Trauma

Ten

Sarah decided to stay for the tests on Mary O’Donnell although, in theory, she could have gone off-duty after Tyndall’s departure. She was present when Logan completed the final scan. He sighed deeply and said, “She’s not even borderline; there’s no activity at all.” He handed the results to her and she started sifting through the untidy bunch of papers, first separating the chart graphs from the print-out rolls. It did not take long to see that Logan was right; there was no doubt. To all intents and purposes, Mary O’Donnell was dead. Even the Sigma Scan, the most sensitive test of all, was flat-lining. The young girl in the bed whose chest moved up and down to the rhythm of an electric relay valve was just an empty shell with no more living substance than a photograph.

“I’ll call the Dr Tyndall,” said Logan. “Maybe you can get the parents to come in this afternoon? The sooner we get this over with the better.”

Logan went to the doctors’ room to phone; he returned after a couple of minutes and said, “Dr Tyndall can manage this afternoon, it now depends on the parents.”

“I’ll call them,” said Sarah.

“Dr Tyndall will be here at two thirty. Ask them if they can come at two, will you? I’d like to have a word with them first.”

Sarah looked at Logan who met her stare without flinching. “Very well,” she said.

“By the way, Dr Tyndall would like you to be present when he sees them. Part of your training.”

Sarah walked towards the duty room with a heavy heart. She knew that the O’Donnells would have spent all night hoping and praying that their daughter would pull through. Their nerves would be stretched to breaking point, and when the phone rang, it would be snatched up with anxious hands. She tapped out the numbers with her index finger, slowly and deliberately, unwilling to initiate a train of events which would lead to such unhappiness. The phone was answered at the first ring.

“Yes?” said Jean O’Donnell’s voice. It was filled with anxiety.

Sarah swallowed hard and said, “Mrs O’Donnell, It’s Sarah Lasseter here at the Infirmary. I wonder if you and your husband could come in this afternoon to have a word with Dr Logan and Dr Tyndall?”

“What’s happened? Is she worse?” asked Jean O’Donnell.

Sarah could hear Joe O’Donnell in the background asking what was going on.

“We’ve had the chance to run some tests now and it’s now a question of discussing the results with you.”

“Discussing,” said Jean O’Donnell slowly.

“Dr Tyndall will explain everything this afternoon,” said Sarah gently.

“I see,” replied Jean distantly.

Sarah knew that Jean O’Donnell had understood the implications of the meeting. She no longer sounded anxious. Her voice had lost its animation. Something had left her. Sarah knew it was hope.

“Would two o’clock be all right?”

“We’ll be there.”

Sarah was glad that Tyndall always made a point of speaking to relatives himself when there was bad news to impart. He was good with the patients; he was equally good with the relatives. He had the great advantage of looking the part and at times like this it was important. He was the kind of man that relatives would want to see, a reassuringly establishment figure, well-dressed, silver-haired, sympathetic, understanding. She suspected that Logan could be pretty awful and worried about why he wanted to see the O’Donnells first. Surely he could not be considering pre-empting Tyndall in asking for permission for organ removal?Dealing with grieving relatives was an aspect of her work that she had so far managed to avoid thanks to Tyndall’s habit of seeing them himself but it couldn’t be avoided indefinitely. She suspected that Tyndall had asked her to be present at the meeting with the O’Donnells today for that very reason. Death was a constant visitor to a unit like HTU.

As two o’clock came with no sign of the O’Donnells, Sarah noticed that Logan was becoming anxious. He started looking at his watch at half minute intervals. At quarter past the hour he was clearly losing patience.

“Where the hell are they?” he demanded.

Sarah, not sure if she should reply or not muttered something about them being delayed. She was secretly pleased that it was beginning to look as if the O’Donnells would not be seeing Logan after all. This proved to be the case when Tyndall arrived early at twenty past and the O’Donnells had still not appeared. Sarah heard Logan swear under his breath as he himself disappeared.

The O’Donnells arrived at twenty-five past with Joe apologising for having to change a wheel on the car.

