Susan French

Unconscious Witness

Dear Martin,

The ward is quiet now, the lights dimmed.It's strange to be here as a patient.
I was visiting Emma as usual, when that pain I've been getting lately doubled me up
in the corridor, just as Caspar was passing. You remember him - that brilliant student
that took all the prizes in ninety-six? He's Emma's consultant.He had me on the
examination couch before you could say 'surgeon's knife.
I won't be back at the office for a few days at least,my appendix is coming
out in a couple of hours. I'll give this to the nurse to drop into our letterbox. One
good thing about being close to the hospital, it'll save me a stamp, a small benefit
after all those years trying to find a parking spot. Why the hell don't you get a
mobile? It'd be easier to get hold of you in an emergency.
Cheers.
Max.

Dear Max,
I called in to see you this morning but you were still out for the count. I
looked in on Emma, and she's fine. Don't worry about the office.
Martin.

Martin,
I feel a bit of a fraud lying here. I had the weirdest experience when I was
under the anaesthetic, though. I dreamed that there was another patient there donating
a kidney, then there was Sir William Gatesby, the millionaire, having a transplant.
It was so vivid; it's like a real memory. Old Caspar was there, organising the whole
thing. When that little nurse, Zoe the one who has looked after Emma so often, asked
a question, he nearly bit her head off. Something about the consent form being
incorrect for the donor - he was in for kidney stones according to the paperwork.
Still, dreams are like that - muddled and confused. I suppose anaesthetic dreams are
the worst.
Nurse Zoe brought Emma up to see me. Caspar has done a wonderful job,
finding her a kidney donor at last. That probably explains my dream about kidneys
and donors. She will be back home with me soon. I suppose all only children are
precious, but she is more so since she's the image of her mother.
The Fairfax contract is due on the tenth; could you sort the paperwork for me?
How is the search for your birth family going?
Max.

Dear Max.
Here's the draft Fairfax contract for checking. Isn't Caspar in charge of that
clinic for down-and-outs at the Way Inn Hostel? Seems a public-spirited sort now - he wasn't at school. I remember him in the debating society arguing that those who
didn't contribute to society in any way should be eliminated. It wasn't a popular
viewpoint, but it didn't bother him one bit.
Hope the grapes are as good as they look. I'm glad my dreams are the curvaceous sort.
I've given up on the family search. I've made no progress for ages.
Martin.

Dear Martin.
Sorry I gave you such a fright when you visited, it was a blood clot; they've
sorted me out now. Apparently it's a common post-operative thing and I'm fine. I
had horrible anaesthetic dreams again. That little nurse Zoe was there again - does
that qualify as curvaceous, old chap? She looked really done in - they've been short
staffed with this flu epidemic. There was quite an argument going on about
something. A woman was having a transplant, but someone was objecting to Zoe's
presence. Then the donor was found to have only one kidney - some of them didn't
look surprised at this - but they still went on with the operation! Then I saw his face;
it was the guy who busks outside the library. Emma always puts a few pence in his
hat. Talk about nightmares! Lend me one of your fantasies for next time, will you?
Seems a shame to give up on the family thing after so much work. The Fairfax
contract is brilliant. Thanks.
Max.

Max,
So good to see you looking better. Here are three files you ought to see. I'd stop
dreaming if I were you. That old guy who busked outside the library? He's gone.
There was also a small item in 'The Times' about Gatesby. Guess who's recovering
from a kidney transplant? Take care and no more relapses please. Researching the
family again
Martin.

Martin, Nurse Zoe brought Emma up to see me this morning. I mentioned my dreams
to her while Emma was buying some crisps from the tuck-shop trolley. Her new
kidney is functioning so well she's back on a normal diet. When Zoe heard what I'd
dreamt she went white.
'Don't mention those dreams to anyone,' she begins, and then Caspar comes
in on his ward rounds. End of conversation.
The Baker contract is missing from the Dudley file, but everything else is OK.
Bring us some good malt, won't you? Dry places, hospitals. I'm glad about the
family research.
Max.

Max,
Be careful. I went on the net; something niggled at the back of my mind. Did
you know that there are some people who don't completely lose awareness under
anaesthetic? There was a study about it - I found a reference in a book too - 'User's
Guide to the Brain, John Ratey.' I enclose a copy, page marked.
Martin.

Martin,
I read the book. Organ theft? It's all a bit too far-fetched for me. Forget it -
my dreams were just dreams. I hate hospitals. It reminds me too much of losing
Jenny.
Max.

Max,
I've been wondering if I should tell you this, but what the hell, if it turns out to
be a figment, no harm done. The busker was buried this morning. I went along to the
service and talked to the hostel manager afterwards. Cause of death? Kidney failure.
Seems the poor guy had been born with only one kidney and had been admitted for an
op to remove.... kidney stones. He had the sort that wouldn't shatter using the new
ultrasound technique. Your surgeon was the guy who operated. Your dreams are a bit
too close for comfort; so, watch your back, old thing.
How's the malt?
Martin.

Martin,
The Ratey book and your letters that were tucked into it have vanished. I was
down in the children's ward sitting with Emma, who had developed an infection, and
when I came back they were gone. I just hope it's someone borrowing it and not C.
He did his ward round while I was away. Emma was a bit restless, talking in her
sleep with the temperature, so I was away for quite a while. But what worries me
more is what Emma was muttering in her sleep.
'Fifty thousand for a kidney - not bad for one night's work, eh?'
I'm afraid our suspicions are right, but what can I do? If I blow the lid on it,
and we are right, what will it do to Emma? She's vegetarian as it is, to think that
someone might have been deliberately sacrificed for her would be a terrible trauma.
What do I do? Send me some work, would you? My laptop wouldn't go amiss. I
need to take my mind off things. I've finished that excellent malt, thanks.
Max.

Max,
If we're right, we can't be sure whether Emma's donor was one of Caspar's
unofficial ones, trouble is, how do we prove it? By exhuming all the patients from the
Way Inn who've died under the knife in the past ten - fifteen years? Then how would
it look if we were wrong? Would we be sued for slander or libel or both? From what
I remember of Caspar, he's not the best enemy to have. He's also rich and has
powerful friends. Try this malt - I'd have a couple of stiff ones if I were you.
Martin.

Dear Inspector Cooper,
Further to our telephone conversation, I enclose the two letters I received from
my business partner during his stay at St. Mary's. I can't think of anything to add to
my statement, nor can I think of any reason for his disappearance. I trust that we shall
have news of him and Emma soon.
Martin French.

Martin.
I am at the cottage. I need some food and a few things from the chemist.
Emma is OK, but we need some more of her medication, and I dare not go to a doctor.
Will you get a mobile? Letters are so slow.
Max.

Caspar.
You've certainly overreached yourself this time. Max is my best friend. Take
it from me, if you harm him or my little goddaughter, I'll spill the beans. I've covered
as much as I can. I had to warn him, I'm not going to let a decent man be destroyed
by you. I've got all the letters, and the book. If I'm suddenly taken by some fatal
affliction, the whole package of things I have will land on Cooper's desk.
I wish I'd never traced my blood family. I can't believe we had the same parents.
Martin.