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‘When did you find Tibs’ collar?’ Emily asked.
‘About an hour ago, when I came home from work. Now, if that’s all, I must go. I have to see to my wife.’
‘Yes of course.’
Emily supposed she should have thanked him, but the door had already closed. She walked back down his path, looking left and right and into the foliage for any sign of Tibs. Then in the gutter. She must be dead. If she’d been alive and had slipped her collar outside the Burmans’ house, then she was close enough to find her way home. The most likely explanation for her collar being in the road was that she’d been run over, perhaps separating from her collar in the accident. If someone in the street had found Tibs’ body there was a chance they may call, as her number was on the leaflets she’d pushed through letter boxes. Otherwise she might never know, for she doubted anyone would bother to take a dead cat to have its microchip read. If there was still no sign of Tibs by the weekend, she’d have to accept she was dead.
Chapter Ten (#ulink_5c08fa98-a793-5019-a66a-63f5e4a0bbbf)
‘I disagree,’ Amit said forcefully. ‘The process of cryonics has already been shown to work on animals in laboratories. They have survived three hours using existing medical technology. Even longer periods if the preservation solution is continuously circulated.’
Mr Barry Lowe was staring at him, as was the student doctor.
‘You seem well-informed,’ Lowe said. ‘But three hours isn’t a hundred years. It’s a fantasy playing on peoples’ fears of death. Humans have been searching for immortality since they became intelligent enough to realize that one day they would die. It used to be just religion that offered immortality, but now this pseudoscience has got in on the act.’ He paused to concentrate on what he was doing – a hernia operation. The discussion had begun after he’d asked if anyone had seen the documentary on television the night before on cryonics, and had quickly become heated.
‘You can’t put religion and cryonics in the same category,’ Amit retaliated. ‘And it doesn’t matter if it’s three hours or a thousand years. At minus 190 Celsius there is no cell degeneration.’
‘And you can be sure of that?’ Lowe asked sceptically, glancing up at him. ‘There is no proof whatsoever. Those frozen bodies could be mush when they are thawed.’
‘Also, cell degeneration will have already occurred,’ the student doctor put in. ‘My cousin is a doctor at Saint Claire’s where that fifteen-year-old boy died. It was over an hour before he was put on ice.’
‘That’s appalling!’ Amit cried passionately, unable to hide his feelings any longer. ‘It’s a breach of our code of ethics.’
‘That’s a bit strong,’ Lowe said. ‘The boy was dead.’
‘Temporarily, and his wishes were that he should be frozen. The system failed him.’
‘Why the wait?’ Lowe now asked the student, as he began to close the wound.
‘My cousin said the instructions were not to touch him as it needed someone trained from ELECT who knew what to do.’
‘Who knew how to stabilize him,’ Amit clarified.
‘His mother phoned a member of ELECT,’ the student continued. ‘But he got stuck in traffic.’
Lowe laughed cynically. ‘The traffic always gets you in the end!’
‘I assumed the boy was put on a heart-lung machine during that time?’ Amit said.
‘No. The staff didn’t realize he should be. He was dead and his organs weren’t going to be used for transplant.’
Amit shook his head. ‘Appalling. What a waste. When I …’ he stopped. ‘It’s crucial the patient is kept on a heart-lung machine until intravenous lines can be put in and protective medications administered.’
‘You know a lot about it,’ Lowe said. ‘Is bringing people back from the dead a hobby of yours?’
The theatre staff laughed.
Amit fought to retain control. Ignorant lot. What did they know? But he had expected better of Lowe, a surgeon. He’d be laughing on the other side of his face one day when he showed them what could be achieved. Just you wait and see, he thought.
Chapter Eleven (#ulink_e6a3df4d-3c67-5d68-aae2-554ed318b1de)
‘Let go of me!’ Alisha cried in pain as Amit’s fingers dug into her arm. ‘You’re hurting me.’ He was half pushing, half dragging her out of the living room and through the hall. ‘What are you doing? I haven’t done anything wrong. Where are you taking me?’
‘The cloakroom,’ he snarled.
‘No! I don’t like being shut in there. I’ll be good. Please. No.’ The room didn’t have a window and Amit had changed the lock so it could be locked from the outside. Alisha knew from experience what it meant to be shut in there – sometimes for hours at a time. She struggled and tried to free her arm, but his grip tightened. ‘Please,’ she begged.
‘If you’re good and stay very quiet, I’ll let you out after he’s gone.’
