Free Faces in the Rain by Roland Perry Page B

isn’t he?’ she said.
    â€˜He looks good,’ I said, ‘but is he saying anything new?’
    â€˜Well, he can’t, I suppose.’
    â€˜Sounds like a good politician,’ I said, good-naturedly.
    â€˜I suppose he is, really. But what happened to you?’ she said, taking me in properly for the first time. ‘You’ve been cut.’
    â€˜I’m a rotten shaver,’ I said.
    The cuts must have been from the glass when the bullets went through my car window. I ran a finger round my collar. There was plenty of congealed blood. No wonder I had received strange looks from everyone on the circuitous route here.
    The Walters interview was over. She flicked off the TV.
    I stood up and looked out a window to a courtyard of an adjacent apartment block, half-expecting to see the Frenchmen creeping towards us.
    â€˜I won’t be able to come out with you this evening,’ Cassie said.
    â€˜That suits me,’ I said, ‘I’m having a little trouble. Someone just tried to kill me.’
    Cassie was wide-eyed for a moment.
    â€˜At least your lines are original.’
    â€˜I’m serious,’ I said and related the events of the chase and the growing mystery surrounding Martine’s death.
    She tossed her hair back and narrowed her eyes on me.
    â€˜I don’t know whether to believe you,’ she said.
    â€˜It all happened,’ I said a little angrily.
    She folded her arms.
    â€˜I do remember Martine being paranoid about Claude Michel,’ she said.
    â€˜Did she say anything about him to you?’
    â€˜She told Peter that Michel couldn’t give a damn whether patients lived or died. She said Michel was responsible for many more than the twenty deaths the French authorities are claiming.’
    Cassie sat down. She was reflective.
    â€˜Martine’s maltreatment was typical of Michel,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘An uncomplicated lymphatic cancer was experimented with for years. It should have been cured in months.’
    â€˜He sounds like another Dr Mengele.’
    Cassie’s manner sharpened.
    â€˜My father’s parents died in a concentration camp,’ she said. ‘My father escaped. After what he saw in the camps he wanted my brother and me to be doctors.’
    â€˜To preserve life?’
    â€˜Something like that. Some of the camps had no doctors. Others had several, all dedicated to Nazi experimentation.’
    I kept a nervous vigil at the window. I was worried about Walters turning up. I accepted more champagne and took a seat on a sofa, but I wasn’t relaxed.
    â€˜Dad explained in graphic detail all about Nazi atrocities,’ Cassie went on. ‘Until then I’d spoken German because he came from Berlin. Haven’t been able to speak it ever since. Not a word.’
    She gathered her composure.
    â€˜Have you ever needed a psychiatrist?’ she asked.
    I shook my head.
    â€˜No,’ she said with a cynical little laugh, ‘I guess you bull-at-a-gate corporate types don’t have self-doubt. Or mid-life crises.’
    â€˜We haven’t time,’ I said, ‘we spend our spare hours skewering new-born babes and eating puppies.’
    She managed a smile.
    â€˜Besides,’ I said, ‘I’m only thirty-seven. The mid-life problems hit from forty on, don’t they?’
    â€˜Depends on how long you’ll live.’
    That gave me pause. I returned to the window and felt the outline of the Heckler in my jacket. The phone rang. I swung round as Cassie reached for it.
    â€˜Don’t answer it,’ I said.
    She hesitated, but could see I was on edge. After eight rings an answer machine picked up the call in her bedroom. Cassie walked to the fireplace and put a log on the fire.
    â€˜I wanted to make you a business offer tonight,’ I said, ‘to head up Benepharm’s cancer research facility. But as you can see, I’m not exactly in the mood for