Trauma

Fifteen

Sarah managed to glean from the night staff nurse that Sigma probes were removed in a special lab up in Cyril Tyndall’s department in the medical school. She called Lafferty just after midnight to give him this information. And he was able to tell her that he had largely found this out for himself, through his visit to the undertakers, and also that the technicians up there were responsible for seeing the corpse into its coffin.

“So that’s it then,” said Sarah.

“I suppose so,” said Lafferty uncertainly.

“There’s a problem?” asked Sarah.

“Why don’t they?”

“Why don’t they what?”

“Why don’t they put the corpses back in their coffins when they are finished removing the organs? Why keep the bodies?”

“You’re right,” said Sarah after a moment’s thought. “You’d think that would be the sensible thing to do. Otherwise they’re left with them. What do they do with them?”

“Exactly.”

“Damn,” said Sarah. “Everything was fitting so well.”

“It’s just occurred to me that Professor Tyndall’s lab is where you plan to work up at the medical school,” said Lafferty.

“Yes,” agreed Sarah.

“It could be a case of out of the frying pan into the fire.”

“I’ll be careful,” said Sarah.

Lafferty said, “I’m not sure this is a good idea after all. You could be in great danger.”

“Let me play it by ear,” said Sarah. “Nothing has been agreed yet. Professor Tyndall wants me to phone him first.”

“Probably to arrange a preliminary meeting,” said Lafferty. “If you’re asked to go up there, maybe you could use your visit to find out as much as you can about the set-up for Sigma probe management?”

“I’ll certainly try,” said Sarah, adding, “although it’s quite hard to see how I could bring something like that into conversation.”

“As you said. Play it by ear,” said Lafferty.

“With a bit of luck, Logan’s time is going to run out anyway,” said Sarah. She told him about the row she’d heard him have with Dr Tyndall.

“Did you manage to hear what it was about?”

“ ’Fraid not.”

“Be extra careful,” urged Lafferty. “He could be at his most dangerous if he thinks the net is closing in on him.”

“I will,” Sarah promised once more.

After an uneventful night in HTU, Sarah went off-duty and slept until her alarm woke her. She had set it for two o’clock so that she could telephone Professor Tyndall and, hopefully, arrange a meeting for later on that same afternoon.

“Professor? It’s Sarah Lasseter. I think you’ve probably been expecting me to call?”

“Yes indeed, Dr Lafferty. My brother tells me you’d like to work with us for a while?”

Sarah thought that Tyndall sounded a little distant, as if she didn’t have his full attention. “If that’s at all possible, sir?”

“This needs some thought, Doctor. Perhaps we should meet first and discuss which aspects of our research interests you most.”

“I was rather hoping I might be able to call in and see you this afternoon,” said Sarah.

“I think perhaps it might be better if we were to wait a few days. I’m up to me eyes at the moment. Give me a call in a couple of days.”

“Very good, sir,” said Sarah, feeling utterly dejected. Cyril Tyndall’s interest in her career certainly seemed to have become lukewarm. She was forced into considering that Paddy Duncan might have been right at the reception when he suggested that Tyndall’s interest in her had more to do with her gender and the dress she’d been wearing than any genuine regard for her professional skills. She decided that she would have to be philosophical about it, but it didn’t stop her feeling more than a little foolish. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear her father say, “Life is a learning process Sarah... and there are no school holidays.”

Sarah felt at a loose end. Instead of being on her way up to Cyril Tyndall’s lab later then afternoon as she had planned, she would have to twiddle her thumbs for at least two days. She wondered how much time they had before the Keegan boy’s funeral took place. Lafferty would know; she called him.

“The funeral is on Thursday,” said Lafferty. “According to the undertaker I spoke to, they won’t pick up the body until just before the funeral so, presumably it will lie in the medical school mortuary until then.”

“That gives us three days.”

“Not long,” said Lafferty. “Especially if you are not going to get a chance to go up there until Wednesday at the earliest.”

“And maybe even later than that,” said Sarah. “It also depends on my off-duty. That’s partly why I was hoping to see Professor Tyndall this afternoon. I’m off duty until tomorrow morning.”

“I see,” said Lafferty. “Look, John Main is coming round later. Why don’t you come over and join us?”

“What time?”

“Come whenever you’re ready.”

Sarah arrived at St Xavier’s a little after seven to find Lafferty ‘doing a bit of tidying up’ as he put it. “My cleaner will be off for a few days,” he said. “She’s had a bit of a shock.”

