Next Of Kin (Unnatural Selection #3)

by Somerville, Ann

  He had the blankets around him again, even though the house was much warmer than outside.

  “Want to sleep down here?” I asked. “I can stay with you.”

  “I can’t sleep. I thought it would be easy, if I ever came back.”

  I sat on the floor next to the sofa. He put his hand on my hair and stroked it. “It should get easier. You’re back. Whatever you need now, we can sort out.”

  He huddled in his blankets and didn’t answer.

  “Tea?” I asked.

  “Okay.”

  I wondered what to do as I assembled the green tea leaves and pot. I didn’t know what would help Nick. Did he need to talk, or did he need sleep? Or did he just need a good therapist?

  I should have put more thought into the post-rescue. I’d been so focussed on finding him that I hadn’t spent much time at all thinking about what captivity would have done to him. I’d known it would be rough, but I hadn’t considered the specific damage.

  I was out of my depth, and afraid of hurting him by something I did—or didn’t do.

  But right now, I only had instinct. At three am, that would have to do.

  I brought the tea in. Nick was sitting up, looking rather sheepish. “I’m scaring you.”

  “I’m worried. It’s not surprising you’re suffering after-effects.”

  “I’m fine, Anton.”

  “Uh huh.” I poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him.

  “I am. Okay, I’m stressed and freaked and embarrassing myself, but I’m not losing my mind. I know what’s happening, where I am, what reality I’m in. Though not the date.”

  “Eighth of December.”

  “Right.” He looked a little lost at that, but when I reached for his hand, he shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m adjusting.” He sipped the tea. “God that’s good. Bastards only ever gave me water and HRF. The crappy flavoured stuff too.”

  “I have some wine if that would help.”

  “Maybe tomorrow. I feel better already. Knowing I can walk outside anytime I like, helps. Knowing I can touch you helps a lot more.” He put his hand on my head again. “I think I need to wallow in all the things I couldn’t do.”

  “That, I can help with. Just tell me. And warn me if you go outside again. I want to be there.”

  “You don’t need to freeze your nuts off for me.”

  “I was thinking of making sure neither of us did. I’ve got plans for them.”

  I waggled my eyebrows, and he laughed a little. He finished his cup of tea, then stood, shedding his blankets. “Bed.”

  “I don’t mind sitting up.”

  “I do. Um, about what I said....”

  “You’d have done exactly the same for me, and so would they. I’ll let them do the convincing.”

  “I’m used to being the one in charge of sorting out trouble.”

  “And you will be again. Come on.”

  I thought he would want to undress himself, but in the bedroom he stood there, arms at his side.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “You can undress me if you like.”

  “Okay.”

  I undid his coat and lifted off his shirt, stopping to kiss him as often as I could. “Want me to take off your trousers?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m waiting.”

  “Lazy sod.” I unzipped his jeans, and pushed them down. His erection was pushing against his underpants. “Want me to sort that out for you?”

  “If you feel so inclined.”

  I knew then that, however long it took, he would be fine.

  Chapter 11

  I kept real world pressures away from Nick as much as I could for the next week and a half. His parents were inevitable, but I set up a video chat on my iPad so he could talk to them ‘face to face’ while we walked in Battersea Park. Harry and the others understood that Nick wanted time to adjust, and my parents said they would all be welcome at a dinner they were holding in Nick’s honour on the following weekend at their house. Karl and the family were driving down, and Nick’s parents were also invited. I hoped a week or more to get used to freedom would prepare Nick for the onslaught of goodwill he would face then.

  The police were also inevitable, but they were a lot more sensitive than I’d have given them credit for, interviewing Nick in the house and taking plenty of time over it. They were still collecting evidence to pass to the CPS, but murder and kidnapping charges were certain to be laid, along with a host of minor ones.

  And despite Nick’s fear of going back to hospital, he had to visit his GP for a check up and a sick note. His GP was also mine, and knew that Nick had disappeared and what I thought might have happened. But even so, and even with Nick’s dramatic medical history and our GP’s Iraqi background, the doctor confessed he was horrified at what Nick had been through. He said Nick was in good physical condition, considering, but should get as much exercise as he wanted, eat and drink whatever he felt like within his limitations, and basically spend a lot of time making his own damn choices and enjoying himself. He readily signed him off for two weeks, and advised seeing the police psychologist to find out if he would need more time off.

  Nick’s sleep patterns gradually stabilised, as did mine, though he spent a bit of time every evening sitting in the garden to reassure himself that he could. I made glögg and kept it on the stove so we could sit together and enjoy a little of the holiday we hadn’t had a chance to take together in October.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait until next autumn to go away together,” he mused. The predicted snow had arrived and looked likely to hang around for a bit, and the temperatures at night were well below zero, but it was strangely pleasant to sit with the hot wine in our hands, the flakes falling on us, with warm blankets around us keeping out the worst of the chill. My neighbours probably thought we were both insane.

