~~
The nurse quietly closed the door of Jack's room and walked down the hallway, having just checked and noted the patient's vital signs. It was midnight, and all was quiet around the hospital. Perfect, Jack thought to himself. He carefully and quietly climbed out of bed and made his way towards the small cupboard to the side of the room, where a change of clothes had been stored ready for Jack's discharge from the hospital. It took twenty agonising minutes to try and do up buttons, zips and shoelaces with one good hand, but he managed it.
Jack walked through the hospital with his head kept low. He took the route down one of the more desolate stairwells and through the deserted underground parking lot. He would have preferred to drive rather than walk, but someone had driven his car home since he was admitted to hospital. He hurried across the city dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a t- shirt that had been torture to get his injured arm into, and a denim jacket that Jack had just draped around his bad shoulder. His sneakers made only a quiet crunching noise as he trod the sidewalk, walking quickly towards his destination.
~~
Jack was skilled enough to find his way into the warehouse without the use of his 'tools.' He found a piece of twine that was wrapped around a small tree on his journey, and he managed to bend it in such a way that the lock snapped open in almost no time. He switched on one light, allowing enough for him to work though the room but not too much that would attract attention to the building.
The doctor shivered as he walked in. The July heat had apparently not reached the insides of the warehouse, and Jack pulled his coat around him tighter. He crept through the shelves, his sneakers making little noise on the cold, hard floor.
For Jack, it was easy to find what he wanted. He knew that the warehouse, situated across town from the hospital, contained files of all the doctors that had practised medicine in the city, including all the medical students that had begun Medical School but never graduated, for CV references and so forth. Jack had worked out the year that Anthony's class would have started Med. School, and found the box containing files of him and his classmates. Jack knew that finding something was a shot in the dark, but he couldn't take sitting around in a hospital bed any longer, he had to do something.
Reaching the box of files proved more difficult than finding it. The box was up high on the shelf, and Jack had only one arm he could use to get it. He moved some of the boxes that were on the lower shelves so that he could climb on them and get the box he needed. He grabbed the box with one hand, teetered on his toes on the weak cardboard box he was poised upon, and steadied himself before crouching on the floor and beginning his search.
He firstly found the file with "Holmes" written in black marker-pen on the front of it. "I'll take a look at that later," he muttered to himself as he dropped it on the floor after glancing at the name. He knew that there could be any number of clues in the file and that it would take some time to go through.
There were another twelve files to look through. The third that Jack came to belonged to a man called Benjamin Dawson, and the contents of the file pleased Jack immensely. "Interesting," Jack said, smiling as he read what was printed inside, "very interesting." He put this on top of Holmes' file and continued to search.
Jack spent another few minutes searching before he heard the door creak open. Quick as a flash Jack had replaced the box on the shelf, omitting the two files he wanted, and he had scampered away into a dark corner.
"Hmm, the light's on," the man mumbled. Jack cursed, but he was glad that the part of the warehouse he was hiding in was not well lit. He crouched lower behind a pile of boxes, trying to look at the man but only seeing a silhouette.
The man walked over to the box that Jack had been looking in only seconds ago, and began to rummage through it. After looking through for the third time, he stood up and kicked the box in anger. "It's not there! Where the Hell..." he shouted, the end of his sentence cut off as he kicked the box again and stormed out of the warehouse, slamming the door as he left.
Jack grinned to himself, his teeth shining like the Cheshire cat smile of a moon he could see above him, outside a grubby window. "That's all the proof I need," he said to himself, holding tightly the file that belonged to Benjamin Dawson in his hand. With his success in mind, Jack began his journey back to the hospital.
~~
Jack made it back to the hospital at just before four that morning. He crept back through the corridors, opened the door to his room and instantly shut it again, not going inside. Both Mark and Steve were in there, apparently having noticed that he, Jack, was not in his bed.
Mark opened the door and found Jack outside in the empty corridor, forehead leaning on and facing the cool wall, awaiting his scolding. The older doctor ushered Jack inside before the lecture began. "Jack, what were you thinking?"
Jack overheard Steve talking in a low voice on his cell phone, saying, "it's okay, he's here." Hold it, Jack thought to himself, were they sending out a search party or something - only been gone a few hours!