When Main arrived at half past, Lafferty told them both about the cause of her shock.

“How awful,” said Sarah.

“Another warning,” said Main.

“One for each of us,” said Lafferty. “On the plus side it means that they still think it worthwhile trying to convince us that black magic is involved.”

“And on the minus?” asked Sarah.

“They know we are working together. That must have come from Logan seeing us together. It’s just possible that Sarah might get a little ‘present’ from them too.”

Sarah screwed up her face at the thought of it.

“In the meantime, we are running out of time,” said Lafferty.

“How so?” asked Main.

“The Keegan boy is due to be buried on Thursday and Sarah doesn’t think she will get a chance to sniff around at the medical school by then.”

“Then maybe I could try?” suggested Main.

Lafferty and Sarah looked at each other in surprise. “How?” Sarah asked.

“You tell me,” said Main. “What sort of people visit the medical school?”

Sarah shrugged and said, “Company reps, service engineers, undertakers, delivery men, all sorts.”

“Then there’s lots to choose from,” said Main positively. “We just have to decide what I’m going to be.”

“And which part of the building you want to be in,” said Sarah. “It’s a big place.”

“There is that,” agreed Main.

“But the bodies must all end up in the medical school mortuary, surely?” said Lafferty.

“I suppose they must,” agreed Sarah,

“That would fit with what the undertaker told me,” said Lafferty.

“Then I could be an undertaker’s man,” said Main.

“Wouldn’t you need a hearse?” asked Sarah.

“Not necessarily,” said Main. “I remember you said something a while ago about undertakers measuring bodies?” replied Main.

“That’s right,” said Sarah, sounding more positive as she followed Main’s line of thought. “Most of them pay the mortuary attendants to measure the bodies for them so they can supply the right size of coffin, but a few firms prefer to do it themselves. You could turn up to measure a body.”

Main nodded.

“Are you sure you feel up to it,” asked Lafferty.

“I’m up to it,” replied Main.

“But who would you be measuring?” asked Sarah.

“I’ll make up a name,” said Main. “The real point is to gain access to the mortuary. If I give a name and there’s no body to match it then someone will have to check with somebody else and so on and so forth. Mix-ups and incompetence are a way of life in most public service institutions. While they’re looking for someone who’s not there, I’ll be taking a look at who is.”

“It might just work,” agreed Lafferty.

“There aren’t that many undertakers in town,” said Sarah. “It’s likely that the mortuary attendants know them all. They will spot you as an impostor right away.”

Main thought for a moment then said, “I could be from out of town. That’s it! The hospital must have patients from all over the country in it. I could be acting for a firm in Aberdeen or Inverness — or anywhere.”

Sarah could think of no further objection. She looked at Lafferty who shrugged and said, “Personally, I think it’s worth a try.”

“Good,” said Main. “Then it’s settled.”

As she walked across the courtyard to the main hospital, Sarah saw Murdoch Tyndall’s dark green Jaguar parked outside HTU. If Tyndall was in at this time in the morning she decided, something was wrong. She wasn’t surprised therefore when Sister Roche told her that he wanted to see her.

“Come in, Sarah, sit down.”

Sarah sat down in front of Tyndall’s desk and saw that he wasn’t his usual urbane self. “I’m afraid Dr Logan has had to leave us for a while. Some family crisis I understand. He may in fact be away for some time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Sarah with mixed feelings. She was feverishly trying to work things out in her own head. Had things become too hot for Logan to handle?

“This, of course, leaves us with a problem,” continued Tyndall.

“A problem sir?” asked Sarah almost absent-mindedly.

“With Dr Logan gone, I am afraid I can no longer sanction your secondment to the medical school. We will need all the experienced people we have in HTU.”

“Of course,” replied Sarah.

“But as Dr Logan was the source of your discontent perhaps this won’t come as too big a blow to you?”

“No, of course not sir,” replied Sarah. She was still trying to work out the repercussions. Even if Logan had made a bolt for it, could they still nail him? They could if they could show that Martin Keegan’s body had been taken, she decided. It looked as if John Main was going to be their only chance of proving it.

“I’m arranging for a locum of course,” said Tyndall. “But for the meantime I would be grateful if you do your best to hold the fort. As soon as I get things organised today, I myself will take over Dr Logan’s shifts.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Now that you’re here, I’ll take myself off to the administration people and see if I can get some action out of them. I’ll be wearing my bleeper. Call me if you need me.”

Sarah watched Tyndall disappear through the door and collected her thoughts for a few moments before walking through to the duty-room where Sister Roche was sitting at her desk. “Dr Tyndall has just told me about Dr Logan.”

