Mr. Nobody(34)
“And what about this mystery speck on his CT scans? The pituitary…?”
“Oh, the cyst, yes. Probably not related at all, but I will be looking into it, one hundred percent, you can take my word for that.”
His face relaxes slightly. “Great.”
“Can I ask what’s been happening regarding the patient’s lack of communication?” I ask.
“Sure.” He dives in, eager to update me. “We’ve been trying to organize a multilingual translator to come in. As you know, the media have been chomping at the bit with this whole foreign national thing, so I’ve been apprehensive about arranging anything that might confirm or strengthen those rumors without you having met him first. I’d rather hear your thoughts. I don’t want to add petrol to the flames here, obviously.”
My breath snags.
Petrol to the flames? What does he mean by that?
It’s a saying, Em, relax, it’s just a saying, I tell myself.
Nick catches my discomfort but misconstrues it. “Of course, I can arrange the translator straightaway, if you need me to?”
“No, no. I think you’re exactly right. No need for that just yet. His silence could be a number of things at this stage. Something may be affecting the language-processing areas of his brain; I’ll need to run some tests. Or he may not be talking because he’s scared. Any form of memory loss can be deeply disorientating. I’d like to do an initial assessment this morning, Nick, if it’s possible? And—has he communicated in any other way with anyone here at the hospital? Made any connections with other patients or staff?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Well, I’d love to pull anyone else he’s communicated with in for a quick chat, if that’s possible. It’d be useful to know in what ways and to what degree he’s been making himself understood over the last…what? Eight days?”
“Yes. Yes, of course I can find out who he’s been communicating with. We’ll make sure you get the opportunity to speak to those people, no problem.”
The idea suddenly occurs to me. “Of course, there is always the possibility that the patient is deaf or has preexisting speech problems. Do you know if anyone attempted to communicate with him via sign language?”
Nick squeezes his eyes shut tightly for a second. “Shit.”
I’m guessing that’s a no.
He rubs a hand across his forehead. “No, not to my knowledge, no.”
“Don’t worry, this is why I’m here,” I reassure him. “It’s just another avenue we’ll cover. There’s also the possibility that he might have sustained damage to his vocal cords if he did almost drown the morning he was found. Either way, best to cover our bases on those points before moving on any question of language.”
“Yes, that’s for damn sure.” He wets his lips now before continuing. “Can we just talk about the press? I know it’s not your remit but there are a lot of crazy ideas floating around out there. Do any of them sound…I don’t know, do any sound like possibilities to you?”
Having dredged through hours of media coverage online the night I agreed to take the case, and again last night in bed, I’m aware of what those floating ideas are. “Well, um, the idea that he may be military and have returned from deployment in Syria is theoretically a possibility. Dissociative amnesia is a form of PTSD. He could have had trouble reacclimatizing to civilian life. It’s a possibility. The refugee idea is equally plausible; refugees are just as likely as a soldier to suffer from PTSD, they’re in the same war zones. Failed suicide, yes, possible. A fisherman falling off a fishing boat, sure, it’s a possibility, but as far as I’m aware, there’s no evidence of that, no one missing. Um…and second coming of Jesus, slash, he’s an angel, medically speaking not my remit—”
Nick lets out a loud laugh and I smile.
“—oh, um, and in terms of the Russian idea along the lines of the nerve agent released in Salisbury. Chemicals are definitely worth testing for, although, to my knowledge, he’s not showing any related symptoms.” I pause for a moment to see if there’s anything I’ve missed. “I mean, it is very strange, given the amount of press coverage, that nobody has come forward in eight days to identify him. That should be telling us something. Although I’m just not sure exactly what it’s telling us.”
“Yes, quite.”
“Have the police made any progress?”
“In a word, no. They’ve been keeping us in the loop, but they haven’t been able to trace his journey before the beach. No abandoned cars found in the area. They’ve checked CCTV at King’s Lynn train station and the local shops, but he hasn’t shown up on anything yet. Plus, no ID on him, as you know, and his fingerprints aren’t on the national database, so no luck there.”
“Have the police run DNA?”
Nick raises his eyebrows. “No. No, I don’t think they have yet,” he says hopefully. “Definitely worth asking them for an update as of today.” He taps a note into his phone briskly, then looks at me with a smile of gratitude. “Can I just say, Emma, I’ve never been so glad to have the troops called in on me. Something tells me before long we’ll have something solid to show for our efforts.” He rises, signaling that our meeting is officially over. “Right, I hope you don’t mind me springing this on you, but I’ve asked all nonessential staff to gather up in the canteen—I thought you could do a quick intro and get your face out there so they all know who you are. How does that sound?”