Lafferty nodded. “Quite right,” he said. “I’ve absolutely no idea.”
It was the police inspector’s turn to keep quiet while he stared at Lafferty disconcertingly. Eventually he said, “I’m no expert sir but I would think that a cat nailed to your door had something to do with black magic or satanic ritual, or am I wrong?”
“That would be my guess too,” agreed Lafferty.
There was another long pause before Lenny said, “Frankly sir, we — the police that is — have been having a hard time over what happened to the Main boy. We’ve not been making any headway because no one will speak to us about black magic or devil worship.”
“I see,” said Lafferty. “It can’t be easy for you.”
“No sir. We’re becoming paranoid about it. I’m even inclined to think that you yourself just might know a good bit more than you are letting on.”
Lafferty shrugged and said, “I assure you Inspector. I know as little about the subjects you mentioned as you do.”
“Your cleaner had a bit of a shock tonight sir,” said the policeman, changing tack.
“Quite so,” said Lafferty.
“My driver said she was still quite distraught on the way home... Mentioned something about you having books on witchcraft in the house, your bed not being slept in, things like that.” The policeman paused to watch the effect of what he was saying before continuing, “I realise of course that she was upset and all this might be—”
“I’ll informed tittle-tattle,” interrupted Lafferty. “And that’s exactly what it is.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“I do.”
Lenny exchanged glances with his sergeant and got to his feet. He said, “Well, we’ll be getting along, sir. If there is anything else you might like to tell us, please get in touch.”
“I will.”
The inspector smiled and said as a parting shot, “After all sir, we’re all on the same side, aren’t we?”
The policeman clearly thought he’d had the last word and had turned to leave when Lafferty said, “Have you had the forensic report on the four men who died in the car fire, Inspector?”
The policeman stooped in his tracks and turned. He seemed surprised by the question.
“Yes sir, as a matter of fact we have. I understand there were no suspicious circumstances. A short circuit in the electric fuel pump seems to have been the culprit, caused by a leaking fuel can in the boot just above it. An act of God, you might say.”
“I’m not too sure that God will be happy to take the blame for that one, Inspector,” said Lafferty.
“What are you inferring, sir?”
“Nothing Inspector. Let’s just say you’re not the only one suffering from paranoia.”
Lafferty watched the police circus depart. His eyes followed the black plastic bag that contained the cat and its message of black magic. His lips broke into a wry smile. “Not convinced,” he murmured. “Not convinced at all.”
Sarah had little time for brooding. Several patients in HTU had a disturbed night and she was on call constantly. For the most part it was a case of altering the settings on the life-support systems, but for one patient, Martin Keegan, it was the end of the line. He was the patient that Logan had called in to see earlier when he had found her with Lafferty and John Main. Keegan had been involved in a road traffic accident. His car had swerved across the central reservation of the M8 motorway and hit an oncoming heavy goods vehicle. In addition to severe head injuries, he had suffered extensive damage to his left leg and foot where he had been trapped in the wreckage. Logan had been right about his condition; it had been worsening. At a little before seven in the morning, he lost all trace of brain function. Sarah repeated the Sigma probe tests at the most sensitive setting but still could find no trace of activity.
“No good?” asked the staff nurse.
Sarah shook her head. “Afraid not,” she said.
“Dr Logan didn’t think he was going to make it,” confided the nurse. “He asked that he be informed if things got worse.”
“Really?” asked Sarah, surprised. “I didn’t get that message.”
The nurse was uncomfortable with this news. “There was a message left at the nurses’ station.”
“I see,” said Sarah. “Have you any idea why Dr Logan made this request?”
“I understand he wanted to speak to the relatives personally,” replied the nurse.
“But Dr Tyndall always speaks to the relatives,” said Sarah.
The nurse shrugged as if she was unwilling to get any deeper into this particular conversation.
“All right. Thank you, Staff,” said Sarah with a smile. “You’d better call him, but give me five minutes first will you?”
The nurse nodded her agreement and Sarah went back to the doctors’ room. What the hell was Logan up to this time? Was this the new plan? Get in first with the relatives and brow-beat them into giving transplant permission before Tyndall spoke to them? That way he wouldn’t have to steal the bodies. Sarah was furious; she picked up the phone and called Tyndall.
“Dr Tyndall? It’s Sarah Lasseter here. I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you should know that Martin Keegan has lost all brain function. Dr Logan left word with the nursing staff that he should be informed if this happened. I understand that he intends to contact the family personally with a view to seeing them in the morning. I thought you might like to be present too?”
“That’s very considerate of you Doctor,” replied Tyndall thoughtfully. “I certainly would. Perhaps you would leave word to that effect for Dr Logan before you go off duty. Just say that I should like to speak to the relations as is my usual practice.”
“Yes sir,” said Sarah. She made a request for a meeting of her own with Tyndall and was told that four o’clock would be convenient. She put the phone down and felt pleased with the outcome of her call. “Checkmate, Dr Logan,” she murmured under her breath.
Sarah was woken from a deep sleep just after midday by her door bell ringing.
“All right, all right!” she complained as she struggled out of bed and fought her way into a dressing-gown. She opened the door to find Derek Logan standing there. He looked furious.
“What do you think you are playing at?” he demanded. He walked into the room so forcibly that Sarah had to step back sharply to avoid being trampled on. Logan closed the door behind him and Sarah felt afraid.
“What do you mean?” she stammered.
“You and Tyndall? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Get out of my room!”
“You told Tyndall about the Keegan boy, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” said Sarah.
“Why?” demanded Logan.
“So that he would see the parents.”
The honesty of Sarah’s reply seemed to stop Logan in his tracks. “For God’s sake, why?” he asked.
“Because you have all the charm of an orangutan with piles,” said Sarah, using up her last reserves of courage. “I didn’t want the Keegan boy’s parents being subjected to a charmless ghoul demanding their son’s body.”
“Jesus Christ!” said Logan in a hoarse whisper. “So you call in Saint Murdoch and he lets them off the hook without batting an eyelid. As you wish, Mr Keegan. Fiery Furnace it is then Mr Keegan. Out with the Sigma probes and it’s into the fire with perfectly good kidneys, lungs, eyes; you name it.”
“That’s their right,” said Sarah.
“That’s their right,” mimicked Logan in a sing-song voice. “Don’t you ever think?” he demanded. “Don’t you realise how much good these perfectly healthy organs could do?”
Or how much money you could make, thought Sarah but she didn’t say it.
“Do you know how many transplant permissions we’ve had in the last eighteen months in HTU?” asked Logan.