“It’s probably his son,” said Roche without looking up from her papers.

“His son?” asked Sarah, unaware that Logan was married.

Roche put down her pen and said, “He was estranged from his wife. She lives in the south of England with their son. I understand the boy has a kidney problem. He’s been waiting for a transplant for nearly two years.”

“I didn’t know,” said Sarah. Her mind was a sea of confusion. This piece of information explained a lot.

Sarah started to read through the patients’ charts. She glanced up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was just after nine-thirty. She wondered if John Main was on his way to the medical school.

Main checked his pockets to see that he had everything he needed. It was third time he had done so in as many minutes. Satisfied again that his wallet and keys — and a measuring tape, his one stage prop — were where they should be, he left the flat and set off for the medical school.

At ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning the traffic was beginning to thin out a bit after the rush hour but he still experienced a couple of hold ups, both courtesy of the gas board who had dug up the road; in order to drink tea and read newspapers inside Bedford vans, thought Main uncharitably as the final hold up extended to over four minutes. He considered trying to park inside the hospital gates on the grounds that he was there on official business but then decided against it. He had nothing on paper that he could use to convince officialdom. He toured slowly around the neighbouring streets until he found a space being vacated by a delivery van. He noted that waiting was ‘limited to twenty minutes’ in this area but decided to take his chances. If he managed to get what he had come for, the fine would be a small price to pay. He asked at the medical school gate house for directions to the mortuary and was given instructions by a uniformed man who stepped outside in order to add pointing to his verbal directions. Main noticed that he said ‘left’ while his hand pointed to the right but he picked up the general gist of it.

When he finally reached the door with MORTUARY above it, he could find no other instructions. There didn’t seem to be any kind of reception area or office nearby. There was no one around so he tried the handle and the door opened. He stepped inside.

The mortuary was much larger than Main had anticipated but then he realised that he had overlooked the student training aspect of the place. Many of the bodies here would be class material bound for the dissecting tables of first year anatomy and physiology students, perhaps not the noble end their owners had in mind when they had donated their bodies for the furthering of medical research, but necessary all the same.

“Can I help you?” asked a voice.

Main nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t heard anyone come up behind him. He turned to find a small, thin man wearing white overalls with a green plastic apron tied on over them. He was looking at Main through glasses that seemed so thick Main felt they must weigh a kilo. His skin was red as if it had been exposed to the sun for too long but this was Scotland in winter. There had to be a more pathological reason.

“I’m from Magraw and Littlejohn,” said Main. “I’ve come to measure-up Andrew Lamont for his wooden overcoat.”

The eyes behind the glasses stared at him as if he was an insect under a magnifying glass. “Who did you say you were from?”

“Magraw and Littlejohn in Aberdeen,” answered Main.

Another stare but this time the man said, “We’ve got no Lamont here that I know of.” He called out, “Malcolm! Know anything about an Andrew Lamont?”

A second man appeared from an adjoining room. He was wearing the same overalls as the first and was holding a large sewing needle in his hand with what looked a length of plastic thread trailing from it. He had obviously been disturbed in the middle of something. Main preferred not to think what.

“Have you checked the book?” asked the second man.

“No. Thought you might know,” said the first man. He left Main alone while he went off to check and the second man disappeared from sight again. Main started to look around. Most of the bodies would be in the refrigerated body vaults but he was looking for a coffin. There were four in the room, one on the floor in a far corner and three were set out side-by-side on wooden trestles at the end of the row of body vaults. He moved quickly and silently across the room to the one on the floor and saw there was no name-plate on the lid.

He pushed his foot against the side and it moved. It was empty. Just as he was crossing to the other coffins the man with the glasses returned. Once again he did so silently and caught Main unawares. “Big place,” Main said with what he hoped was a disarming smile.

The man with the glasses stared at him again then said, “There’s no one called Lamont in the book.”

“Oh shit,” exclaimed Main. “There must be. You’re not going to tell me I’ve come all this way and there’s some bloody mix up in the paperwork? Someone’s probably forgotten to enter him in the book?”

The man with glasses pointed to the body vaults and said forcibly, “If he was in there I’d know about it. Right?”

Main backed off. He raised his hands, palms outwards and said, “All right, all right, I believe you. But if he’s not here, where the hell is he? Still lying up in the wards? I mean, shit, I can hardly tell my boss that the corpse isn’t here and he’d better get the relations to cancel the funeral can I?”

