Burn Patterns (36 page)

‘It's a long journey, James. Longer to go.' Iris patted him on his leg.

‘Ow.' He said it distantly. His eyes were closed.

‘Sorry.'

‘Don't let them cut off my leg.'

‘I won't. Can we talk about dates? Do you feel up to dates and where you might have been?'

‘No. Later. Too tired.'

‘You sleep. I will be back later.'

Iris stood, spinning around to the audience. Frank leaned in the corner, his chin in his hand, looking at James. John nodded to her. Pavlovic stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

Iris said, ‘Toxicology?' ‘The lab.'

‘If he has the same tranquiliser in him as the two attendants at Fieldhaven?'

‘It could have been self-administered,' said Frank, to John, not to Iris. ‘Time is unaccounted for between the zoo and the church. He might be acting it out, even in his head, a projected battle between the dominant identities. They are each trying to destroy the other. The incident in the church may well have been James Jules trying to stop James Zeus from killing again. He may have been trying to sabotage the Zeus identity's latest plans to kill, literally undoing the other's work while he's in control of the body.'

Iris said, ‘Frank, it is not him.'

Frank barely glanced at her before turning back to John. ‘I'm not convinced.'

Iris asked Pavlovic, ‘Does his description of Zeus fit the descriptions of the fire inspector at the Zorro fires?'

He thought. He nodded. ‘Out please. Everybody. Let's not have these conversations in front of the suspect.'

The cameramen were packing up. James appeared to be sleeping. His heart monitor seemed stable. She wondered if anyone watched it for jumps like a rudimentary lie detector.

Iris said, ‘Are you posting a guard?'

Pavlovic said, ‘Yes.'

‘He's still in danger now he's seen him.'

‘Under police guard in a locked room.'

Frank and John were in a discussion down the hall. Iris went to them. John said, ‘We never asked the question: are you Zeus? Mrs Foster asked it.'

Iris said, ‘Are you going to talk to him again?'

John said, ‘In an hour.'

Frank wouldn't look at her. Iris said, ‘Frank, how do you prove you don't have something you are not aware of?'

Frank said, ‘This is why it is up to others to investigate and assess, not the patient. Qualified people who are not emotionally involved or sick themselves.' He still didn't look at her, even though he'd tried to wound her deeply.

Iris found her way to the public cafeteria on the second floor. She needed to be back at the room in an hour to listen in on the next interview. Through the glass doors leading to a balcony Iris saw it was dark outside. She grabbed a sandwich in a plastic wrapper, was about to order tea when she overheard the lady behind the servery explain that the water was off. She bought bottled water, found a seat.

Iris felt certain James was not Zeus. She was fairly sure Frank had been blinded by the excitement of discovering a multiple identity case. She didn't blame him. She didn't blame anyone for hubris or seeking the limelight. She would like to ask James about the circus. She suspected it had happened there or at the adoptive parents' house. Iris suspected the circus with its itinerant crowds and workers. He'd seen something or done something in KL that brought back whatever had happened to him when he was a child. Something triggered the breakdown in Kuala Lumpur. Something James did not want to face. Trauma causing further trauma.

Iris called Mathew on her dump phone. She got his answer service. He would still not recognise her new temporary number, she supposed. ‘Hello, Mathew. I'm caught up at the hospital interviewing James Jules. I will be late. Sorry. I was thinking. When this sorts itself out, shall we hop on a plane and go see Rosemarie? See you soon. I love you.'

Iris noticed the battery was low on the phone. Time to demand her old phone back from the police.

She worked on the sandwich. The bread was damp, the lettuce dry.

She thought about Zeus. If James was not Zeus, then why did Zeus want to kill Iris at the zoo? Was she still in danger? He must have followed her in the past, which was why he knew so much. She recalled the CCTV footage of Zeus at the zoo. He disconnected the cylinders with familiarity. The sedative used on the hospital workers was an animal tranquiliser, Pavlovic had said. James sneezed around Zeus, he said. James was allergic to dogs. There were dog hairs in the truck at the school. Animal hairs. Different animal hairs. Not solely dog?

Iris rang Pavlovic. He answered straight away. ‘It's all right, Iris. I don't think you could possibly be working with James. I'm convinced.'

