by Malcolm Rose
“Is this tunnel marked on any of your maps of the city?” Luke asked in a whisper.
Malc consulted his databases while he led the way. “No.”
“I wonder where we’re going.”
“I calculate that we are now under High Petergate Corridor.”
“Perhaps we’re in Low Petergate Corridor,” Luke replied with a grin.
This secret, subterranean part of York was a complete contrast with the lively city above ground. Water trickled down one wall. It was probably more than water because it had a foul smell. Luke went past the stream and the stench as quickly as he could. In front of him, the bleak subway still stretched. It was not quite straight, though. Crawford must have been hidden from Luke by the slight curve. If the old man was familiar with the passageway, he’d be able to move along it a lot quicker than Luke. Maybe he’d already reached whatever lay ahead.
A minute later, Malc went under a thick arch of bricks. “Using the distance and direction that we have come, I compute that we are now entering the basement of York Mint,” he announced at low volume.
Luke ducked under the archway and paused. “Stop here. Silent mode. And turn your light off.”
It was even creepier in the dark, like being buried alive. But it served its purpose. Somewhere ahead, there was a dim glow. There were also voices, too distant for Luke to distinguish words. “Record it all, Malc,” he whispered to his mobile. “I’m going nearer.”
With every step, taken carefully without making a sound, the subway became lighter and wider. With every step, Luke was closer to making sense of the voices.
Chapter Sixteen
The subway opened out into a dusty vault under York Mint. Luke and Malc used one of the sturdy stone pillars that held up the building to conceal themselves from the small gathering in the centre of the chamber. Above the group, a long fluorescent tube set in the rough ceiling provided a soft light.
Luke recognized Crawford’s voice saying, “I believe God works through my art. Understand? He heals through me.” He sounded both stubborn and frustrated.
A stern reply echoed around the crypt. “We’re humans, Crawford. That’s all. We don’t presume to interfere with God’s good work. The sick must ask for His mercy and His forgiveness. They must place themselves in His hands, not the hands of doctors or healers.”
A woman added, “God alone decides who should live with sickness – with punishment. It’s a sin not to trust His judgement in this. You must live in harmony with Him, not against Him.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Crawford replied, even more agitated. “You see, that’s exactly what I do. He guides my hand. I’m sure of it.”
“A bold claim, Crawford. Very bold.”
Luke was familiar with the group’s peculiar ideas about an all-powerful supernatural being. He’d heard the same views when he’d infiltrated The World Church of Eternal Vision as part of his Lost Bullet case. Clearly, he had now gate-crashed a meeting of the York Chapter of the illegal organization. And Luke knew that Visionaries, as they called themselves, had an alarming way of testing faith in the church.
“If you’re right,” the woman said, “if you’re in harmony with God and the Angels, you’ll be in harmony with every one of His creatures. The time’s come, Crawford.”
The human voices quietened. The vault hushed.
Luke did not have to peer around the pillar to know what was happening. Back in November, when he’d joined the church, he’d participated in the test. Crawford Gallagher would be removing his jacket, baring his forearm and placing it within striking distance of a poisonous rattlesnake.
Luke tensed when he heard the reptile’s fearsome rattle, like the shake of a handful of gravel. The noise was the terrifying prelude to a bite.
An unseen Visionary gasped and a gentle voice said, “The Angels protect those who are at one with God and nature.”
If Luke broke cover now, he knew that the startled snake was bound to strike the nearest person. He had to stay out of sight and hope that Crawford passed the outlandish test.
But Luke’s wish was shattered by a scream.
At once, Luke came out from behind one side of the pillar. Taking his lead from Luke, Malc emerged from the other. Crawford was on his knees, staring in shock at the blood and fang marks on his bare left arm. The congregation took one look at the forensic investigator with his mobile and ran off in the opposite direction. The rattlesnake slithered towards Luke but stopped beside Crawford’s legs. It seemed to be guarding its victim.
