‘A few months before that, Patient B, a medical student, reported similar fears,’ said Evi. ‘Bad dreams of a sexual nature, waking up feeling hungover and sluggish, even though she claimed she hadn’t been drinking or taken anything. Patient B never used the word rape. She felt as though she was being violated repeatedly, but she thought it was her own mind that was doing the damage.’
‘That’s creepy,’ said Laura. ‘She killed herself too?’
Evi nodded. ‘At the start of that same year, another girl, Patient C, reported her fears of ongoing rape to the police,’ she said. ‘Excessive levels of ketamine were found in her bloodstream that she swore she hadn’t taken. Other than that, though, no evidence. The police were sympathetic but had nothing to go on.’
‘You said four,’ Laura reminded her.
‘Patient D attempted to kill herself five years ago,’ Evi said. ‘Similar history. Bad dreams, trouble sleeping, vague recollections of sexual abuse.’
‘Attempted? You mean she’s still alive?’
Evi said nothing. After a moment, Laura stood up and crossed to the window. ‘Since you found the figures on suicide attempts,’ she said, over her shoulder, ‘our list has gone up to twenty-nine.’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Evi.
Laura turned back to look at her. ‘You know who they all are?’ she asked.
Evi nodded.
‘But you won’t tell me?’
‘I’m not ready to be struck off just yet,’ Evi told her. ‘Besides, there are other ways you can get the information. There’ll be coroner’s reports on the actual suicides. The police can access those, as long as you prove to the coroner you have good reason.’
Laura didn’t look convinced. Her lips pursed and her eyes fell to the floor. Then she seemed to think of something. She looked up and forced a polite smile on to her face.
‘I do understand,’ she told Evi. ‘Thank you for telling me what you have. I’ll discuss it with my senior officers. If they think it important, I’m sure they’ll take it further.’
Laura Farrow was up to something she shouldn’t be. There was a glint of excitement behind those eyes now. And she was looking at the back of the door where her jacket was hanging.
‘Let me know if anything comes up, won’t you?’ Evi asked her.
Laura agreed that she would but she was already mentally somewhere else. She crossed the room, pulled down her jacket and put it on. A second later she was gone.
VISITING TIME HAD just started but there was no one in the small, private room with its tropical microclimate except Bryony herself. As I approached the protective tent, I could see that the cadaver’s face had been fastened to Bryony’s own flesh with centimetre-long steel staples. They ran around her eyes and her mouth, along the top of her head. Frankenstein, I couldn’t help thinking. Frankenstein stitched dead people together to make a living creature.
Bryony’s ventilator had been removed again. All that was left was a small length of plastic pipe attached to her throat in case the staff needed to hook her up again quickly. For the moment, she was breathing unaided.
I would rather be dead. I would a million times rather be dead than spend a single day looking like this.
The door closed behind me and, at the faint swishing sound it made, Bryony’s eyes opened. She looked at me and blinked.
‘Hello,’ I said.
Her eyes were bright blue. Beautiful eyes, hardly touched by the fire, but seeing them move beneath dead skin was like watching an animated corpse. I pulled the bedside chair a little way from the bed and sat down. I think I’d been hoping I’d no longer have to see her eyes. It didn’t work. She turned her head and those eyes were fixed on me again.
How could I ever have thought this was a good idea?
‘You’re probably wondering who I am,’ I said, making myself look directly at her. ‘And the truth is, I’m not sure what to tell you.’
Her lashless eyelids closed briefly, then opened again. I had no means of knowing what, if anything, she was taking in. She might be awake but her pain medication would still be very strong.
‘I can’t even tell you my name,’ I went on, ‘because I’m not allowed to tell you my real one. And I don’t want to lie to you.’
Something in those eyes. It could have been curiosity. It could have been fear. I really didn’t want to frighten her.
‘If you want me to leave,’ I said, ‘I will. I don’t know whether you can talk but if you blink your eyes at me very rapidly, I’ll take that as a signal to go. OK?’
I didn’t really expect a response, but Bryony moved her head up and down.
‘I’m living in your old room,’ I said. ‘Sharing with Talaith. But I’m not a student. I’m pretending to be one, but I’m not.’
What on earth was I doing? If Bryony had any way of communicating with people, I’d just blown it. I’d destroyed my cover, wrecked the case and was probably on the verge of jeopardizing this girl’s recovery.
‘I’m here,’ I went on, knowing I was committed, ‘because people are concerned. They think someone might be harming students. Maybe not directly, maybe it’s all quite subtle, but it’s dangerous all the same.’
Bryony raised her right hand from the bed. It was heavily bandaged. She pressed her forefinger and thumb close together and waved her hand around in the air.
‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Can I get you something? Do you need the nurse?’
She let her hand fall back to the bed. Her breathing had quickened, her chest rising and falling beneath the bedclothes. In spite of what Nick had told me the other day about sedatives, she seemed to be in pain.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I really don’t want to upset you and I’ll go the minute you ask me to.’
I stopped, looking for the rapid blinking that would be my signal to beat it. I was half hoping to see it. She just looked at me. Waiting.
‘OK, here’s the thing,’ I said, just wanting to get it over with now. ‘I’ve read your case notes and I know what you think was happening to you in your room at night. I also know that at least four other women students have reported very similar things happening to them.’
Her eyes seemed to widen.
‘Four young women talked about bad dreams, of someone coming into their rooms at night. They talked about being raped. All the things that happened to you.’
Her eyes didn’t leave mine for a second.
‘Bryony,’ I said, ‘do you have any idea who it was that was coming into your room?’
Bryony closed her eyes and moved her head from side to side. She didn’t know. It was several seconds before she opened her eyes again. I was tiring her.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you get some rest now.’
Her right arm was off the bedclothes again. Thumb and forefinger clenched together, she was waving her hand around.
‘I’ll get the nurse,’ I said.
Heading for the door I was stopped in my tracks by urgent sounds coming from the bed behind me. The sort of sounds you make when you can’t speak but you really want to make a noise. I turned back. Bryony had half raised herself from the bedclothes. She was still making that odd, jerky movement with her hand. Then, exhaustion getting the better of her, she collapsed back on the bed and moaned softly. I walked round to the right side of the tent, to the vents the nurses used to get close to her. Dangling from beneath the one closest to her hand was a small, rectangular piece of white plastic and a fibre-tipped pen.
‘Bryony,’ I said to her, ‘can you write?’