‘It's not why I'm calling. Zeus works with animals. Maybe he's from the zoo. No. He's a vet. The dogs he took to case the school. One was bandaged. You can see he doesn't treat them like an owner. He's taken them as cover.'

‘The tranquiliser.'

‘Yes.'

‘The ether too. Chuck said it is used in … He'd be familiar with the depot or whatever. Would know the drill.'

‘It fits. You're looking for a vet. He has a bad record too. His animals die or have strange lingering illnesses. A cluster of unhappy animal owners. It's perverse yet also perfect. The triangle. Animal cruelty, firelighting, trouble in his past. It's the sociopath triangle. It's a brilliant cover for his animal torture. Blond, bland, meticulous, bossy … oh, shit. He's a sociopath, a sociopath with a narcissistic personality disorder.'

‘What?'

‘I think it could be one of my patients.'

Silence on the other end of the line.

Iris said, ‘Are you there?'

‘Yes. Who?'

‘Dr Hampton. His name is Paul Hampton. He fits the description, Stuart. He's strange in the right way. I'm not saying it's definitely him. I am saying definitely look at him.'

‘On it. You got an address?'

‘Call you back.'

She telephoned Charles Koch, was put to his answering
service. She talked quickly. ‘Charles, it's Iris. I need you to check your files again. Back in the Springsteen spree was there a young white boy say about fourteen years old named Paul Hampton? Maybe he used a different surname. Paul Hampton – he would have been about fourteen or fifteen. Urgent. Um, call Pavlovic with what you find, my phone is dying.'

Iris telephoned Mary, hoping it was a late practice evening.

‘Park Psychology and Healing Centre.'

‘Mary, it's Iris Foster.'

‘Hey, how are you?'

‘I don't have time right now, Mary. Can you give me Paul Hampton's address?'

‘Checking. You going to see him? He has been calling a lot. He got quite abusive when we explained you'd left.'

‘Listen, I'm about to run out of phone battery. Can you give any addresses to a Detective Stuart Pavlovic?' Iris gave her the phone number. ‘Mary, it's urgent and really, really important. Okay. Inform Patricia he may be dangerous.'

Iris's telephone shut down. She hoped Koch would get her message, although the files weren't important now. If only she'd seen them herself. His name might have jumped out. If only she'd considered the people in her practice. The people in front of her. His desire to show off to her, while fooling her, while pumping her for information about his case. Iris gasped at the realisation that if Zeus stole her laptop he conceived his idea about James as scapegoat from reading Iris's report.

Iris became distracted by another commotion at the counter. A doctor in greens demanded coffee. A cleaner called, ‘The water's off on the whole floor.' Someone else said, ‘The whole hospital.'

Iris peered at the smoke alarm in the corner of the cafeteria roof. She couldn't see a green light. Iris went to the corridor where she found another fire detector on the hall ceiling. It did not appear to be working.

She scanned the corridor of the concourse level. People were buying things from the florists and newsagent. Visitors meandered on their way to and from patients. A nurse moved with normal haste. A maintenance person was unlocking a panel.

Iris went to him as he checked the tap. Iris said, ‘You need to go down to the mains. You need to also alert people about the fire alarms.'

He stared at her, confused. He appeared to be Sri Lankan, which meant he might have a PhD or no English.

‘I think the hospital is under attack.'

He said, ‘I'm maintenance. The pipes.'

Iris saw a bulge in his buttoned top pocket. She pointed, said, ‘Can I borrow your lighter. Lighter?'

‘No smoking.' He returned to the cabinet, closed it.

‘I'll give you twenty dollars for your lighter.'

He glanced at her purse.

Iris produced a twenty dollar note.

He shrugged. He didn't mind making money from a crazy patient. He produced a disposable, traded. He put the money in his pocket before he said, ‘No smoking.'

Iris went along the corridor until she found an open hospital room. The patient was in her thirties, her hair done nice, her nightie covered in pink roses.

Iris said, ‘Hi, is your phone connected?'

‘The phone works okay. The television won't get all the stations.'

