Chameleon

ELEVEN

'A psychiatric hospital!' exclaimed Claire Richardson when Jamieson told her on the telephone. 'Why on earth would John contact a psychiatric hospital?'

'That's what we have to find out,' said Jamieson. 'You are sure that your husband never mentioned it, even in passing?'

'Positive.'

'Claire, your husband was under a lot of strain. It did occur to me that he might have considered admitting himself to such a hospital just for a bit of a rest?' Jamieson could feel the tension that he had created as he waited for Claire Richardson to reply. He sensed that she wanted to shout down the idea but had stopped herself, probably admitting silently that her husband had been under severe stress. In the end, she settled for, 'Without telling me? Never.'

'Then there must have been another reason for his call,' said Richardson diplomatically. Perhaps nothing to do with this affair at all.'

'There must have been.'

Jamieson said that he would keep Claire informed of any new developments and put the phone down. He let out a long sigh and said to Sue, 'Not the brightest thing to have suggested to Claire Richardson.'

'She's very protective about her husband. You can't expect her to be anything else.'

'I suppose not but maybe she's right. Maybe Richardson did have another reason for contacting Costello Court.'

'Like what?'

Jamieson thought for a moment then said, 'Maybe he remembered a similar outbreak of infection at another hospital in the past and rang up to compare notes?'

'So you think this mental hospital has a Gynaecology Unit?' asked Sue.

There had been no trace of sarcasm in Sue's voice but Jamieson saw the slight smile playing at the corner of her mouth when he looked at her. 'You spotted the flaw in the argument?' he smiled. He tapped his pen against his teeth and then had an idea. He said, 'Maybe Richardson was checking up on a patient?' There was a moment's silence before he looked at Sue and added, 'Or someone who had been a patient!'

Sue saw exactly what Jamieson was getting at. 'Like Thelwell!' she exclaimed.

'Exactly!' replied Jamieson excitedly and looking for the piece of paper with the phone number on it. 'If Thelwell has a history of mental instability then it's something we should know about.'

'Can you just call and ask the hospital?' asked Sue doubtfully.

'No, I'm not even going to try,' said Jamieson. 'They wouldn't tell me. I'm going to call Macmillan at Sci-Med and ask him to find out for me.'

Jamieson phoned and made his request. Macmillan was not available but Miss Roberts took the message and assured him that the information would be relayed to him as soon as they had obtained it.

'Now what?' asked Sue.

'I have to go out this evening,' said Jamieson.

'Where to?'

'It's Thelwell's choir practice night.

It started to rain as Jamieson sat in his car at the end of the street where Thelwell lived. Every thirty seconds or so he had to activate the screen wipers to clear it. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time and saw that it was eleven minutes past seven. At fourteen minutes past, Thelwell, shoulders hunched inside a dark raincoat with the collar up, stepped out on to the pavement and closed the garden gate behind him. A few moments later the dark green Volvo moved off towards town.

At first Jamieson thought that Thelwell really did intend going to a choir practice when he found the car in front following a route that would take him to St Serf's church. He was relieved when the Volvo passed straight by and continued on towards the city. There was anxious moment for Jamieson when Thelwell went through an amber light while he himself, travelling some one hundred metres behind had to stop and wait for the lights to change. He caught up however at the next junction. Thelwell was at the head of the queue with a Metro and a Ford Escort behind him. The Escort driver stalled as the lights changed and Jamieson cursed under his breath as he saw Thelwell start to pull well ahead. They were moving into busy traffic. It would be all too easy to lose him in this part of town. The Escort finally moved off, engine over-revving as its driver covered his embarrassment.

A service bus made to move out from the kerb as Jamieson tried to make up lost ground. Unwilling to concede right of way, he held his line and slapped his hand on the horn praying that the bus driver would back down. He did but not until he had given Jamieson a heart stopping moment. He snatched a quick glance in the rear view mirror and saw the bus driver make a rude gesture. 'You too,' he muttered, still desperately trying to see round the traffic in front and fearing that he might have lost touch with Thelwell.

The road ahead straightened out and Jamieson's heart sank as he failed to see the Volvo anywhere up ahead. He was rapidly approaching a 'Y' junction and he had no idea which arm to take. If he chose right it would take him round the back of the station and on towards the main shopping centre. If he forked left it would take him down through the red light district… The decision was made. He veered left and hoped for a bit of luck. He got it as he cleared a roundabout and momentarily got a clear view of the road ahead for he was in time to see a green Volvo turn left at the foot of the hill. It might not be Thelwell, he cautioned himself but on the other hand, it just might.

