Life after death
Chapter 4 Disclosures
00**00
At precisely 07.24, John and Sherlock entered Thames House in Millbank where an administrative assistant, a man in his mid twenties, awaited them. "Hunter Lumley" was the name on the assistant's lapel badge.
"Dr. Watson." Lumley hailed. "We appreciate your promptness. Everyone is assembled in the conference room and ready for the enquiry."
With practiced RP articulation Lumley recited a flawlessly memorized script. "You will be speaking with members of the multi-agency commission representing the Home Office, the HPA, Greater London's Met Services, MI6-Cyber Terrorism Unit, the Ministry of Defense, and the Communications-Electronics Security Department. They are, of course, interested in the National Security aspects. I'm sure you understand…"
When Lumley turned to Sherlock, the detective caught the nearly imperceptible shift in the aide's confidence.
"Mr. Holmes—"
Sherlock knew what was coming.
"—I was …instructed…," Lumley chose his words guardedly, "to ask you to wait out here." He pointed to an anteroom that looked comfortable enough for nonessential personnel.
This was Mycroft's doing.
"Don't get involved, Sherlock," Mycroft had said earlier that morning. It was the same advice Sherlock had heard since he was a child.
Never had Sherlock suspected his bossy brother's warning had hid a deeper, undisclosed truth—until months ago with the revelation of Eurus. Repressed memories of their criminally insane sister had kept Sherlock ignorant of her dangerously obsessive and lethal jealousies regarding her favorite brother's friends. While losing his childhood best friend, Victor, could have contributed on a subconscious level to his disinterest in forming other friendships, the adult Sherlock would assert that he had actually not cared about becoming involved before he met John Watson. But Mycroft had known of the danger and it had motivated the eldest brother to be the guardian of the biggest family secret with three key words: don't get involved.
This time, Mycroft clarified his statement. "Well, don't appear to get involved with this investigation, for your friend's sake. Let's keep the Kremlin uninterested, shall we?"
Being barred from the proceedings was hardly surprising for a person extrinsic to the investigation. It was essentially a secret proceeding as the case was still highly classified. Whether Kumar's death had extenuating circumstances that could embarrass the Crown had not yet been determined. Even so, secret or not, doors that would regularly open for the Holmes name were not opening this time.
For John's sake, Sherlock would show restraint, although being cut off from the instant feed of data was excruciating—especially when it came to John. Getting John to talk about the enquiry afterwards was unlikely once they re-commissioned him and compelled him to silence or forced him to sign an Official Secrets Act. The steadfast soldier would undoubtedly obey and refuse to talk to anyone no matter how upset the case made him.
If that significant resource were denied Sherlock, it did not mean that the younger Holmes could not procure whatever information he needed directly from the horse's mouth. Mycroft had at least agreed to share information as long as Sherlock didn't meddle in any polonium poisoning cases—or Russian assassination cases—present or future. What happened in the past stayed in the past. Sherlock had in turn agreed to this arrangement only if Mycroft would follow Sherlock's input to the letter should aspects of John's investigation require such intervention. Mycroft accepted the offered carrot.
Responding to Lumley's request mere seconds after it was made, Sherlock acquiesced with a cocked brow and a slight bow, in that order.
As the detective backed away from John's side, Lumley spun on his heel and motioned John to follow him into the meeting. Casting a glance over his shoulder at Sherlock, John caught his friend's eye and nodded I'm okay. Sherlock flashed a grin that signaled I know.
000
Lumley led John to a pair of heavy, wood-paneled doors, but parted ways once John went inside. As Lumley had said the officials were already seated. A woman, garbed in a grey business suit and identified as the court clerk, ushered him into the modest conference room that was dimly lit apart from where he was instructed to sit. His was the only seat illuminated by an overhead light on the concave side of a widely arced conference table. It was a strategic placement. It placed John in full view of all nine multi-agency investigators, yet to address any one of them, John would have to swivel his head side to side.