Luke ignored the Visionaries scurrying away. More concerned for Crawford, he edged his way towards the healer and, at the same time, said, “Send an emergency message to the poison unit, Malc. I need an anti-venom team here. Now.”
“Transmitting.”
One of the most dangerous animals in the world, the rattlesnake was pale brown with dark diamond shapes along its body. Alert, it kept its flattened head up and fixed its sinister eyes on Luke. It seemed to regard him as a rival predator. It flicked out its tongue as if licking its lips.
Luke stopped a few metres away from Crawford and the rattler. He was thinking through his options when Malc announced, “I cannot risk your health.” In the gloomy and dusty atmosphere of the chamber, his laser beam flashed for a split-second. The snake did not stand a chance. It writhed for a second and then fell in a limp coil.
Luke dashed forward and grabbed Crawford’s shirt sleeve in both fists. He ripped it apart to make sure that it didn’t constrict the blood flow near the bite, where the swelling would begin within five minutes.
Crawford was stunned, unable to talk. His teeth had locked together in a grimace. By now, his arm would be aflame with extreme pain.
“What are his chances, Malc?”
“His chances of what?” the mobile asked.
“Of being okay.”
“Very good if the anti-venom is administered within an hour, or two hours at most. Amputation should not be necessary. However, respiratory failure is a possibility.”
“There must be a way out over there,” Luke said, pointing. “Where the others ran. Maybe it’s a better way in for the anti-venom unit. Check it, Malc.”
Left alone with Crawford, Luke examined the dead snake. Malc had drilled a neat hole right through its head. It wasn’t messy like a wound inflicted by a bullet. The intense light had burned its way through the reptile’s tissue, leaving clear entrance and exit holes. Luke moved its coils to one side with his foot.
Still silent, Crawford was sweating profusely. The muscles in his bare arm and face were twitching eerily. Without warning, he crumpled onto the grubby floor.
****
Luke could do nothing more for Crawford Gallagher. The stricken healer was being treated in the Poisoning Unit. If the artist had been younger, he would have been expected to make a complete and rapid recovery from the snake venom. But the chemical shock and intense pain had taken a severe toll on Crawford’s elderly body. Luke could only wait while the specialists worked on him.
Luke used the time to visit the Children’s Ward. On the way, Malc told him, “I have sent my images of the members of The World Church of Eternal Vision to The Authorities. You are not required to find these people and charge them with belonging to an illegal society. The Authorities will assign another FI to the task so that you can concentrate on the hospital case.”
“Fair enough,” he replied, entering the ward where Nyree had stayed.
The first patient that Luke saw was a boy who had cranked his bed up to its maximum height and made a pretend-camp underneath it.
While Luke watched and smiled, the ward supervisor said, “He’s a lot happier underneath it than sleeping on top, so why not? It’s like an adventure for him. Anything to make their time here more fun. Most bring their toys in.”
Luke nodded. “Talking of toys, you discharged a girl with a pyramid last Monday. Do you remember? It was a sort of lucky charm.”
“Nyree Max. Crippling migraines.
She’d be totally incapacitated by her attacks.”
“That’s right. How did you cure her?”
“Well, it wasn’t her pyramid, for sure. She had an experimental drug. The doctor would tell you all about it, if you want, but it’s been effective for a lot of patients. It’s flying through its clinical trial.” The supervisor hesitated. “Oh, yes. She also had brain stimulation. It’s something new and alternative.”
“Do you know the Heather Man?” Luke asked.
“I’ve never seen him in here.”
“Nyree said she met him. Not this time. On her stay before that.”
The supervisor shrugged.
“I don’t suppose you know who he is, do you?”
“Not a clue.”
“Nor me,” Luke replied with a sigh.
“One thing’s for sure. He doesn’t seem interested in kids much. That’s unusual, I guess.”
“Mmm. Thanks,” said Luke. “Good point.” But he wasn’t sure if it was significant.