Jamieson slowed and turned left where he thought the Volvo had left the main road. He could not be sure because, in this area, there was an opening every twenty-five metres or so leading off into the warren of run down tenement buildings that lay behind the main thoroughfare. There was no sign of Thelwell's car as he moved slowly along a narrow lane, looking to both sides and checking in the mirror to see that he wasn't holding up traffic behind him. There were a number of bars and restaurants in the lane and many had advertising boards out on the pavement. People were constantly stepping off the pavement to walk round them.

A drunk staggered out from a Greek Restaurant, his exit being assisted by a swarthy man wearing a dinner jacket who emerged behind him gesturing angrily. Jamieson had to brake to avoid the drunk who stumbled out in front of him but he was travelling so slowly that there was no danger of hitting the man. The drunk regarded him with expressionless eyes and then veered to return to the gutter.

Two whores looked at Jamieson's car as he slowed to a halt at an intersection. One smiled, the other put her hand on her hip. They were standing together at the corner of the street. Jamieson assumed that working in pairs was their safety measure. He wondered how effective that would be but recognised that business would probably go on as usual whatever the risk. Paid holidays and sick leave were alien to the oldest profession.

Jamieson turned the corner and looked along both sides of the street. There was still no sign of Thelwell's Volvo. He pulled in to the kerb and paused with the engine still running while he thought what to do next. Live jazz music was coming from a bar some fifty metres down the street. He found the tune familiar but the title eluded him. He ran through a few possibilities in his head before remembering that it was Cherokee.

Jamieson was vaguely aware that his action in stopping had been misinterpreted by a black girl wearing a tight white sweater under an open leather jacket and a black woollen mini skirt. She started to cross the road towards him. Through the open window on the driver's side he could hear her thick thighs rubbing audibly together. He smiled thinly and held up his open palm to signify that she was not the object of his desire and the girl retreated with a sullen shrug. Jamieson felt embarrassed by the incident. He found himself wanting to apologise. He was about to move off again when the passenger door of his car was suddenly pulled open and a male voice said languidly, 'Run out of petrol have we sir?'

The sneer in the voice immediately put Jamieson's back up as had the man's action in opening the car door. Apart from anything else it had startled him. 'No we haven't,' he replied, maintaining the plural for the benefit of the man he knew was about to announce his credentials as a police officer.

The anticipated warrant card was flipped open and the sneering voice continued, 'Then just what are we up to sir might I ask?'

Jamieson read the relevant credentials from the card. The man was a detective constable. 'We are working,' said Jamieson, presenting his own ID. 'We are working for the Sci Med Monitor and we could get very annoyed if some half-arsed detective constable were to fuck up our investigation. We would like to be alone.'

'Sorry sir,' replied the constable his manner changing immediately. 'I thought…'

'I know what you thought,' said Jamieson. 'I'm going to be in the area for a while.'

'Very good sir.'

'Have you seen a green Volvo estate around here?' asked Jamieson.

'Lots,' replied the policeman.

'I wouldn't have thought there would be too many down here,' said Jamieson.

'You'd be surprised,' said the constable. 'Apart from the yuppie evening visitors who come down here to eat and savour the 'danger' there are lots of well-heeled folk who actually live down here. It's become trendy to return to the heart of the city ever since Prince Charles said so. The Volvo mob have been moving in in a big way. They live in converted warehouses and mews garages. They need the estate car to take the Labradors for a shit up in the park. I sometimes think that the whores round here will soon have daylight running lights.

Jamieson did not smile. He was thinking about what the man had said. He was considering the possibility that Thelwell might actually have his own flat in the area. That would have distinct advantages for a killer. It would be much more convenient than killing from home. It would be somewhere where he could change his clothes, wash, brush up after the event. He wouldn't have to go home with blood stained clothes and, from what he had heard about the victims, there had been a lot of blood around. It might even make sense on a psychiatric level. Thelwell might be suffering from a split personality. The flat might be a base for his other self. Mr Hyde's place.

Jamieson continued to wind his way through the back streets, finally drawing to a halt when he found a parking place that was being newly vacated by a white Golf GTi that took off as if it had been entered for Le Mans. He backed into the space and switched off the engine. He rested his arms on the steering wheel and gazed out through the windscreen as he contemplated failure. It had started to rain again so he turned on the intermittent cycle on the wipers. He smiled wryly as he remembered telling Sue how simple it would be to follow Thelwell. He had been wrong. He had lost him.