Each of the officials seated at the table gave an introduction and affiliation. The majority were from various law enforcement units working the case within the Greater London's Metropolitan Police Service. While John did not recognize the individuals by name, there was a distinct probability they knew the Holmes-Watson consulting service by reputation at least. John hoped that was a good thing. Two names were familiar: Dr. Sandra Robson, whom John had contacted first at the HPA headquarters to inform them about Kumar, and Chief of Nuclear Medicine at UCLH Dr. Samuel Fitch, the HPA official who had rung John early that morning. Both nodded in polite greeting.
A man introducing himself as Coroner Ian Williams sat opposite, toward John's left, and sitting directly across from John was Captain Geoffrey Collins from the MI6 Cyber-Terrorism Division. The court clerk in grey, becoming invisible into the shadows, remained poised over the stenotype at a small, separate table behind John to take down the testimony. Microphones were also placed on the table to record the proceedings.
"We are speaking with Dr. John Watson," the Coroner stated for the record while the court clerk's fingers clicked across the keys. "I would like to thank you for joining us, Dr. Watson. You are here to provide information regarding Jayadeep Kumar whom you examined as a patient in your surgery several hours before he died. We seek your feedback on matters that will be put forth during this discussion. Given the unusual circumstances, the Home Office has invoked National Security regarding aspects of this investigation. Therefore, we are enlisting your service, not just as a civilian, but as a man who has sworn his allegiance to his country as a soldier. Before we can proceed now, we require your signature on several documents."
The clerk handed John the official forms to sign. John wondered what might happen if he refused. Rather than start an avalanche of trouble for being uncooperative, he signed without protest realizing the protection of secrecy went both ways.
"This enquiry is part of a police investigation. Earlier, a preliminary Inquest to answer the questions who, how, when, and where the victim came by his death was held and successfully ascertained the following." The Coroner referred to his notes before speaking at length and recounting medical details about organ and respiratory failure and establishing the facts of the cause, time, and place of the patient's death at the UCLH.
"The autopsy revealed extremely high concentrations of polonium-210," Williams summarized, "at lethal doses in the samples taken from several organs and post-mortem tissue analyses showed the extent of autolysis caused by the retention of the poison." He shuffled through some pages in a folder and pulled one out to present to the others. "The particulars required by the Births and Deaths Registration Act 1953 have been provided; copies will be made available for your records. This concludes my report."
Rising from his chair, Williams surveyed his colleagues. "My apologies. Pressing business requires me elsewhere at this time. However, as this is a fact-finding endeavor regarding the polonium contamination," he gestured toward the man at his left, "Captain Collins will proceed from here."
"Thank you, Dr. Williams." Collins stood politely and waited until the doors closed behind the Coroner before sitting down to resume the enquiry. "As Coroner Williams mentioned, the Inquest has supplied the answers to how, where, and when Jayadeep Kumar died…. However, it has not really answered who the patient was." Collins rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. "This, Dr. Watson, is where we hope you will provide some answers. It has been well established that you were the last person to speak with him before he lost consciousness. By the time the paramedics arrived to bring him to UCLH, he was incoherent."
"I'm happy to cooperate with this investigation," John maintained poise and posture, aware his body language was under observation. "While it's true we spoke, I had limited time with my patient during the medical examination. Within that time his symptoms dominated the conversation. However, once I suspected polonium-210, I too wondered why and how the patient had been exposed."
Everyone leant forward with John's last statement.
"Aside from the results of the post mortem," John continued, "which Dr. Williams had just disclosed, I can only share my impressions, an understanding I acquired from things Mr. Kumar told me. He seemed both angry and aware of what had happened to him, but he was cautious about saying anything incriminating out loud. Later I realized he spoke as if he thought we were under some kind of audio surveillance. I think this had something to do with his occupation. Your background check has likely given you more information about the IT company that employed him, but he sounded upset about something that had occurred with his work—his pen test not going well, as I remember. When he was summoned for an official meeting at a Japanese restaurant in Soho—somewhere near Carnaby Street—he had been expecting an…. um …'reprimand'…that was the word he used. He said they ended up celebrating the successful end of an assignment instead."
Having reviewed over and over Kumar's words since their conversation the day before, John spoke without hesitation. "Mr. Kumar told me that it was odd to see his colleagues and managers. He said he had always worked remotely and had never met them face to face before. Still, he went along with the celebration although he felt suspicious. When I inquired if he drank tea at the restaurant, he answered 'lots'."