“Bloody kids,” he muttered but didn’t elaborate.

Tyndall got up when Jean O’Donnell entered the room. She had done it tentatively despite having been told to ‘go right in’. She still thought it right to tap gently on the door with her knuckles and put her head round first. Tyndall smiled and got up to shake her hand. Sarah noted that the smile was just right, not so broad as to indicate that everything was going well but not so wan as to suggest that it was just a social nicety. The smile was that given to a confidant, someone who understood and knew the score. Tyndall shook hands with Joe who followed behind and then with Ryan Lafferty who came in last and caused Tyndall to raise his eyebrows.

Lafferty explained, “Mrs O’Donnell asked me if I would be present this afternoon, if that’s all right with you, Doctor?”

“Of course,” replied Tyndall. “Do sit down.”

Sarah exchanged smiles with the O’Donnells, and with Lafferty who said to her, “Don’t you ever sleep, Doctor?” Sarah replied with a smile.

Tyndall took off his glasses and laid them on the desk in front of him. He said gently, “It’s best if I come straight to the point. We have carried out a full range of tests on your daughter and, frankly, the news is not good.”

Tyndall paused and Jean and Joe drew closer together. Sarah noted that Jean was outwardly calm but she saw that she was holding Joe’s hand so tightly that her knuckles were showing white.

Tyndall continued, “We have been unable to detect any indication of brain activity in Mary, using a wide range of tests and the most sensitive equipment available to medicine. None at all.”

Sarah noted that although the delivery of the words was sympathetic, the substance was quite brutally frank. Tyndall had taken no time at all to get to the point. Mary was brain dead; there was no hope for her.

“Couldn’t she just be in a coma, like?” asked Joe after a short pause. His voice sounded rough and uneven compared to Tyndall’s well modulated tones. It seemed to fracture the air in the little room.

“No. I’m afraid not,” said Tyndall. “To all intents and purposes I’m afraid we have to conclude that Mary is brain dead.”

Jean looked as if time had stopped for her. Her expression froze, leaving her eyes as the mirrors of a deep sadness. Joe’s face, on the other hand, took on a sudden flurry of animation, seemingly registering surprise, dismay and anguish all at the same time. “What exactly does that mean?” he asked. “Brain dead?”

“It means that your daughter cannot recover. She is beyond saving. I’m most terribly sorry.”

“But she’s still on that machine isn’t she?” said Joe. “There’s time yet surely. I mean you read every day about people coming round after being unconscious for years even?”

Tyndall shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, that’s different. These people still have brain function despite being unconscious. Mary has no such function. She is in reality, dead. The machines are keeping her respiration and her circulation going but these are simple mechanical processes. Mary will never be able to do them for herself again.”

“But...”

Joe started to protest but his eyes were filling with tears and he kept shaking his head as if trying to free himself of the facts.

Jean took his hand up to her lips and kissed it. She was crying herself but she said gently, “Mary’s gone love, we have to face it.”

Lafferty chose to stay in the background. He wanted to help, but the couple were comforting each other. He wasn’t really needed.

After a few moments, Jean O’Donnell said to Tyndall, “You’ll want to turn the machine off then?”

Tyndall nodded gently.

Sarah again thought the gesture absolutely right. Potentially this was the most emotionally agonising bridge to cross for the parents but Tyndall had led them gently and sympathetically over it; he had almost made it appear a technical after-thought.

Jean and Joe held each other and nodded their assent. Lafferty remained as a spectator.

Tyndall put his hand to his head as if uncomfortable and said, “There is just one other thing I have to ask you.”

Sarah took a deep breath and held it.

Jean and Joe O’Donnell looked at Tyndall attentively but did not speak.

Tyndall continued as if the words were causing him pain. “It is just possible that Mary could help some other patient.”

The O’Donnells looked puzzled. “Help?” asked Jean.

Tyndall paused then said, “Her organs...”

