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prices, something that attracted much favourable publicity for the company in a world that was deeply suspicious of the motives driving drug companies. The walls of its reception area were adorned with the many awards it had received from humanitarian organisations.
    Mosely was going through his mail when the phone rang. He could see the call was coming from level B2.
    ‘Everything is ready. We need to talk.’
    ‘This evening. Seven p.m.’

Sci-Med Inspectorate, Home Office, London
     
    John Macmillan left the office and walked across the park to keep his postponed lunch date with Charlie Malloy. He saw a few snowdrops on the way but they failed to convince him that winter was anywhere near ending. A ‘barbecue summer’ that wasn’t had been followed by a ‘warm, wet winter’ that had turned out to be the coldest in many years, leaving him feeling nothing but frustration with weather forecasters.
    Leonard, the club’s doorman of many years, welcomed him into the warmth and took his coat. ‘Chief Superintendent Malloy is already here, Sir John,’ he said. ‘I’ve put him in the lounge.’
    It was John Macmillan’s custom to invite contacts in government and administration to have lunch with him on a rotational basis – not people at ministerial level but fairly high-level players who knew what was going on. It was his way of getting a feel for things, hearing the latest rumours and often putting two and two together. Sci-Med investigated what they saw fit, and were therefore very dependent on information gathering. Much of it was done by computers using programs developed over the years to seek out reports of unusual happenings in science and medicine, but the human touch was also very important.
    ‘Good to see you, Charlie,’ said Macmillan, entering the lounge and shaking hands. ‘How are things?’
    ‘A bit calmer this week, although we’ve been left with a bit of a headache. You remember the supposed gas explosion that turned out to be a bomb?’
    ‘And you had identified two of the dead as British?’
    ‘That’s right. Turns out all six of them were.’
    ‘What was it? Some kind of club or business meeting?’
    Malloy shook his head. ‘They didn’t travel together. In fact, they seemed to come from all over the place to meet their death in Paris on a cold afternoon in February.’
    ‘The woman you mentioned last week, I remembered why her name struck a chord. Her husband was Sir Martin Freeman, a groundbreaking surgeon in his day who went out on a bit of a low. He collapsed and died in the middle of an operation.’
    ‘Good God, the stuff of nightmares,’ murmured Malloy, his expression mirroring his words.
    ‘So what was she? A doctor like hubby or a nurse who got lucky?’
    ‘Actually neither. In fact I think it was a case of Martin getting lucky. Antonia came from a very well-to-do family whereas Martin got his shoulder tapped for being good at his trade. Story was she and her family didn’t let him forget it either. Not the nicest of people, by all accounts.’
    ‘That would fit with her not having many friends, then,’ said Malloy. ‘I can’t say my chaps have been finding her sorely missed. Thanks for your input.’
    ‘How about the others?’
    ‘Actually, identification wasn’t too difficult.’
    Macmillan frowned. ‘How so?’
    ‘The rest of the dead were all big hitters and quickly reported missing. One was chairman of a merchant bank, another was a top-level civil servant, and the other two were captains of industry. The strange thing was that none of their families knew they were in Paris.’
    Macmillan let out a low whistle. ‘So why go there?’
    ‘Because they didn’t want to be seen here?’ suggested Malloy after a moment’s thought and a long sip of wine.
    ‘I do believe tonight’s star prize goes to Chief Superintendent Malloy,’ said Macmillan. ‘Do you think I could be kept in the loop on this one, Charlie? For some reason, it’s making me feel uneasy