Deadly Code Read Free

in hand. A tally of a hundred drug-related deaths a year wasn't unusual.
    The haunted face she had looked into on the Underground suggested the girl could have a place in the next statistics. And she, Rhona, had said nothing, done nothing, even when she imagined in that split second that the girl might jump.
    What happened to the words Are you alright? Can I help?
    You can't help everyone, Sean had said when she told him the story over dinner. And he was right.
    In her job, she couldn't prevent death. She could only help the dead explain how or why they had died.
    At first the black words on the white screen danced in front of Rhona's eyes, but gradually she was sucked into the comfort of ideas begun, explored, formulated, proved. This was the time she liked to write: in the dark, the peace, the streets below empty of people. This was the time she thought best. Even as a student she had gone to bed struggling with some scientific problem, only to waken in the middle of the night having solved it mysteriously in her sleep. Two hours later the paper was complete. She checked the acknowledgements. Some of these people would be at the conference. The thought filled her with both pleasure and fear. The perfect mixture. By the time Sean appeared naked at the sitting room door, she was packed and ready to leave.
    'Is it that time already?'
    'I've called a taxi. It'll be here in a minute.'
    'Come here.'
    He slipped his hands under her coat and ran them up her spine. His body was bedwarm against hers. She breathed in the smell of his skin.
    'You'll phone?' he said.
    'Of course.'
    They parted at the front door with a kiss, the tip of Sean's tongue a reminder of what had happened between them earlier.
    Glasgow was as quiet as the grave.
    She watched the empty streets roll past. In the cold light of dawn, nothing seemed to matter. Death or life was inconsequential. Rhona felt herself relax, the taste of guilt at her sense of release from Sean sharp in her mouth.
    Two hours and three cups of coffee later, she was still sitting in the airport lounge. Her flight had been delayed initially by twenty minutes, then by an hour.
    Rhona took vengeance on her empty polystyrene cup. 'And another thing,' she muttered to herself. 'How many cups of airport coffee can a person swallow before they die of poisoning?'
    'I believe four is the maximum.'
    'What?'
    ‘A person can only drink four of those before . . .' The man to her right sliced across his throat with his finger. 'There was an article in last month's Scientific American by someone who travels a lot.'
    A smile was beyond Rhona.
    'As long as that's the last delay,' she said.
    As if on cue, the departure board sprang to life.
    'Did that just change to 10.30?' Rhona looked at her neighbour in despair. He nodded equally despairingly.
    'God,' she said. 'I'd be quicker swimming.'
    'The Atlantic, perhaps, but then there is the great American land mass to cross before you reach California.' He paused. 'Of course, you could go in the other direction but that would involve travelling to Edinburgh first. And I gather people from Glasgow are not keen on Edinburgh?'
    He had succeeded. She smiled. He held out his hand. He introduced himself. 'Andre Frith.'
    'Dr Andre Frith? The University of California?'
    He nodded. 'I recognised you from your picture.' He waved the pre-conference blurb. 'I came over to propose we have a coffee together.' He looked at the crushed coffee cup. 'But maybe not.'
    'What about something to eat instead?' Rhona suggested.
     

Chapter 2
     
    Spike was out the door before the girl serving knew he had ever been in. Two boys waiting for hot pies saw him pocket the packet of potato scones from the counter but said nothing.
    Spike didn't run. Outside the baker's, the street was busy with school kids eating fast food and dropping the papers at their feet. Spike joined them for a bit, then strolled across the road. No point in being about when the bell went for the end of lunchtime. Folk