The man with the glasses thought for a moment and then said, “Wait here.” He went off to confer with his colleague next door. Main decided that there wouldn’t be enough time to examine the other three coffins. He was right. The man with the glasses returned quickly and said, “I’ll go up to the main office and check.”

“I’m obliged to you,” said Main as he watched the man go out through the door. As soon as it closed he hurried silently across to where the three coffins lay on their trestles and examined the first one. There was a brass plate on the lid. It said, Isabella Hartley, born 1910 died 1993. RIP. A paper label, also stuck on the lid, gave the name of the undertakers and the time of collection. Isabella Hartley was to be buried at two thirty that same afternoon.

Main was reading the name on the third coffin and drawing his third blank when the door opened and a man wearing a suit entered. His jacket was open to reveal a gold brocade waistcoat. He was carrying a case about twice the size of a conventional brief-case and had a rolled-up newspaper under his other arm. He saw Main and asked who he was in a tone of voice that suggested he had the right to ask these things. Main told him and explained that there seemed to have been a mix-up in the paperwork over the body he had been sent to measure.

The man frowned and asked, “Who did you say you were here for?”

“Keegan,” replied Main, suddenly deciding to go for broke and improvise. “Martin Keegan.”

“And you say he died in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Then why should he be here and not in the hospital mortuary?”

“He had to have some monitoring apparatus removed from him. Sigma probes, I think they were called,” said Main, wondering who his questioner was. His dress and confident manner of speech suggested medical staff. A pathologist perhaps.

“Ah, Sigma probes,” exclaimed the man. “That explains it. He’ll probably still be up in the Sigma lab. They haven’t brought him down yet.”

“I see,” said Main. “Perhaps I could go up there?”

“I don’t see why not,” replied the well dressed man. “Do you know where it is?”

Main said not and was given directions. He had just repeated them back to the man when the attendant who had gone up to the office returned. Main knew he had to get in first. He said brightly, “Problem solved. This gentleman has been kind enough to work out what has happened. I’m sorry to have put you to all this trouble.” The attendant looked at the well dressed man and said, “Good morning sir.”

“Good Morning Claude,” replied the man. “This chap’s been looking for a Sigma patient. He’s probably still upstairs.”

“Should have said,” said Claude dourly.

“I’m sorry,” said Main. “Thoughtless of me. I’ll be on my way then.” He left the mortuary, pausing for a moment outside to try to hear if anything more was being said. But the door was too thick. He just had to hope that the different patient names he had used weren’t being compared.

Main realised that he could not use the body-measuring ruse to gain access to the Sigma lab. The Sigma technicians must supply that information to the undertakers; they could hardly have outsiders arriving to measure non-existent bodies. He’d have to find some other way of getting inside.

Main found the building he had been sent to. It was a modern, three-storey concrete block growing out of an older blackened-stone one. There was a board about twenty metres from the glass fronted entrance which announced it to be the Gelman Holland Research Institute. The text below explained that the building had been funded by Gelman Holland and that research there was carried out under the direction of Professor Cyril Tyndall. The building had been opened on the seventh of June, 1991 by the Princess Royal. There was a photograph of the ribbon-cutting ceremony. None of this helped Main to think of an excuse for getting inside.

He found a place where he could watch comings and goings from the building without drawing attention to himself and did not have long to wait. In the space of the following ten minutes three people entered the building. Two used an electronic card key which they inserted in a slot by the front door. The third, who did not have such a key, pressed a bell and waited until the doors were opened by a man in uniform. After close scrutiny of a document he presented he was permitted to enter. No way there, thought Main.

Having given up on a frontal assault, Main walked round the outside of the building at a discreet distance, looking for alternatives. He thought he had found one when he saw a side door open and a technician come out to put a large cardboard box in a rubbish skip. To make sure that he could get back inside, the man had propped open the door with a wooden wedge. Main was beginning to think of sneaking in when the man came out with the next load, but there was no next time. The door swung shut and the lock engaged with a loud clunk.

Main cursed under his breath and continued with his examination of the outside. There was one more door at the far side but it, too, was locked with no outside handles visible. After a further ten minutes he was considering giving up when he saw a van arrive outside the building. It had the name of a laboratory supplier on the side. The driver, obviously a stranger to the site, took a slow drive round the perimeter of the building before getting out to press the bell at the front. He presented his delivery notes to the uniformed man who opened them.

After careful scrutiny, the driver was directed to the far side. Main saw this as his chance and circled round to be there before the van reversed back, its reverse-gear-bleeper warning of its approach. He watched as the driver waited for the door to be unlocked.

