The sneer returned to Wylie’s face. He said, “Of course you did. You came here to find out why I signed for two of the buggers without doing the butchery first.”
“There was more to it than that,” said Saracen. “You didn’t even see the bodies did you?”
All the aggression seemed to disappear from Wylie. He sagged at the shoulders and said quietly, “I had no choice.”
“Garten?” asked Saracen.
“Garten,” agreed Wylie. “He made it clear that if I didn’t go along with what he wanted and provide him with reports he would have me dismissed and then struck off for gross professional misconduct. The shame, my wife, my daughter — she’s just become engaged. I had no choice; you must see that, he would have ruined me.”
Saracen nodded, unwilling to say anything in case he broke the flow from Wylie. Even by the alcoholic standards Wylie’s changes in mood and demeanour were dramatic and emotionally confusing for Saracen. He felt anger, disgust, pity, sympathy, all in the space of a few short minutes but now, as a strange calm seemed to settle over Wylie he felt something else, something very close to fear.
Wylie said without the trace of a slur in his voice, “I couldn’t let him do that, no more than I can allow you…”
The threat was plain enough and Saracen felt his adrenalin begin to surge. The immediate problem was that he could not identify where the threat lay. He had expected Wylie to lose his temper, bully, bluster and in the end, threaten but with what? He had envisaged loud, empty threats but here was Wylie, very calm, very confident and very frightening.
Wylie reached under his instrument tray and pulled something out from underneath. He asked, “Do you know what this is?”
Saracen drew in his breath as he saw the gun appear in Wylie’s hand but, almost immediately his alarm changed to bemusement when he saw the tiny hole in the muzzle. “It’s an air pistol!” he exclaimed with a mixture of relief and ridicule in his voice.
Wylie did not flinch. He waited a moment and then pulled the trigger. The metallic slap of the report echoed in the quiet of the high, tiled room.
Saracen felt a sudden sharp pain in his thigh and looked down to see the dart protruding from his trousers. “What the…You idiot Wylie! What the hell do you think you are playing at with that bloody toy?” He started towards Wylie but stopped because his leg felt numb and he almost lost his balance. The feeling filled him with panic as he realised there must have been something special about the dart. “What? What did you?…”
Wylie was staring at him dispassionately. He said, “The dart was loaded with a muscle relaxant Doctor, courtesy of our veterinary friends who use it to pacify large animals. In a moment you will be totally paralysed, in fact, if I inadvertently used too much your heart will stop but that will be inconvenient. Let’s hope I got it right.
By now Saracen had sank to the floor, unable to combat the fatigue and growing numbness in his limbs as the poison spread. He pressed his palms against the cold marble but his elbow joints remained useless. He could still think clearly but his body would not respond to the fevered signals that his brain was sending. Everything, including breathing, was becoming laboured and difficult.
“Don’t waste your time,” said Wylie who was now standing over him. The words made sense inside Saracen’s head but they sounded as if he were inside a cathedral. He could see Wylie’s Wellington boots only inches from his face as he lay on his left cheek. They were splattered with blood from the cadaver he had been working on.
Saracen tried to speak but the muscles in his face would not respond. Wylie seemed to read his mind. He rolled Saracen over on to his back with his foot and looked down at him. “You must be wondering what is going to happen to you now,” he said.
The words echoed in Saracen’s head as he struggled to move his mouth but only succeeded in moving his lower jaw to bring his teeth together. He repeated the action like a wooden puppet as he looked up at Wylie’s face above the long, blood stained gown.
“Your death will be painless,” said Wylie matter of factly. “You are about to commit suicide in a state of deep depression following your suspension from your position at Skelmore General. Wylie’s eyes hardened; they were bloodshot and moist with anger as he hissed, “I did not spend thirty years in the slaughterhouse for some busy-body to come along and destroy it all.” He started to remove his gown, turning his back on Saracen to walk over to the laundry bin. “Carbon monoxide,” he announced. “That’s how it is going to happen. We are going to go for a nice drive in the country in your car, then we’ll find a quiet spot and I’ll connect up the exhaust pipe to the interior. I’ll turn the engine on and leave you. Nice and simple. A routine, everyday kind of suicide that the Police will hardly take notice of.”
Wylie had replaced his Wellingtons with worn, suede shoes and had returned to stand over Saracen who was still moving his mouth like a fish out of water. Wylie gave a short laugh and said, “Do you know what the final irony is going to be?” He paused for an answer that could not come and then said, as if confiding a secret, “I will be detailed to carry out the Post Mortem examination on your body! I will be asked to slice open your flesh, turned pink with carboxy-haemoglobin, and asked to for my professional opinion! Now there’s a scene to conjure with.”
The feverish activity inside Saracen’s head remained locked there for all communication to his limbs had been severed save for the small degree of movement afforded to his lower jaw. He felt Wylie grip his ankles and pull him across the smooth floor to the door, pausing to turn out the lights before dragging him out into the corridor. Saracen’s head lolled helplessly to the side so that his face received an agonising friction burn that he could do nothing about.
As they reached the back door Wylie stopped pulling and bent down to search through Saracen’s pockets for his car keys. He found them and then cursed as he noticed the red weal that had sprung up on Saracen’s face. He gripped his cheeks harshly and tuned his head to examine it further. “Careless,” he muttered, “Must be more careful.”
Saracen felt a blast of cold air when Wylie opened the back door and left him for a moment while he went to open up the car. Somewhere above him the rain hammered against the skylight and the echo in his head made it sound like a roll of drums. Wylie returned and pulled him, first up into a sitting position and then to a position where he could get his shoulder under his armpit and half walk, half drag him out to the car.
Saracen felt himself being pushed into the back of his own car before Wylie left him again to return to the lab for a few moments. He came back and Saracen was aware of him manoeuvring something into the car. An object passed in front of Saracen’s face as he lay there completely paralysed. It was the end of a long piece of plastic tubing.
As the car drove off through the rain Saracen was still working desperately at trying to move his muscles. The fact that he was now having less difficulty breathing encouraged him in the thought that the effects of the drug might be lessening. It was important to keep trying, he reasoned. The faster his metabolism worked the quicker the stuff would be cleared from his system.
They had been travelling for about fifteen minutes when Saracen heard the car slow. His initial hope that they might only be slowing for traffic lights or some road signal faded when he felt the wheels bump off the road and they began to travel along some rough track. The car came to a halt and there was silence for a few moments before Saracen heard Wylie get out and felt the plastic tubing being dragged from the back. He was still totally paralysed except for the jaw movement and maybe the slightest hint of power returning to his neck but it was academic; there was nothing he could do to help himself. He had to lie there in silence, listening to the contracting sounds made by the engine as it cooled and aware of a slight rocking movement as Wylie forced the tubing over the exhaust pipe.