The Inspector Lynley Mysteries
Call Me Daddy
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PART 8
Buchanan rang Lynley's room at 6:30. While his colleague was nursing his hangover, he left the hotel for a three mile run, returned to a long shower and a steaming pot of strong coffee and, at 8 o'clock sharp, was ready to go.
His prospects for the morning, apart from getting his hands on the lab reports and analyse them as thoroughly as possible to make sure nothing else rang a bell, was to have a nice little chat over the phone with the forensics assistants about the cremated body. Lynley will have to deal alone with the Cornish Police.
They met in front of the hotel and he took his rental roadster for a quick ride to the police station. Lynley was all spruced up, and Buchanan could not help thinking he was dressed to kill. But he was Lynley, after all, and it would certainly make a stance with Commander Morris. He could sense that the Inspector was mustering all the strength he had left to keep going. He certainly looked weary and desperate.
A few minutes later, Lynley appeared tired, but calm and steady, displaying his usual perfect poise.
"Lynley, I have to confess it beats me. I was convinced that our search would prove to be rapidly successful. I have to admit I was wrong. "
"Don't apologise Commander, you and your men were perfect. Having the dogs and the helicopter handy was certainly a bonus," commented Lynley dryly. Buchanan's informal speech is certainly rubbing off, he thought.
Commander Morris' face brightened. After his men failed to find DS Havers safe ad sound, he was prepared to take the blame not only from Lynley but from London, no less. Relieved, he gulped down his tea and relaxed back on his chair.
"I reckon you have a plan B, unless you intend to let my Sergeant down for another 24 hours?" said Lynley icily. "It probably occurred to you by now that Terndell either let her go, which is highly unlikely, or killed her. I want to hope that she managed to escape. We know she is injured. How long do you think that she can stay out there by herself?"
Morris' smile froze, his eyes averting Lynley's gaze. It was happening. His career was over, eight months away from retirement. Think. Fast, he thought.
"Err… What about the telly?"
"Anything planned yet?" asked Lynley.
Morris visibly sank in his chair. Without bothering to wait for an answer, Lynley took his mobile out of his jacket pocket and rang Clare Aldon at her Channel 4 News office in London. After what seemed eternity to Morris, he finally rang off and turned back to the desk.
"She sends a local team right this minute. They will be here in..." he checked his watch, "… 50 minutes tops. Get a room ready for the cameras and her technical staff." He stood up. "I'm on my way. I'll be with Buchanan should you need me."
"DI Lynley?"
"Yes, Commander," he said, barely slowing down through the doorway.
"Do you want me to write, err, something?"
"Call me on my mobile when you're set. I will make a declaration for the press. Just be sure that the Met send you a large selection of photographs so that we can choose from recent accurate pictures of DS Havers," he said.
None of the photographs Havers had meant to give her mother would do, he thought.
"… and apply some of your influence on your local radios, they have to work with us, Commander. As a matter of fact, there's not much about her kidnapping that I've heard of on the morning news. I think you should not let them forget her so soon," and with that, he stormed out of Morris' office.
The Commander immediately picked up the phone. The door had not slammed shut yet that he was already barking orders.
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Jeremy Applegate had decided to discover the world this morning and the unexpected new born had put Dr Morrow far behind his schedule for the day. And now he was having a hard time with Ms Jane Doe. Tousled red hair, sparkling green eyes, strong headed, his new patient was not prone to following blindly his advice and prescription.
"I would prefer to check you into a hospital and make some routine exams," he said.
He placed his stethoscope gently back into his case and retrieved a pen from his jacket. He wrote something on a yellow post-it.
"You think?" asked Havers. She had almost slept around the clock and she was full of energy.
Morrow understood it was only rhetorical. He answered the question anyway.
"Yes definitely. Even if you appear to have no visible physical trauma I would like to perform a few exams just to be on the safe side and make sure everything appears as it is. It will be one day at the hospital, two at most. Obviously, I can't force you to go, but I strongly recommend it."
"And they will find why I lost my memory?" asked Havers.
Morrow was the straightforward type of doctor.
"No. They won't," he said bluntly, "but we might get an idea why you lost it and most importantly find ways to make you recover."
She didn't flinch.
"Ways? You mean like hypnosis?"
"It's certainly an option, though I can't think of any doctor I know capable of performing such a therapy in Cornwall, I'm afraid."
"Doctor, is it permanent?"
She does not let go, he thought. She is persistent and the way she analyze things certainly catches the core of the problem immediately.
"Hard to say," he shrugged, "it can last a day, a couple of months, years even. There's no way to tell really. One day, you might wake up and remember everything. Or remember your old life and totally black out about your new life. It's complicated."
Havers was speechless. She remembered enough of watching medical soaps on television to realize that she was not the first one to lose her memory. But she was not on television. She had not only lost her short term memory, her whole life had been obliterated. She could barely remember her parents and neighbourhood, not enough anyway to pinpoint a place on a map. She was not even sure she did not indulge in fantasies about figments of her imagination at the moment. She shivered.
"Well, if they can't do better than that, I'll pass, thanks doc," she finally said. "Don't keep the emergency services on standby, I prefer to find myself a job here and wait for my life to come back to me."
"As long as you're healthy, let nothing hold you back from starting a new life and making new friends. Maybe the police could provide some help though."
"They could run my fingerprints though the system," she offered, "and check their biometric database, make sure I'm not a murderer or one of them! They probably don't have live scanners over here…"
She stopped awkwardly. What the hell was she saying? Was she a writer? An engineer? A cop…
"You never know," he said after a couple of seconds.
Morrow's answer made her jump. At least he did not notice anything odd, she thought, blinking.
