The Secret Anatomy of Candles

by Quentin Smith

  “She wouldn’t leave her name. Just said she was a friend of your wife and has something very important to tell you.”

  Jasper’s heart leapt as he felt his stomach churn with nervous apprehension. He rubbed his chin with a trembling hand, regretting his surrender to the lure of the calming Chivas the night before.

  “Cancel the new client, Stacey.”

  “I can’t, Mr C, he’s due…” she studied her large, masculine wristwatch “… in about ten minutes.”

  “Brad Pitt!”

  Jasper’s mind was nowhere near prepared for the exacting demands of evaluating a new client’s case and he briefly contemplated making himself unavailable with some or other feeble excuse. Then suddenly the client was there, in his office, a fresh expectant face, deeply etched with sadness and something else, something hard and cold, looking to him for some form of redemption.

  Dugal Tavistock, from Grasmere in Cumbria, soberly dressed in faded non proprietary denim and a worn yellow mountain jacket, stood six feet tall with a white cane in one hand and the lead for a golden retriever, who sat beside him obediently, in the other.

  “You come highly recommended, Mr Candle,” said Tavistock, looking vaguely in Jasper’s direction through sunken, milky eyes.

  Jasper guided him into the office and to the chair. The retriever lay down quietly on the carpet beside Tavistock and appreciatively received a friendly rub behind his ears.

  Jasper sat behind his desk, hands clasped in front of his chin, bright yellow braces cutting into the generous folds of his starched white shirt.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Tavistock folded the thin, white cane up into quarters and clutched it in his lap.

  “Ten years ago I was skydiving in Snowdonia when my parachute failed to open properly. My fault I know, I packed it. I was pretty badly injured – broken bones everywhere – but they patched me together again.”

  Jasper managed an encouraging smile wondering whether it would be noticed.

  “You’re a fortunate man, Mr Tavistock.”

  “I am most certainly not. I should have died that day. Is it fortunate to be blind, having lost my wife, my profession, my dignity?”

  There was an icy edge to Tavistock’s voice, a result of ten years of simmering bitterness and resentment. Jasper frowned and adjusted his posture in the chair, his mind drifting to Wharton Park, wondering who would be meeting him, whether he would recognise her, or perhaps even know her? Then the inevitable thought – what did she want to tell him?

  “I am only fifty two and I don’t want to live out my days as a blind dependant man, Mr Candle,” Tavistock said.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “A month ago I fell down a flight of stairs and broke my hip – occupational hazard of being blind. I had to have it operated on and I told the doctors that if something untoward happened then I did not want to be resuscitated. I completed a living will, a declaration of my wishes which was signed and witnessed.”

  Tavistock leaned over and passed a small biscuit snack to the dog, who licked it out of his hand, thumping his tail on the carpet.

  “The surgery was quite bloody, apparently, and when the bone cement was introduced, I had a cardiac arrest.”

  Silence for a few moments.

  “Obviously they disregarded my express wishes.”

  Jasper sat back in the leather, high back swivel chair and rubbed his chin between thumb and index fingers.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  Tavistock sat forward and narrowed his cloudy eyes.

  “I should be dead Mr Candle, free from my misery, liberated from this living hell. They had no right to take that away from me.”

  Jasper sighed.

  “They saved your life, Mr Tavistock. Twice now, I believe.”

  “I didn’t invite it, in fact quite the opposite.”

  Jasper glanced at his watch, unable to focus, his mind wandering continuously to the mysterious caller he was to meet and what it might herald. How long still to wait?

  “Do you have a life threatening illness?” Jasper said.

  “No, but I can barely see you, Mr Candle. I can just make out your shape and see when you glance impatiently at your watch, but no details, no colours. I am dying slowly, every minute of every day.”

  “So you want me to sue the doctors who fought to save your life?” Jasper was startled by the irritable indifference in his voice, surprised by the inescapable prejudice that was already taking shape in his mind.

