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'Another junkie taking his last fix,' muttered the police sergeant, who had seen more than a few such sights in his time. 'It's more usual to find them with a needle up their arm,' he explained to his young colleague who lacked the relevant experience. 'But this one looks as if he was doing cocaine, and either it was too much for his heart or he's got hold of some adulterated stuff. There's quite a lot of drug pushing goes on around these motorway service stations, and the junkies never know what they're buying from whom. You often get impure drugs being peddled, either diluted with anything from castor sugar to baking powder, or mixed with something rather more lethal. The pushers will sell anything for money and the junkies will pay anything for a fix, whatever it is. This is just one of the unlucky ones.'
He started rummaging through O'Neill's pockets for clues to his identity. Funny way the body and face have contorted, though. Well, we can let the police surgeon and the coroner's office sort that one out. Let's get on with it, laddie, and call the ruddy photographers to record this sordid little scene. No use us standing here guessing about... Mr Roger O'Neill,' he announced as he found a wallet bearing a few credit cards. 'Wonder who he is?'
There's a car outside in the car park, been here all night by the looks of it' volunteered the janitor 'Probably his.'
'Well, let's take the details and check it out then' instructed the sergeant.
It was 7.20 by the time the coroner's representative had authorised the removal of the body. The sergeant was making sure the junior officer had finished with the required procedures and the ambulancemen were manhandling the rigid, contorted body out from its seat and onto their stretcher when the call came over the radio.
'Sod it' the sergeant told the radio controller. That'll set the cat amongst the pigeons. I'd better make double sure we've done everything this end before we have CID inspectors, superintendents and chief constables floating in for a look.'
He turned to the fresh-faced constable. 'Got yourself a prize one there, you have. Seems the car is registered to the Government's party headquarters, and our Mr Roger O'Neill is - rather was - a senior party official with his fingers in Downing Street and everywhere else, no doubt. Better make sure you write a full report, lad, or well both be for the high jump.'
It had been another sleepless night. Her physical reserves of stamina had just about run out and she was on the point of surrendering to her growing mood of depression when the phone call threw her the lifeline she needed. It was Johnnie, calling from the Telegraph news room.
'How's this for another one of your coincidences?' he enquired. 'Just come over on the tape. It seems the Southampton police found your Roger O'Neill dead in a public lavatory just a few hours ago.'
Tell me this is simply your tasteless way of saying good morning,' she said without humour.
'Sorry. It's for real. I've already sent a reporter down to the scene, but it appears the local police have called in the Drug Squad. Seems he may have overdosed.'
Mattie gasped as one of the pieces fell into place with a noise like a coffin lid slamming closed.
'So that was it. An addict. No wonder he was all over the place...' As she spoke she nudged in her excitement the large stack of dirty crockery which had built up beside the kitchen telephone, sending them crashing to the floor.
'Mattie, what on earth...'
'Don't you see, Johnnie. He was the key man, the only man we knew for certain was involved in all the dirty tricks. Our Number One lead has just very conveniently disappeared from the scene, the day before they elect a new Prime Minister, leaving us with a big fat zero. Don't you see, Johnnie.'
'What?'
There's not a moment to waste!' she gasped, as he heard the phone go dead.
Mattie almost didn't find Penny Guy. She had rung the bell of the mansion block continuously for several minutes, and was just about to give up when the latch was released by the electronic buzzer and the door swung open. The door to Penny's flat on the first floor was also ajar, and Mattie walked in. She found Penny sitting quietly on the sofa, curtains drawn, staring at nothing.
Mattie did not speak, but sat down beside her and held her. Slowly Penny's fingers tightened around Mattie's hand, acknowledging her presence, begging her to stay.
'He didn't deserve to die,' Penny said in a hushed, faltering voice. 'He was a weak man, but not an evil one. He was very kind.'
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