‘Who? No, don’t, please. I can go upstairs and be quiet if you want.’
He dragged her the last few paces and pushed her in. Slamming the door shut, he locked it.
‘Amit! Let me out. Please, I promise I won’t look.’ She banged on the door.
‘Shut up now or I’ll leave you in there all night.’
Alisha bit into her bottom lip and tried not to cry.
Perspiration stood out on Amit’s forehead as he hurried to the back door, let himself out and then rushed down the sideway. He unpadlocked the gate. The lorry was just parking outside, half an hour fucking early! If it had arrived when it was supposed to, he’d have had Alisha sedated and out of the way in plenty of time. He had taken the day off work to receive the delivery and a couple of minutes ago the driver had texted to say he’d be with him shortly. There was no way he could risk Alisha seeing – the size and shape would raise her suspicions. He hoped the nosy cow next door wasn’t watching. He needed to get the cylinder down the sideway and into his lab as quickly as possible.
‘Delivery for Dr Burman,’ the lorry driver called from the pavement, reading from his e-Pod.
‘That’s me, but you’re early.’
‘Do you want me to come back later then, mate?’
For a second Amit thought he meant it and was about to say yes.
‘Where’s it going?’ the driver asked. ‘It’s big.’
‘The building at the very rear of my garden. It will fit down the sideway.’
‘I’ve heard that before; I’d better take a look.’
Amit led the way down the path.
‘It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’ll give it a go,’ the driver said. ‘What’s plan B?’
‘Through the house,’ Amit said. ‘But it will fit down here. I know, I measured it.’
‘With the packaging?’
Amit felt his stomach sink. He should have thought of that. How stupid! He’d taken the dimensions of the cylinder from the website and had checked them against the width of the sideway. He could have kicked himself.
‘If it won’t fit down here, it will have to go through the house and out through the patio doors,’ he said. But with Alisha not sedated that ran the risk of the driver hearing her if she began screaming and shouting again.
Amit followed the driver out to the front and then watched nervously as he climbed into the back of the lorry. He reappeared a few moments later with his precious package balanced on a hand truck. It was huge and, clad in padding, overhung the edges of the truck, but at a glance it could pass as a very large hot-water cylinder, Amit thought. His heart raced as the driver slowly lowered the tailgate and then pushed the hand truck off, then paused and waved up at the neighbour’s house. Amit followed his gaze. The bloody woman next door was holding her son up at the window to look!
‘All kids like big lorries,’ the driver said amicably as he pushed the truck up the drive.
Amit hurried down the sideway, which thankfully was on the opposite side of the house to Emily, and out of her view. He watched and waited, his breath coming fast and shallow as the driver began inching the package in through the side gate. Pressing the cladding in to ease it through, it just fitted.
‘Thank god,’ Amit said, relieved once it was clear, and hurried ahead to the outbuilding. The driver followed.
‘You want it in there?’ he asked, surprised.
‘No. Leave it outside.’ Amit pointed to a spot to the left of the door.
‘You sure, mate? It’s not so heavy, but it is bulky. I can put it inside if you like.’
‘No. It’s fine there.’
The driver manoeuvred the cylinder from the trolley and stood it where Amit pointed, then passed him his e-Pod to sign for the delivery.
Glancing anxiously at his neighbours’ houses, Amit quickly saw him out and padlocked the side gate behind him. He returned down the garden path to his lab and unlocked the padlock there, then took out the two sheets of hardboard he’d previously cut to size to use as ramps. He’d had it all planned days ago. He placed them either side of the step and then, encircling the cylinder with his arms, he began walking it forward. Small measured steps, as if dancing with a partner, up one side of his makeshift ramp, over the top, down the other and into the security of his lab.
Relieved, he quickly closed the door. He’d done it. The most important item he needed to continue had been safely delivered.
Chapter Twelve (#ulink_52f792a4-86b0-55a9-8a7f-22a8e49fd6f8)
Inside the house, Alisha sat on the floor in the cloakroom, cold and sick with fear, willing Amit to return and release her, but at the same time dreading having to face him. His behaviour was becoming more and more alarming with each passing week, frighteningly so now. She no longer recognized the man she’d married. But had she ever really known him, even back then? She doubted it. She’d had to trust him and, as far as she’d known, they’d had no secrets, but now most of his life excluded her. She was sorry she’d failed to give him healthy children, but did she really deserve the punishment he meted out? The abuse – verbal and physical. It was frightening. She spent most of her time terrified of him. And the grim determination on his face when he’d locked her in here said he would stop at nothing to make her do as he wanted.