  “Life is not always worthy of preservation, you know. Doctors value every life regardless, not considering that it might be a life like mine: not worth living. It was my right to die, it was my time.”

  Eldabe did not value life above reason, Jasper thought to himself, having urged Jennifer unambiguously to consider an abortion – the spectre of another case of Huntingtons disease clearly an intolerable alternative. Did he have remorse for causing two deaths?

  Jasper glanced down at the dog by Tavistock’s side, panting contentedly as it looked around his office. He contemplated Tavistock’s words – ‘it was my right to die’.

  Had Jennifer felt that way, that it was her right to die? Had she chosen it freely in the expectation of being liberated from her own living hell, whatever it was? Would she have resented him if he had bothered to go home and check on her sooner and perhaps caught her in time to cut her down and save her life? Was it reasonable for Dugal Tavistock to feel legally dispossessed of this right by eager doctors? Or was he simply demanding euthanasia?

  “Mr Candle?” Tavistock said sharply, startling Jasper from his thoughts.

  Jasper sat forward, clasping his trembling hands beneath his chin as his left shoulder and neck began to twist to the discordant rhythm of his demon.

  “I don’t know if I can help you, Mr Tavistock.”

  “What?”

  Jasper paused, unclasping his hands briefly.

  “I need to think about this. I’m not sure I could convince a jury that you have been wronged to such an extent by having your life saved.”

  Tavistock sat back with an astonished look on his face.

  “I signed a legal document empowering doctors not to resuscitate me, a contract, and they disregarded it. That’s breaking the law, isn’t it?” Tavistock spoke bitterly, his tone such that the retriever’s ears flattened slightly against its head.

  Jasper breathed in deeply.

  “Did they not breach their contract with me, Mr Candle?”

  “As I said, I need to give this some thought,” he lied, lowering his head and burying his face in his hands.

  What was going on? What was happening to him? Was he losing his self belief, his will to win, his edge? He would have jumped at a case like this in the past. He had won the most feeble of arguments on innumerable occasions before. But this time it felt different. Was it because of Jennifer? Was he developing a conscience?

  “I don’t believe this. What now?” Tavistock said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “I don’t know. Leave your details with Stacey and I’ll think it over.”

  “Think it over? Mr Candle, that’s insulting, look at me, just look at me!”

  “You’re alive, Mr Tavistock, that is what I see. You’re a survivor. Be thankful and enjoy your life.”

  FIFTY SEVEN

  Wharton Park, elevated above the small city of Durham, was deserted at noon. Children were still at school and it was too cold for picnickers. The brightly coloured swings and roundabouts stood silent, covered in the undisturbed frosty icing of another cold night.

  Jasper walked about slowly, leaving footprints on the milky grass, wishing he had put gloves on his hands. Visible through the naked branches of trees, the distant twin towers of Durham Cathedral glowed in the weak winter sunshine. His arms and legs shook but he could not tell if it was his usual affliction, the one he presumed was caused by his whisky habit, or if it was due to the heartless cold.

  �
�Jasper?” a nervous voice called out from behind him.

  Jasper turned sharply, almost losing his balance and awkwardly having to assume an undignified posture to right himself.

  “Jasper Candle?”

  “Yes?”

  The woman was middle aged, dark haired beneath a fluffy grey and white Russian hat, wearing an elegant black coat and scarf. She stared at him with grey eyes wide open; she looked terrified. Jasper did not recognise her at first glance.

  “I’m sorry to bring you out here like this. I was a good friend of Jennifer’s.”

  Jasper smiled, trying to suppress the immense apprehension he harboured.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” Jasper said with an open gesture of his cold, bluish hands, inviting an introduction.

  “That’s not important. I saw you last night on Prebends Bridge.”

  Jasper groaned inwardly, recalling his frustrated behaviour, the swearing, the petulant phone toss and the stares he had drawn from passersby.

  “I need to tell you something, something that I was reminded of when I saw you last night.” The woman’s eyes looked pained, as though she was struggling with a conflict. They kept darting to the frosty ground that separated them, but when she met his eyes they were confident, assured.