Nearing the end of his remarks, John began to feel more relaxed. The enquiry was going well. "As you all know, tea covers the bitter flavor of the polonium. This is all I gathered from the little bits of conversation. I've already said this is mostly speculative. Oh, yes. He mentioned the name of one colleague. Mitchell. I don't know if it's a first or last name."
"Thank you. That is indeed helpful, Dr. Watson." Collins glanced toward his colleagues. They were all nodding in agreement. Some murmured with their neighbors. Collins waited until they settled before he continued. "We'll pursue an investigation of the Japanese restaurant straight away and locating the person named Mitchell will also be a priority."
"One other thing," John knew what he was about to say would reset the parameters of their investigation. "Mr. Kumar was unable to tell me if any of his colleagues at the restaurant had also taken ill…" He left the implication hanging. It was a question he had raised for himself many times in the last twenty-two hours. What if there were more victims?
Although the others on the panel showed appropriate concern, Collins wore an expression that was downright grim. "Where there is one, might there be others? Even if they were not as intended targets there is a possibility of collateral damage. This is why we must act quickly. To this end, Dr. Watson, we expect your full disclosure to the questions I am about to ask. Please do not feel you must shield anyone by withholding what you know. You are a military man. You understand the necessity of a full report."
All eyes were trained on John.
John swallowed, disquieted by the sudden shift in the room. "I have told you what I know."
"Are you aware Kumar had been carrying his laptop in the shoulder bag he wore to your clinic?"
Shoulder bag? The question jogged John's memory of Kumar slipping if off—it had appeared heavy for the patient—and placing it on the floor when he sat in the chair. The recollection was fleeting, but John was concerned his face revealed his thoughts. His hesitancy had not gone unnoticed. The captain was staring at him. John shook his head and spoke up for the record. "No."
"We retrieved the shoulder bag from your surgery. Upon examination of the laptop," Collins' words remained cordial but his eyes fixed on John like a vise, "we discovered that the contents of his computer had been wiped clean. Odd. Now who does that? Who carries a useless, formatted laptop with them on a doctor's visit? We wondered if you might speculate on that, Doctor."
Collins' emphasis on 'speculate' was strong with innuendo. What else would one expect from a Cyber-Terrorism Unit official trained at gathering information? In John's case he was angling to create suspicion where none existed.
"… the only astute doctor to recognize the symptoms on exam—" Sherlock had said the previous night. "…a little too astute, according to the dullards at MI6…"
Had John possessed a worried conscience or lacked familiarity with the procedure, he might have felt intimidated by Collins. Rather, having been repeatedly subjected to far worse in the way of Holmesian stares, John met and held Collins' gaze without flinching. "I was unaware he had his laptop in the bag. I don't rummage through my patients' belongings."
"So you were not familiar with any plan of his to give you his laptop for safekeeping, given his dire condition?"
John was completely taken aback by this suggestion and his brows knitted in confusion. "Why would he want me to have his laptop? Especially as you say, one that was wiped clean…?"
"That is what we wondered, too. However, now that we have gained possession of it, our forensic teams have recovered much of the deleted or wiped files. In fact, Kumar's efforts to hide his hard drive content and history seemed quite amateurish and ineffective for an IT specialist of his expertise." Collins paused. Although his lips were pressed together in a thin line, a slight smile formed at the corners. "It makes us think that Mr. Kumar had not attempted to delete his files but some amateur had done it, likely before he had been transported to UCLH." Collins eyes narrowed as he assessed John with a tighter focus.
"If you're implying me," John's expression hardened, "I told you. I was not aware he had his laptop. I did not touch his shoulder bag." John decided not to profess his ignorance at formatting a hard drive; it would only prove he was their amateur.
"Are you familiar with Kumar's work?"
"No. How could I be? "John pursed his lips, puzzled over Collin's line of questioning. "Until he walked into my examination room, I had never seen him before."
"Perhaps you knew him by an alias? A handle?"