Joe O’Donnell’s face hardened and his eyes took on an angry look. “No way!” he stormed. “No one touches my little girl. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” replied Tyndall gently. “If you don’t want it then there is no question about it. Your wishes will be respected.”

Joe calmed down almost as quickly as he had flared up and Sarah thought that Tyndall might have another go at getting transplant permission but he did not. He obviously considered it a lost cause.

“Could we see her just one more time?” asked Jean.

“Of course,” said Tyndall. He turned to Sarah, “Would you?”

Sarah nodded her agreement and led the O’Donnells through to where their daughter lay. She felt a lump in her throat as the couple took what was to be a last long look at their daughter. Joe O’Donnell turned to her at one point and asked in a hoarse whisper, “She won’t suffer, will she?”

“No,” replied Sarah, fighting back her own tears. “She’s beyond all that.”

Sarah could sense a potentially awkward situation looming where neither of the O’Donnells would want to leave their daughter, knowing it would be for the last time. She herself was not sure how long she should give them before suggesting it herself. In the event, Tyndall solved the problem for her. He joined them and said gently to the O’Donnells, “I’m afraid there are a few formalities we have to go through.”

He led the parents away leaving Sarah on her own. She was joined almost immediately by Ryan Lafferty who saw that she was about to lose the battle to contain her tears.

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” he said.

“Sometimes I hate this job,” said Sarah.

Lafferty put his arm around her and the first tears started to roll down her cheeks. “Look at me,” she sobbed. “I’m supposed to be a doctor and I’m behaving like a silly schoolgirl!”

“Caring was never a crime, Doctor,” said Lafferty. “The world could do with a lot more ‘silly schoolgirls’.”

Sarah dried her eyes with her handkerchief and recovered her composure before nodding to Lafferty and saying, “Thank you.”

It was time for Lafferty to take his own last look at Mary O’Donnell. The next time he ‘saw’ her would be at her funeral service.

“Would you like me to leave?” asked Sarah.

Lafferty nodded without turning round and Sarah melted away.

Lafferty felt the lump in his throat as he looked at the young face of Mary O’Donnell, so pale and peaceful. He read the ID card on the end of the bed. Mary O’Donnell, d.o.b. 13.1.78. Nineteen seventy-eight seemed like only yesterday. The passing of time seemed to accelerate exponentially as you got older, but fifteen was still very young.

Lafferty noticed the Greek letter in the bottom corner of the card and he remembered having seen it somewhere before. It had been on the card that John Main had placed in the centre of the Ouija board in his flat. At the time he couldn’t remember what it was called. Now, however, it came back to him. It was the Greek letter, Sigma.

Lafferty commended the soul of Mary O’Donnell to the keeping of the Lord while Joseph and Jean wept and Sarah bit her lip. Murdoch Tyndall switched off the respirator and Mary’s chest fell for the last time to remain at rest. There was a moment when the silence seemed almost unbearable but Tyndall quickly filled the gap and ushered the parents out of the room.

“Will you be at the funeral Dr Lasseter?” asked Lafferty.

Sarah shook her head and replied, “No Father. It’s against unit policy.” Then realising how cold and impersonal that sounded, she added, “There are just so many.”

Lafferty nodded and said quietly, “Of course. How thoughtless of me.”

“No, not at all!” said Sarah, suddenly anxious to assure Lafferty.

For some reason the last thing in the world she wanted to do was offend this man. Perhaps it was because he had been so kind to her when she had felt vulnerable or perhaps it was because she detected a kind of vulnerability in him. She didn’t know but suddenly knew that she had to confide in someone and Lafferty was the man. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you, Father,” she said.

“Of course,” said Lafferty automatically before starting to wonder why? “Just now?”

“No, I’d rather it was somewhere away from here,” said Sarah, looking over her shoulder.

“Perhaps you could come to St Xavier’s? I live in the house next door,” suggested Lafferty. “Or...”

“That would be fine.”

“This evening?”

“Ideal, I have the evening off.”

“Shall we say, seven o’clock?”