  “Not necessarily. How would you like to go to Brazil in January? Just for a week—that’s all the time I can take off for now.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. There’s a lovely guy I want you to meet, and this time, I can actually enjoy my visit.”

  “Sounds like a great idea, if I can talk Thorpe into it.”

  “I think Detective Inspector Thorpe might be a little more amenable now.”

  Nick snorted in disbelief, but Andy had told me that Thorpe had been hauled over the coals for his lack of prompt response to Nick’s disappearance. I hoped Nick would find another station to work at soon, but even if he didn’t, DI Thorpe wasn’t likely to be at Richmond much longer.

  I begged Prof Carter’s patience for just a little longer, then I would be back to a normal routine. He was perfectly happy to agree, and delighted on my behalf. I’d been so much luckier with my boss than Nick had.

  Three days after his rescue, Nick decided that he should get the meeting with the police psychologist over and done with, because he wanted to know if and when he’d be allowed back to work. I waited in a café while he had his appointment, fretting the whole time.

  I needn’t have worried. He walked in, saw me, and threw his arms out wide. “I’m not crazy, Mum!”

  Two women at a nearby table hastily set down their teacups and left, carefully staying clear of the wide-eyed, grinning stranger.

  “Now that’s convincing. Sit down and stop frightening people. What did he say?”

  The psychologist thought Nick could return to work in January after our trip, but suggested he have counselling sessions as he settled back in. “He also said that I was adjusting extraordinarily well, which was probably because of the excellent emotional support I was receiving.” He poked me in the nose. “That’s you, excellent emotional support.”

  “I should say so. Are you adjusted extraordinarily well enough for the party on Saturday?”

  “Ugh. I love all those people individually but so many of them...altogether.”

  “It’ll be like our wedding all over again.”

  He brightened. “Can I wear the tux? Because i
f I wear the tux, you’ll wear your tux, and you know I love you in that thing.”

  I sighed, secretly amused. “Well, if you insist. You’d better get your hair cut though. Beth’s insisting that Charlotte wears the falsies again, and wants to wear her heels.”

  “Huh. Maybe they should wear the tuxedos and we’ll go in falsies and heels.”

  I reached over and put my hand on his forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling well adjusted?”

  “Oh shut up. I haven’t had a lot of fun this year, not even if you discount the whole kidnapping thing. If I have to do it, I want to do it in style.”

  Which was how Nick, Charlotte, Beth and I ended up at my parents house looking like we had been invited to the Academy Awards, not a cosy family and friends knees up to celebrate the return of their lost sheep. My father opened the door to us. He took in Nick’s tuxedo, Charlotte’s gravity-defying, full length, figure-hugging silver gown, and tiny Beth teetering on six inch heels in a little scarlet dress that she had to be very carefully sitting down in, then smiled at all of us.

  He offered Nick his hand. “Welcome home, Nick. And welcome back to the rest of you. Ladies?” He took Charlotte by his left arm, Beth by her right, and led them into the house. Nick and I had to trail in after them like the hired muscle.

  There were balloons. There was—vee friendly, of course—cake. There was champagne. And there were photos. Lots and lots of photos. Photos of Nick with me, of course, but also photos of the ‘heroes’ as Nick’s dad insisted on calling us.

  And there were tears. Nick’s parents were probably the most emotionally damaged by the whole thing as they hadn’t been privy to the plans and investigations the ‘war council’ and I had been making. I wouldn’t have done it differently, but it did mean they hadn’t had the same distractions.

  Fortunately Nick’s dad really liked my mother, and my father and his mother had hit it off since our wedding. The two couples spent a lot of time talking in quiet corners. Nick and I bounced from one smiling friend or relation to another, being congratulated, and doused repeatedly in love and affection. There were far worse ways to spend an evening.

  I spotted Karl and Andy having a long and detailed conversation in the kitchen. “Oh God,” I said to Charlotte. “Karl’s got that look in his eye. He has another film series planned, I just know it.”

  “Featuring fearless Sergeant Andy of the Met? I’d pay to see that.”

  “Nick will have a fit.”

  She waved her champagne glass over to where Nick was sitting with Beth on his knee, making the children around them laugh uncontrollably. Nick was having a wonderful time. I beamed at him. I loved the guy so much.

  “Anton, Andy’s told me something about Nick’s case that I wanted to let you know about first. I’ll leave it up to you as to whether you tell him. Can we talk?”

  “Sure. Uh...upstairs in my old room?”

  Mum had used my former bedroom to stash coats and supplies, but it still had a bed and a chair. I offered Charlotte the chair, and sat on the bed. “What’s going on?”