"Handle…?" John frowned. He knew the term. Mentally enumerating his Internet contacts, John reviewed the email addresses he knew. His contacts predominantly used variants of their real names. Posts on his blog were often individuals who used handles. Perhaps if Collins named a specific handle, John might recognize it.
"A handle…. It's the name used to conceal one's real identity…" Collins rocked back in his seat and folded his arms. "There were other surgeries closer to his home. Why did Kumar go to your surgery, d'you think? Do you feel he sought you out?"
"I have no idea. Mr. Kumar never indicated that he had specifically requested to see me. I assumed that when he arrived at the clinic, he was put on rotation." John shifted uncomfortably as new implications stirred his curiosity. Why had Kumar selected his surgery? As an afterthought he added. "I was told by my intake nurse that he had asked about the doctors on staff that day."
"Yes. We have the statement of Nurse Alice Wilks. She said he specifically requested you."
Collins waited while members of the enquiry murmured softly among themselves.
"This is the first I'm hearing of it." John shrugged, his unease growing with this new information.
"Well, if you're not curious why he came to your surgery, I certainly am." Collins picked up a dossier on the table. "You have had a a checkered history, Dr. Watson, since becoming a civilian. You started off quite respectable in the service; your prominence as a skilled surgeon preceded you, your distinguished military career brought you notable acclaim. Such a shame that it all came to ruin when you were wounded and invalided out with a diagnosis of PTSD….How the mighty do fall." Collins muttered the last phrase under his breath for John's benefit alone.
Decidedly unnerved by his personal life coming under scrutiny, John held his temper and his tongue.
Collins pushed deeper. "You've had trouble with the law. Over five years ago you had to appear in Magistrate's Court. You were given an ASBO for an infraction—for inflammatory graffiti."
"Check the record again," John stated flatly. "The ASBO was subsequently dismissed. I had been wrongly accused." He said no more, remembering Sherlock's words from the previous night. "You had once told me John to 'just keep it simple and brief.' I recall not heeding you at the time; You also had warned me about being a smart-arse. Again, I paid you no mind. However, I exhort you to follow your own wisdom. Answer only the questions, don't elaborate."
"You assaulted a Chief Superintendent of Police and became a fugitive..."
"Summarily dismissed. No charges of wrongdoing were filed."
"You have been frequently under investigation by the Met…"
"—not under investigation!" John straightened in his chair, his body reacting with the seated version of battle readiness to Collins' attempt to bait him, to unnerve him by distorting the truth. "Your facts are again incorrect. I've been working as a consultant on cases for the Met with my partner, Sherlock Holmes—"
"—your partner. A man you brutally attacked several months ago and put in hospital! You claimed he killed your wife."
John's stomach dropped; his mouth struggled to repeat the phrase, "No charges of wrongdoing were filed..." His voice faded with remorse. John lowered his eyes, concealing the painful memories in evidence there.
Sherlock had once said, "People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you." Collins was wielding his own harsher brand of the technique, antagonizing John with skewered truths to provoke a reaction that might reveal whatever he was hiding, except John was not hiding anything related to this case.
Coming to grips with the emotional turmoil churned by Collins' words, John released his grip on the chair's arms and lifted his eyes once more, his stern gaze leveled on Collins. "Tell me how any of this is relevant, Captain—"
"—it's relevant IF your maladjustment to civilian life caused disillusionment, violent outbursts, and a harboring resentment toward Queen and country. Terrorists recruit all sorts, especially those individuals suffering from mental health problems, such as depression, anxiety, PTSD. Someone like that is more likely to be receptive to the ideas of radicalization.…"
What the bloody hell? Is this an enquiry or the Inquisition? John sat stunned by the accusation. "Come again?"
"Were you and Kumar in collaboration working for Russian Cyber terrorists?"
Silence overtook the room as everyone at the table was surprised by Collins' question. They held their collective breaths, waiting for John's answer.
So that's why Collins is up my arse! Bristling, John fired back. "Absolutely NOT!" Had he NOT been sitting before a panel of serious-faced officials he would have laughed hard and long at the absurdity. Instead, he controlled his roiling indignation and replied in a firm voice. "You have used the word IF, Captain. Might I remind you the word IF signifies something supposed and not proven? Certainly your statement is the farthest from the truth!"