A nurse came into the room and Sarah’s voice changed. “Yes, Father Lafferty, that would be perfectly all right,” she said in official tones.

She led the way out of the room.

Lafferty answered the door when Sarah arrived at two minutes past seven. He had changed out of clerical gear and was wearing navy blue cord trousers and a matching polo shirt. Sarah was ushered into a comfortable, if old fashioned, room which had not seen a change of furniture in a very long time.

“Tea? Coffee? A drink?” inquired Lafferty when he had closed the door and the pleasantries were over.

Sarah, who was sitting awkwardly on the edge of a faded green sofa, hesitated for a moment before saying, “If a drink is really on offer I’d love one.”

“Whisky, gin or sherry? That’s your choice,” smiled Lafferty.

“Gin please.”

Lafferty opened up his drinks cabinet and extracted a bottle of Beefeater Gin. He continued with a rummage through the bottles before saying, “It will have to be bitter lemon, I’m afraid. I don’t seem to have any tonic.”

“Fine,” said Sarah.

Lafferty poured himself a large Jamieson’s whiskey and sat down opposite her.

“Irish whiskey?” said Sarah.

“A tribute to my roots. With a name like Lafferty and a job like mine what did you expect?”

“You don’t sound Irish.”

“My parents left Ireland when I was seven. I was brought up in Liverpool.”

“So you are one of these people with divided loyalties at rugby internationals?” smiled Sarah.

“No problem. I wear the green.”

Sarah nodded and took a sip of her drink.

“How can I help you, Doctor?” asked Lafferty, seeing the troubled look appear in her eyes.

“Call me Sarah.”

“Very well, Sarah.”

Sarah opened her mouth to start speaking but then she stopped and shook her head. “Maybe I should have gone to the police but they wouldn’t believe me.”

“The police?” asked Lafferty.

Sarah nodded. “I think a crime has been committed.”

“At the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of crime?”

“Murder.”

Lafferty’s mouth fell open.

“Murder?” he exclaimed. “But who?”

“One of the patients in HTU, John McKirrop. I’m convinced he was murdered.”

Lafferty took a few moments to get over the second shock — hearing the name, McKirrop. He composed himself before saying calmly, “Have I got this right? You are telling me that John McKirrop was murdered while in hospital?”

“I think so,” said Sarah. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

“But why? How?”

“I don’t know why but I do know how,” said Sarah. She told Lafferty about her examination of the cadaver and the evidence she had found.

“You’re absolutely certain about this?”

Sarah nodded. “The trouble is, that I can’t prove it without the original skull X-ray. Without that, everything seems to be above board. Mr McKirrop was admitted to HTU with a depressed fracture of the skull and it caused massive brain damage. End of story. Only I and the killer know that the fracture got much worse after he was admitted to HTU.”

Lafferty shook his head, finding it difficult to take everything in. “But why?” he asked. “Who would want to kill a man like John McKirrop?”

“Needless to say, I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” said Sarah. “The only thing I can come up with concerns a colleague, Dr Derek Logan. He’s actually my immediate boss.”

Sarah told Lafferty about Logan being made to look foolish if McKirrop had recovered from his injuries. “He dismissed the patient as being a hopeless case without even checking the X-rays.”

“I see,” said Lafferty thoughtfully. “As an outsider, it all seems a bit extreme to say the least. Do you really think this man Logan capable of such an act?”

Sarah sighed and shook her head. “Much as I dislike him, no I don’t,” she said. “It’s more a case of being unable to think of any other motive.”

“Then we’ll have to look for one,” said Lafferty.

“I’ve been trying,” said Sarah with a wry smile.

“Have you managed to come up with anything at all?”

“I suppose it’s just possible that McKirrop knew something that other people didn’t want him to talk about,” said Sarah.

“That makes sense,” agreed Lafferty. “Any idea about what it could be?”

Sarah looked doubtful. She paused before saying, “This may sound silly but I think it could be something to do with the satanists and what happened in the cemetery with the Main boy.”