Once again his delivery notes were examined, this time by a man wearing a brown coat and sporting an Elvis Presley style haircut which seemed to be excessively greased, even from where Main was standing. The storeman, as Main took him to be, pointed to the inside of the building and made a gesture to his right. The driver nodded and opened up the back of the van while the storeman returned inside.

The driver disappeared inside the van for a moment before re-appearing to pile up boxes along the rear of the vehicle. When he had ten arranged along the back edge, he jumped down and carried the first two inside. Main’s pulse rate rose. Could he risk it? Could he just nip over to the van and start carrying the next two inside? By the time he had decided that this was what he would do, too much time had elapsed and he steeled himself to wait for the driver’s next trip. As soon the man had started off inside with the next two boxes, Main broke cover and ran over to the van on his toes. He picked up two of the boxes marked FRAGILE: Laboratory glassware in red, and walked in through the open doors, noting that there was a fire release bar on the back of one of them; there would be no problem getting back out again. He was just in time to see the driver disappear round to the right at the end of the corridor.

Half-way along and still unchallenged, Main found a flight of steps to his left. The fates were being kind; he put down the boxes about twenty metres past the foot of the steps ran back to start climbing. With a bit of luck the driver would think that some helpful member of staff had given him a hand.

Main realised that he would now have to rely on the brief-case he was carrying to give him the apparent authority to be there. He was now in the first-floor corridor. Glass-panelled doors to the left and right of him enabled him to see that they were laboratories. White-coated workers sat on stools at benches, intent on what they were doing. One looked up as Main was looking in. Their eyes met, but the man showed no signs of alarm at Main being there. After all, why should he, Main reminded himself. This was a medical research lab, not a secret nuclear weapons facility. He was there to look for two rogue technicians in an otherwise highly respected institution. What he needed was some kind of a sign-board; he found what he was looking for at the landing of the stairs leading down to the main entrance. Unfortunately none of the directions on it were helpful simply because there was no mention of the word Sigma and, not being a scientist, he didn’t know what alternative heading the Sigma probe service might come under. Would it be, ‘Tissue Culture’ or ‘Stock Virus Laboratory’ or ‘Prep Room’ or ‘CSSD’, he wondered. As he was puzzling over where to try next, he became aware of footsteps on the stairs. Someone was coming up from the ground floor. Main felt a momentary panic as he looked about him for some place to hide. There was nowhere. He considered bolting up the stairs to the next level but then decided against it. He would stand and brass it out. He turned his back on the stairs and opened his brief-case, pretending to be searching for something as he heard the steps behind him get louder. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a white coated figure pass him and move away along the corridor to the left. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the figure stopped and turned.

“Can I help you?” asked a male voice in tones that suggested that the real question was, who are you and why are you here?

Main gave a slight laugh which sounded terribly forced and said, “I seem to have lost my bearings. I was looking for the Sigma probe lab.”

“The Sigma lab?” repeated the man who had come back along the corridor to stand directly in front of Main. Main noticed that his accent and tanned skin colour suggested that he might be Middle Eastern. “What on earth do you want there?”

“My company manufactures the probes,” lied Main. “I thought as I was in the neighbourhood I would call in and see if there were any problems.”

The man looked doubtful; he looked down at Main’s brief-case and then back up at him. Eventually he said, “The Sigma Lab is in the basement. How could you possibly ‘lose your bearings’ and end up here? Who let you in?”

The game was slipping away from Main rapidly. His impulse was to push the man out the way and make a run for it, but he doubted that he would be able to get out of the building in time. Besides, he had no wish to assault an innocent man doing his job, and neither did he want to end up in jail over this. He decided to go on with his implausible story. “No one, actually. The door was open when I arrived so I just walked in. As there was no one about, I started looking for directions and ended up here.” He gestured to the direction board.

Again the man looked doubtful. “The door was open you say?”

“Yes,” replied Main.

“Come with me.”

The man started back down the stairs with Main following along behind. He thought how easy it would be to push him in the back and take to his heels but again baulked at the consequences. At the foot of the stairs was the main entrance hall. A woman sat behind the reception desk and two uniformed security men were talking by the door.

“Jean, did you leave your desk unattended at any time in the last half hour?”

The woman looked at her questioner and then at Main. She replied, “I don’t think so, Dr Salman.”

The man summoned the two security men over and said, “This man says that he just walked into the building. Is that possible?”

“No sir,” replied one of the men. The other just shook his head.