"Truth is what we seek in this matter."
"Then don't fog it up with conjecture," John countered. "Why are you questioning my involvement in Kumar's case other than as the doctor who diagnosed him?"
Collins raised a palm to halt conversation and leant back. "You are not here to ask questions, Doctor." His voice remained civil although he scrutinized John with an intensity that was hardly genial. "But I can answer that question by taking a closer look at other activities you are involved in. There is no denying you have returned to medical practice, I grant you that. However, you are also a world-famous blogger, someone who disseminates information to global audiences. The Blog of Dr. John H. Watson shows an impressive number of hits. Perhaps your Internet presence attracts followers of a different kind … or is a cover to connect with the dark web and unethical hackers like your patient." He glanced at his colleagues before repeating the question. "So is it coincidence that the patient Jayadeep Kumar came to your surgery yesterday?"
"Hackers?" John pulled back doing his best to suppress a sneer of disapproval. "How absurd! I keep a blog of Sherlock's cases. That's the whole extent of my Internet capabilities." At last understanding Collins' atypical hostility, John rebutted with a concise summary of the truth. "To my knowledge, Mr. Kumar's visit was for medical reasons only. That he carried a laptop had no bearing on why I saw him. Hacker or not, he was a very sick man who needed immediate treatment." Even as he stated the facts as he knew them, John could not successfully quash sudden and rapid notions about the dying man.
Why my surgery? Had Kumar selected "Dr. John Watson" because of my association with Sherlock Holmes? John recalled Kumar remarking about losing his logon access. In essence, Kumar had been isolated and needed connectivity. It was not impossible for Kumar to be a member of the expert, elite programmers within Sherlock's network of deep and dark web hackers. How would John know? They don't wear buttons I hack for Sherlock Holmes to identify themselves. Could that be it? The dying man was using John merely as a conduit to reach Sherlock and physically bring his laptop and share what it contained with his fellow hackers? Talk about speculation!
Despite these thoughts running in the background, John maintained his composure. "Captain, we all know that the nature of this enquiry is to ascertain the facts not create speculation. I don't know WHY Kumar asked for me and he gave me no reasons. All I know is that when he came into my office he was quite ill, beyond hope, and I was seeking the means to ease his discomfort in the last few hours of his life."
"Then what made you immediately suspect polonium-210 and nothing else? Was there some prior knowledge you had about the patient that would enable you to make this diagnosis?"
"It was not an immediate diagnosis. I deduced it from the evidence presented to me." Sherlock's influence echoed in his statement as John detailed the events from the previous day, including that he rang Dr. Sandra Robson with whom he had shared his suspicions.
Slowly panning his audience to look each of them in the eyes, John's truth gave his words power. "Under battle conditions, you often have milliseconds for medical triage—categorizing symptoms, assessing injuries—to ensure proper treatment is being provided expeditiously. That skill doesn't dissipate simply because a doctor is working in civilian conditions. Mr. Kumar clearly was at end-stage of what appeared to be a radiation sickness of some kind and the rapid onset, based upon his description of timeline and events, caused me to consider that it was the same poison that killed Alexander Litvinenko. My diagnosis was informed by years of studying the medical literature in the wake of Litvinenko's assassination. And after almost a decade of headlines about the most extensive investigation in criminal history on British soil, followed by months of coverage last year with the public enquiry—was it just two months ago that the British Judge concluded who poisoned Litvinenko in a 338-page report?—well, it was hardly a stretch to see the similarity in my patient."
The room went silent again. Some of the officials were making notes, or shuffling pages, a few met John's gaze. Dr. Sandra Robson actual gave him a nod of approval and a slight smile.
Undaunted, John waited patiently for the next series of questions, even though he could not imagine what they might be. Several of the law enforcement officials rose and motioned the Cyber-Terrorism Unit captain to join them at a discrete distance. John watched their gestures and body language closely, detecting some tension and wishing he had a tenth of Sherlock's gift for discerning what it all might mean. Doctors Robson and Fitch remained seated, conferring softly with each other, obviously not involved in the police aspects of the discussion. At last, the group broke apart, and Collins returned to his chair. Stiffly he took his seat. He did not look at John.
