Reckoning Point, стр. 71
Erik shuffles through the papers, seeing that Alex has given Elian’s to him to read, and has kept Naomi’s for himself.
Clever, he thinks. Yet Alex had picked up a bundle seemingly at random and distributed them so quickly.
“You’re good,” he says, softly.
Alex nods, a restrained acknowledgement of Erik’s statement, and together, silently, they begin to read.
“Notes at the bottom, skip to them,” instructs Alex when he has finished two reports. “This doctor is fucking whacko.”
He looks over at Erik to make sure he is doing what Alex has told him, and reads from his own notes.
“Gabi Rossi, carried HPV virus and had genital warts, Cilla, now this one is interesting, ‘allowed herself to be branded with a knife to satisfy client’s demands, high risk of receiving and transmitting infection’.” Alex raises his eyebrows as he read from the doctor’s notes verbatim. “Amber was deemed ‘unclean’ and a high risk of not protecting herself with preventative methods against infection or pregnancy.”
Erik seems to be waiting, and Alex knows what for. He clears his throat. “This tells us that the–”
“You haven’t finished.” Erik cuts him off, his tone icy, his face, stony.
Alex breathes out noisily. He has to tell the man the remaining notes. After all, doesn’t Alex himself want to know what is written on Elian’s?
No, a little voice whispers in reply, but of course it doesn’t matter what is written, he already knows she is at risk, hadn’t he prompted her to get herself checked out back in London?
“Naomi Wilson, unprotected intercourse with an unknown partner, came to surgery on July 9th for tests. Results pending.”
“She came straight here before she even came home.” Erik clenches his fists, the doctor’s files that he still holds crumpling in his grip. “Why him? I mean, she could have fucking done them herself, or one of her nurse friends. Why did she come to him? Even the girls don’t fucking well like him, they’re always saying how fucking creepy he is.”
Alex gently pulls the papers from Erik’s hands. “Maybe she regretted the whole thing, maybe coming here was some sort of self-punishment.”
Erik shrugs, his mouth downturned, and Alex looks at the papers he has taken from the man. Elian’s is on the top now, and unable to help himself, Alex starts to read it.
Elian Gould – and just reading her name hurts, but Alex carries on. Came to surgery on July 6th with memory issues, requesting an MRI scan, complaining of nightmares and a desire for S.T.I tests. Patient mentioned an attack but declined to go into details, refused psychological therapy, tests performed in full batch: final result, clear on all.
Alex expels a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. Elian got the all clear!
He looks back at the papers, but that’s all there is.
Frustratingly little, but she was here. She has been here, in this very room, and less than a week ago.
Revitalised, Alex stands up and looks over at Erik. He is by the doctor’s desk now, holding more papers, more books, looking at the mountain of files, helpless. But some of those papers … Alex can see the handwriting …
He pounces on the pile, snatches it from Erik’s hands, knowing he has seen this writing before, knowing immediately which book this came from, a book that Alex never got to see, because it was always held protectively against its owner’s chest.
“This is Elian’s writing!” he says, flapping the papers in Erik’s face but pulling them away again before Erik can even focus on them. “This is from her notebook, I recognise the writing, it’s been photocopied, see here, where the ring binders are? She was scribbling in it all the time before … before she came here.” Alex spreads the copies on the desk and reads the seemingly random jottings.
“What does it say?” asks Erik, crowding in to get a look.
Alex isn’t sure, there seems to be no order to anything written. There are names, Russian Lev again, Brigitta, Alex’s own name, scribbled out, (can’t focus too much on that and what being crossed out means right now), the word ‘launderette’, Brigitta’s name, again and again. And, at the end, the words; ‘appointment, MRI, Doctor Basitaan’s office, 14th July, 9 a.m. No food or drink.’ The last words were underlined twice in heavy ballpoint pen.
“That’s today, she was here, this morning,” Alex breathes.
“Alex?”
At the sound of his name he looks up, pulled out of the past, but only for a moment, as he sees Erik holding something that sends him ricocheting back in time.
“Elian’s bag,” he says, dully, the memory of her getting mad and hitting him with the little crocheted bag in Hyde Park. “Why is her bag here?”
But before Erik can even formulate an answer, a scream starts up, and to Alex it seems like it is coming from the very bowels of the building.
Erik draws his service revolver and heads towards the hallway, Alex hot on his heels.
By the pitch of the scream Erik fully expects to find Alex’s girl in the basement, mortally wounded, for surely nobody could make the noise and be okay, but as they descend the steps into the gloom, Erik’s gun held out in front of him, Alex breathing down his neck, he sees the source of the scream.
“Dear God,” utters Erik, and then he is pushed to one side as Alex shoves him out of the way.
There is no time for Erik to berate him, but in his mind he shouts a thousand admonishments at Alex-Goddamn-Harvey for blindly running into the room before Erik had declared it clear, so instead he jumps the remaining steps into the basement, sweeps his gun into