****
In the waiting room outside the Poisoning Unit, Luke requested a sound link to Nyree Max. As soon as his mobile provided it, Luke asked, “Did you look at the bottom of your pyramid?”
“Yes. Why?”
“What was on it?”
“Nothing,” Nyree answered. “It was black and... sort of empty.”
“Did you cut yourself at all while you had it?”
“Er... No.”
“Certain?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there any way you might’ve got blood on its base?”
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “No.”
“All right,” said Luke. “Thanks again.”
A nurse came into the waiting area with the news that Luke wouldn’t be able to speak to Crawford Gallagher for at least twenty-four hours. The doctors were still worried about possible heart failure. And, anyway, the patient wasn’t capable of talking.
Instead, Luke went to search for answers in the artist’s shack. Normally, he would examine a suspect’s computer for incriminating information but, in this case, Crawford didn’t have one. Somehow, that didn’t surprise Luke. Gallagher didn’t seem to be the type to keep records. His cluttered displays and workbench didn’t reveal anything significant. Finally, Luke went through the old man’s waste bin. And that’s when his search paid off.
He held up a small glass vial between his gloved forefinger and thumb. The screw-cap container was missing its top and it had been washed out thoroughly. Luke put it down carefully on a clean part of the bench and said, “Check if there’s anything left inside, Malc.”
Positioning himself over the vial, Malc carried out chemical analyses until he had the answer. “The vial contains a trace of human blood.”
“Like the bottom of the pyramid,” Luke muttered, almost to himself.
“Correct. The surface of this counter has similar tiny stains. However, it is not possible to determine if the bloodstains have the same source because of decomposition and shortage of sample.”
“Pity.”
Luke looked out of the back window, watching the activity on the busy river, as he thought about the healer and his pyramid. “Makes you wonder what he meant when he told me to use the pyramid and then take it back to him so he could recharge its batteries.”
“The jade sculpture does not have batteries.”
“Exactly,” Luke replied.
Chapter Seventeen
In his room on Sunday night, Luke left his bedside lamp on. In front of it stood the tall ornament, casting a long cool shadow across his pillow. Sitting up in bed, Luke reached out and took its weight in both hands. Nearly two and a half kilograms. “It’s a lump of jade,” he told himself. “Jade’s jade, not medicine.” But Crawford Gallagher said it would heal. Nyree Max believed in it and Jade wanted him to give it a try. Ridiculous. It couldn’t have any effect on his health. At least that meant it couldn’t make his head worse.
Slowly, Luke brought one of the smooth surfaces towards his left ear, just as Crawford had shown him. Then he replaced the pyramid on the cabinet in front of the lamp. He settled down with the ornament’s shadow falling across him like an ominous black dagger. As he drifted into sleep, he was convinced that he was making a complete fool of himself. Still, his mobile was the only witness to his madness and Malc wouldn’t tell anyone else.
****
It was Monday and Luke woke at seven o’clock when the rising sun made his curtains bright yellow. Several streaks of daylight punctured the gaps around the material. One beam shone directly onto Luke’s face. He blinked and shifted his position. His first sight was Malc. It almost always was. Next, he focused on the sleek pyramid. Sitting up against the pillow, he felt the side of his head. The pain was still there. Of course it was. How could a trinket make it better?
He moaned and murmured, “Just as bad.”
“The pyramid should have triggered the placebo effect but, in your case, it has not,” said Malc.
In the sunlight, Luke could hardly tell that his bedside lamp was still switched on. He swung his long legs over the side of the mattress. “A placebo’s just pretending to treat someone.” He still hoped that in time his own body would repair whatever was wrong. If he had to take his father’s advice and check in to a health centre, he’d do it once he’d finished his investigation.
“The placebo effect is more complicated than that. Research proves that it is real and positive. Patients experiencing pain report a lessening of their symptoms when they are given imitation tablets that have no painkilling effect. Medical scans show that, in response to the dummy treatment, their brains release the natural painkilling substances called endorphins.”
