“No,” cried Neef above the noise of the fire. “And it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could do!” He watched as the fireman took a few moments to compose himself then quickly the man was back on top of his job.
“Think you can make it?” he shouted to Neef.
“Yes,” replied Neef, knowing that he had no option. He hoisted himself up into the gap left by the window frame and felt his senses reel as he looked down. His eyes sought desperately for reference points.
“Take your time,” yelled the fireman. “Prepare yourself!”
Just as Neef had worked up the courage to jump, an old sofa in the room behind him exploded and a great cloud of black smoke engulfed him, burning his eyes and throat with toxic fumes. He steeled himself to remain motionless, trying not to breathe until the air had cleared. When he found he could breathe again he slowly opened his eyes and blinked several times to clear them of tears.
“Are you OK?” shouted the fireman.
“Yes,” replied Neef. “I’m coming across.”
This time, as he prepared to jump, the ladder suddenly swung away from him, increasing the gap by yet another half a metre.
“Just the wind!” yelled the fireman. “It’ll come back.”
Neef’s nerves would not take any more. He watched the ladder swing gently back and then launched himself across the gap. He landed with both feet firmly on the ladder platform and the fireman’s arms around him. He stood there for a long moment in a bear hug with the fireman.
“Does this mean we’re engaged?” asked the fireman.
“I just can’t begin to thank you enough,” gasped Neef.
“No need,” said the fireman. “Think you can make it down on your own?”
“Yes,” replied Neef. He started out on a descent that seemed to take for ever.
When he reached the ground and turned to look at the jumble of hoses, vehicles and flashing blue lights circled there, he felt totally disorientated until ambulance personnel reached him. “Any injuries sir?”
“No, I’m fine,” replied Neef, shrugging off the blanket that was being draped round his shoulders. He looked around for Mrs Little’s body and spotted a stretcher between two of the fire appliances; it was covered by a tarpaulin but there was an unmistakeable human shape underneath. He walked towards it.
“I really don’t think you should, sir,” said a policeman, putting a restraining hand on his arm.
Neef freed himself saying, “Just give me a moment, will you.”
Assuming that Neef must be in some way related to the dead woman, the police and fire-fighters remained in a huddle in the background while Neef knelt down and drew back the cover from Ann Little’s broken body. Surrounded by the emergency vehicles, she seemed so small and insignificant, just like a rag doll. Neef was consumed with anger. Farro-Jones had come into this woman’s life, conned her into trusting him and used her only daughter as a guinea pig to further his research career. He had murdered her daughter just as surely as he had murdered her, the bastard. But such a gentleman... he really cared about the patients... he had even turned up at Susan’s funeral... such a nice man. Neef stood up and took a deep breath. He felt he knew where Farro-Jones must have gone.
An ambulance technician appeared at his elbow. “Are you ready now sir? It’s best if you come along and have a check-up even if you feel OK right now.”
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” said Neef without taking his eyes off Mrs Little.
The ambulance man moved back to be replaced by a policeman. “I’m afraid we need to ask you a few questions sir, if you feel up to it?”
“Can it wait?” said Neef. “I’m going up to the hospital for a check up.”
“Of course sir. Maybe just your name and address for the time being?
Neef complied.
“You’re a doctor?”
“At St George’s.”
As the policeman put his notebook back in his pocket and turned to walk back to his colleagues, Neef saw that, for the moment, no one was actually looking at him. He seized the opportunity and moved swiftly round the back of one of the fire appliances. Shielded from view by it, he started running to the car park where he’d left his car. He was relieved to find the Discovery still with all its wheels. It started first time and he was on his way, tyres squealing in protest.
He felt sure that Farro-Jones would have gone straight to Pathology at St George’s to look for the letter he had lied about sending to Frank MacSween. The fact that it didn’t exist meant that he’d probably still be hunting for it down in MacSween’s office. In all probability he would be under the impression that he and Ann Miller had died in the fire.
The sight of Farro-Jones’ car outside Pathology at St George’s brought a knot of fear to Neef’s stomach. It was only a car but it seemed to symbolise much more than that. For the first time in his life he felt that he was coming up against real evil. He should have realised something earlier but he hadn’t. There was only one explanation for Farro-Jones trying to kill him and Ann Miller at the flat the way he had. He was mad. This was not a comforting thought to nurture as he made his way downstairs to the pathology lab.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs and listened for a moment. He couldn’t hear a thing. Frank MacSween’s compassionate leave and Charlie Morse’s death had meant that hospital pathology work was temporarily being carried out over in University College Hospital. The St George’s technicians had been sent over there too. Neef looked along the basement corridor and saw a light coming from under Frank MacSween’s door. He stared at it, a thin horizontal strip of light in the darkness that said he had been right. Farro-Jones was here.
Neef noted the broken lock and pushed open the door, his bulk almost filling the doorway.
“You!” exclaimed Farro-Jones. He was sitting in Frank MacSween’s chair and had been rummaging through the pile of papers that had been accumulating in MacSween’s absence.
“You won’t find it. I sent it to his home address.”
Farro-Jones got up slowly from the desk and moved backwards, his eyes looking left and right as if to assess his options. He only had one and that was to open the connecting door behind him that led directly to the PM room. This he did.
“It’s over,” said Neef, moving towards him. “The police are on their way and you, you bastard, are going to prison for the rest of your life.”
Farro-Jones spread his hands in front of him as if to appease Neef’s anger. “Like I said, Neef, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It was all just bad luck, that’s all. It all went wrong; I panicked and everything just seemed to get worse.”
“You treated the Littles as if they were lab animals. They trusted you and you destroyed them! And you call it bad luck!”
“So Ann Little is dead,” said Farro-Jones. His eyes had taken on a different look as if he had just realised something. “And you expect me to believe that if the police were coming they would have let you come on ahead on your own? Come on Neef. You’re playing the Lone Ranger. You are the only one who knows.”
“That’s enough,” said Neef, still stalking Farro-Jones. They had passed the PM tables and were backing towards the body vaults.
“You know what Neefy old son? I don’t think there’s any letter either. Fancy your chances? Come on then.”
Farro-Jones had now adopted an aggressive stance. He had stopped backing off and was prepared to fight it out with Neef. Neef had the advantage of height, weight and probably strength but Farro-Jones had the build of a natural athlete. He was light on his feet. Farro-Jones made a feint to the left and Neef blocked the move. He was gradually backing Farro-Jones into the far corner of the room where there would be no escape. Farro-Jones could see it. He dummied a move to the right then corrected and came straight at Neef. Neef was ready; he side-stepped and caught Farro-Jones on the side of the face with a vicious right hook. Farro-Jones went down. He remained on his knees, rubbing his cheek.