Lafferty heart missed a beat. “What makes you say that?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“I saw John McKirrop the first time he was admitted to hospital, just after he had been beaten up by the men in the cemetery. There was something about him; it’s hard to put my finger on it exactly but I got the distinct impression he knew more than he ever said about the affair.”

“Why do you say that?”

“At first he wouldn’t speak about what happened at all. He seemed scared. I had to urge him to tell the police what he knew for the sake of the boy’s father. Apparently he did do that but I remember thinking at the time that he wanted to tell me something else. It was as if he...”

“Hadn’t been telling the whole story?” added Lafferty.

“Exactly. How did you know I was going to say that?”

“I’ve been uneasy about what happened in the cemetery myself,” said Lafferty. “I’ve read every book on the occult I can lay my hands on, I’ve talked to an expert on the black arts and still nothing has emerged to suggest what kind of group would want the body or why. That’s why I wanted to talk to McKirrop if he came round. I wanted to know if there had been something else he hadn’t been telling us. Some extra clue.”

“I see,” said Sarah.

“There’s something else that’s bothering me. You told me that McKirrop had used the word, ‘yobs’ when referring to the men who had dug up the Main boy. John Main used the same word when he called me up this morning to tell me that he had found the men who did it. From what he said, they didn’t sound like Black Mass material. It made me more certain than ever that McKirrop didn’t tell the whole truth—”

“Did you say that Mr Main had found the men?” interrupted Sarah.

Lafferty nodded and told her briefly how Main had done it. “The police are looking for them now.”

“Then we should know the whole story when they catch them,” said Sarah.

Lafferty nodded.

“But what could McKirrop possibly know that would be worth killing him to keep it quiet?” asked Sarah.

Lafferty shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Perhaps there were other people in the cemetery that night? People who McKirrop never mentioned. Or perhaps there’s something else that we haven’t even thought about yet.”

“But there has to be a connection with HTU if that’s the reason McKirrop was murdered.”

“I suppose so.”

“I’m scared,” confessed Sarah.

Lafferty could see that she was. “Have you voiced your suspicions about McKirrop’s death to anyone in HTU?” he asked.

“No, you’re the only person I’ve told.”

“Good, then no one knows you suspect,” said Lafferty.

“Logan knows that I was searching for the missing X-ray,” said Sarah.

Lafferty frowned. “But not why?”

“No.”

“Then I suggest that we do and say nothing until the police have come up with the four men. If they discover a strong enough motive for killing John McKirrop perhaps you won’t need the X-ray after all. Make sense?”

Sarah nodded and said, “It does. I’m grateful to you for listening to me. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have shared this with someone.”

Lafferty smiled. “I think you’ve just told a Roman Catholic priest that confession is good for you.”

When Sarah got back to the residency she found an air of excitement about the place.

“What’s going on?” she asked Paddy Duncan when she met him in the corridor.

“You haven’t heard the news?” he asked.

“What news?”

“Cyril Tyndall has come up with a vaccine against Herpes infections. It’s reported as being a hundred percent effective and Gelman Holland have been licensed by the government to manufacture it. It should be available for general use by the end of the year.”

“That’s wonderful news, but what about trials and safety evaluations? Surely they can’t just put it into production,” exclaimed Sarah.

“All done,” said Duncan. “The trials were conducted in secret with government approval.”

“But why in secret? And why would the government approve of that?”

“This is exactly the kind of research that the government wants to encourage,” smiled Duncan. “Gelman Holland backs Cyril Tyndall with money and resources. Cyril comes up with the goods. The government smoothes the way ahead for them, keeps bureaucracy to a minimum, cuts red tape. Everyone benefits and the tax payer’s contribution has been much less than usual for medical research. The propaganda value in something like this for the government is enormous.”

“But why the secrecy?” asked Sarah.

“Such sweet naively,” teased Duncan. “Do you realise how much money there is to be made with such a product? No scientist does anything these days without talking to his lawyer and the patents office. Some people are even trying to patent the human genome.”

“So this is not a traditional vaccine then?”