"How'd you find out I was gone?" Jack asked as he sat on the bed, slipping his shoes off. He thought that his plan was flawless, the timing at least, but then he knew that no one or nothing got past Mark Sloan.
"I was doing rounds, your rounds," Mark added for extra ammunition, "and I stopped by to see how you were doing," Mark said, folding his arms and attempting to look menacing. He repeated, "What were you thinking, Jack?"
"I'm sorry, Mark, but I knew what to look for, I knew where to find it, and I got it," Jack said coolly, annoyed at himself for being caught. He hadn't planned Mark stopping by for a visit in the small hours of the morning.
"You could have asked one of us," Mark said, rolling his eyes with exasperation. It wasn't so much anger than worry that was fuelling the dispute. He sighed, and said, "Jack you were shot and underwent surgery two days ago. I don't know if going out on midnight excursions is such a great idea right now, especially on your own and without telling me."
"Okay, Mark, I'm fine, I understand, I'm sorry, it won't happen again, now do you want to find out who killed Anthony Holmes or not?"
"You know? And you're sure about it?" Steve asked dubiously, wondering exactly where Jack had been and what he had found. "Who do you think it is?"
"Benjamin Dawson," Jack pronounced.
"Who?" Steve and Mark asked at the same time, questioning as to how and way a new name was being thrown into this equation at this stage of the investigation.
"Here, read this," Jack said, handing Mark the file. "Let me explain. I got to thinking yesterday that what Anthony Holmes did to Forrester, dishing the dirt to get what he wanted, may not have been a first offence, it could have started in Med. School. So, I went over to the warehouse and had a look through some files when I found that."
"Ah, yes, this is good," Mark said, reading through the file with a smile playing upon his lips. Jack had deserved the telling-off for sneaking out, but what he had found would be beneficial to the investigation.
"What is it?" Steve asked.
"This Benjamin Dawson was in Holmes' class when they were in Med. School, but Dawson was kicked out when it was discovered that he had been cheating, by handing in an assignment lifted from a lesser-known medical journal - plagiarism. Dawson was reported to his professor by none other than..."
"Anthony Holmes," Steve finished, knowing exactly who would be responsible for such an act. "Nice work, Detective Stewart."
"Cute, Steve," Jack said, stifling a yawn.
"Their professor was someone called Doctor Hammond," Mark continued, still reading. "I think I'll give him a call in the morning." He handed the file to Steve, who glanced over it, but felt that if his father had mentioned nothing else than there was nothing else that was relevant. "We've now got three suspects: Maria Chartham, Doctor Forrester, and now Benjamin Dawson."
"James Forrester admitted earlier, when I spoke to him, that he wasn't Anthony Holmes' biggest fan, and that he wasn't sad to see him dead, but he said that he didn't have the pleasure of doing it himself. He claims that despite all the stress in his life, and all the hate he feels for Holmes after reporting him to the Board, he is a doctor first and foremost, and that he will 'do no harm'."
"Maybe," Mark said, "but I've seen doctors, priests, even a nun commit murder, and taking vows or oaths never stopped them. Has Forrester got an alibi?"
"He was at an AA meeting that night, until 9pm."
"I thought Amanda said that Forrester had the drinking problem under control," Mark said, remembering what he had been told. He wished he'd been able to see James Forrester with Steve that afternoon, but by the time he'd finished looking over the crime scene he was due back at the hospital to cover Jack's rounds, so Steve had gone alone.
"He returned to weekly meetings a month ago," Steve told him. "The stress of losing out to Holmes for promotion, he told me."
"All right, I think we've had enough adventure for tonight," Mark said, knowing that they wouldn't be able to advance until Doctor Hammond was phoned. "Steve, I'll call you tomorrow with what Doctor Hammond said, and as for you, Jack, I -"
Mark had turned around to address Jack, but had found him curled up on the bed, sound asleep, exhausted from the events of the early morning. Mark smiled at the picture before him, wishing he had a camera to capture the moment that would have no doubt embarrassed the younger doctor, and gently pulled the covers over the sleeping body.
