Dead Tomorrow

surgeon across a grand oak-panelled hall. It was filled with antique furniture, as well as several gleaming suits of armour. On the walls was a mix of antique swords, firearms and oil paintings, some of which were portraits, some landscapes.
    Then they entered a magnificent study. The walls in here were panelled in oak, too, and hung with certificates evidencing the surgeon’s qualifications. All around were framed photographs of him with numerous famous faces. One was Sirius with the Queen. In another, at a black-tie function, he was with Princess Diana. Others showed him with Sir Richard Branson, Bill Clinton, François Mitterrandand the footballer George Best. Batchelor peered at that photograph with particular interest–Best, famously, had had a private liver transplant.
    The two police detectives sat on a studded red leather sofa, while a raven-haired beauty, whom Sirius introduced as his wife, brought them coffee. Sirius was briefly distracted by his BlackBerry buzzing, and Batchelor and E-J used the opportunity to exchange a brief glance. The surgeon was clearly a complex character. Modest in appearance and manner, but not in ego–nor in his taste in women.
    ‘So, how can I help you?’ Sirius asked, after his wife had left the room, settling down into an armchair opposite them, across the oak chest that served as a coffee table.
    Guy had already rehearsed this with E-J on the way over. Suddenly he was feeling badly in need of a cigarette but knew, from the fresh smell of the room and the total absence of ashtrays, that he had no chance. He would have to sneak one later, something he had become used to these days.
    Watching the surgeon’s eyes carefully, he said, ‘This is a very beautiful house, Sir Roger. How long have you lived here?’
    The surgeon reflected for a moment. ‘Twenty-seven years. It was a wreck when I bought it. My first wife never liked it. My daughter loved it here.’ His eyes went misty, suddenly. ‘It’s just a shame that Katie was never able to see it finished.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ E-J said.
    The surgeon shrugged. ‘A long time ago, now.’
    ‘You’ve been quoted many times in the press over your views on the UK organ donor system,’ Guy Batchelor went on, still watching his face intently.
    ‘Yes,’ heagreed, nodding vigorously, instantly animated by the subject. ‘Absolutely!’
    ‘We thought that you might be able to help us.’
    ‘I’ll do my best.’ He leaned towards them and, looking even more bird-like, smiled eagerly.
    ‘Well,’ Emma-Jane cut in almost on cue, ‘it’s true, isn’t it, that around 30 per cent of patients in the UK who are waiting for a liver transplant will die before they get one?’
    ‘Where did you get that figure from?’ he asked with a frown.
    ‘I’m quoting you , Sir Roger. That was what you wrote in an article in the Lancet in 1998.’
    Frowning again, he said defensively, ‘I write a lot of stuff. Can’t remember it all. Particularly not at my age! Last I heard, the official figure is 19 per cent–but, as with everything, that depends on your criteria.’ He leaned forward and picked up a silver milk jug. ‘Either of you take milk?’
    ‘Can’t remember it all. Particularly not at my age.’ But you still hold a private helicopter licence, so your memory can’t be that crap , Guy Batchelor thought to himself.
    When he had sorted their coffees out, the DC asked, ‘Do you remember the article you wrote for Nature , criticizing the UK organ donor system, Sir Roger?’
    He shrugged. ‘As I said, I’ve written a lot of articles.’ ‘You’ve also worked in a lot of places, haven’t you, Sir Roger?’ she pressed. ‘Including Colombia and Romania.’ ‘Gosh!’ he said, with what looked like genuine excitement. ‘You chaps have certainly boned up on me!’
    Batchelor handed the three e-fit photographs of the dead teenagers across to the surgeon.
    ‘Could you tell us if you’ve ever seen any of these three people, sir?’
    Siriusstudied each of them for some moments, while Batchelor watched him, intently. He shook his head and handed them back.
    ‘No, never,’ he said.
    Batchelor replaced them in the envelope.
    ‘Is it just coincidence that you chose those two countries to work in? The fact is that they are high on the list of known countries involved in human trafficking for organ transplantation.’
    Sirius appeared to think carefully before answering. ‘You’ve both clearly done your homework on me, but I