“No,” agreed Duncan. “That’s the really exciting thing. This isn’t a traditional vaccine at all. Cyril Tyndall has taken a new approach to the problem and come up with a high-tech solution to recurrent infections. He’s used the techniques of genetic engineering to identify the DNA trigger mechanism in human cells which sets off dormant Herpes virus.”

“Brilliant!” said Sarah. “He must have found a repressor binding site for the virus.”

“You sound as if you know about it?”

Sarah nodded and said, “I got interested in the subject at medical school when we were studying phage lysogeny in bacteria. It struck me that the same thing might go on with the Herpes virus.”

“Tell me more,” said Duncan.

“Well, you know if you get an infection like a cold sore it appears to heal and clear up but in fact it lies dormant within you until it’s set off again by sunlight or stress or whatever?”

Duncan nodded and said, “Once you’ve got it, you’ve always got it.”

“Exactly. Well, the theory was that the virus was kept dormant by a repressor substance until something happened to destroy or inactivate the repressor. When that happened, the virus was free to replicate and cause the infection all over again. It sounds as if Professor Tyndall has identified the DNA trigger that does this and come up with a way of keeping the virus permanently inactive. Do you know if it only applies to Herpes simplex?”

“No, that’s the beauty of it,” said Duncan. “It’s said to be equally effective against the sexually transmitted for that’s been sweeping the States, and against Herpes zoster. No more shingles. A complete cure.”

“This could put Cyril Tyndall in line for a Nobel prize,” said Sarah.

“That’s what everyone’s been saying. And not only Cyril. Murdoch Tyndall’s name is on the paper as well. Quite a family affair.”

“Are you sure?” asked Sarah.

“Absolutely. It’s in today’s edition of Nature. There are four authors and Murdoch is one of them.”

“But Murdoch Tyndall isn’t a virologist,” said Sarah, quite puzzled at the revelation.

“Maybe he made some kind of intellectual contribution,” suggested Duncan. “Or maybe it’s just a case of brotherly love. Cyril wanted his brother to share in a great moment in medicine.”

“The research councils take a dim view of honorary authorship,” said Sarah.

“The research councils take a dim view of a lot of things that no one else pays any attention to,” Duncan replied.

Sarah smiled and said, “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, the main thing is that we’ll have the vaccine.”

“And your boss will be in a good mood,” added Duncan.

“I hadn’t thought of that little bonus.”

“I think the hospital is planning some little celebration in the meantime. Who knows, we dogsbodies may even be invited to it.”

“That would be nice. I’ve never met Cyril Tyndall.”

Duncan looked surprised. He said, “I thought you would have, working for his brother and all.”

“Apparently he keeps himself very much to himself.”

“There might be something about the vaccine on the news — shall we take a look?”

Sarah agreed and they went along to the common-room where a dozen others had gathered excitedly for the same reason. The vaccine story was mentioned third in the headlines. There were loud cheers at the naming of the university and hospital, although there were no pictures either of the Tyndall brothers or the hospital. Instead stock footage of the city was shown.

“I guess they didn’t have time,” said Duncan.

The national news came to an end and was followed by local news. People began to drift away but Sarah heard Duncan say, “God, what a mess,” as she was heading for the door. She turned round to see pictures of a burnt-out car surrounded by firemen still playing their hoses on it. Four young men had lost their lives when the car they were travelling in had apparently burst into flames. No other vehicle had been involved and police were still trying to establish the cause of the fire.

John Main was about to go to bed when the phone rang. He hesitated before picking it up, fearing that it might be his sister or mother in law. He had not returned any of their calls for the past two weeks. He waited until the answering machine had put out its message and the bleep had signalled the caller to speak.

“Hello, Mr Main. This is Inspector Lenny at Lothians and Borders Police Headquarters. I’d like you to get in touch with us at your convenience, sir.”

Main snatched up the phone, “This is John Main, Inspector. You have some news?”

“I think it might be better if I came round, sir. rather than talk on the telephone.”

“Very well Inspector. As soon as you like.”