The prospect of giving up and returning to the hospital was uppermost in his mind when a green Volvo suddenly crossed at the junction some fifty metres away. It happened so quickly that he did not get a look at the driver. Knowing that it would take a bit of manoeuvring to get his own car out of the small space he had just backed into he jumped out of the car and ran down to the junction to see where the Volvo was heading. It turned left half way down the street. Jamieson swithered on going back for his car but then gambled on the Volvo being near its final destination. He ran down to the intersection where he had last seen it and sneaked a look round the corner. He was looking into a broad, dark cul-de-sac, the end of which comprised a tall, picket fence which fronted a builder's yard. The green Volvo was parked to the left of the gate which carried a notice saying that it was in use 24 hours. The car was empty.

The question now was, where had Thelwell gone? Jamieson looked up at the windows on both sides of the street. Thelwell had not had time to walk more than half way back along the lane he reckoned. That narrowed the choice down to one of four doorways leading to the tenement flats above. As Jamieson considered he heard the sound of conversation coming up behind him. He looked round. A soldier, obviously very drunk, was being supported by a girl half his size who was doing her best to keep him upright. They turned into the lane. Jamieson, who had moved back into the shelter of a shop doorway, watched their unsteady progress until they had passed. He was about to move out again when the soldier fell to the ground.

'Oh my God,' exclaimed his companion in a broad local accent. 'Come on! Wake up! You can't sleep here!' Her voice changed to cajoling when this didn't work. 'Come on my lovely. Up on your feet. We are going to have a party remember?'

The soldier gave a drunken giggle but made no attempt to get up. 'Have a party,' he repeated drunkenly. Then in a sing song voice he started to chant, 'We're going to have a party… we're going to have

…'

The whore with him finally lost her temper after failing to get him to his feet for the third time. 'If you think I've carried you all this way to have you flake out on me you've got another think coming sonny Jim!' she ranted.

Jamieson could see that she was searching through the soldier's pockets. He watched her remove his wallet. 'Put it back!' he hissed from the doorway.

The whore was startled and frightened. 'Who's there?' she demanded shakily. 'Where are you?' She got to her feet and looked about her nervously 'Oh my God!' she exclaimed as fear of the unknown got the better of her. She flung the wallet at the soldier and took to her heels.

Jamieson moved the soldier to a sitting position on the pavement and put the man's wallet back in his pocket. He decided that that was the best he could do in the circumstances and left him to continue along the lane. He still had no real idea what he was going to say or do when he found Thelwell but he suspected that he might have plenty of time to think about it. He found another doorway and decided to wait there until Thelwell reappeared.

After half an hour of moving from doorway to doorway to aid his circulation Jamieson had a stroke of luck. He saw what he felt sure was Thelwell's silhouette against one of the lighted windows above. He walked over to the relevant building and tried the entrance door. Another piece of luck; it was unlocked. He slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind him, holding his breath as he released the handle with painstaking slowness.

The possible stupidity of his action was becoming more and more apparent to him as he put his foot on the first step. He might be about to confront a psychopathic killer with little more than the hope that the man would fall at his feet and confess everything. The thought made him tense all his muscles. He had to be prepared for anything that might happen but as long as Thelwell did not have a gun or a knife he should not pose too much of a problem. After all, he, Jamieson, had the element of surprise in his favour. The fact that all the lights in the stairway had suddenly just gone out argued against that.

Jamieson stood stock still in the darkness. He was half way up the third flight of steps but the blackness was so complete that he could almost feel it. He desperately wished that he had a match or cigarette lighter with him. There was a smell of dampness in the stair well and the cold was tangible against his face when he moved. Suddenly there was a shuffling noise somewhere above him and he drew in breath sharply. 'Is that you Thelwell?' he demanded, annoyed that his voice had developed a slight tremor. Silence. There was a sound on the other side of him, another shuffling of feet. 'Stop playing games Thelwell. The game's up!' said Jamieson sounding a lot more courageous than he felt. Silence.

Jamieson took a step back down the stairs, feeling for the step below with the toe of his right foot. He was trying to move as quietly as possible but his heart was beating so fast and so hard that he felt sure that it must be clearly audible. He kept his back against the wall to ensure that there was at least one direction that an attacker could not approach from. He could not come from directly in front either he reasoned for that was where the railings were and on the other side was a thirty foot drop into the well of the stairs. He had the feeling that there was more than one of them in the darkness. They were approaching him from above and from below on the stairs. Nerves wanted him to say something out loud again but he steeled himself to keep quiet and not give away his own position too accurately.