Salman turned to face Main again. “Well?” he asked.

Main smiled and tried his last bluff. He turned to one of the security men and said, “You were there all right. You were outside giving directions to a delivery driver. I just walked in behind your back. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. Unfortunately there was no one at the desk I could ask for directions.”

Salman looked back to the woman sitting behind the desk. She shrugged uncomfortably and said, “Maybe I went to the toilet. I can’t remember exactly.”

Main felt relief flood through him but it was short lived. The other security man said, “But I would have seen him.”

Main had no answer to that but the man’s colleague suddenly said, “You went to put the kettle on while I spoke to the driver. Remember?”

“Oh yeah,” replied the man sheepishly. Main could hardly believe his luck.

Salman said to the three employees, “We are trying to run a research institute where cleanliness and sterility are of the highest importance and yet apparently anyone can wander in here off the street!”

All three looked down at their feet.

“It won’t happen again sir,” said one of the security men.

“It had better not,” said Salman. “Now, Mr—?”

“Main.” Main had little heart for continuing the charade.

“I’ll call the Sigma people for you.” Salman leaned over the reception desk and picked up the phone. He punched in four numbers and waited.

“Mr Mace? It’s Dr Salman. I have a man up here who says he’s from the company that manufactures the Sigma probes. Would you come and have a word with him, please?”

Main watched as Salman replaced the phone. “Thanks,” he said, feeling like a brave criminal of yore thanking his executioner. He did not have long to wait before two men appeared in reception. Both wore white tunics and trousers with the Gelman Holland logo above their left breast. They wore name badges, Mace and Pallister.

“Your card?” asked Mace.

“I’m sorry, I’ve run out. I keep meaning to tell the office,” replied Main. He didn’t bother to smile this time. He was wondering if he was looking at the two men who had abducted his son’s body.

“What company did you say you were from?” asked Mace, exchanging a doubting look with Pallister.

“Main Electronics,” said Main.

“How come we’ve never heard of you?” asked Pallister.

“The probes are made up by our research division. They don’t carry our trademark yet. They’re still under test, you might say.”

Mace looked at Pallister who shrugged and said, “I thought Professor Tyndall’s people made them up themselves.”

“So did I,” said Mace suspiciously. “Wait there.”

Main had to wait once again while the reception phone was used.

“Dr Sotillo? It’s Mace her sir. Would you come up to reception for a moment sir?”

Main felt uneasy — even fearful but his one crumb of comfort lay in the fact that they had not moved from the reception area and it was public. The opposition could not afford to do anything too awful to him here. A tall, distinguished looking man arrived and looked at Main as if he was something nasty on the pavement. He stood on the other side of the hall while Mace whispered an explanation to him. When he’d finished, Sotillo came over to Main and said, “The probes are made up here in the medical school. Who the hell are you?”

Main saw that Sotillo also had the Gelman Holland logo on his lab coat. He did not reply.

“He says his name is Main,” said Salman.

Main thought he saw a flicker of recognition in Sotillo’s eyes. “Does he indeed,” said Sotillo softly.

“Should I call the police?” asked the receptionist. “There have been a number of petty thefts recently. I know a woman up in pathology who...”

Sotillo gave a slight smile and interrupted her. He said to Main, “Open your case.”

Main opened up his brief case to reveal a copy of the daily paper and a measuring tape. Nothing else.

“Now your pockets.”

Main emptied his pockets. Sotillo looked through his wallet for identification and found it. He put everything back and handed the wallet to Main. He said to everyone, “He doesn’t seem to have taken anything. I don’t think we’ll bother with the police. What’s more important at the moment is, who let him in here in the first place?”

“I’ve already said something about that,” said Salman.

Sotillo looked at Main and said, “Get out of here. You won’t be so lucky again.”

Main needed no second invitation. The air had never smelt sweeter as he left through the front door without looking back. His first thought was to call Lafferty. He had failed in his mission, but at least he had found out where the Sigma lab was and the names of three people concerned with it. As he came out of the medical school he made for the telephone kiosks he could see to his left.

Main was fumbling in his pocket for another coin to continue the conversation when a gloved hand came down on the receiver rest, cutting him off. He felt a sharp pain in his right buttock as something was pushed into it. Everything started to become fuzzy, his legs became weak and the whole world started spinning in a whirl of colour.

When Main could think again, he decided through the hazy fog of semi-consciousness that he must be dead. Everything was silent... he could see his son, Simon... but something was dreadfully wrong... this wasn’t heaven... it was hell.