  Jasper was too nervous to say anything. He could feel his heart beating.

  “Jennifer was deeply troubled by something that she just couldn’t talk about, not even to her friends. She made me promise.”

  “Promise what?”

  “She really loved you, Jasper. This whole thing broke her heart and she didn’t know how to cope with it. I just wish I could have helped her, but she was so loyal.”

  Jasper felt a huge lump forming in his throat and moisture welling up in his eyes. He kept looking at the mystery woman, at the struggle within her. Once or twice he feared that she might be about to lose her bottle and walk away.

  “Loyal to whom?” Jasper said.

  “This is so hard, I promised her and Jennifer was one person who always kept her promises.”

  Jasper could see that she was on the verge of tears.

  “What is it?”

  “Jennifer sent some secret letters away for safe keeping.”

  “Letters?”

  The woman nodded as vapour enveloped her face.

  “What sort of letters?”

  “I’ve no idea, she would never say. But I gathered enough to know that they had turned her life upside down.”

  “Do you know where they are?” Jasper said.

  The woman remained silent, biting the corner of her lower lip as her eyes flicked about Jasper’s face. Eventually he could take it no more.

  “Who has them, please?”

  The woman hesitated just long enough for Jasper to begin doubting whether she would reveal any more.

  “Her sister.”

  Jasper frowned and his eyes widened.

  “Charlotte?”

  The woman nodded and her steady gaze faltered and dropped to the ground. Jasper was stunned. Charlotte had denied knowledge of any documents, even in the face of direct questioning.

  “I don’t know anymore. I think Jennifer regretted telling me, but she so badly needed a friendly shoulder to cry on.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, looking into each other’s pained eyes. Jasper did not know if the implication was that he had not been around enough to offer Jennifer that much needed shoulder, or if Jennifer was intent on keeping this matter secret from him at all costs. But what was she keeping secret?

  “Thank you,” Jasper said. “I don’t even know your name.”

  The woman looked flustered, her eyes welling up with tears as she began to squirm in her coat.

  “I am so sorry, I really miss Jennifer.”

  With that she turned and walked away briskly, embarrassed at her rising emotions, leaving footprints on the crisp, icy grass as she went. Jasper watched her, his mind ruminating over her revelations. Did Charlotte know what the secret was that she had been keeping from him all this time? If so, did she know what it was that had pushed Jennifer to her desperate end? Why was he being kept in the dark? It was beginning to look as though he had been deliberately shielded from something, something significant enough to take Jennifer’s life.

  The word ‘conspiracy’ crossed his mind. Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself.

  FIFTY EIGHT

  Jasper Candle

  Court Lane

  Old Elvet

  Durham

  Mr Derek Swinter

  HM Coroner

  Quarryheads Lane

  Durham

  Dear Mr Swinter,

  I am writing to you about the forthcoming inquest into the death of my wife, Jennifer Candle. You will by now have received the post mortem report from Dr SP Whitehouse and you may also know that Jennifer’s body was released for burial two weeks ago.

  I would like you to postpone the inquest until further tests have been carried out on the exhumed remains of Jennifer and the unborn child she was carrying. Information has come to light indicating that the foetus may have been carrying an inherited disease which Jennifer became aware of, and which may well have been a contributory factor in her decision to end her life.

  I have discussed the matter with Dr Whitehouse and urged her to support an exhumation for further pathological tests. The reasons are twofold.

  Firstly, Dr Majid Eldabe, the medical specialist who told Jennifer that she was very likely to be carrying a genetically tainted foetus, is now invoking patient confidentiality and will not provide any further information on the matter. His actions need to be considered in the context of Jennifer’s death.

  Secondly, if the foetus is carrying the genes to which he refers, then the inheritance pattern needs to be identified and delineated, for the benefit of those remaining family members who may be affected by it.

  Please discuss this with Dr Whitehouse and give the matter your utmost consideration. I implore you.