'Psst,' said a voice above him like sibilant snake.

'Psst,' answered another voice from below.

They were playing with him! thought Jamieson. The bastards were playing with him! Fear and fury vied within him as he fought to remain calm. His stalkers could not see him any more than he could see them, he reasoned. Slowly he reached out with his foot again for the next step down but this time it was pulled away from him with a sudden violent tug. He crashed heavily down on to the stone steps with his cheek taking the brunt of his fall. His head filled with stars and the pain made him cry out loud. A fist smashed into his right kidney making him cry out again as he tried to roll himself into a ball for protection. He swung his fist backwards hoping to make contact with something and he did but there was no power behind it and in reply a foot crashed into his stomach taking the breath from him.

'Get his arms!' rasped a voice in the blackness.

Jamieson felt his arms being pinned behind him as he was dragged to his feet and more blows thudded into his body. As he felt himself being pushed against the railings the thought that they might be about to push him over the banister into the stair well and almost certain death bred new strength in him. He lashed out with the heel of his right foot and caught one of his attackers below the knee cap. The man yelled out and released his grip on Jamieson's arms so that Jamieson was able to pull back a bit and turn round. He took a swipe at his other attacker but failed to make any contact whereas something heavy and hard hit him on the side of the head and the strength drained from his limbs.

'Break the bastard's neck!' Jamieson heard one of the voices say as he struggled to remain conscious.

'We're gonna do this right!' said another voice.

'I'll cut his balls off!' said the first voice again.

Jamieson heard the metallic click of a knife being opened in the blackness. Blind panic fuelled him with enough energy to wrench his right arm free again. He swung his fist with all his might and this time it connected but only with the wall. Another violent blow to his head snuffed out all consciousness before the pain in his hand had even reached his brain.

Jamieson came round with a blinding headache. He felt as if two hydraulic rams were trying to push his eyes out of their sockets and the merest movement of his head exacerbated the pain to such a point that consciousness threatened to leave him again. In the moments when he could think clearly, those when he lay absolutely stock till and kept his breathing to a minimum, he deduced that his hands were tied behind his back and that he was lying on a rough blanket that was none too clean. There was a smell of stale sweat in the still air and a faint, seminal odour about the room. But at least he was alive. Pop music was being played somewhere in the distance and a young girl's exaggerated laughter drifted up from the street below.

The fact that he was still alive was something that Jamieson found surprising. Come to think of it he couldn't understand any of it. There had been two attackers and neither of them had been Thelwell. He was quite sure of that. So who had assaulted him and why? Psychopaths didn't have accomplices? It didn't make sense.

Jamieson heard footsteps on the stairs and felt afraid. He was facing the wall when he heard the door open behind him. This wasn't by design; the pain in his head had prevented him from turning over; he hadn't moved more than a few centimetres since he had regained consciousness. The light clicked on and he focussed on faded green wallpaper in front of his face. Behind him he heard more than one person come into the room.

'He's still out,' said a voice.

'Turn him over,' rasped a second voice.

A hand gripped Jamieson's shoulder roughly and stars exploded in front of his eyes as he was rolled over on to his back. He grimaced and let out a whispered curse in the form of an appeal to the Almighty.

'He's awake,' said the man at the foot of the bed without any emotion. 'He's conscious.'

Jamieson opened his eyes with pained slowness and looked at the speaker. He was a tall, powerful looking man aged about thirty and dressed in an expensive leather jacket and open necked shirt which looked as if it might be made of silk. But the expensive clothes could not mask the rough features or the scowl that looked as if it might be permanent. The other man was a full head shorter and dressed in a pin stripe suit which seemed a shade too tight for his expanding waist line. His thin lips were disguised to an extent by a bushy, black moustache which also interrupted a scar line that ran down the left side of his face and turned in to finish in the centre of his chin. Both men had a Mediterranean look about them although they sounded local.

'Sharon! Get in here!' the tall man called back over his shoulder.

A girl in her mid twenties sidled into the room, her skirt riding high on her thighs. Although still young, her face bore the signs of imminent ageing. Excess make-up could not disguise the early sinking of her cheeks and a hollowing of the eyes. By the time she was thirty even more make-up would turn her into an ugly caricature of the prostitute she was at present.

'Seen him before?' asked the tall man.

The girl examined Jamieson as if he were an inanimate object. 'Don't think so,' she said unsurely. 'Hard to say when you have to see so many in one night.'

