Chapter Ten

In the end, Jenna hadn’t mentioned Descartes or Professor Merrick to the police. And through the long night, she’d convinced herself she was being paranoid even thinking they might be connected to David’s death.

Unable to sleep, she’d spent the night going through her father’s papers, searching for her nonexistent medical records. She’d found a few old documents that might shed some light on the past but nothing about her or her medication.

Without the medicine, the disease would cause progressive damage to the cells in her brain. Areas involved in control of movement, planning, motivation, and personality. If it ever caught hold, she could lose her mind, her very self, and eventually turn into a living vegetable. The image had haunted her adolescence ever since her father had told her the consequences, shown her pictures of people with advanced cases of the disease.

The night had been interminable, and she’d been glad when morning had come and she could get out of her father’s house and head to the city.

Now, straight ahead of her loomed a huge building of glass and steel, the words Metropolitan Police in large letters on the wall and a rotating sign that read New Scotland Yard outside the entrance. She entered the building into a large reception area and approached a uniformed police officer behind a counter at one end.

“I’m here to see Detective Inspector Mitchell,” she said. “My name is Jenna Young.”

Taking a seat, she tried to relax her tense muscles. But even after rubbing her forehead, the dull, throbbing ache refused to shift. She wanted desperately to get to her lab and immerse herself in her work, to try to forget this for a little while.

Minutes later, a set of swinging doors opened, and the detective’s tall figure emerged. He was in the same clothes he’d worn last night, and there were shadows under his eyes, darker shadows on his cheeks. She rose to her feet as he came to a halt in front of her. He studied her for a moment, head cocked to one side, then reached out a hand. His felt warm and strong, the handshake firm.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Not brilliant.” She glanced away and bit her lip. “I can’t get the image of David out of my head. What they did to him.”

“That’s not unusual. You might need to see someone, talk it out. I can get you a list of therapists who deal with this sort of thing.”

“I’d rather get through it myself, but thank you.”

“Okay, your choice.” He searched her face, but then nodded. “Come on, I have one of our artists waiting to work with you.”

Jenna followed him through the double doors and up one flight of stairs. He paused in front of a door and entered without knocking. They were in a small, cluttered room. A man sat at a desk, facing a computer monitor.

“This is Jeff Mailer,” Detective Mitchell said.

Jeff was young, more like some college kid than a policeman. He examined Jenna in return and grinned. “I wondered why Mitchell was giving you the personal treatment; now I can see why.”

“Piss off, Mailer.”

The other man ignored the comment. “Call me Jeff.”

“Jenna.”

“Okay, Jenna. Come and tell me everything you know.”

She sat down beside him and watched, curious, as he switched on the program. Mitchell leaned against the wall opposite, arms folded across his chest. Jeff glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. “If you’re not going to go out and catch the bad guys, you might as well do something useful like get us some coffee.”

“Hey, I’m off duty.”

“You could go home, then. It’s what normal people do.”

Mitchell stared at him broodingly as he pushed away from the wall. “Jenna, how do you like your coffee?”

“Black, please.”

She waited until he’d left the room before turning back to the other man.

“I think our rough, tough DI Mitchell is in lurve,” Jeff said with another grin. “But I’m guessing you’re used to that reaction.”

She was, but she also knew it meant nothing, so she just gave a small meaningless smile.

“Okay, back to work.” He typed in a few words, and the figure of a man flashed up on the screen. “I’ve put in some data from your interview last night. Now we have to fine-tune it.”

Finally, she sat back, satisfied she had remembered all she could. “That’s him. Or pretty close.” A shiver ran through her as she studied the face. “He seems so ordinary.”

“They often do,” Mitchell said from behind her. “This was no off the cuff murder—the guy is a professional. They do their best to blend into their surroundings and be as unobtrusive as possible.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t have noticed him except he was leaving as I drove up. He was caught in the headlights, so I saw him clearly.” She shivered again and rubbed her arms. “So is that it? Can I go?”

“Yes. We’ll be in touch if we need you for anything else.”