~~
The nurse quietly closed the door of Jack's room and walked down the hallway, having just checked and noted the patient's vital signs. It was midnight, and all was quiet around the hospital. Perfect, Jack thought to himself. He carefully and quietly climbed out of bed and made his way towards the small cupboard to the side of the room, where a change of clothes had been stored ready for Jack's discharge from the hospital. It took twenty agonising minutes to try and do up buttons, zips and shoelaces with one good hand, but he managed it.
Jack walked through the hospital with his head kept low. He took the route down one of the more desolate stairwells and through the deserted underground parking lot. He would have preferred to drive rather than walk, but someone had driven his car home since he was admitted to hospital. He hurried across the city dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a t- shirt that had been torture to get his injured arm into, and a denim jacket that Jack had just draped around his bad shoulder. His sneakers made only a quiet crunching noise as he trod the sidewalk, walking quickly towards his destination.
~~
Jack was skilled enough to find his way into the warehouse without the use of his 'tools.' He found a piece of twine that was wrapped around a small tree on his journey, and he managed to bend it in such a way that the lock snapped open in almost no time. He switched on one light, allowing enough for him to work though the room but not too much that would attract attention to the building.
The doctor shivered as he walked in. The July heat had apparently not reached the insides of the warehouse, and Jack pulled his coat around him tighter. He crept through the shelves, his sneakers making little noise on the cold, hard floor.
For Jack, it was easy to find what he wanted. He knew that the warehouse, situated across town from the hospital, contained files of all the doctors that had practised medicine in the city, including all the medical students that had begun Medical School but never graduated, for CV references and so forth. Jack had worked out the year that Anthony's class would have started Med. School, and found the box containing files of him and his classmates. Jack knew that finding something was a shot in the dark, but he couldn't take sitting around in a hospital bed any longer, he had to do something.
Reaching the box of files proved more difficult than finding it. The box was up high on the shelf, and Jack had only one arm he could use to get it. He moved some of the boxes that were on the lower shelves so that he could climb on them and get the box he needed. He grabbed the box with one hand, teetered on his toes on the weak cardboard box he was poised upon, and steadied himself before crouching on the floor and beginning his search.
He firstly found the file with "Holmes" written in black marker-pen on the front of it. "I'll take a look at that later," he muttered to himself as he dropped it on the floor after glancing at the name. He knew that there could be any number of clues in the file and that it would take some time to go through.
There were another twelve files to look through. The third that Jack came to belonged to a man called Benjamin Dawson, and the contents of the file pleased Jack immensely. "Interesting," Jack said, smiling as he read what was printed inside, "very interesting." He put this on top of Holmes' file and continued to search.
Jack spent another few minutes searching before he heard the door creak open. Quick as a flash Jack had replaced the box on the shelf, omitting the two files he wanted, and he had scampered away into a dark corner.
"Hmm, the light's on," the man mumbled. Jack cursed, but he was glad that the part of the warehouse he was hiding in was not well lit. He crouched lower behind a pile of boxes, trying to look at the man but only seeing a silhouette.
The man walked over to the box that Jack had been looking in only seconds ago, and began to rummage through it. After looking through for the third time, he stood up and kicked the box in anger. "It's not there! Where the Hell..." he shouted, the end of his sentence cut off as he kicked the box again and stormed out of the warehouse, slamming the door as he left.
Jack grinned to himself, his teeth shining like the Cheshire cat smile of a moon he could see above him, outside a grubby window. "That's all the proof I need," he said to himself, holding tightly the file that belonged to Benjamin Dawson in his hand. With his success in mind, Jack began his journey back to the hospital.
~~
Jack made it back to the hospital at just before four that morning. He crept back through the corridors, opened the door to his room and instantly shut it again, not going inside. Both Mark and Steve were in there, apparently having noticed that he, Jack, was not in his bed.
Mark opened the door and found Jack outside in the empty corridor, forehead leaning on and facing the cool wall, awaiting his scolding. The older doctor ushered Jack inside before the lecture began. "Jack, what were you thinking?"
Jack overheard Steve talking in a low voice on his cell phone, saying, "it's okay, he's here." Hold it, Jack thought to himself, were they sending out a search party or something - only been gone a few hours!
