Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [77]
about the family tree, a couple of diaries. I was just trying to work out why Dad had bought them.’
‘Do you remember your father buying them?’
Laska nodded. ‘He worked out that both diaries belonged to people who lived and worked around here. Then, as he dug further, he seemed to imply that they might have a bearing on the family tree. Certainly he kept them with his family research stuff, and not his books of local history.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Smith. ‘Would you mind if I had a look?’
Laska did not reply immediately. It was just another simple step, she was surprised she found it so hard – and yet, as she imagined Dr Smith rooting through the suitcase, his hands running over the sacred things within, her blood ran cold. But she had to do this. She couldn’t come this far and then fail at the last moment.
‘OK,’ she said quietly, then, more confidently, ‘no problem.’
‘Thank you.’ Smith got to his feet.
Fitz came into the room then, almost knocking into tables in his enthusiasm to reach Dr Smith. ‘The suicide. . . you’ve heard?’ he asked.
Smith nodded, and pointed at the note on the desk. ‘Return this to the room. Dr Bartholomew will be looking for it.’
‘Sure,’ said Fitz.
Laska did not know whether to be impressed or appalled by Fitz’s unquestioning loyalty.
Smith turned to her, resting his hand on her arm just for a moment.
She remembered his earlier touch, his fingertips on the pale skin of her neck. Without thinking her own hands went to her throat, seeking the necklace that – briefly worn – was no longer there.
‘I’m assuming these books are in your room?’
Laska nodded dumbly.
‘Perhaps you would like to lead the way,’ said Smith. ‘And, if you’re interested, I can tell you about the note.’
‘I’ve taken the opportunity to survey Mr Butler’s records,’ said Smith as he and Laska walked the corridors of the Retreat. ‘You get the impression he spent most of his adult life in one hospital after another, barring a lengthy period when he was cared for in the wider community.’
Laska snorted but said nothing.
‘Sometimes the authorities looked after him. Sometimes they let him down.’
Laska noted with interest that Smith didn’t include himself in any phrase involving ‘the authorities’, but then, she could barely imagine him following rules and regulations, so mysterious and unknowable were his purposes.
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‘In any event, he seemed happy enough here. We can be satisfied with that, I suppose.’
Now he was using an inclusive ‘we’. Perhaps he had come to see Laska as a confidante, someone who could be trusted and drawn into his world.
‘What did the note say?’ asked Laska.
‘It spoke of a growing frustration. He seemed to think that his medication wasn’t working. He was seeing things.’
‘What things?’
‘He didn’t say – but they obviously affected him deeply. He was beginning to doubt the veracity of everything he perceived.’
‘Then the drugs don’t work,’ said Laska.
‘They just make it worse?’ said Smith, wiping the smug smile from Laska’s face. ‘Actually, they do work, and in this case, I think they still were.’ He stopped suddenly, turning to Laska. ‘You’re still taking your medication?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Laska. ‘I’m a good girl.’ But secretly her heart was beating faster now. Perhaps poor Mr Butler had seen a hound. Perhaps it was all real.
She remembered the last diary entry she had read, and for a moment she considered telling Smith about the creature she had seen – had dreamed of.
But Smith’s priority seemed to be to read the diaries for himself. Laska reasoned that everything else could wait.
‘Here we are,’ she announced when they stood outside her room. ‘I warn you, it’s quite a mess. Please excuse any stale pizzas, old knickers or imprisoned ex-boyfriends you might find.’ She giggled now, almost light-headed with her honesty and Smith’s unquestioning acceptance of her.
She saw Smith staring at the splintered mess at the bottom of her door –
much larger than she remembered it. They exchanged glances, but