She rubbed her wrist and looked at her upper arm. Bruises were already forming under the skin. She bruised easily now, just as their son, Daniel, had done as the disease progressed. His tissue breaking down, blood capillaries rupturing, his skin sloughing off. Even when she bathed him and was so gentle, he still bled.
It was a cruel disease and she could understand why Amit had become obsessed with finding a cure, just as other parents of children with rare genetic conditions had. Michaela and Augusto Odone had produced Lorenzo’s oil. She’d seen the film of the same name. Years of research and then a breakthrough. Perhaps Amit might find a cure, but there was no excuse for treating her as he did. He was so unpredictable and violent.
She knew he had a right to blame her for the compromises he’d had to make now she’d fallen ill too. Once she died he would be free to marry a healthy woman who could give him normal children, for she doubted he would find a cure in time to save her. She thought he doubted it too. Hence all that nonsense about freezing her until a cure had been found. What a macabre thought! She’d been shocked that he’d even considered it. It made her skin creep. She couldn’t imagine anything worse – replacing her blood with preserving fluid and then suspended upside down in a cylinder when she should be at peace in the earth. It was the stuff of nightmares. Yet many had signed up to it and had paid huge amounts to be stored. Thankfully Amit had finally taken no for an answer and had put away the literature and stopped talking about it.
But his behaviour was even worse now. Sometimes injecting her to sedate her or locking her in. But why? Why was she in here and for how long? It was the third time he’d shut her in the cloakroom. She wished she had someone to confide in. Estranged from her parents, she knew they wouldn’t sympathize. Not after everything that had happened between them and Amit. She could hear her mother’s admonishing voice: you’ve made your bed, so you’ll have to lie in it.
It had crossed her mind that maybe Emily next door would be a good confidante. She wondered if she might even suspect that Amit didn’t always treat her right. She seemed perceptive and, being at home with her child during the day, had perhaps seen things the other neighbours hadn’t. And the way Emily kept inviting her into her house, and when she’d finally accepted, she’d asked if Amit looked after her and treated her well. A pity she hadn’t had the courage to admit that Amit treated her badly and she was petrified of him, for she doubted Emily would invite her again, not after staying such a short time and leaving so abruptly. Her behaviour had been rude, but she couldn’t tell Emily the real reason she had only stayed fifteen minutes. Pity. It would have been reassuring, comforting, to have her knowing, even looking out for her.
Chapter Thirteen (#ulink_37f85ef7-ff3a-566d-b3fc-cc9705309b5a)
‘What do you make of this?’ Emily asked Ben, as they settled in front of the television to watch the evening news. She clicked on the video clip, passed her phone to him and waited while he watched it.
Ben laughed. ‘Goodness knows. But I hope he didn’t see you take it. It won’t help neighbourly relations.’ He handed back her phone.
‘He was too busy with what he was doing to see me,’ Emily said. ‘I heard the lorry at the front while I was changing Robbie. He was all excited when I showed him. When the driver took that thing off the lorry and wheeled it down their sideway, I couldn’t resist going into our bedroom for a better view. Why would you want that in your shed?’
‘No idea. It looks like a water cylinder. Perhaps he likes a bath down there,’ Ben joked.
‘It’s the right size and shape to hold a body.’ Emily shuddered.
‘Perhaps he’s going to do you in,’ Ben teased.
‘Or his wife,’ Emily said. ‘Seriously though. Don’t you think it’s odd?’
‘I guess. But each to his own.’
They fell silent as the main news came on. They always tried to watch the news in the evening once Robbie was in bed. There was the usual depressingly familiar update on war-torn Syria, rape allegations against another prominent figure, doom and gloom about the world economy and the persistently high levels of city pollution. After the UK and international news, the channel went through to regional news where a female reporter was standing beside a taped-off area in Coleshaw Woods.
‘A shocking and grisly discovery was made here early this morning by a man walking his dog,’ the report began. ‘A grave containing more than fifty animals including cats and dogs was unearthed when the man’s dog began digging. The owner called the police and they and the RSPCA – Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals – have taken away the carcasses for examination. One line of enquiry is that this could be part of a gruesome satanic ritual as all the animal bodies appear to have been drained of their blood.’
‘Oh no!’ Emily cried, shocked and disgusted, her hand flying to her mouth.