Wrapping himself in a warm dressing gown, Luke said, “So, anticipating relief makes it happen?”
“Confirmed. Medical science has not yet explained the mechanism but it is genuine because it can be measured. It is considered by many doctors to be a powerful factor for healing human beings. However, it is effective only in people who have faith that they will benefit by their treatment. You did not.”
Luke smiled wryly. “The body’s an amazing thing.”
“There is interplay between a person’s state of mind and the physical body. For example, sadness activates the tear glands and fear stimulates the sweat glands. When a human feels angry or embarrassed, the face goes red because the body widens the blood vessels. In the placebo effect, an optimistic frame of mind releases endorphins.”
“So, if I felt positive about a cure – no matter how crazy – I’d get a feel-good factor because my brain would pump out painkillers?”
“Correct. Some experiments suggest that the placebo effect increases as the treatment becomes more bizarre.”
Luke went through to the living quarters. “You’re saying healing’s a mixture of mind games and medicine.”
“That appears to be true.”
Once Luke had eaten a pomegranate breakfast and taken a shower, he was keen to continue his case. It was too early to see Crawford Gallagher in the Poisoning Unit so he decided to return to the Institute of Biomechanical Research instead. Before he set out, though, he placed the pyramid in a bag and took it with him.
On the way, Malc announced his latest findings. “I have a list of all York residents taking immunosuppressant drugs. There are currently one hundred and twenty-four such patients.”
Luke was disappointed. He’d hoped that there would be fewer patients to pursue in an attempt to prove that his father had been a bone-marrow donor. “Check all their medical records, Malc. I want to know which ones are taking the pills because they’ve had a bone-marrow transplant.”
“Processing.”
In the main refrigerated laboratory of the Institute of Biomechanical Research, a sledge with a human head attached to it flew forwards at high speed and crashed into a sturdy pane of glass. The thick window withstood the sickening collision but the skull cracked.
“Two days ago,” Oscar Hislop
said proudly, “it was attached to a woman, but now it’s got thirty sensors embedded in it to measure impact injury to the skull and brain.” For a few seconds, the biomechanical researcher studied the recordings on his computer monitor. When he looked up, he seemed satisfied. The experiment had clearly given him the data that he wanted. “Not very dignified for her, I guess,” he said, nodding towards the sledge, “but she’s served humanity. Maybe saved a lot of lives when we analyse the results. I’d better not tell you what we’re doing with the rest of her body.”
Luke found it hard not to wince. He didn’t look at the damaged head with sensors inside and out. “Do you ever need slices of human brain?” he asked.
“Of course. Slippery things.” Oscar pointed to a machine in the corner of the room. “We put a brain in there and it cuts slices of precise thicknesses.” He paused and added with a grim smile, “That’s when we’re not using it to slice beef for the canteen.” He looked at Luke and said, “No. That’s a joke. We’d never do that. Ham’s a different matter, though.”
Oscar seemed to need an offhand manner to get him through the day but Luke couldn’t laugh along with him. Unlike the biomechanical engineer, Luke hadn’t become hardened to the disturbing activities in the research institute. He didn’t want to become hardened like Oscar Hislop. “What do you use brain slices for?”
“A couple of things. We’ve got what you might call a squishometer. We’re comparing the squishiness of normal tissue with brains that’ve got a tumour. One day, we’ll be able to wiggle someone’s body and look for cancer because tumours are at least ten times stiffer than healthy tissue. If something doesn’t jiggle around like jelly, it might well be cancer.”
“You said there was something else.”
“Ah, yes. My pet project. It’s a high-intensity ultrasonic probe. It almost boils cancer cells, killing them outright, but doesn’t touch normal ones. And it’s non-invasive. It works from outside the body. Very promising. It could be the future for treating awkward tumours. It’s like shaking them to bits with loud music.”