Jamieson got the impression that her statement was an accusation and that it was directed at the shorter of the two men. Without looking at her the short man rapped, 'Cut the shit and just answer the questions.'

'Yes Louis,' replied the girl sullenly but obediently. 'She looked at Jamieson again and said, 'If this is the bastard. I'd like to…' Words failed her and she made a lunge at Jamieson, fingernails bared. Jamieson turned his head to one side but one of the girls’ nails had scratched his cheek before the tall man pulled her off. He could feel a trickle of blood start to run down his cheek.

'What the hell is going on?' demanded Jamieson through his pain and confusion. His voice was a croak.

'Don't play the innocent with us you bastard!' snarled the big man. He looked to his shorter companion and said, 'I still think we should settle this our way. Cut him and have done with it.'

Once again Jamieson heard the sound of a flick knife being opened and this time he could see it gleaming in the tall man's hand.

'Why are you doing this? What in God's name is going on? Who are you? What do you want with me?'

Jamieson's questions were ignored. The girl said, 'Ronnie's right. Teach the bastard a lesson. Better still leave him to me and the girls!'

Jamieson looked at the expression of contempt on the girl's face and was completely bemused. 'What the hell have I ever done to you?' he demanded.

'It's what you might have done you swine!' snarled the girl, once again trying to get to Jamieson but being constrained.

'It's too late for that,' said the small man.

'Will someone please tell me what's going on?' pleaded Jamieson. The sound of police sirens outside suddenly filled the room and the tall man went over to the window and opened it to look out. Jamieson could hear car doors slamming outside in the street and decided to gamble. He shouted at the top of his voice. 'Help! Police! I'm up here! Help!'

To Jamieson's amazement no one in the room made any move to stop him. The three behaved as if nothing had happened. The tall man closed the window and went to open the front door. The girl and the small man waited patiently until policemen started to pour into the room.

'This is the bastard, officer,' announced the small man as a man wearing an open raincoat appeared through the uniforms. 'Here's your killer.'

Jamieson closed his eyes as everything became clear to him at last. The irony of having been taken for the killer himself did not go well with his headache.

'Looks as if you've had a go at him yourself Louis,' said the policeman looking at Jamieson's face.

'We had to restrain him Inspector, nothing more. It took me all my time to stop Sharon here removing his assets so to speak.'

'There's been an awful mistake,' murmured Jamieson.

'If I had a pound for every time I've heard that before,' said the policeman in a bored voice. He was middle aged, balding, with a short moustache and a world weary look about him that said that he had seen it all before. He spoke as if Jamieson wasn't there. Jamieson was reminded of certain consultants he had known who discussed patients with colleagues at the patients' bedsides in similar fashion. 'What did you say he was doing Louis?' the policeman asked.

'He was lurking about the lane, trying doorways, looking up at the windows. The boys have been keeping a look-out for any weirdos in the streets and along comes this one.'

'Very public spirited of you Louis,' said the policeman. 'But then this sort of thing is bad for business anyway eh?'

'Don't know what you mean Inspector,' said Louis with an air of outraged innocence.

'Of course not.'

Jamieson tried to sit up and two uniformed policemen moved in to restrain him. 'I'm not the killer! My jacket. Look in my jacket. I have Identification.'

The Inspector nodded to one of the constables and then accepted Jamieson's wallet casually as it was handed to him by the uniformed man. He rifled through the contents until he found the Sci-Med card and then paused before letting out his breath slowly and looking up at the ceiling. 'Sweet Jesus,' he said softly.

Louis and the tall man could sense that something was wrong and began to get nervous. 'He is the killer isn't he?' asked Louis, anxious for reassurance.

'You pillock!' said the Inspector quietly. 'You have just assaulted an officer of the Sci-Med Monitor.

'Does that mean he's a copper?' asked the tall man with a vacant look on his face.

'You could say,' replied the inspector.

'Well how were we to know?' complained Louis.

'You can ask the judge that,' said the policeman.

'Judge? You mean you are going to charge us?'

'Charge you?' exclaimed the inspector. 'When this hits court they'll probably bang you up and melt the key.'

'Shit!' said Louis. 'You try to help the police like a responsible citizen and…'

'Louis you've been pimping since you were old enough to tell your arse from a hole in the wall. Let's cut out the responsible citizen crap.'

'I don't want to press charges,' said Jamieson grimacing as he sat up to have his hands released by one of the policemen.

'That's very generous of you sir,' said the inspector, 'But you'd probably be doing the city a service if you were to rid its streets of this garbage for a while.'