"How'd you find out I was gone?" Jack asked as he sat on the bed, slipping his shoes off. He thought that his plan was flawless, the timing at least, but then he knew that no one or nothing got past Mark Sloan.
"I was doing rounds, your rounds," Mark added for extra ammunition, "and I stopped by to see how you were doing," Mark said, folding his arms and attempting to look menacing. He repeated, "What were you thinking, Jack?"
"I'm sorry, Mark, but I knew what to look for, I knew where to find it, and I got it," Jack said coolly, annoyed at himself for being caught. He hadn't planned Mark stopping by for a visit in the small hours of the morning.
"You could have asked one of us," Mark said, rolling his eyes with exasperation. It wasn't so much anger than worry that was fuelling the dispute. He sighed, and said, "Jack you were shot and underwent surgery two days ago. I don't know if going out on midnight excursions is such a great idea right now, especially on your own and without telling me."
"Okay, Mark, I'm fine, I understand, I'm sorry, it won't happen again, now do you want to find out who killed Anthony Holmes or not?"
"You know? And you're sure about it?" Steve asked dubiously, wondering exactly where Jack had been and what he had found. "Who do you think it is?"
"Benjamin Dawson," Jack pronounced.
"Who?" Steve and Mark asked at the same time, questioning as to how and way a new name was being thrown into this equation at this stage of the investigation.
"Here, read this," Jack said, handing Mark the file. "Let me explain. I got to thinking yesterday that what Anthony Holmes did to Forrester, dishing the dirt to get what he wanted, may not have been a first offence, it could have started in Med. School. So, I went over to the warehouse and had a look through some files when I found that."
"Ah, yes, this is good," Mark said, reading through the file with a smile playing upon his lips. Jack had deserved the telling-off for sneaking out, but what he had found would be beneficial to the investigation.
"What is it?" Steve asked.
"This Benjamin Dawson was in Holmes' class when they were in Med. School, but Dawson was kicked out when it was discovered that he had been cheating, by handing in an assignment lifted from a lesser-known medical journal - plagiarism. Dawson was reported to his professor by none other than..."
"Anthony Holmes," Steve finished, knowing exactly who would be responsible for such an act. "Nice work, Detective Stewart."
"Cute, Steve," Jack said, stifling a yawn.
"Their professor was someone called Doctor Hammond," Mark continued, still reading. "I think I'll give him a call in the morning." He handed the file to Steve, who glanced over it, but felt that if his father had mentioned nothing else than there was nothing else that was relevant. "We've now got three suspects: Maria Chartham, Doctor Forrester, and now Benjamin Dawson."
"James Forrester admitted earlier, when I spoke to him, that he wasn't Anthony Holmes' biggest fan, and that he wasn't sad to see him dead, but he said that he didn't have the pleasure of doing it himself. He claims that despite all the stress in his life, and all the hate he feels for Holmes after reporting him to the Board, he is a doctor first and foremost, and that he will 'do no harm'."
"Maybe," Mark said, "but I've seen doctors, priests, even a nun commit murder, and taking vows or oaths never stopped them. Has Forrester got an alibi?"
"He was at an AA meeting that night, until 9pm."
"I thought Amanda said that Forrester had the drinking problem under control," Mark said, remembering what he had been told. He wished he'd been able to see James Forrester with Steve that afternoon, but by the time he'd finished looking over the crime scene he was due back at the hospital to cover Jack's rounds, so Steve had gone alone.
"He returned to weekly meetings a month ago," Steve told him. "The stress of losing out to Holmes for promotion, he told me."
"All right, I think we've had enough adventure for tonight," Mark said, knowing that they wouldn't be able to advance until Doctor Hammond was phoned. "Steve, I'll call you tomorrow with what Doctor Hammond said, and as for you, Jack, I -"
Mark had turned around to address Jack, but had found him curled up on the bed, sound asleep, exhausted from the events of the early morning. Mark smiled at the picture before him, wishing he had a camera to capture the moment that would have no doubt embarrassed the younger doctor, and gently pulled the covers over the sleeping body.
~~