"If you change your mind about the hospital, you know where to find me," said Morrow, handing out the post-it.
Vic Morrow, she read and managed to hide her smile. There was his practice number, along with his mobile and home number.
He shut his briefcase and shook her hand.
"The Penhaligons have my number should you lose it; and I'm in the book too. He calls me Dugan though I replaced him some years ago. You're not the only one who forgets things," he chuckled. "But I have to insist, if you suddenly feel dizzy or sick, please, don't call me, and go directly to the ER. Promise?"
She nodded obediently.
"Don't hesitate to ring me if you need any help or… whatever."
She made an impression, he thought. I'm melting down like a teenager.
"Well, goodbye then Ms… sorry, I'm afraid I did not catch your name."
"Lynley. Helen Lynley," Havers smiled.
"Lynley?" he frowned. "Lynley… I met a Lynley only yesterday."
He hesitated for an instant.
"If you'll excuse me, I have to check that. Penhaligon? Jory! You here?"
Havers followed the doctor to the bedroom door and watched him hurry down the stairs. She found herself running behind him. Could it be possible that he knew who she was?
"He's asleep, Doctor," said a worried Morveren popping out of the leaving room.
Havers heard the muffled sound of a television.
"You know he needs his afternoon nap," she said in a very low voice, glaring at the first floor with concern.
Clearly, Morrow was too agitated to pay attention.
"Mrs Penhaligon, could you ring the police station for me? Please, ask them for that Inspector Lynley from London? Wait, or for the American detective… What's his name? Buchanan! Let me, I'll call the police myself! I just need the number..."
Morrow rushed to the lobby, took the phone book and, reaching out for his cigarettes, he opened the front door. He stepped outside, his mobile phone already tucked to his ear. The sound of his voice faded away when the door closed.
"Lynley, oh my!" Morveren Penhaligon muttered, won by Morrow's excitement and indifferent to the fact that the physician was currently ruining her newly re-arranged flower beds. She seemed no longer upset. In fact, she was positively beaming. Decades of gossip and reading the local press poured out instantly for Havers' benefit. Her face turned a weird shade of scarlet and Havers feared for a moment that she should need Dr Morrow's expertise.
"He must be Lord Asherton's son then!" Morveren wailed. "I can't believe I didn't think of Lady Helen and Howenstow immediately when you told me your name!"
"Howenstow? Who's that? Calm down Morveren, please. I'm sorry but I've never heard of him," she frowned. Not that I can remember anything anyway, she thought. Right this minute, she could have killed for a cold beer.
She helped Morveren back to her seat and slumped onto the sofa facing her. On the television screen, there was a bunch of policemen scattered in a field. The Inspector Barnaby stopped and yelled something she did not understand.
"Howenstow is not a he, dear, it's a where!"
Morveren laughed lightly with a seductive gesture of the hand on her frizzy hair. Havers suddenly felt slightly depressed. She stared through the window above Morveren's shoulder. Now, the physician was gesticulating and shouting. His complexion is going to match Morveren's any minute now if he does not cool down, she thought with a scoff.
"Lady Asherton lives in Howenstow. It's their family estate, see. She lives alone since the old Earl died nearly twenty years ago. The young Earl is not interested in living in the country, he stays in London. He has a townhouse in…" she hesitated, "my goodness, I can't remember dear! Well… and he is with Scotland Yard." Morveren sighed with delight.
"I don't understand," said Havers. "What has it got to do with anything?"
"He is the eighth Earl of Asherton!" she yelped.
"What about him? Lord Asherton? You know him?" asked Havers, puzzled and bored.
"Oh no, Helen dear, I never met him officially. Obviously, I must've seen him at a village fair when his father was still alive but he was just a child at the time."
"Obviously," said Havers. "And you say he's with the Met?"
"Absolutely! It was a bit of a scandal over here when he decided to join the force, I can tell you."
"I see," Havers said flatly, seeing nothing.
"His mother, Lady Asherton I mean, she went to the seaside last Monday; Bath or Brighton, I don't recall. The newspaper said Howenstow would probably be opened to visitors every other week end when she is back."
Havers was losing her serenity. Nothing seemed capable of putting an end to Morveren's ranting. She would have bet that for the first time in years, the woman was actually glad to miss her Midsomer Murders' repeat. Why bother with Inspector Barnaby when you can have the real deal? And a Lord on top of that.
"Thomas Lynley has been in the force since the early 80's, I reckon" added Morveren. "His wife works as some kind of doctor for the police too. Lady Helen Clyde was her maiden name before she married his Lordship. My friend Betsy says they had a divorce but I can't believe he would divorce you, dear."
With that, Morveren wrapped her hands around Havers'. She went pale and quiet. Inspector Lynley, Earl of Asherton? Helen Clyde? It felt weird and alien to her. Where did she fit in? Was she that Helen? And a doctor? No way, she could not be a lady, she would recall.
A woman yelled and Morveren gave a quick look at the television. She gaped in awe and released Havers' hands, momentarily turning her attention back to her beloved Barnaby.
"They are adamant that DS Lynley and his American colleague left the building this afternoon," said Dr Morrow, startling the both of them.
"They are staying in Howenstow till the end of next week."
He was back, perfectly calm and smelling of blonde tobacco.
"I understand a female detective was kidnapped. DI Lynley joined the investigation two days ago to help the local police. It's all over the papers and the radio. It will be on the telly news this afternoon."
Havers felt a burst of panic. Unaware of her trouble, Morrow sat down next to her.
"Is it familiar to you M'am?" he said, turning to Havers.
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Please, please! Tell me what you think! Is it going in the right direction? Any suggestions?