'No,' said Jamieson. 'It was my fault. I should have thought that someone might think what these gentlemen, obviously thought.'

'If you're sure sir?'

Jamieson nodded as he rubbed his wrists painfully.

'Thanks,' said Louis as if the word pained him.

'Yeah thanks,' echoed the tall man. 'No hard feelings eh?'

'If I can repay you in any way…' simpered Sharon.

Jamieson smiled in spite of his pain and the inspector snarled, 'I'll pretend I didn't hear that Sharon if you get out of my sight within five seconds.'

Sharon disappeared and two policemen helped Jamieson to his feet. 'We'd best get you to a hospital for a check-up,' said the inspector. 'By the way, what were you doing here in this area?'

'I was looking for the owner of the green Volvo estate down there at the end of the lane.'

'Volvo estate?'

'The green one.'

The policeman came back from the window with a blank look on his face.

Jamieson knew what he was about to say. 'No Volvo huh?'

'No Volvo sir.'

It was well after midnight before Jamieson got back to the residency and heard Sue gasp when she saw the state of him. Jamieson sat down slowly in the only arm chair and asked her to pour him a drink while he told her what had happened.

'So you didn't even find out what Thelwell was up to?' said Sue. There was a suggestion of 'I told you so' in her voice but she didn't actually say it.

Jamieson agreed with a shake of the head and said, More Clouseau than Poirot.'

Sue smiled as she tended to Jamieson's cuts and bruises.

'But I should be able to find out if Thelwell owns or rents one of the apartments in that block and if he does…'

'Then what?' asked Sue suspiciously.

'I'll hand the information over to the police.'

'And if he doesn't?'

'I don't know.' confessed Jamieson.

'Sci-Med called when you were out. Thelwell has never been a patient at Costello Court.'

'The perfect end to a perfect day,' sighed Jamieson massaging his bruised cheek gently with the tips of his fingers.

'Oh and Moira Lippman phoned.'

'What did she want?' asked Jamieson.

'She said that she was at the lab and that she wanted to talk to you.'

'She shouldn't be at the lab,' exclaimed Jamieson. 'She was there all last night. She'll make herself ill. What time was that?'

'About eleven.'

Jamieson dialled the lab extension but there was no reply. 'She must have gone home. I hope she's all right. I thought Clive Evans was going to persuade her to take some time off. How did she sound?'

'A bit agitated. I asked if there was anything I could do but she said she had to speak to you about the result of some tests. Mean anything?'

Jamieson shook his head. 'Maybe I could call her at home.'

Sue looked at her watch and said, 'It's late. Can't it wait until morning?'

'No,' said Jamieson flatly. He flicked through the pages of his diary though he was hampered by the bandage over the knuckles of his right hand, the aftermath of having swung his fist into the wall. 'Damn, I didn't make a note of her home number. Maybe Clive is still awake.'

Jamieson went downstairs and along the corridor to Clive Evans' room. He could see there was a light under the door and knocked gently.

'What on earth!' exclaimed Evans when he saw the bruising on Jamieson's face.

'It's a long story. What I need right now is Moira Lippman's home number.'

'Of course,' said Evans. 'Come in. Is anything wrong?'

Jamieson told Evans about the message and Evans was surprised. 'Test results?' he exclaimed. 'But she wasn't working today. I sent her home this morning. She'd been up all night and what with the death of her sister in law she was just about all in.'

'She must have come in to the lab this evening. Sue said that she called from there. Who is on call in the lab this evening?'

'I am,' replied Evans. 'I've just come from there. I must have just missed her.'

'She may have discovered something important.'

'I can't think what. She hasn't had to time to set up any tests this evening that she could have the result from.'

'I think I have to speak to her.'

Evans shrugged and conceded. 'We can call her from here,' he said, picking up the phone.

Jamieson glanced at his watch as they waited for an answer. It was twenty past one. In the quiet of Evans' room he heard the phone being answered. Evans asked to speak to Moira.

'Out? At this time?'

A pause.

'Where did you say?'

Jamieson saw Evans frown as he put the phone down. 'She is out,' said Evans. 'Her flat mate said she went out about an hour ago.'

'Did she say where?' asked Jamieson.

'She went to meet Mr Thelwell.'

Jamieson felt as if someone had just switched on a machine inside his head, one of these engine models you find in museums which have been cut away to expose their workings. Wheels turned and gears meshed, shafts moved up and down but nothing really happened. Everything just moved. He rubbed his forehead and whispered, 'What on earth…'

'This is all very puzzling,' said Evans.