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‘Thanks,’ I say.
She lifts the boxes and carries them out of the tent, as I wander towards the back. A sign requesting privacy is hung across a canvas door, but we’re in a marquee set up in the middle of the desert – it’s a bit unreasonable to expect much privacy in this environment.
I cough, loud enough to let him know there’s someone waiting. I hear what sounds like the snap of gloves and a low murmur of voices. Some tapping, fingers on a keyboard. I wonder if there’s a computer in there I can use to send a message to Pete. Then the flap flies open.
‘Can I help you?’ the doctor asks.
I sneak a look over his shoulder, but if there’s a device in there I don’t spot it in that split second.
‘Yes. I was with Nabil this afternoon.’
The doctor stares at me for a second, then nods. He rubs his temple. ‘Scusa, I recognize you now. One of the photographers. Stella, right?’
‘I can’t believe he’s dead.’
‘I know. It’s a shock to us all. But he had a heart condition that he failed to tell us about.’
I pause, studying the doctor’s face. There’s a grim shadow across it, the faintest hint of some warring emotion – guilt? ‘I was reviewing some of the video footage and it looks like he was in trouble long before he actually went down. Stumbling around. Kind of woozy. Wouldn’t a heart attack be more sudden?’
The doctor keeps his features very still. ‘It’s hard to say.’
‘But in your opinion …’
‘My opinion doesn’t matter very much – it is for the examiner in Ouarzazate to determine what happened.’
He’s a closed book. I grit my teeth. There’s something else that’s been playing on my mind. ‘Have you worked at many ultramarathons?’
He shakes his head. ‘This is my first one. And last, I think.’
‘Oh really? How did you come to be in Boones’s orbit, then?’
‘That is private information.’ The doctor’s mouth is set in a firm line.
‘I can’t help being intrigued. You know, since I’m his daughter and all.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes. And I know he’s very sick. He’s suffered with his heart his whole life. But if you know anything about my dad at all, you’ll know that getting any information out of him is impossible. How worried should I really be?’
The doctor’s expression softens, the guarded look in his eyes turning to pity. ‘I cannot divulge that. But if you are his family, it is good you are here. Is there anything else I can do for you, Stella?’
‘Oh, yes. Do you have any painkillers? An aspirinor something? In all the madness I forgot to bring any with me.’
He sighs. ‘Everything has been packed away. They’ll be in the trucks already.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Give me one second and I will see if I can catch Wendy before she puts the last box away.’
‘Thank you.’
As he leaves the tent, I push through to the private area he’d been in before. There’s a desk set up covered in files. I push them aside, searching for a laptop.
No such luck. But there is a black bag on the floor. I recognize it as the one Emilio had been carrying all day. Maybe he has a phone I can use.
I open it, rifling through the contents as quickly as I can. There are all the normal things I would expect in a doctor’s bag: bandages, stethoscope, syringes sealed in sterile packaging. But there’s something I don’t expect. An empty, crumpled water bottle, like the hundreds of bottles we handed out at the checkpoints throughout the race.
Except this one has writing on it. A number half erased by sweat. It’s one of the runner’s bottles.