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Chapter 108
InLondon, Detective Chief Superintendent Mathers met Poe outside the Royal Free Hospital, the same hospital Karen Royal-Cross had died in. They were familiar with the layout and would be able to take advantage of the infectious diseases unit’s surveillance system. Whether Salt lived or died, his body was now a crime scene. It needed to be treated as one, which meant from now on everything had to be filmed.
‘Where is he?’ Poe asked.
‘Rushed in on a gurney and taken straight to the infectious diseases unit theatre. Doctor Mukherjee isn’t in yet so the consultant anaesthetist will talk Salt through what we want to do.’
‘Doctor Mukherjee’s doing the operation?’
‘He used to be a surgeon and we know him.’
‘What’s Salt saying?’
‘He’s terrified. He won’t agree to anything until he’s spoken to you.’
‘Let’s go then,’ Poe said.
When the anaesthetist had finished explaining the procedure, Salt gulped. ‘It sounds serious.’
The anaesthetist shrugged. ‘I won’t sugar coat it, Mr Salt; emergency surgery like this is one of the most dangerous things we do. If we had the luxury of time we could make it safer, but my understanding is that waiting carries an even greater risk.’
‘And there’s no other way?’
The anaesthetist looked at Poe for an answer.
‘If we’re right, there isn’t,’ he said.
‘How sure are you?’
‘It’s a theory. Nothing more.’
‘What would you do in my situation?’
‘This is a binary problem, Mr Salt,’ Poe said. ‘The Botanist has either already killed you or he hasn’t. If he has, this is your only option. If hehasn’t, you’ll be undergoing life-altering surgery for nothing.’
‘So?’
‘So it depends on how lucky you’re feeling, I suppose.’
‘And?’ Mathers asked when Poe walked out of the surgery preparation area.
‘Schrödinger’s arsehole is being prepped as we speak, ma’am,’ Poe replied.
‘Well done,’ she said. ‘And what the hell do you mean by “Schrödinger’s arsehole”?’
‘Let’s find somewhere we can talk – Estelle can explain it better than me.’
Mukherjee’s office was still empty so they piled in there. It was functional, rather than aesthetic. Mass-produced furniture and medical textbooks. A photograph of his family seemed to be the only personal item in the room.
Poe and Flynn perched on the desk, Mathers took the seat and Bradshaw sat on the floor. Henning Stahl found a seat in the corner and opened his notebook. Doyle stood in front of a whiteboard. She had already collected some props.
‘Poe’s told you what I think?’
‘Broad strokes,’ Mathers replied. ‘He was a bit vague on the science.’
‘You surprise me,’ Doyle smiled. ‘The first thing you need to know is that the Botanist hasn’t invented something new, all he’s done is adapt something that already exists.’
‘Which is?’
She picked up a whiteboard marker, sketched a rough and ready diagram of the human digestive system. The throat, the gullet, the stomach, the small and large intestines.
‘What do you know about modified-release drug delivery systems?’
