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said. He took a deep breath. ‘Harley ... you know that street where we found the car? Forbes Street?’
    Harley nodded.
    â€˜Quinta’s name was sprayed on the wall there. “Where’s Quinta?” it said. Well, Quinta’s here . But what’s she doing here?’
    He felt Harley shrug in the darkness. ‘What are we doing here?’ he replied.
    â€˜It’s not the same,’ said David. ‘Not yet, anyway,’ he added, shuddering as he spoke. ‘We’ve just arrived, and she must have been here for a long time. She knows her way around.’
    â€˜She knew about the car too,’ Harley agreed.
    â€˜We were tricked here. That car was a trap,’ said David. ‘I think it’s sent out into Forbes Street to catch people. When people see it with the keys in it, they’re tempted. Maybe that’s why Forbes Street has such a bad name. But why? I mean, who’d spend a million dollars on a car with a brain of its own, just to catch kids like us? It’s like a dream: some moments I feel like I almost know what’s going on, but then it fades before I can grab hold of it.’
    He waved his hand in the dark. ‘I mean, when you mentioned organ music a minute ago it seemed like you’d said something really important – but I don’t know why. Ghostly!’
    â€˜Sshh! Don’t talk about ghosts in here,’ said Harley. His voice was still trembling, but he was beginning to sound more like his usual sharp self.
    â€˜I don’t believe in ghosts,’ David retorted. ‘I never have! All the same ... ’ he began, and stopped. It was mad, but he had to say it. ‘Talking about ghosts ... ’
    â€˜Yeah, yeah!’ Harley interrupted him, leaping to his feet and kicking something that rang like a tin bell. ‘Where are the lights?’
    David heard him scrabbling around the wall beside the door.
    â€˜There must be lights somewhere. Ah! Here we are ... ’
    The burst of powerful white light made David feel he had been struck in the face.
    They were in a large, bright room, hemmed around by stainless steel benches, sinks and steel-doored refrigerators. The floor and even the walls were covered with white tiles, though one wall was patched with big gleaming drawers. In the centre of the room stood two spotless steel tables with channels in them, and beyond these was an alcove largely closed off by pleated plastic screens. David had never been in this room before. All the same, he recognized it. It had appeared on the waiting-room television set. He looked up at the ceiling and, sure enough, there was the camera’s familiar black eye staring down at them. David remembered that the plastic screens had been on the edge of the eye’s field of sight, and Quinta had said that there were some spots in every room which the camera could not see.
    â€˜Let’s hide behind those screens,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
    â€˜Why would anyone come all the way out here for an operation?’ Harley asked. ‘I mean – why would they?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said David, as they edged uneasily towards the screens. ‘Maybe because they don’t want to go on long waiting lists at ordinary hospitals. But hang on, this isn’t an operating theatre.’
    â€˜It must be. Those tables ... ’
    â€˜It’s more of a ... a mortuary,’ said David. ‘I’ve seen them on TV.’ He grimaced as he glanced around, then lowered his voice in case he disturbed some intangible presence. ‘They pull out one of those drawers and there’s your wife or someone they’ve dredged up out of the river,’ he whispered.
    â€˜A mortuary?’ Harley muttered back, his voice alive with new alarm. ‘Why would they want one out here?’
    David edged behind the screens, listening to the music.
    â€˜Organ music.’ His teeth which had been clenched until now began