After a few minutes, Alan returned. “Harold says to try the General Surgery department. There’s a consultant called Grey who works there who fits your description. If it’s not him, it’s a good place to start, anyway.”
Mitchell thought this sounded a good step forward. “Thank you. I hope Harold gets better soon.”
Alan gave a small nod. “Love can be a great healer. Or so I try to convince myself.”
Mitchell made his way to the General Surgery department, where he found photographs of twelve doctors on the wall. The nurse with the hair flick was right, that there was much of a sameness about their appearances. However, the third photograph down was of the man who had helped Yvette on the riverbank. His name was printed below his image, consultant Ernest Grey.
Mitchell made his way to the consultant’s waiting room where he loitered for a while, unsure of his next move.
When the receptionist called out, “Mr. Pinkerton to see Mr. Grey, please,” Mitchell looked furtively around. After there was no response, he held up his hand. “Um, here.”
“Second door on the left,” the receptionist told him. “Ask Mr. Grey to check your hearing, while you’re in there.”
Mitchell entered the room and the doctor who helped Yvette on the grass verge sat before him. He felt like he was encountering a film or TV star, that he couldn’t quite believe was here in the flesh.
“Take a seat.”
“Thank you.” Mitchell sat down and pressed his fingers together in his lap.
Mr. Grey pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose and studied some papers. “What can I do for you, Mr. Pinkerton? How have you been since your hernia op?”
“I’ve not had one,” Mitchell said. “I’m not actually your patient.”
Mr. Grey lowered the papers and stared at him intently. “Do you have the wrong room?” He reached to pick up the phone receiver on his desk. “I’ll ask the—”
Mitchell leaned forward. “My name is Mitchell Fisher and I helped a woman who had fallen into the river six days ago. She wore a yellow dress and you came to her assistance.”
Mr. Grey moved his hand away from the phone. He slid his glasses farther up his nose. “Oh, yes, I recognize you now. Didn’t you bump your head on the pavement afterward?”
“Yes,” Mitchell said with a whoosh of relief that he had found the right man. “A cyclist rode into me. I woke up in hospital and I’m trying to find out what happened to the woman we helped. Was she admitted into hospital?”
“I recommended she come with me to get checked out, but she insisted she was fine. She was in a hurry, said she had to leave straightaway. She used my phone to make a call.”
“So, the last time you saw her was on the bridge?”
Mr. Grey nodded.
“Do you have a record of what number she rang?”
“Sorry, no. I got a new phone two days ago.”
Mitchell knew that Liza wouldn’t mind if he shared more information, if it helped to trace Yvette. “I found out the woman in question, Yvette Bradfield, walked away from her family, and I’m helping them to trace her. I’m the first person to see her for almost a year, and you saw her, too. Did she say anything to you that might help us to find her?”
“That is a distressing situation,” Mr. Grey said softly. “I’m presuming you’ve covered off all other options, spoke to her friends and family, etcetera.”
“I think the family have tried everything. Yvette gets in touch from time to time, they just don’t know where she is, or why she won’t come home.”
Mr. Grey thought for a while. “I overheard some of the call, and she said Connor was waiting for her.”
“Connor?” Mitchell repeated. “Not Victor?”
“She definitely said Connor. And that’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid. Our conversation was very short. I think she was rather stunned by what happened.”
“It’s a good piece of information,” Mitchell said, pleased he had found out something to share with Liza. “Thank you.”
“Very glad to be of assistance. Though, I suggest you don’t try to impersonate other patients in future.”
“Sorry,” Mitchell said. “Now I’m here, may I ask you a medical question?”
“Is it about a hernia?”
“No. After I bumped my head in the accident, I’ve been feeling, well—different.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Mitchell hmm’d, thinking about his strange emotional pull when it came to the locks on the bridge and the strangers’ letters. “Since my accident, I’m feeling everything more deeply,” he said.
“And you had checks when you came in?”
He nodded. “Everything looked fine.”
“Well,” Mr. Grey said, “saving Yvette could certainly have triggered your emotions. It’s a big thing you did, jumping in the river to help her. Your mind and body will have experienced stress, anxiety and relief. It’s totally natural to feel emotional after going through something like that. Even minor injuries can disrupt the brain function, changing the way a person thinks, acts or feels. They don’t always show up straightaway. Perhaps you should make an appointment to see your own doctor and ask to be referred to a neurologist. Or there’s something else to consider...”
“What?”
Mr. Grey smiled. “Maybe you’re a nice guy who cares about others.”
Mitchell looked away, embarrassed. “It’s good to hear I’m not going mad.”
“You did a courageous thing, and exposure to cold water can cause hypothermia, even on a hot day. You should give yourself a pat on the back. Make sure you take care of yourself, as well as looking for Yvette.”
“Hmm, I’ll try,” Mitchell said before leaving the consultancy room.
* * *
While Mitchell sat on the bus, heading into Upchester center, he called Liza a couple of times but got her voice mail. He left a message saying he was heading into the city and would be on the redbrick bridge at one o’clock, if she and Poppy wanted to meet him there.
When he reached and walked along Redford, he again felt the unlikely tug toward the padlocks hanging there and the stories they held. At least Mr. Grey had given him a reason why his emotions might be playing up.
Mitchell spotted Barry working on the other side of the road. Or at least, he thought it was Barry. The person crouched next to a toolbox and brandishing bolt cutters had close-cropped hair.