Iris scanned the ceiling until she saw the sprinkler. It was an old room in an old hospital. She got the visitors chair, pushed it up against a cabinet with a shelf of flowers.

‘What procedure are you in for?'

‘Tubes tied.'

‘Can you walk?'

‘Yes.'

‘You might want to get out of the hospital. Go down the main stairs. He can't block those.'

Iris put the cigarette lighter up against the mercury ball connected to the sprinkler. She flicked to make a flame, let it lick the mercury ball.

‘What are you doing?' called the patient. She pressed her call button.

‘Cover up. If I'm wrong, we are going to get wet. And Fire and Rescue will come.'

The mercury heated until the glass burst but only a dribble of water trickled from the pipe. It was residual with no pressure. No alarms sounded in the corridor. Maybe a light might blink on at the nearest fire station or call centre.

Iris climbed down, went to the lady's telephone.

She gave a short scream, cowered.

A nurse came in. ‘What seems to be the trouble?'

‘Her,' said the patient.

Iris said, ‘I think there is going to be a fire in the hospital.'

Iris dialled out, then triple zero. ‘Emergency Services, which service do you require?'

‘Fire and police. There's a fire at Royal Hospital.'

‘Nearest corner?'

‘It's Royal Hospital! Top of the hill, next to the church.' She glared at the nurse, demanded, ‘What's the street outside the ground floor entrance?'

The nurse said, ‘There's no fire. There's no alarms. There's no fire here.'

‘She lit it. She lit the sprinkler on the roof with her lighter,' said the patient.

Iris spoke into the telephone, ‘Can you connect me to the fire communications centre?'

‘Where is the fire in the hospital?' asked the emergency operator.

‘I assume on the ground floor. Low, so it burns up and traps everyone. The basement. Start in the basement.'

The nurse said, ‘Madam, there's no fire.' She pushed a button on her pager.

Iris said, ‘Yes, call security. You had a code orange on Sunday night. Well, it's going to happen again, only this will be code red, if you have anything higher than orange. An actual fire with no warning.'

‘We just got back in,' said the patient.

The com-cen operator said, ‘We have no alarms showing at that location, madam. Can you reach a fire extinguisher?'

Iris said to the telephone, ‘This is Iris Foster. The alarms are out. The water is off. The suspect for the gymnasium bombing is in this hospital. I believe a fire is about to start in the hospital, if it
is not already going. You will want every available fire appliance, police dogs, rescue. Send soldiers. I know you are recording this conversation. Play it to anyone in authority. Now!'

Iris spun to the nurse, who'd gone quiet. She said, ‘Security?'

‘They aren't here yet.' She shrugged. They were not necessarily swift at the best of times.

Iris said, ‘Where's your nurses station? Take me.' She turned to the lady in bed. ‘If you can walk, I suggest you get dressed and leave the hospital.'

A ripple of commotion started in the corridor. People were moving with purpose and moderate urgency. Perhaps they had discovered the fire.

‘Something is up,' said the nurse, looking back at Iris with wariness.

Nurses and civilians were standing at the lifts. The arrows were out. The lifts were not working.

Other nurses and a doctor were in a mild flap at the nurses station.

Iris said, ‘We need security.'

‘Have you seen them?' said the sister on the telephone.

‘Who?'

‘They've broken out of the prison ward. A policeman has been killed. All the patients from the secure ward are roaming the hospital.'

‘The lifts aren't working,' said the doctor tangentially.

‘I believe there's going to be a fire. You need to alert whoever you need to so you can go to code orange again.'

They gaped at her. Iris could spend days trying to convince one of them to get her to the person in charge, repeating the ludicrous tale thousands of times along the way.

The sister on the phone said, ‘Oh my god. One of the criminals has a hostage. He's got broken glass and he's got a doctor hostage.'

Iris left them, studied the corridor again, noting the emergency exit.

Iris went back into the patient's room. The patient had gone. Iris went to the window to look out. She could see the street below. A small fire appliance was idling down in the street. Iris
got magazines from the patient's table, tore pages, scrunching them into a pile of paper balls on the ledge of the window. She lit the paper under the curtains, got wrapping paper from the flowers and a plastic bin, added them to the flames which quickly raced up the curtains.