Bedlam {II}

 When we arrive at the hospital, it's already mid morning. Cecil and I step out of the car and take a brief look around our surroundings; the building looks nice enough, but I can only imagine what it's like inside. A large iron gate sits before us and we let ourselves in, crossing the grounds. Cecil is at the front door first,  and knocks loudly, putting his hands into his pockets as he steps back to wait. 

 'They take their time,' he mutters as we're left waiting a few seconds, until finally the door opens, revealing a tall, older gentlemen in a well-tailored suits, who regards up with some curiosity. 

 'Cecil Jackson, London police,' Cecil introduces without a pause, holding up his badge. I say nothing, but do the same. 

 'We're here to ask a few questions,' Cecil continues, stepping further toward the doorway, letting himself in. I suppress a smile; Cecil is so bold. I love that about him. 

 'Good morning detectives,' the fellow at the door finally says, seeming rather taken aback by our presence, 'may I ask what these questions are regarding?'

 'You had a death here a few days ago,' Cecil explains simply, waiting to be led down the hallway, 'our coroner asked us to clarify some things, if you wouldn't mind.'

 The man seems a little put out by this, and I mimic Cecil in watching him intently. Any objections would be a sure sign of guilt. I'm learning. 

 'Very well,' he responds, starting down the hallway and taking a left. We're guided into a large boardroom, well decorated with a large table at its centre. It's empty right now, so Cecil and I take a seat beside each other. 

 'May I ask your name?' I start, taking out my notepad and a pen. 

 'Alastair Barrett,' he nods, sitting opposite us and folding his hands, awaiting further questions. He seems a stern man, with thin-framed glasses which sit on the end of his nose, a clean-shaven face and narrow eyes. 

 'Are you in charge here, Mr. Barrett?' I continue, taking notes. 

 'Doctor,' he corrects me with his nose turned up. I feel my face hot to be put right, and Cecil stifles a laugh under his hand. He knows how I hate being put in my place, 'but yes, I oversee everything here.'

 'Do you oversee all the treatments, too?' Cecil presses, his eyes firmly fixed on the doctor, 'were you familiar with the young woman who died?'

 'Yes,' Alastair replies, his expression troubled. I wonder if it's genuine. 'All treatments must go through me; I prescribed the treatments for Miss Ellis, after she was admitted with hysteria. She'd just had a child, and was incapable of caring for it.'

 'Is it normal for a woman to die of hysteria?' Cecil cocks an eyebrow curiously, straightening in his seat. Alastair seems uncomfortable to be asked this, and sighs, reluctantly shaking his head. 

 'Interesting,' my partner muses, then stands whilst I finish taking notes, 'may we see your patients? Their living quarters, and so on?'

 A moment's silence. We wait on bated breath. 

 'Very well,' the doctor repeats, standing also, 'however, I must remind you; this is a hospital for the mentally unwell. You might not like what you see.'