Free The Operator (Bruce and Bennett Crime Thriller 2) by Valerie Laws Page B

ill with serious side effects. Or denied drugs on the
grounds of cost.’
    ‘Lot of hysterical women. I don’t think much of
those who make a living out of their delusions. Fake fortune tellers and so on,
putting ideas into their heads.’
    ‘That’s an interesting diagnosis,’ she managed to
say without choking. ‘Of course some would say that surgeons make a living out
of arthritis, which might be helped more cheaply and effectively by diet and
lifestyle changes. There are many points of view, aren’t there? And not all my
patients are women by the way. Some of them even play golf.’
    He laughed, but he sounded angry. More than he had
any right to be, considering how offensive he’d been. Was he unused to people,
women, who talked back?
    ‘Surely all that homeopathic claptrap has been
proved to be a load of bollocks? You should try and look at some real, hard science,
if you can manage to understand it.’
    Simon Singh again! And again, Erica was driven to
defend her practice even though the crusade of Singh, one of her personal maths
communicator heroes, sometimes tested her own faith.
    ‘I’m a maths and theoretical physics graduate so I’m
not a total stranger to science. There are many things which can’t be proved by
current methods. Many scientists believe in god, even though nobody’s been able
to isolate any evidence apart from a placebo effect there. I believe you attend
St Mary’s?’
    ‘Good grief, maths eh. If that’s true,’ his tone
made clear he doubted it, ‘you should go in for accountancy and earn an honest
living. Not that equations would do you any good if you sustain significant
trauma.’
    Horribly like Will Bennett. Recalling the
conversation now, Erica kicked herself for not thinking to hit back with the
mathematical geometric equations involved in the forces applied by the Ilizarov
frame, Kingston’s stock in trade. Still, the guy was dead so scoring points was
rather point less .
    He’d finished with, ‘I’ll give this interview, but
I’m not debating crap like that. No-one has any right to question my work,
except possibly another surgeon of equal seniority, and none of them would. I’ll
talk about my surgical work, and that’s it. I can give you half an hour. Some
of us have real jobs to do.’
    She’d agreed. He seemed happier once he had, as he
thought, taken control of the situation. She’d been willing to let him think so,
for now. That’s why she borrowed the dowdy clothes. She was hoping he would
condemn himself out of his own mouth - if not, well, she was a professional
journalist, even if only part time, and she didn’t have to like everyone she
dealt with. She’d hoped she’d never be on the receiving end of his bedside
manner if it was anything like his telephone one. As it turned out, it was him
who sustained the ‘significant trauma.’
    Good thing Will Bennett hadn’t seen her
biro-ravaged notepad with its blue-stained stab wounds, or he’d be giving her
the third degree. However, Kingston couldn’t argue for himself anymore, so she
tried to leach all her dislike out of the obituary. She had to go through it
several times, reading it aloud to make sure it was as bland as ricotta when she
emailed it in with the regular features of her page.
    She was interrupted by a phone call from Miles,
the hypnotherapist at Ivy Lodge.
    ‘Erica, can you come over, if you possibly can. Your
client Beccy’s here and she’s in a bit of a state. I’ve told her you’re not in
this morning, but she keeps insisting. She refuses to come back this
afternoon... she’s going to upset the other clients.’
    ‘OK, I’ll come now. Lucky I’m not far. Take her
into my room and give her four drops of Rescue Remedy, tell her I’m on my way.’
    When she got to Ivy Lodge, Miles intercepted her
outside her room.
    ‘I didn’t like to leave her alone, but I’ve got one
of my smokers waiting for treatment... I’ve been darting in and out, reassuring
her, rushing in to