A rickety metal sign with a rusted white frame announced the entrance to the Good Hope Village Clinic. Like most rural clinics, it showed severe signs of dilapidation, decay, and despair. It was woefully understaffed and understocked, with the depressing stench of impending death and an attitude of depression.
Leo parked next to the clinic’s ambulance, a JEEP outfitted as a mobile clinic and entered the concrete building. A nurse answered their questions about Dr. Farmer, confirming that he was at the clinic, and directed them to his office. The doctor was finishing up a phone conversation when they knocked on the door, but he beckoned for them to enter the tiny room, which was about the size of a closet, and appeared to also function as a supply room. The right wall consisted of shelves stocked with medical supplies.
The doctor explained that he’d been on the phone with a colleague who wanted to bring a group of medical students to the clinic. “I agreed to his request, but I worry if the students are up to the task. They are used to Western medicine. Western facilities. How will they deal with having to operate in unsanitary conditions without a scalpel?”
Deciding that the doctor’s question was rhetorical, Vivian glanced at Leo and said nothing.
After a resigned sigh, the doctor invited them to sit, and asked, “How may I help you?”
Leo introduced them as friends of Wes and explained the reason for their visit.
The doctor knew Wes and was impressed with the foundation’s work in the village. “He is a very dedicated individual, and his support has helped many villagers,” said Dr. Farmer.
Vivian removed the HemaCube device from her bag and sat it on the desk. “Does this belong to you?”
“Where did you get that?” asked the doctor, reaching across the desk to pick it up. “I’ve been looking for it for days.”
“I thought one of the staff had stolen it to sell it,” said the doctor, staring at the HemaCube. “Unfortunately, it happens more often than you think, which is why I make a habit of labeling all of my equipment.”
“That’s how we found you,” said Leo.
“This is one of my most important detection tools,” said the doctor. “As you can see, the hospital is lacking all but the very basic supplies. This helps me to analyze and diagnose blood disorders.”
Leo said, “We found it in the personal belongings of one of the workers at the foundation. Francine Xarras.”
“Did you know her?” asked Vivian.
“Oh, poor Francine. I heard what happened to her.” The doctor shook his head. “So tragic. I did not know her personally. We met once. You said my HemaCube was found in her things? How could that have happened?”
Leo asked, “Did you ever travel to the organization’s compound, maybe to the onsite clinic there?”
“I did go to the compound, once or twice, but not to see patients. I went to visit one of the workers, Matilda Ross.” The doctor stroked his chin. “Do you think Matilda took my HemaCube?”
“Why would she do that?” Vivian asked.
“Well, the last time I spoke to Matilda,” the doctor began, “it was a strange conversation. She wanted me to show her how to draw blood, but she didn’t say why and when I pressed the issue, she dropped it and then ‘distracted’ me.”
Leo asked, “Distracted you, how?”
“With sex,” said the doctor, shrugging.
Vivian sneaked a glance at Leo and resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Matilda was very distracting to many men,” Dr. Farmer confided, with a conspiratorial wink in Leo’s direction—a wink Vivian caught and which irritated her.
“No, I was not Matilda’s only lover, unfortunately,” said the doctor, “and I didn’t have her heart. No, her heart belonged to Yves, who also worked at the foundation. But, Yves’ heart belonged to another—Francine. Much to Matilda’s chagrin and consternation. You know, once she asked me if I knew a shaman or a witch doctor. She wanted to put a spell on Francine to make her go away, she said, though she didn’t tell me why. I suspect she wanted to get rid of her rival so she could have Yves to herself. I doubt Matilda is shedding any tears for poor Francine.”
8
Instruct-Africa Compound
Bingu Village, Rural Malawi
“You really think Matilda Ross planted evidence to make Francine appear to be a vampire?” asked Leo, leaning against the door frame of Matilda’s small cottage.
After leaving the Good Hope Village Clinic, Leo had thought they would head back to the capital before sunset, in about three hours, but Vivian wanted to return to the cottage to search Matilda’s room.
“That’s exactly what I think,” said Vivian, searching through the clothes in the third drawer of Matilda’s bureau. “She stole the HemaCube, a technological device that would make any superstitious villager suspicious, and put it where she knew the maid, Lily, would find it—in Francine’s dirty clothes hamper.”
Not sure about Vivian’s theory, Leo said, “Seems sort of a stretch, to me.”
“How is it a stretch?” asked Vivian as she closed the third drawer and opened the second from the top. “You heard what Dr. Farmer said. Matilda was asking him about drawing blood.”
“It’s a legitimate question,” said Leo. “Farmer’s a doctor, so he would know, and maybe Matilda wanted to know because …”
“Because she wanted to draw blood, put it in a bottle, and hide it in Francine’s bathroom,” said Vivian, closing the second drawer. “Don’t forget what Officer Shenango told us. He informed both Francine and Matilda about the vampire rumors about two weeks before Wes got the orders to evacuate the compound. But, Matilda made it sound as though the first she’d heard about the vampire rumors was from Francine when they were in the Range Rover leaving the compound.”
“Matilda lied,” agreed Leo. “But there’s still no proof that she stole the HemaCube and set up Francine to look like a bloodsucker.”
“Then how do you think the HemaCube got in Francine’s hamper?” asked Vivian. “Lily said she found the ‘little red box with the blinking
