Dead Tomorrow

silence. Lynn stared down at her lap. Finally, and very quietly, she asked, ‘Ross, are there risks with a transplant?’
    ‘I’d be lying if I said there weren’t. The biggest problem is going to be finding a liver. There is a shortage because there is a lack of donors.’
    ‘She’s a rare blood group too, isn’t she?’ Lynn said.
    Checking his notes, he said, ‘AB negative. Yes, that is rare–about 2 per cent of the population.’
    ‘Is the blood group important?’
    ‘It’s important, but I’m not sure of the exact criteria. I think there can be some cross-matching.’
    ‘What about me–could I give my liver to her?’
    ‘It’s possible to give a partial liver transplant–using one of the lobes, yes. But you’d have to have a compatible blood type–and I don’t think you are big enough.’
    He searched through a few index cards, then read for a moment. ‘You’re A positive,’ he said. ‘I don’t know.’ The doctor gave a bleak, wintry smile of sympathy but near helplessness. ‘That is something Dr Granger will be better able to tell you. Also whether your diabetes would be a factor.’
    It scared her that his man she trusted so much suddenlyseemed lost and out of his depth.
    ‘Great,’ she said bitterly. Diabetes was another of the unwelcome souvenirs of her marriage break-up. Late-onset Type-2, which Dr Hunter told her might have been triggered by stress. So she hadn’t even been able to go on comfort-food binges to console herself. ‘Caitlin’s going to have to wait for someone who is the right blood group match to die? Is that what you’re saying?’
    ‘Probably, yes. Unless you have a family member or a close friend who is a match, who would be willing to donate part of their liver.’
    Lynn’s hopes rose a little. ‘That’s a possibility?’
    ‘Size is a factor–it would need to be a large person.’
    The only large person she could immediately think of who would be approachable was Mal. But then she dismissed that, remembering that he’d contracted Hepatitis B in the past, which ruled him out as a donor–they had found that out some years ago, during a period of trying to be responsible citizens.
    Lynn did a quick mental calculation. There were 65 million people in the UK. Maybe 45 million of them teenagers or older. So two per cent would be about 900,000 people. That was a lot of people. There must be people with AB negative blood dying every day.
    ‘We’re going to be in a queue, right? Like vultures? Waiting for someone to die? What if Caitlin freaks out at the thought?’ she said. ‘You know what she’s like. She doesn’t believe in killing anything . She gets upset when I kill flies!’
    ‘I think you should bring her in to see me–if you want to I could have a chat with her later on today. A lot of families find that donating the organs of someone who’s died can give some purpose and value to their death. Doyou want me to try to explain this to her?’
    Lynn gripped the sides of her chair, trying to put aside her own inner terror. ‘I can’t believe I’m thinking this, Ross. I’m not a violent person–even before Caitlin’s influence, I never liked killing flies in my kitchen. Now I’m sitting here actually willing some stranger to die.’

6
    The morning rush-hour traffic on Coldean Lane that hadbeen halted by the accident was already backed up almost to the bottom of the hill. To the left was part of the sprawling post-war council housing estate of Coldean, to the right, beyond a flint wall, were the trees marking the eastern boundary of Stanmer Park, one of the city’s biggest open spaces.
    PC Ian Upperton cautiously edged the nose of the Road Policing Unit’s BMW out past the rear of the stationary, chuntering bus that was at the end of the queue until he could see the road ahead, then, with the siren flailing the still air, he launched the car up the wrong side of the road.
    PC Tony Omotoso sat next to him in silence, scanning the vehicles ahead in case any of them in their impatience tried to do something stupid like pulling out or turning round. Half the drivers on the road were either blind or drove with their music too loud to hear sirens, only looking in their mirrors to do their hair. He felt tight, clenched up with anxiety, the way he always felt on the way to a road traffic collision, as accidents were now officially called in the ever-changing police lexicon. You never knew what you were going to find.
    In a bad accident, for