly.

  “Would you like tea, coffee… a scotch?” she said, recalling the drinks cabinet in his office.

  He smiled sheepishly.

  “A scotch would be… welcome. Three cubes of ice please.”

  “You’re a good man, Jasper, I sense this in you,” she said, staring at him with a warm smile.

  Jasper felt his insides turning as his conscience denied him this compliment. It felt as if Jennifer was watching him, judging him from beyond the grave. No: Debra was wrong in her compliment. He was not a good man.

  TWENTY SIX

  Lazlo upended the crisp packet and poured the remnants into his gaping mouth, following swiftly with a generous mouthful of Black Sheep to wash down the crumbs.

  “The doctor who prescribed those tablets for Jennifer, Dr Giordano, practices in Northallerton, guv,” Lazlo said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Northallerton?” Jasper said, wincing at Lazlo’s eating manners.

  Lazlo nodded as he licked and sucked his teeth clean.

  “Why on earth would Jennifer travel forty miles to see a doctor?”

  “Discretion? I dunno, guv. Here are her details,” Lazlo said, handing a square of crumpled paper to Jasper.

  Both Jasper and Lazlo shook their heads. Why would Jennifer not wish to see her usual doctor in Durham? Jasper buried his thoughts beneath a generous gulp of Chivas as he studied the scrap of paper.