Macandrew and Jeff exchanged glances that suggested they were at the mercy of some feminine logic that was denied to them.
'It turned out the Church authorities didn't know anything about it.'
'I’m sorry but why should that be interesting?' asked a puzzled Macandrew.
'None of the patients' relatives knew anything about it either. When the police stumbled on the place and started making enquiries, it transpired that the patients were actually listed on their files as missing persons. According to their relatives, all of them were perfectly sane and healthy at the time of their disappearance and none had ever suffered from any mental illness before.'
'I’m sorry, I still don’t see what . . .' said Macandrew.
'It appears that it was something the “hospital” did to these people that damaged their minds,' said Karen. ‘According to one guy, who managed to escape, the patients were offered money to undergo some kind of chemical hypnosis and it was this that damaged them.’
'Bizarre.'
'The guy responsible – a priest, would you believe - took off when the cops turned up and now the church authorities are disclaiming all knowledge of him. They say that the place isn’t a hospital at all; it’s a convent for Benedictine nuns - the Sisters of St Saviour. Now comes the really interesting bit,’ said Karen. ‘The patients were all taken to the Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem,' said Karen. ‘They were rambling and incoherent when admitted but . . . under
sedation
. . . ' Karen paused for effect and saw that she now had Macandrew's undivided attention. 'Under sedation they calmed down and started to make sense. The only problem was . . . they weren’t the same people any more.'
'You mean like Jane Francini and Emma?’
'Exactly,' said Karen. 'What’s more, when the sedation completely wore off, they started raving again.'
'Good God,' said Macandrew.
'I thought you'd be interested,’ said Karen.
''I'd certainly like to see the article,' said Macandrew.
'It's around here somewhere,' said Karen, starting to look. ‘It’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?’
'You said that this priest - the one running the place - made a run for it?’
'Apparently he wasn’t really in charge,' said Karen. ‘The convent is home to an enclosed order of Benedictine nuns who hadn’t had much contact with the outside world. When this guy turned up on their doorstep, saying that he’d been sent by the Church in Rome and carrying papers stating that the sisters were to help him in his work, they accepted it without question. According to the nuns he wasn’t alone. He had another guy, a doctor, working with him. But it gets weirder: when the pair of them took off they took one of the patients with them.’
‘
Why?’
'No one knows.'
'Crazy,' said Macandrew. ‘Absolutely crazy.’
Karen again insisted that the article must be somewhere around.
Macandrew glanced at his watch and saw it was late. He got to his feet and stretched his arms in the air. 'I think I'm for home,' he said. 'But if you should come across it . . . Tell you what; I'm coming in to the Med Centre tomorrow to see Saul. If you find it, bring it with you and I'll stop by your office.'
‘
Sure thing.’
Macandrew kissed Karen lightly on the cheek and nodded to Jeff. 'Thanks for everything, guys, I really appreciate it.'
Macandrew walked to the Med Centre in the morning despite the fact that it was bitterly cold and there was a strong wind blowing. The trees had now lost their leaves so any East coast allusions had gone for good. Kansas City was back to being Kansas City. The 39th Street bus passed a little too close to the kerb while he was waiting to cross at the junction of 39th and Rainbow and threw some dirt up into his face. He had to pause for a moment to remove some grit from his eye but, as he turned his back to the wind and brought out his handkerchief, he took comfort from the thought that, a couple of weeks ago, he wouldn’t have been able to do this. He could now use his fingers well enough to manipulate a handkerchief. His hands were getting better.
'How are things?' asked Saul Klinsman, getting up from his desk when Macandrew came in.
'We're shaking hands aren't we?' replied Macandrew with a smile.
Klinsman saw the joke and put his hand to his forehead. 'I never thought,' he confessed. 'Does this mean we have an improvement?'
'A big improvement,' agreed Macandrew.
'I'm really glad to hear that, Mac. The sooner you're back the better.'
'You wanted to see me?' said Macandrew.
'Yes I did,' replied Klinsman. 'I put it off for a couple of days but then I thought better of it and left a message for you with the Jacksons.
'Very mysterious,' said Macandrew.
'It's rather delicate,' said Klinsman.
'What is?'
'I have something for you. It was addressed to me but the contents are for you.'
'What?'
Klinsman opened the top drawer of his desk and brought out an envelope. He pushed it towards Macandrew while he opened the deeper bottom drawer and brought out a bottle of good brandy.
Macandrew opened the envelope and withdrew a bundle of bank notes. 'Good God, there must be at least . . .'
'Twenty thousand dollars,' said Klinsman.
'But who . . .'
'Anonymous,' said Klinsman, 'addressed to you, care of me.'
Macandrew suddenly realised who the source must be and felt a shiver run through him. 'Francini,’ he murmured.
Klinsman nodded. 'I think so. The Mayo Clinic's findings must have finally convinced him you weren't responsible for what happened to his wife.'
'And now he's saying, ‘Sorry I broke every bone in your hands. Let's kiss and make up.’
'Something like that.'
'Well the bastard can take his money and jam it where the sun don’t shine,' said Macandrew bitterly.
Klinsman smiled wryly. 'I thought you'd see it that way. I'll see this is returned to Mr Francini.'
Macandrew shook his head and found that he had made a decision. ‘I've had enough, Saul,’ he said. ‘I need to get away for a bit. I'm going to take a vacation.'
'Good idea,' said Klinsman. ‘Where are you thinking of going?’
'Scotland,' said Macandrew, almost surprising himself.
'Scotland?' exclaimed Klinsman as if it were the last place on earth he expected to hear.
