Part 14 (1/2)

The flower print had been glued into the clip-frame and the front piece of gla.s.s had been attached securely to the backing plywood.

It didn't matter.

The corner could be smashed and the broken edge of gla.s.s used for whatever purpose necessary.

And there was indeed a necessary purpose.

The tiny screws.

The locker edge.

The broken gla.s.s-frame corner.

Added together, they were enough.

Alex utilised all of the materials available.

Wrists were cut, arms were gouged, the face was slit.

Alex was pleased. There was work to be done. As the blood flowed, as the skin gave up its secrets, Alex sat and knew that it was time.

Armed with as much material as could be gained under such restrictive circ.u.mstances, the word was written on the wall.

The deal was, indeed, sealed.

Chapter Nineteen.

'Are you sure this is necessary?' I asked as Jack had handed me a white coat that he'd stolen from a doctor's locker.

'It's best that we don't attract attention to ourselves. It's hard enough for a stranger to pa.s.s unnoticed in the Highlands. At least if we wear the uniform they'll think we are legitimate Sa.s.senachs.'

We stopped outside Room 404, where Jack had been told Cattanach stayed. It was six in the morning, so the night s.h.i.+ft were having a break before waking the patients. We didn't encounter a soul.

'Will we go in?' I nervously whispered to Jack.

I was wary about bursting in on Cattanach, even though I was pretty angry at how much trouble this disappearing act had caused for me. Jack didn't wait; he walked in without knocking. I peered over his shoulder. It was difficult; I had to stand on my tiptoes.

The stench of human excrement and blood was overwhelming.

'Don't look, Brodie! Just get the f.u.c.k out of here,' Jack shouted as he tackled me backwards. I fell against the wall but it was too late.

I had seen her.

Alex Cattanach was unrecognisable from the woman we both knew.

The former female rugby internationalist was a shadow of her former self. When I had last met Alex she had been full of muscles and strength. A big-boned woman. As I looked at her the only phrase that came to mind was that 'there were no big-boned people in Auschwitz'.

Jack broke the silence.

'Jesus, what happened to her face?'

's.h.i.+t, Jack, she's been mutilated. There's a pattern to the cuts on her face. What sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d could have done that to her mouth?'

Alex Cattanach's mouth had been cut from her lips to her ears.

A sickening smile.

Cattanach moved, but not in recognition. Her blank eyes were motionless as she swayed. Her swaying drew our attention to the wall.

'What the f.u.c.k has she written there?' Jack asked.

There was no need.

We could both read the two-foot-high word written in blood and s.h.i.+t.

BRODIE.

'Do you mind explaining what you are doing here?'

The voice was soft and cultured; they speak the best Queen's English in Inverness. The doctor looked like a tired teenager. He had come in whilst Jack and I were staring at the wall, staring at what Alex Cattanach had written there.

'Sorry. Doctor...?'

'MacPherson. Doctor MacPherson,' he replied cautiously. 'Are you family, may I ask? It's only close relatives who are allowed to visit Miss Cattanach at the moment.'

The bags under his eyes indicated that it had been a long, hard night. Dr MacPherson reminded me of a bloodhound, with lanky brown hair falling like jowls around his face. I hoped that his resemblance to a bloodhound stopped with his looks.

'Not exactly.'

In my impatience I interrupted Jack's attempts to silence me with looks.

'Doctor MacPherson.' I noticed on his nametag that his Christian name was Callum.

'May I call you Callum?'

'No, you may not. I am Doctor MacPherson and I think even you can see that this woman is very ill and she is my patient.' I had taken it as a given that he would consent to a chatty approach because of his age. I a.s.sumed he would like informality, but now he was pulling rank. 'Now tell me why you are in her room, at this unG.o.dly hour, without permission?' he continued.

'Doctor MacPherson, I understand that you have a very responsible job and I apologise for the fact that we didn't inform you of our intention to visit ... Alex.'

This caught the doctor's attention. 'Alex? You know her? You know her name?'

Jack saw his opening and a chance to trade his information for some coming the other way. Whilst Jack tried to repair any damage he thought I'd done, Alex was paying no attention to us whatsoever. Nor did she show any sign of recognising us. She was swaying back and forth, picking at the scabs on her face with fingernails that were broken to the quick. I felt sick to my stomach as I recalled how much it hurt just to break one fingernail. Her hands looked swollen and infected; mercifully, I couldn't imagine what she had done to herself to make this happen.

'Doctor,' continued Jack, 'Your patient is called Alex Cattanach and she's a rather high profile missing person in Edinburgh. Can you tell me what's going on here? I've seen a number of colleagues who have suffered a nervous breakdown from pressure of work, but none of them have ever self-harmed to such an extent.'

'Is that what you think this is?' asked the doctor. He gently took Alex's hand and pulled her towards us. She was impervious to our existence. MacPherson ran his finger down her cheek, like a merchant touching an exquisite vase and pointing out the intricacies of its colour and pattern. I noticed the raw, jagged edges of the swirling patterns on her cheeks, the fresh black st.i.tches holding her face together.