Chameleon's Shadow

Jackson shook her head. ‘It’s not a sexually transmitted disease. You’ve probably been developing it over the last few weeks, but Dr Monaghan can set your mind at rest about Aids and STDs with a few simple tests.’

‘Why can’t you do them?’

‘Because one of the tests involves a quick look up your bum . . . and it’ll be less embarrassing for you if a bloke does that.’

‘Shit!’

She smiled again. ‘Yup! There’ll definitely be some of that, but don’t worry . . . yours won’t smell any different from anyone else’s. Trust me, I’m a doctor.’

Ben gave a grudging lift of his lips in return. ‘You don’t look like one.’

‘I’m a bodybuilder in my spare time.’ She saw a gleam of interest flicker in his eyes. ‘Once you’re eating properly and your insulin’s adjusted, you’ll put on muscle in no time. I’ll give you a workout if you’re willing to take instruction from a woman.’

‘OK.’

‘You’ll have to take it seriously,’ she warned. ‘I’m not interested in time-wasters.’

‘OK.’

‘What do I get in exchange?’

Ben cast her another wary glance, as if fearing she was looking for a physical display of gratitude and affection. ‘What do you want?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Information. Upfront . . . now . . . without the police, your mother or the solicitor listening.’

He became even more suspicious. ‘What kind of information?’

‘Let’s start with how you came by the Nokia mobile.’

*

The request seemed to faze him, although to Jackson’s mind he seemed more perplexed than alarmed. She listened patiently while he delivered the same account that he’d given the police and showed only sympathy when he described how unwell he’d felt on the day of the theft. ‘The really good thing about stealing the guy’s bag was that there were some sandwiches in it. I was fucking hungry.’ ‘It’s a classic symptom of diabetes. Your cells weren’t converting glucose to energy, so your brain was telling you to eat . . . meanwhile, your system was expelling sugar through your urine and you were losing weight.’ ‘I was pretty weak. That’s why I don’t remember the details too well.’ Jackson nodded gravely and encouraged him to describe his other symptoms. He produced quite a litany. Tiredness. Intense thirst. Pains in his abdomen. Frequent urination. Vomiting. Giddiness. Tremors. ‘You were a sick boy,’ she agreed. ‘Too right. I reckon I fainted a couple of times.’ ‘No wonder you’re confused.’

He nodded.

‘Perhaps you hit your head when you fell. That’s often a cause of amnesia.’

‘Yeah,’ he agreed readily. ‘I’m pretty sure that happened after I left the park. I remember a lady helping me off the pavement and asking if I was all right.’

‘And when did you say this happened?’

‘Last month some time. I don’t know exactly.’

‘Interesting,’ Jackson murmured. ‘With symptoms as severe as that, I’m amazed you didn’t go into a coma immediately.’

The wariness came back into his eyes. ‘I’ve been feeling sick for ages.’

‘Mm.’ She arched an amused eyebrow. ‘Hasn’t Dr Monaghan explained that type one diabetes tends to come on suddenly? The usual time-frame is a period of days – not a period of several weeks. Fatigue, thirst and frequent urination are typical of onset, but pains in the abdomen and vomiting indicate ketoacidosis, which is what caused your collapse four days ago. I find it hard to believe you’ve had ketones poisoning your blood for weeks . . . but managed to neutralize them successfully without intervention.’

He ran the tip of his tongue across his lips. ‘I guess I’m lucky.’

‘Or very odd.’ She cocked her forefinger at him, mimicking his pistol hand. ‘You can tell me the truth now. There’s no one else here, so you can be honest.’

‘I have been honest.’

‘Nn-nn. If you were falling over and vomiting, then you must have stolen the phone in the twenty-four hours before you collapsed. If you stole it four weeks ago –’ she put ironic emphasis on the word – ‘thirst and constant peeing shouldn’t have affected your memory. Unless you have a drink or drug addiction that you’ve been keeping from Dr Monaghan.’

The writhing tic set Ben’s mouth going again. ‘It’s just a mobile,’ he burst out. ‘I know a guy who steals them all the time. He swipes ’em out of bitches’ hands while they’re texting their mates.’ He upended his palm in front of his chest and danced his thumb around while make mincing gestures with his shoulders. ‘They don’t even think someone’s gonna walk by and rob ’em . . . and they’re usually too scared of being knifed to do anything about it.’

Jackson folded her arms across her chest and stared him down. ‘How old are these “bitches”? Twelve-year-old schoolgirls? That’s some brave friend you have. Or are you talking about yourself? Does demonizing a little kid as a “bitch” excuse what you do to her?’

‘It’s just a word,’ he muttered. ‘Everyone uses it.’

‘Not in my presence they don’t. In my presence men show some respect for women.’

‘Yeah, well—’ He trailed off. ‘All I was saying was that mobiles get stolen every day and no one takes a blind bit of notice.’ He watched her out of the corner of his eye. ‘What’s so important about the Nokia?’