'I’ve often thought about it in the past but never got round to doing anything about it. I never seemed to have the time but now, I'm going off to trace my roots. I want to see where the Macandrews came from. I've seen where my great grandfather settled in Missouri; now I'm going to take a look at the place he came from - a village in Scotland called Drumcarrick.’
Macandrew called in to Karen’s office and found her writing up case reports.
'Do you know,' she said, 'I've used at least ten ways of saying, no progress, this morning without actually saying, no progress. Does that make me some kind of literary genius?'
'Probably makes you some kind of politician,' replied Macandrew. He waited until she had finished writing before asking, 'Did you find it?'
Karen reached into her desk drawer and brought out a cardboard envelope file. 'Here you are,' she said. 'Come to think of it, you’d better have this too.' She handed Macandrew the tape she had made of her interview with Jane Francini.
Macandrew slipped it into the envelope without comment and told her of his decision to go to Scotland. She seemed pleased although surprised he hadn’t picked somewhere sunny. 'Well, it’ll do you good to get away, Mac. When are you thinking of going?'
'Just as soon as I can fix a flight.'
Macandrew went directly from the Med Centre to a travel agent up in the Crown Shopping Centre and made arrangements that would see him fly from Kansas City to Chicago and then across the Atlantic into London Heathrow. From there, he would catch a domestic flight up to Scotland’s capital city, Edinburgh.
On the night before he was due to leave, Karen and Jeff Bliss gave a small dinner party for Macandrew. Saul Klinsman and Mike Kellerman were invited and it turned out to be the kind of evening that made Macandrew wonder why he was going anywhere at all. The food was good - it always was when Karen cooked - the wine was excellent - Saul Klinsman, who considered himself something of an expert on the subject, had insisted on choosing and bringing it - and the conversation was hilarious. Mike Kellerman was at his funniest in relating tales, either real or imagined, about his early experiences in medicine. When these were exhausted he changed to a Hollywood-Scottish accent and insisted on probing Macandrew's 'real' reasons for visiting his ancestral homeland, insisting that money must somehow be involved. Jeff suggested that Macandrew's great grandfather was still owed five cents by someone back in the old country and Macandrew was determined to collect.
'Why do people have this thing about their roots?' Klinsman asked Karen when the laughter subsided. ‘Is it really that important?’
'Only if you don’t have any,' said Karen, 'Most of us take our roots for granted. We know where our mother and father came from and probably our grandparents, maybe even our great grandparents, but not all people have this foundation and it can be a big miss. The people who suffer most are orphans who know nothing at all about their origins. Many will spend their entire lives worrying and wondering about where they came from and who their folks really were.'
'I guess that’s why adopted kids often insist on tracing their real parents,' said Mike Kellerman.
'Exactly that,' replied Karen. 'And it causes such distress because it's construed by the folks who brought them up as ingratitude. But it's not. It's just something the kids have to do. They can't help themselves.'
'So what's Mac's problem?' asked Kellerman.
'I suspect he's just mildly curious,' smiled Karen.
'That's true of course,' said Macandrew, 'but I recognise elements of what you've been saying in my motivation. It was the strangest feeling out in Weston when I found the graves of my relatives. It was just as if . . .'
'You'd just put an important piece in the jigsaw puzzle and seen the picture take shape?' said Karen. 'It made you feel secure. You were part of the great scheme of things. You fitted in.'
'That’s right,' said Macandrew.
It was well after midnight before anyone left, despite Macandrew's earlier insistence that he was going to have an early night because he had such a long day ahead of him. Saul Klinsman said he’d drive him home. Macandrew suspected he wanted to talk.
'Any idea how long you're going to be away, Mac?'
'Two weeks, maybe three, depending on how things go.'
'I watched you at dinner. Your hands seemed okay.'
'I can use a knife and fork if that’s what you mean,’ said Macandrew feeling ever so slightly irritated. ‘What's on your mind, Saul?'
'I’ll level with you. We're feeling the strain in Neuro. I'm going to have to take someone on.'
'Makes sense,' agreed Macandrew although he felt a definite hollow arrive in his stomach. That
someone
was going to fill
his
job.
'I wanted you to hear it from me rather than have you come back and find a stranger working your lists. This has nothing to do with the way I think things will turn out. I'm talking about a locum appointment. Gonzalez thinks you have a better than even chance of being as good as ever and that's good enough for me. I just don't want the unit building up a big backlist in the meantime.'
'Understood.'
The car drew to a halt outside Macandrew's place and Macandrew got out. He shivered in the cold night air and drew up his collar before bending down to thank Klinsman through the driver's window for the ride.
'Safe journey,' said Klinsman.
Macandrew paused for a moment to watch the Buick drive off and then looked up at the night sky as a police helicopter flew overhead on routine night patrol, its searchlight probing the ground at the back of nearby houses. He went inside and tiptoed up the back stairs so as not to wake the Jacksons. He poured himself a nightcap before slumping down in a comfortable chair to reflect on the evening.
There had been moments when he’d wondered if he was doing the right thing in going away at this time but Klinsman's talk of bringing in a new surgeon to the unit had convinced him that he was. Despite his assurance that the arrangement would be temporary, he knew that there was no real way of knowing that just yet. Things were still very much in the balance. If he hung around Kansas City he would only brood about it. He was sure he’d find plenty to distract him in Scotland. Apart from that, he needed to look back at the Francini affair from a distance and maybe see things more dispassionately. He had made good physical progress but he still had to come to terms with the psychological trauma. People often overlooked this aspect of violent crime. In many ways it could be worse than the actual physical pain and discomfort involved. Constantly reliving the nightmare was only part of it.