Chapter One

Suddenly awake, the doctor turned off his pager. He knew this dream, an unwelcome but infrequent reminder of his first day on duty, twenty years previously. In the back of an ambulance when he certified three children DOA; fire victims.
He remembered the small arms and legs. The taut, blackened skin. The pork-like smell of roasted flesh…

The doctor shuddered. Over the years many things had troubled him, things from his dubious past, things he could share with no decent living soul. None had affected him as much as the disfigured angels in the ambulance. It had left him terrified of fire, worried him every visit to the top floor of a house converted into flats.
The thought of children burning even terminated his last job.

Still, he had a new life now, plenty to look forward to; though he continued his training, almost religiously kept his skills honed.

It had only been a twenty-minute powernap, taken between calls. He turned the car heater and engine off and stepped out on to Hove seafront. Tired eyes automatically registering every detail of his surroundings. His perspiration real, he raised his arms, letting the cool sea-breeze dry his dampened shirt.
The pager shrilled again, his attendance required; he phoned in for details.

An unexpected death…

Chapter Six

David fired up the Porsche and reversed out of his space in the now almost full carpark. He was about to accelerate away and then stopped. Smiling to himself, he acknowledged he must be losing his touch, drove back into the space, vacated the car, and leaned against its side. He would wait five minutes to test his theory.
He hated being wrong, and after six minutes was about to give up when a Mercedes two-seater sports car, with its roof down, arrived in the carpark and drew alongside him. The edges of the pale-blue, leather seats and fascia were piped in contrasting deep blue, which exactly matched the pearlised paint of the car’s exterior and, by an apparently strange coincidence, the eyes of the driver.
‘Hello,’ said David. ‘Don’t suppose a gorgeous young lady like you would take pity on a sad, old doctor and invite him for lunch?’
Saphir appeared to internally debate the prospect. ‘Possibly, if you promise to be good.’
‘Good?’ said David, leaning forwards and gently kissing her forehead, nose, then mouth. ‘I won’t just be good, I’ll be perfect!’ Without removing his eyes from hers, he traced his way around the front of the car until safely in the passenger seat.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said, ‘It’s lovely and amazing to drive and you’re a sneak!’
‘A sneak?’ David feigned hurt.
‘Yes. Now I know why you were so insistent I didn’t change my old BMW last November.’
‘It’s still a good, reliable car; we’ll keep it as backup.’
She leaned over and kissed him. ‘Anything you say darling.’
‘Yeah, right,’ David mocked, smiling.
She smiled back, took his hand, rested it on the gear stick with hers above, put the car into first and took off.

They headed out of the carpark and down the road leading towards the A23. The sun shone, early flowers bloomed, apple blossom caressed the trees like wisps of cotton wool. They were in love, content, and most important, whatever happened, they were together.
Unfortunately, it was now only seventeen minutes to 13.00 hours.

They could have taken the A23 and cut across left, bypassing Poynings, the quickest route to Treverton Manor but not the most pleasant. Instead, they took a small road off the roundabout marking the Brighton end of the A23. Under the narrow, stone, railway bridge, and up the steep hill towards a second roundabout, where they turned right. This country road passed near the Dyke and right through the centre of Poynings. Saphir squeezed his hand as they passed a pub on the right, acknowledging their first date, in the flower-decked gardens.

She noticed she was gripping his hand more tightly and the memories had made her moist for him. She tried to concentrate on the road ahead. The car was travelling at just under thirty miles an hour. Thirteen metres per second to be exact. It was 390 metres to a hairpin bend, in that narrow, winding road. Unseen, and coming the other way, a twenty-ton lorry trundled along at ten metres per second and was 300 metres from the same corner; the driver talking on his mobile phone.
The time was half a minute to 13.00 hours.

They registered each other at the same moment. The wheels on the truck locked. Those on the Mercedes did not, courtesy of its antilock braking system. The lorry swerved to its left, ripping branches from the hedge. Saphir steered to her left, mounting the muddy, tyre-streaked grass verge of previous incumbents.
At exactly 13.00 hours, by some miracle, the vehicles missed each other by less than a centimetre.
Saphir, having regained the road, pulled off at the next layby, gripping the steering wheel hard with both hands.
‘Jesus,’ she breathed and looked at David. She could hardly believe he seemed so unperturbed. ‘You did…you did actually notice that,’ she almost shouted.
‘Of course,’ he said, appearing slightly amused. ‘But I had every confidence in you, though it was a close shave. Are you okay now? Or would you like me to drive?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, through gritted teeth.
Not for the first time did she wonder at his ability to remain calm in any situation, and even spread that calm to others.

Perhaps he would have been less calm, and certainly not amused, had he known their shave with death had been closer than imagined.
At 13.00 hours precisely. About nine miles away in the university carpark. A bomb under his white Porsche 911 had exploded.

Chapter Forty

…

Boss Manning had ordered a space to be cleared in the large storeroom with seating for twenty; several lesser persons would be granted standing room. They consumed various alcoholic beverages and became suitably subdued as Boss Manning explained about the death of his nephew and how it was the responsibility of a certain Dr Wilkins.
Out of respect they held a minute’s silence.
He then explained Dr Wilkins would not be punished for his transgression by death or severe injury but by being sent a film of his beautiful girlfriend being tortured; a porn film they could now all watch. A cheer went up.
When Boss Manning opened the metal briefcase in which the film had been delivered, he found a small poster of Saphir wearing a bikini, which David had thoughtfully included. When this was held up, a louder cheer prevailed. Boss Manning then held up another small poster, this was clearly of the same woman, now strapped naked to a snooker table. Her more intimate parts were blanked out using computer software and the words ENJOY!
The clamour to put on the film increased. Boss Manning, head held high, strode over to the freezer in which the head and hands of his nephew still resided, and ceremoniously pushed the VHS tape into the player now installed on top. A 42-inch LCD screen was ready to give them all a bird’s eye view. Boss Manning strode back to his seat in the centre and pressed the play button.

A title screen came up.

Ten seconds later, the video tape exploded; microseconds later, the large metal briefcase exploded. Apart from the powerful explosives, David had included some white phosphorus and some extremely poisonous chemicals. Though he wasn’t to know, he need not have bothered with these, half the storeroom was stacked with bottles of spirits, the resultant fire left very little behind.
David had initially been reluctant to include the pictures of Saphir but did so in the hope of distracting them from investigating the other items too closely; it worked! He had made the final decision to include them and the title credits after thinking it was like sending them a personal message from Saphir. Of course, she had no idea the message had been sent though, to David’s satisfaction, she had helped assemble some parts of the bomb.
Apart from ensuring Southampton caused him no more problems, David considerably reduced the workload of the local drug squad for the next two years. They blamed the explosion on a local drugs war; no other dealers seemed to want to take over the patch.

…