  “When Nick said he’d been injected with a paralysing agent, I had a suspicion about what it was. I did a bit of research and passed my suspicions onto Andy. He called me yesterday to confirm I was right. Nick was probably injected with suxamethonium, which is a drug they used to use as a paralytic to help intubate patients. They don’t use it any more as there are safer alternatives—except for vees. It’s the only drug you can use in ISH-positive individuals for that purpose.”

  “And they found it at the Heartwell Clinic?”

  She nodded. “Burton claimed it was to treat vee patients, but they had far more drug on hand than they would ever need for that. It’s probably what killed that first vee, Murray Norwood. Norwood had a grandmother from Tamil Nadu, from a racial group with a high incidence of a gene which causes an enzyme deficiency and that leads to a severe allergy to suxamethonium. I think Burton’s people injected Norwood, who then died of overwhelming anaphylaxis because they were too arrogant or stupid to be prepared for such an outcome. The arson was to cover up the cause of death.”

  “Yet they used it again on Nick and Gordon.”

  “I know. Which makes them criminally reckless, as well as torturers, because that gene isn’t just found in people from Tamil Nadu. Even if they did some kind of genetic test to make sure they had chosen individuals who weren’t allergic, it’s still outrageous they used it on conscious people. Andy tells me that Nick and Gordon were both injected repeatedly with the stuff.”

  She looked at me and I squirmed. “He, uh, didn’t want to tell you. In case it upset you.”

  “It is upsetting, but I want Burton prosecuted for the torture on top of everything else. Using a paralytic agent on someone who’s not sedated is unbelievably cruel. I bet Nick has nightmares.”

  “Yes. But if Burton can be punished for that as well, it’ll help.”

  “The best help is you.”

  “And you, and everyone here.”

  “That too. Will you tell him?”

  “Yes. I don’t want him to think I’m hiding information. He’s lost enough control of his life this year. But not tonight.”

  “No, not tonight. Now, I better go downstairs and find out who’s corrupting whom.”

  “They do look awfully cute together.”

  “The deadliest creatures in the world look ‘cute’, Anton. Didn’t you tell me that bushbabies are venomous?”

  “Uh, slow lorises, and poisonous, not venomous. But point taken. Now I’m worried.”

  She stood and smiled down at me. “I’m the one who should be worried. After all, the female of the species....”

  “Eats her mate after sex?”

  “No, during.”

  “Too much information, Charlie.”

  “Call yourself a scientist,” she said as she swished out.

  I did call myself a scientist. But there were limits.

  Now to find my husband, discover how corrupted he’d become by our cute but deadly Beth, and put that to damn good use.

  ~~~~~

  From the BBC website, February 11, 2018.

  ‘Fountain of Youth’ research ‘deliberate and cynical hoax’

  The journal Science has formally retracted two papers published in 2015 on the supposed anti-aging effects of the immuno-stimulant haemovirus (ISH). Internal investigations at the University of California and independent investigations carried out by other researchers, revealed that research published in the papers by a team in California led by Dr Xavier Lieberman were based on invented patient profiles and fabricated data. The conclusions that the ISH virus could lengthen telomeres and that ‘vee’ morph individuals had an extended life span, were nothing but ‘a deliberate and cynical hoax’, an editorial in the latest issue of Science stated. There is ‘simply no evidence’ that any of the claims made for ISH in these papers have any basis, the editorial concluded.

  The two papers gained worldwide attention from the anti-aging industry and sparked a massive investment into ISH research. Demand for illicit treatment with the virus also rose. Last year in Britain, a plastic surgeon, Henry Burton, his wife, and members of her family were all convicted of murder and kidnapping and a number of other serious offences related to Burton’s illegal use of ISH therapy in his clinic in Braintree, Essex. Although the use of ISH for non-therapeutic purposes has largely been outlawed around the world, there have been other prosecutions for improper use of ISH treatment in several countries, though none reached the depth of criminality involved in the Burton case.

  An NHS spokesperson said it was important to note that existing legitimate ISH therapy is not impacted by today’s announcement, and that patients could continue to have full confidence in its use in treating intractable infections and cancer.

  Investigations began after other researchers failed to reproduce any of the results published by Lieberman’s team. One investigator said it was “Wakefield all over again”, recalling the scandal ov
er the 2011 discrediting of Andrew Wakefield’s paper linking autism with the MMR vaccine. A Science editor who did not wish to be named, admitted that while procedures were tightly followed to ensure papers followed proper editorial standards, there was little any journal could do against wholesale invention.

  Lieberman’s team is under police investigation for the fraudulent use of grant money, Californian police have announced, and criminal charges are expected to be laid within days against a number of individuals.

  ~~~~~

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