The room was deathly quiet. Only the shuffling of papers as Collins sorted the pages in front of him disturbed the atmosphere of anticipation. At last he cleared his throat, raised his eyes, and announced matter-of-factly. "Dr. Watson, the investigative team has agreed that there are no further questions for you."
A few heads nodded in agreement, several murmured in quiet conversation between themselves, but none of the officials addressed John directly. Whatever they had discussed with the captain moments before had reined in the interrogation, however, Collins was still presiding over the enquiry. He stood, made minimal eye contact with the man he had been haranguing for the past twenty minutes, and stated, "You are not being accused of any wrongdoing or culpability. Thank you for your assistance in this matter. You're free to go," and gestured toward the door.
Dismissed! John heard the command in his head even though it had not been spoken. The well-trained reflexes of a soldier brought him to his feet with his chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in. He let out a soft breath in relief. Was it finally over? Despite the barrage of questions that both attempted to tarnish his reputation and put him through an emotional wringer, he had endured this battle virtually unscathed; or at least he hoped there would be no reprisals.
Apparently he had impressed Dr. Robson. She looked a her colleagues irritably and in an overt show of respect for John stood at her chair. "You're an excellent diagnostician, Dr. Watson." It was not clear if she had nudged Dr. Fitch to support her, but he stood as well and added. "I concur with Dr. Robson. You have keen observational skills, certainly an admirable trait in a doctor. We are much obliged."
John offered them an appreciative smile and a single nod of acknowledgement before he spun on his heel and eagerly marched toward the door. On his way out, he overheard Robson initiate another discussion with her colleagues.
"Gentlemen, if there is a distinct possibility that Dr. Watson is right about more victims, we must review our response plan—"
"—Not yet, Dr. Robson. There's another testimony to hear," Collins interrupted. "Dr. Fitch, our witness should be here, yes?"
"I rang him this morning, even before Dr. Watson. He was eager to come." Dr. Fitch sounded a bit perplexed. "I expected him by now."
"Oh yes, right!" Robson replied. "We're waiting for Chief Cardiologist at the Royal Brompton, Dr. Samarth K—"
The door closed behind John, cutting off the end of Robson's remark. John stood still for a moment and heaved a relieved sigh.
That was it?
They grilled him; they chewed him up and spit him out. They did not shake his hand. Sherlock was wrong about the last part. At least, they did not ask him to pee in a cup. And John still did not have any clear-cut answers. Assuming from the enquiry questions that Kumar was a hacker with Russian connections, it would certainly explain why he had become a victim of an assassination. Regrettably, John was not at liberty to share even that much with Sherlock. He was bound to secrecy.
John approached the room where Sherlock had been asked to wait and detected the muffled speech of a private exchange; one voice he recognized as Sherlock's, the other was unfamiliar.
In the doorway of the anteroom John halted. Sherlock and another man whose back was toward the door were seated tête-à-tête. The stranger was speaking and Sherlock's intense eyes, absorbing every detail, were fixed on his acquaintance. By the pace and timbre of Sherlock's response, they were discussing content of a decidedly confidential nature. John hesitated, unsure if his presence would disturb Sherlock's information-gathering process.
That hesitation drew Sherlock's attention to John; the detective rose from the worn grey sofa and motioned John to join them. "Here he is now—Dr. John Watson." Sherlock said with a polished grin and a satisfied glint in his eyes.
His gray-haired companion stood and turned, giving John a slight bow in greeting. The slender man wore a dark suit and spectacles. Within his somber expression, white teeth flashed in contrast to his brown complexion and he gave a sad smile. "Dr. Watson…"
That voice! It was a match to the voice of the man in the black car. John's eyes darted toward his friend. "Sherlock?"
"Yes, John," Sherlock tilted his head toward the older man. "You have met before. Earlier this morning, in fact. He offered to 'escort' you to the enquiry. This is Dr. Samarth Kumar, the Royal Brompton's Chief of Cardiology and Jay Kumar's father. He also has been asked to make a statement. We've had an interesting chat while waiting for you."
***888**