Murder by Degrees by Ritu Mukerji

Author:Ritu Mukerji [Mukerji, Ritu]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2023-10-17T00:00:00+00:00

17

The waiting room was crowded when Lydia and the students arrived after lunch. Patients looked up at them expectantly, sitting close together on wooden benches. It was a free clinic attached to the hospital, so most came with no appointment. There were mostly women and children, with a few men interspersed.

The head nurse approached Lydia. “Bursting at the seams today, we are, Doctor. The first patient would like to see you on your own if you don’t mind.”

She handed Lydia a slip with brief information: Abraham Griffin, age fifty-two, cough for a fortnight.

Lydia nodded. Many times patients asked for her by name.

She stepped into the dark corridor leading to the exam rooms. A row of windows lined the wall above her head, filtering in the stark light of the gloomy day. She entered the first room.

The patient was thin and tall, his knees bent awkwardly as he perched on the edge of the exam table. His brown hair was speckled with gray, and clear blue eyes peered out at her from under heavy eyebrows. His face was creased with wrinkles, as if he had spent long hours in the sun.

He stood up when she entered. His thick cotton work shirt was untucked, with the suspenders looped off. He was ready to be examined.

“Hello, Mr. Griffin. I understand you have been suffering from a cough.”

“Abe, please. Yes, ma’am. It started off dry but last week I brought up the thick stuff, a bit green. Been feeling more breathless the last few days.”

“Have you coughed up any blood?”

He shook his head.

“Good. If you can please remove your shirt, I will examine you.” She bent to take her stethoscope out of her bag. “Any pain in the chest?”

“I suppose my chest always hurts,” he said. Lydia turned back to him and drew in a breath.

His torso was like a hardened shell, etched in a terrible mosaic pattern. From the base of his neck to the lower abdomen, it looked as though his skin was melting, like rivulets of wax dripping from a candle. In some places, it had thickened into ridges of a deep red color and, in others, the complexion took on an unnatural pearlescent sheen, completely devoid of pigment and prone to ulceration.

She had seen severe burns like this before. Her patients had been the victims of brutal chance: the chambermaid caught in the flare of hot oil on an open fire or the factory worker blinded by the abrupt splash of corrosive chemicals. Abe Griffin’s wounds could be concealed with clothing. But for many, the cruel aftermath of their injuries only deepened their poverty and isolation. They were deemed unfit for work and shunned because of their visible deformities.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “But you see. My chest always feels tight.”

Lydia understood. The hardened skin would act like a vise, causing a restrictive pattern in the lungs. It would be like breathing out against a tight shell, difficult to take in deep breaths. He would be more prone to pneumonia as poor aeration would create a nidus for infection.

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