‘There are some nutters around,’ Ben said.
The man whose dog had dug up the animals was now interviewed. ‘It’s left me completely shocked,’ he said. ‘I took a different route through the woods this morning, a part that not many use in winter and suddenly Rex began digging frantically in that spot.’ He pointed to the area behind them. ‘He dug up a few mice first and I thought they might have died naturally, but then he dug up part of a rabbit, a cat and a dog and I realized it was a graveyard.’ He said again that the incident had left him badly shaken; he was an animal lover and would hate the thought of his pet ending up like this. The reporter said that other possible reasons for the animals being there were that they had come from a laboratory or a veterinary practice that had dumped the animals rather than pay for the correct disposal, which was illegal.
Emily felt sick. ‘You don’t think Tibs could be among them?’
‘I doubt it,’ Ben said. ‘Coleshaw Woods is over half an hour’s drive from here. It’ll be as the reporter said – a lab or vet avoiding the costs of disposing of them properly. Gruesome all the same.’
The camera went to another local news item and Emily took her iPad from the coffee table. As Ben continued watching the news, she began searching online to see if there were any more details about the animals found in Coleshaw Woods. There was nothing beyond what the news report had said. A shame there wasn’t a telephone number for those worried about their pets to phone, she thought, similar to the helpline number given out for relatives after a major disaster. She closed the tablet and sat with it on her lap, half watching the news. Ben was probably right, but it didn’t stop her worrying. Bad enough that Tibs hadn’t returned and they’d had to accept she was probably dead, but far worse if she’d met her end sacrificed as part of a sadistic cult ritual.
She went cold. Who knew what Tibs might have suffered in her final hours. The news item had said the animals had been drained of blood. How? Why? Had they been alive? She tried to push these thoughts from her mind, but they returned. Again and again. There were some really evil people out there.
That night, Emily dreamt she heard Tibs meowing, crying out for them, as she was held down and gruesomely slaughtered. She woke in a cold sweat. Coleshaw Woods was half an hour’s drive away as Ben had said, trying to reassure her, but that wasn’t far, not really.
The following morning as soon as Emily was up and Ben had left for work, she checked online to see if any more details had been added to the news story. The local Gazette had covered the story, but it was now old news so it had been pushed off the first page. There were no further details.
She’d arranged to meet a friend, Hannah, for lunch. She lived locally, had a similar-aged child and had also seen the news item. It wasn’t long before they were discussing it and Emily confided she feared Tibs might be among the dead animals.
‘I think it’s unlikely,’ Hannah said. ‘I mean, how would Tibs have got all the way over there?’
‘Unless someone grabbed her close to home – from our street?’
‘I think they’ve come from a lab, probably been bred there or bought for experimenting on. Poor things,’ Hannah sighed. Emily knew she was trying to reassure her, but it didn’t help any more than Ben’s words had.
‘Tibs was microchipped,’ Emily said. ‘I’ve been wondering if any of those animals were.’
‘It didn’t say on the news, but if they’ve come from a lab they won’t be.’
‘But if they haven’t, they could be people’s pets,’ Emily persisted. ‘Dogs run off and you can’t watch cats the whole time.’
‘It’s obviously worrying you, so if you think there’s a chance Tibs might be among them, why not phone and ask if any were microchipped?’
‘Yes, but who would I phone?’
‘The RSPCA, I guess, or our local police station. If it’s not them, then they should know who’s dealing with it.’
Robbie was asleep in the pushchair by the time Emily arrived home and she quietly parked him in the hall. It was virtually impossible to have a phone conversation when he was awake, so she grabbed the opportunity to make the call now. Closing the living room door so she wouldn’t disturb him, she used her mobile to google the number for the RSPCA.
The customer services number went through to a recorded message which offered various options including animal emergencies, but none of them were relevant for what she needed to ask, and included the suggestion of looking at their website. She cut the call, googled the number of the local police station and pressed to call. Another answerphone message that began by saying if it was an emergency to hang up and dial 999, if not stay on the line. She waited and was then presented with more options, the last of which was to hold to speak to someone in person.
Five minutes later, her call was answered and she explained she was phoning about the animal bodies found in Coleshaw Woods. The officer said he was unfamiliar with the case but would find out who she needed to speak to. He came back on the line with another number for her to phone. She thanked him, tried the new number, but an answerphone clicked in inviting her to leave a message. At the same time, Robbie woke; frustrated, she knew she’d have to try again later.
