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was that you wanted to pursue an avenue of investigation you’d already started. I assume you refer to the Ripper thing.’
    ‘I do indeed,’ Kotlas said. ‘You spoke of preventative steps being taken early to avoid the propensity for violence or whatever, to iron it out?’
    Rubenstein raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s this, an about turn?’
    ‘Not at all. I’d like to trace Wolfe’s lineage, in the light of what I found out.’
    ‘Wait. What possible benefit can that have for this establishment?’
    ‘Imagine, since others have tried and failed, if we were to discover the true identity of Jack the Ripper.’
    Rubenstein sat forwards. ‘Go on.’
    ‘I’d imagine the drugs companies would fall over themselves for a share of the publicity.’
    ‘We’re a secret establishment. We couldn’t go public. As far as the world outside is concerned, these premises are part of the Ministry of Defence.’
    ‘Is that so?’ Kotlas shook his head. ‘God, can you imagine how the neighbours would react if they learned the truth about this place?’
    ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Kotlas.’
    ‘Let me continue my experiment with Wolfe. He has lucid dreams. I’ve been working to find out what it is his mind is churning up. If we give him drugs, we might lose not only a key insight into how his mind works, but also the chance to tap into his memories.’
    ‘Have you made any progress with that side of it?’
    ‘I’ve discovered that his father forced his mother to take psychotropic drugs while she was pregnant.’
    ‘That’s interesting.’
    ‘So you see, potentially, it isn’t just about DNA,’ the younger man said. ‘But the taste for blood—’
    Rubenstein raised a hand. ‘Hold on. The assumption the Ripper ate body parts isn’t proven.’
    ‘I know that. Let me just ask you this. Did you ever come across a Dr Ryan?’
    ‘In my age group, there are few who aren’t aware of him. But you, how did you get to hear about him?’
    Kotlas ignored the question and continued. ‘Wasn’t he discredited?’
    ‘Not officially,’ Rubenstein said. ‘Interesting you should bring him up. His early studies in chemical imbalance and the effects on children were quite an eye-opener, but I have to say, I always considered him on the fringe.’
    ‘Because he believed in the supernatural order of things?’
    ‘Frankly, yes.’
    ‘And yet he got results. You only have to look at what he did achieve. He understood the link between these imbalances and adolescent suicide, perhaps better than anyone.’
    ‘We’ve gone off topic, somewhat,’ Rubenstein said, shifting in his chair. He craned his neck to look out of the window.
    ‘Not really,’ Kotlas said. ‘We were talking about genetic makeup and a taste for blood. What if something in the blood addresses the imbalance, and makes Wolfe feel better?’
    Rubenstein raised his eyebrows, considering the point. ‘Could be. Or maybe he’s just plain evil.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Wolfe should have been here by now.’
    ‘I’m beginning to wonder if the power problem isn’t just confined to here,’ Kotlas said.
    ‘Yes, I think you may be right,’ Rubenstein said. He stood, walked to the window, and stared down into the courtyard. ‘People are running around in the rain. I don’t like it. Not one bit.’
    The door handle rattled up and down. Startled, they exchanged apprehensive looks.
    A sharp rap on the door followed.
    ‘Whoever you are in there,’ a muffled voice cried, ‘you’re to come out immediately. The building’s on fire.’
    ‘I don’t like this,’ Kotlas whispered.
    ‘There’s no need to whisper. No one outside can hear us. See who it is,’ Rubenstein said. ‘But don’t open the door.’

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 11
     
    Copse Hall. 9:19 a.m.
     
    Kotlas pressed an ear to the door. The sounds reminiscent of being submerged underwater, he slowly rotated the control knob for the Venetian blind set between two skins of glass. The