In a nutshell, the story began with the initial claim of discovery of Bedhead’s additional attributes regarding healthier sleep. In fact, it seems that researchers claimed that Bedhead might actually make people healthier because it worked in conjunction with good hormones, as well as serotonin. Those involved with these initial University of Edinburgh studies were listed, with four doctors as the leading researchers: Dr. Glenn, Dr. Eban, Dr. Clacher, and Dr. Carson.
“The four of them were so connected,” I said.
“Aye. Take a look at this picture.”
The four doctors stood together. They looked at the camera, smiled just enough not to scowl, and kept enough distance between each other for me to wonder if they’d posed that way on purpose, or if the camera just happened to catch a moment that might be interpreted as aloof. Even Dr. Carson was smiling with less enthusiasm than I’d seen from other pictures from that time.
“They look uncomfortable,” I said.
“Not as uncomfortable as this picture.” Artair scrolled to the last page of the article. “I remember the day this was published. The picture is tragic, yet one couldn’t help but laugh. I’m sairy tae say that I laughed along, guiltily.”
It was even more difficult to think that this picture hadn’t been somehow staged. It illustrated the aftermath of what must have been a fight, food included.
Dr. Carson was in the middle of the picture, the focal point. She stood with her arms akimbo and her face forever frozen on the page, distraught. She must have been crying or yelling or both as something that looked like pudding rolled down her head, covering half her face just as the camera’s shutter clicked.
“Someone poured food on her head?” I said.
“It appears that way, but the food flew because Dr. Eban and Dr. Clacher became angry at Dr. Glenn.” Artair pointed at the two men on the side of the picture, Dr. Eban on his back, holding his jaw, and Dr. Glenn sitting up next to him with his hand over his eye. Dr. Clacher wasn’t part of that picture. All around the men were spilled food items and serving dishes, as well as onlookers caught right at a moment of supreme shock. I didn’t know how the person manning the camera got so lucky, but I’d never seen so many people in such exaggerated poses at the same time. It was indeed tragic. It was unquestionably comical.
We finished reading through the article. It seemed that in the midst of the celebration, the news was delivered that the research had been found to be either compromised or altered, or at the very worst faked. Investigations would ensue as to exactly what had gone wrong, but Doctors Glenn and Eban accused each other of a litany of wrongdoings, with the article writer doing her best to say that the resulting fight was a clash of two very big egos, neither of which wanted to back down in the least. Fists, platters, dinner rolls, and angry words had been the weapons of choice.
Dr. Carson and Dr. Clacher had tried to get the other men under control, but there came a point when it was all too late and the damage that was going to be done was going to happen no matter how they intervened.
“What happened? Was the research faked?”
Artair shook his head. “Later, the university released a statement that the study had been ‘compromised,’ but that’s all they would share. It might have ended up being further investigated, but no doubt something else came along to take up the spotlight. Dr. Glenn’s murders didn’t occur until about three years later, so that wasn’t it.”
“Clearly, Doctors Eban, Glenn, Clacher, and Carson knew each other well.”
“Aye, but that’s not unusual. They were colleagues, and seemingly all involved in medicine. When Dr. Glenn did what he did I remember thinking that the others probably felt horribly betrayed.”
I thought about Boris Clacher’s words about Dr. Glenn. Had he been talking about more than murder? The past research too? What else might there have been?
“This is a stretch, but Rosie saw Dr. Carson going into Dr. Glenn’s flat by herself when she knew Glenn’s wife wasn’t home. Maybe they were more involved on a personal basis,” I said.
“At his flat?” Artair shrugged. “It’s possible they were that arrogant.” He looked at the article again. “Well, of course they were that arrogant, but I would think they would try tae hide an affair better. Perhaps they were just working together. It’s hard tae know.”
I nodded. “Right, but if there was an affair, maybe the fight was about so much more. You know Dr. Eban’s reputation.”
“His oddness?”
I nodded again.
“He is particularly taken with the Burke and Hare legend, I do know that. That would make him odd by itself, but I’ve heard he tries tae play a part in his class—spooky. Wears a cape sometimes,” Artair said.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that too, but I’ve yet to see anything like that.”
Artair shrugged. “Medical school is difficult beyond imagination. I’ve often wondered if he does that just tae give his students a mental break. Add some drama, and maybe he interprets it as fun.”
“He’s tough, I hear.”
“The toughest, but if any professors need tae be tough, I think medical school professors need to. Though he’s thought highly of internationally as well, he’s respected, and he’s part of the medical school’s excellent reputation.”
I hadn’t even thought of international reputations. I’d been so caught up in our little Scottish world.
“Do you suppose he manipulates the students to do things for grades? The female students?” I asked.
“My dear lass, ye are delicate when speaking tae me and I appreciate that, but there’s no need tae be. I’ve been around the block a time or two.”
“Sorry.” I smiled.
“Not tae worry. But, no, I don’t think he does that. I don’t know, mind, but I’ve never seen anything that would make me think such a thing.”
“Do you like him?”
“Ah, there’s a question.” Artair thought a moment.