  This is a deeply unpleasant circumstance for me and I do not make this request lightly.

  Yours sincerely,

  Jasper Candle

  FIFTY NINE

  Jasper sat at the desk in his office, massaging his temples rhythmically as he stared ahead thoughtfully. Beside him on the desk a half eaten salad from the Italian deli around the corner exuded fragrant odours of garlic and coriander. A small pesto stain had ingratiated itself on his white cotton shirt.

  Jasper turned his head slightly and looked apprehensively at the telephone. He had been doing this for half an hour, frightened of making the call to Charlotte for fear of the extent of the deceit he might uncover.

  Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door that disturbed Jasper’s unproductive inertia.

  “Come,” he said.

  Lazlo burst in, out of breath, and manoeuvred his pear-like body over to the chair in front of Jasper’s desk. He sank his bulky frame into it, loosened the front zip on his leather jacket and cupped his hands before blowing through them.

  “It’s freezing out there today. Where’ve you been, guv?”

  Lazlo said, rubbing his chapped hands together.

  Jasper shrugged.

  “Your phone doesn’t ring – goes straight to voicemail,” Lazlo said.

  Jasper lifted the fingers off his temples languidly and twirled them in the air.

  “Yeah, I… er… lost it. Stacey’s getting me another one.”

  Jasper hadn’t yet made eye contact with Lazlo and he felt self conscious displaying his mutinous tics – the pouting mouth, the flickering eyelid, the rolling shoulder, and the trembling fingers – all in full view of his investigator’s studious gaze.

  “Ah,” Lazlo nodded, but frowned simultaneously. “You all right, guv? You look…”

  Jasper emitted a snorting sound.

  “Dishevelled?” he said with a wry grin as he sat back in his padded swivel chair, interlocking his hands behind his head.

  He sighed
deeply.

  “Lazlo, my china plate, I’ll tell you how I feel. I’ve applied to have Jennifer exhumed and re-examined.”

  Lazlo’s face twisted. “What?”

  “Charlotte won’t speak to me and the key to what the Friar Tuck is going on has been in her secret possession for years, it would appear.”

  “What?” Lazlo said even louder, shifting his considerable weight to the front of his creaking chair.

  Jasper nodded as his neck twisted demonically to one side. He watched as Lazlo’s intrigued eyes tried to look away discreetly.

  “How did you find out?”

  “I got an anonymous tip, one of Jennifer’s friends who knew about it. She saw me on Prebends Bridge last night, where I lost my phone, and she… er… I don’t know… suddenly felt moved to come forward.”

  Jasper shrugged and made a face as he maintained eye contact with Lazlo.

  “So, what does Charlotte have?” Lazlo said.

  “I haven’t a Scooby-Doo, but I’m presuming letters, documents or something. I cannot understand, Lazlo, why Charlotte didn’t tell me?”

  Lazlo rubbed his stubby chin with a big, fleshy hand.

  “Why the exhumation, guv?”

  “Because of the letter.”

  “Eldabe?”

  Jasper nodded. “I have to find out whether the foetus was carrying that gene. I have to know if Jennifer died for…

  ” As Jasper’s left arm writhed he buried his face in cupped hands, before peering over the tips of his fingers at Lazlo.

  “Have you seen a doctor, guv?”

  Jasper chuckled.

  “Too many.”

  “Seriously, guv.”

  Jasper nodded.

  “I have been told to stop drinking, Lazlo. The whisky is doing me no good, worse still, it may even be bad for me…”

  He attempted a little smile, but Lazlo did not reciprocate.

  “Can I do anything for you, guv?” Lazlo said, raising his eyebrows.

  Jasper leaned forwards and placed both elbows on the desk.

  “Persuade Charlotte to send me Jennifer’s secrets.”

  Lazlo leaned back and the chair he was sitting in groaned.

  “I think you should go and see her, guv, face to face. Don’t phone. I’ll come along, if you like.”