Wildcard

PART EIGHT - Saturday, 22nd October (iv)

"Smells amazing," Jake said, swishing his cane around the doorway of Ryan's kitchen half an hour later.

"You look b-better," Ryan responded, sounding genuinely surprised that a fresh human being resided beneath the layer of city grime. "Want some cottage pie?"

The gorgeous aroma had wafted around the basement while Jake had been making his bed. He'd wondered how it must feel to have a home with cooking utensils and the ability to make proper meals using real ingredients.

"I'd love some." He pulled out a seat at Ryan's table and put his cane on the top, but it clanged against something hard.

"Oops ... Sorry."

"Don't w-worry – you can't knock it over. It's a deep-fat fryer – weighs a ton."

Jake tutted. "If you think your dad's gingerbread will fatten you up, nothing compares with deep-fried food for clogging your arteries and packing on the weight, pal."

"Not what it's for," Ryan replied. "I've loaned it from a friend to help me understand P-Pamela Underwood's medical report. It just doesn't m-make sense."

Jake opened the hinged lid and investigated the wire basket within.

"Fairly standard design. What aspect don't you get?"

"This one." Ryan dragged something heavy off the floor and dumped it on the table. "Meet 'Resuscitation Rachel'."

"Who?" Jake asked, running a hand over what felt like a dress-shop mannequin.

"Resus Rachel is a CPR dummy. We have loads of them at w-work to practise mouth-to-mouth and compressions in our first-aid training. Rachel's the size of a primary school female, so I've b-brought her home to work on."

Liquid splashed into the machine.

"It's n-not switched on," Ryan confirmed, clattering the wire basket back in. "But it's full of cold water to the same height that oil would go if it was going to cook food. Imagine Rachel's dropped a toy in there. Now, dip her arm in as far it will go."

Jake did as asked and then felt the dummy's arm. "It's wet to just above the wrist."

Ryan lifted out the wire basket and dumped it on the floor. "Now try again."

Jake dipped the dummy's arm in, lifted it out and felt it. "Still only wet as high as the elbow."

"And that's what I'm querying. The p-police report says Pammy dropped a toy into the fryer and plunged her arm straight in to retrieve it. So go on – give it a try. Show me any way you can get Rachel's arm up to the shoulder in that w-water."

Jake tried from different angles but eventually admitted it couldn't be done. "There's no way it fits up to the shoulder, even if it's folded at the elbow because the lower arm is too long to lie flat in the bottom."

"Spot on." Ryan poured the water away. "Yet, I've seen a picture from the m-mortuary, and there's no question. The boiling oil incinerated that arm right up to the shoulder. So that's an aspect I need to look into because m-more often than not, it's my mistake."

Jake dumped the dummy on the floor and rocked back in his seat. "So, what do you think happened?"

"I've no idea yet," Ryan admitted, opening the stove door and generating a blanket of comforting heat as the smell of his delicious creation filled the room. "I'll revisit the whole thing with fresh eyes tomorrow."

Ryan hummed quietly as he moved about arranging cutlery and creating their meal. Steam clouded as he strained pans, and eventually, two plates arrived on the table.