“I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

Main felt the excitement grow inside him. The police must have found the men. He was close to finding out what had happened to Simon. To fill in the time, he put his clothes back on and made some coffee, and he’d just finished a mouthful when the doorbell rang. It was Lenny.

“Sorry to bother you at this late hour sir but you did seem anxious to get any news at all about your son,” said the policeman.

“Absolutely Inspector. Have you found the men?”

The Inspector did not reply. Instead he opened his briefcase and took out a Manila Folder. The briefcase looked new; Main could smell the leather. Lenny flipped the file open. He selected a photograph from among the papers and asked, “Do you recognise this man sir?”

Main took the photograph and looked at the smiling man standing on a beach with a glass in his hand. He was holding it up to the camera as if to wish the photographer good health. “Yes Inspector, I do. This is one of the men from the pub the other night. One of the men I told you about.”

Main took another photograph from the folder and exchanged it with Main for the one he had. “And this man, sir?”

Main looked at the snap shot. It was a different size from the first one and seemed much older; it was dog-eared at the corners. It showed a tall man with his arm wrapped around a plumpish girl wearing a low cut blouse. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and she had a flower in her hair although the background suggested that they were still in the UK, possibly at some seaside resort — Blackpool or Brighton perhaps.

“Yes, him too,” said Main. “He’s the ring leader.”

The policeman exchanged photographs again with Main. This time for one of a young man in army uniform. He was standing at attention and Main thought his cap a little too large: it seemed to dwarf his face. The background suggested a military establishment. Possibly a passing-out day photograph, he thought. The face was a deal younger but Main recognised him as another of the men from the pub.

“He was one too, Inspector.”

“Perhaps you’d like to describe the fourth man to me sir,” said Lenny, taking back the photograph.

Main thought for a moment. “Let me see. Five ten, broad shouldered, red hair cropped very short, shaved round the ears. I think he wore a single gold earring. He was wearing a denim jacket and jeans when I saw him.”

Lenny nodded and said, “That’s the man sir.”

“Then you’ve caught them all?” asked Main.

“No sir,” said Lenny, “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry to have to inform you that these four men all died in a car accident earlier today. We obtained the three photographs from their relatives. There was none available for the fourth man but your description fits the one we have.”

Main felt as if his world had just collapsed. “What kind of accident for God’s sake?”

“Their car went on fire sir. None of them got out. As far as we can tell no other vehicle was involved.”

Main shook his head as if doubting that fate could be so cruel. “But they were my only chance of finding Simon’s body,” he said in a despairing whisper.

He got up and walked to the window as if seeking distraction from the truth. After a few moments staring silently out into the blackness he turned round to face Lenny.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “How could none of them get out? Cars don’t just burst into flames like that. If there’s an electrical fire, you smell burning, maybe see smoke. You stop the car and get out. You said yourself that there was no other car involved so it’s not as if the petrol tank was ruptured by impact. They were young, fit men for God’s sake, not paralysed cripples!”

“Our people are looking into that at the moment sir,” said Lenny. “It appears that the petrol tank in the car exploded for whatever reason. It was an old car; there may have been some kind of a leak and an electrical fault. Forensic will sort it out.”

Main remained silent for a moment before asking, “Will you be talking to the relatives about the men’s involvement in the disappearance of my son’s body?”

“Yes sir. Once they’ve had a chance to come to terms with the deaths.”

“How did you know these four were the men Inspector?” asked Main.

“I didn’t sir. One of my colleagues from Traffic left the men’s photographs on the desk for distribution to the press. It just struck me when I looked at them that they fitted the descriptions you gave me the other night.”

“That was quick of you Inspector. I’m grateful to you for telling me.”

“Not at all sir. I’ll be in touch if there’s any more news.”

Main showed Lenny out and closed the door behind him slowly and deliberately. He stood for a moment with his forehead resting against it and his fists clenched. His eyes were tightly closed. He tapped his head lightly and rhythmically off the door as he whispered, “Damn them to hell.”