“Just the forename, no age, no address and no surname,” he says, running his pen under the entry.
“What does it mean?” Alex asks as he leans close to the screen.
Erik opens the notes section and together they scan through it. “This girl here, she visited Doctor Bastiaan on the 6th July. It won’t say what for or if she received any treatment, that’s confidential and we’d need a court order for that information.”
“Shit,” swears Alex, quietly. “So what can we do? How can we find out if it was her?”
Erik yawns loudly and stretches in his chair. “We can pay a visit to the doctor, I want to speak to him again anyway, see if there is any link that we’re not aware of between these girls.” He sweeps his hand across the victim’s files.
“Would he know? I mean, in England you’re lucky if you ever see the same doctor at your surgery.”
“It’s quite different here; Bram has been looking after the working girls for years, decades actually.”
He leans back, pen tapping thoughtfully on the screen, recalling the last visit he paid to the doctor who was rather rude and obnoxious.
A wave of tiredness hits him and he yawns again. Alex was right, days and nights have passed since he last slept in his bed and he needs to get back to the hospital to check on Naomi.
A dark cloud of misery hits him at the thought of her. He’s torn between hating her for what she’s done to them as a couple, and wanting her to wake up and get better.
“I do need to sleep,” he admits to Alex. “But here, in case anything happens. Will you come back and wake me in an hour?”
Alex smiles sympathetically at him, a look which grates on Erik intensely.
“I’ll go back to the hotel, get changed and I’ll come back here at lunchtime. I’ll bring us some food, okay?”
Grudgingly, Erik concedes. And without saying goodbye he makes his way into the inner office and lies down on the couch.
But despite being zombie-tired, sleep is hard to come. And when it finally catches him, his slumber is filled with visions of Naomi and a faceless, nameless other man.
55
ELIAN AND THE DOCTOR
HOLLAND SPOOR
14.7.15 Early Morning
Elian stands motionless in front of the surgery door to collect herself. It’s a little before 9 a.m., she’s right on time for her meeting with the doctor, and from here they will travel together to the hospital so she can have the scan. She runs through the details in her head, pleased that she remembers clearly why she is here and what the plan is. But if she recalls it all in perfect details, does she need to go through this at all?
Yes, she decides firmly. Because there have been many instances where she has failed to remember, and just because today is a good day it doesn’t mean tomorrow will be.
Elian takes a deep breath, knocks, and blinks in surprise as the door is opened immediately. Was the doctor waiting on the other side of the door? Does he know she’s been standing here for five minutes?
“You are very punctual,” he smiles as he speaks, but his usually relaxed face is taut as he looks past her to the road, his eyes darting this way and that before he steps back and opens his arm, a welcoming gesture for her to step inside.
He shuts the door behind her, side-stepping Elian and walking ahead into his surgery. Dutifully she follows.
“You’ll need to take that,” he says, pointing to a tall glass of milky looking fluid. “It’s a contrast material so everything inside shows up nice and clear on the scan. Give it a stir.” He hands her a length of plastic.
Elian looks at it, it’s not a spoon, in fact it looks an awful lot like the tool they use when they do a smear test. She swallows loudly in the silence of the room, then, feeling stupid, she swirls it around the drink slowly.
He still seems distracted to her, moving around his office, lifting up piles of paper and setting them down again. After watching him for a moment, Elian decides she prefers him this way. She is more relaxed when he is like this, rather than his usual overly attentive self.
As per his instructions she hasn’t had anything to drink yet this morning, and even though it’s not an attractive looking beverage, it only serves to remind her how thirsty she is. Picking up the glass, holding the ‘spoon’ to one side, she emits a little groan of relief as she swallows it all down, the cold liquid immediately quenching her thirst.
Ten minutes later, the drink all gone, Elian is sitting in his chair, wondering when they are going to leave for the hospital. She clears her throat, he has been silent for ages and it is becoming uncomfortable. “I really appreciate your help, doctor,” she says. “And I can pay you, I will pay.”
He waves away her words, reaches over and picks up her empty glass, walks over to his sink and washes it up, before returning to his chair and glancing at his watch.
“Soon we shall leave.”
Elian nods, tried to offer her thanks again, but her throat and the bottom of her face feel funny. Raising a hand she rubs her jaw but realises she is stroking at her hairline instead. Looking over at him she frowns.
“Um, doctor Basitaan, I feel …” But no more words will come.
In some distant part of her mind she feels
