Clone Ranger

- 1 -

Jenny’s head was still spinning. How the hell she’d driven back across town in this state she didn’t know. She didn’t remember. Her world had been turned upside down.

Jenny had known Dr Jacobs for as long as she could remember. He’d been the family GP for twenty years or more, ever since she’d moved into town with her mother, father and younger brother. She trusted him. She’d never expected him to say anything she wouldn’t believe.

  “It’s a mistake. It must be a mistake. He’s wrong!” she said, desperately.

She’d agreed to the police being informed. Dr Jacobs said that was the next step.

  “Next step!” she thought, “For Christ’s sake”.

Her brain wouldn’t focus. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. She knew she was angry, but she needed help: someone to help her sort her thoughts out. She decided to ring her best friend, Alex. But she could barely bring herself to repeat what Jacobs had said.

How do you tell someone that Elizabeth, beautiful baby Elizabeth, who she’d given birth to, breast fed, spent every goddamn day with for the past 18 months, was…..

was not…..Elizabeth?

  “What!” said Alex when she arrived and Jenny had done her best to explain.

  “That’s what he said.” Jenny replied.

  “No. No. I don’t understand what you mean”

  “That’s what I said!”

  “But what do you mean she’s not Elizabeth? Of course she is. I’ve just seen her.”

  “He said that last week, when I took her in for a check-up, he’d noticed a cut on her leg”

  “So?”

  “So….it’s not there now.”                                                               

  “So….it’s healed. Perfectly normal.”

  “Too quick, apparently. That’s what he reckons.”

  “Reckons!” Alex shouted, “He’s told you she’s not your daughter and he only reckons!”

Jenny burst into tears again.

  “Shit. I’m sorry Jen’. Fat lot of good I am. I just can’t take it in.”

Alex put her arm around Jenny as they both crumpled onto the old leather sofa.

  “The police are coming first thing.” mumbled Jenny.  “Would you stay over and be here with me?”

  “You’re not getting rid of me now. Not ‘til we’ve sorted this out.”

Jenny managed a half-smile. She felt better for having Alex with her. They’d been friends since college. Alex was the kind of friend you needed in a crisis - fiercely loyal. A bit of a loudmouth, she could get you into trouble if you weren’t careful, but there’s no-one you’d rather have on your side if you’re already in the brown stuff.

A baby’s giggle came from the bedroom. Jenny and Alex froze, staring at each other.

  “God, I’d almost forgotten she was here.” said Jenny. “I brought her home and just stuck her in her room with the TV on. I can’t think what to do with her.”

“Why did you go to see Jacobs in the first place?”

Jenny frowned, visibly trying to dig things out of her mind. What had happened during the visit had all but erased what happened immediately before it.

  “Well, she was acting a little bit….weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “Yeah, a bit….unresponsive.”

  “How d’you mean? She’s always been a quiet kid.”

  “Just as if, maybe, she wasn’t hearing properly. It’s a common worry. I just wanted her hearing checked.”

  “And?”

  “And he said she was fine.”

  “I see.” said Alex, not really seeing at all.

Things were as clear as mud. Maybe the police would shed some light in the morning.



                                                                ***



Jack slipped his jacket over his left arm and fought with the right arm as he stuffed what was left of his lunch into his mouth on his way out of the building to the car park.

It was 5:01pm. Another day, another dollar.

He’d fallen on his feet with this job. It needed someone with a bit of brain power, but there was little pressure, no deadlines. The hours were good and the pay was better than it should’ve been for what it involved. There weren’t any dire consequences if you didn’t get it exactly right or do it on time. It just needed to be done….eventually.

That suited Jack to a tee because he was basically lazy.

The government had forced the big pharmaceutical companies to subsidise what it called ‘retrospective accountability’ not long after the whole cloning thing went pear shaped.

The Beckham Institute, named after one of the first major celebrities to offer his DNA for cloning, had been set up in Manchester to record all cloning and genetic engineering experiments and results.

In the early part of the twenty-first century, politicians, scientists and all kinds of activists argued bitterly about whether to allow human cloning. Most felt it was a step too far. We didn’t want a repeat of the sheep fiasco did we? Farmers around the world had begun cloning sheep on their own premises, New Zealand’s economy was in a slump, and Welshmen had never been so happy.

Predictably, whilst people were arguing, the geeks were experimenting and human cloning was being perfected. Never underestimate a Nerd.

To this day, we still don’t know who really was the first human clone. Many experiments, successful or otherwise, must’ve been carried out before the first official cloned human was introduced to the public.

Called simply John Paul, he was ‘originated’ - as the scientists preferred to call it - from DNA extracted from the body of the first Pope to die in the 21st century.

Naturally this caused uproar amongst the religious community. Christians - even the protestants - were horrified. The muslim community was publicly supportive, but privately amused. It shocked the world into realising the enormity of what was happening, and what could happen.

John Paul’s fame, or notoriety, was short-lived, however. Once his affliction became apparent he was quickly removed from public life. For a man being groomed for the office once held by his famous DNA-donor, Tourette’s syndrome was a bit of a no-no.

“Fuck off!” was fairly shocking coming from a man physically identical to the once head of the Catholic Church. But it was, “Wank! Tits! Motherfucker!” that made them decide to take him away, shouted, as it was, on his first live TV interview.

It didn’t do much for Graham Norton’s career either.

Jack had been in the right place at the right time. After finishing his biochemistry degree at university, he didn’t fancy the prospect of having to get a proper job. He was one of those irritating people who seemed to coast through his course without any apparent effort - obviously clever, but not willing to push himself any harder than necessary.

So when the Institute was set up to record details of genetic engineering and cloning activity, Jack was an ideal candidate.

The Institute’s mission was to track and record as much information as possible about genetic experimentation - particularly cloning. It had become clear in recent years that the whole genetic thing could go horribly wrong. And if it could, it would.

The need for a central body to record this kind of information had become all too clear with the first rape case involving a cloned human. The victim, a woman in her early twenties, gave a clear description of her attacker and he was arrested within days, without a struggle. There had been no witnesses, but the circumstantial evidence against him was very strong and forensics conclusive. Until that is, the man’s solicitor presented to the court, his double or rather, clone. They weren’t just alike, they were effectively the same man, right down to their DNA.

So although it was probable that one of them was a rapist, no-one could prove which one and a jury couldn’t be expected to just choose between them. The judge had no choice but to dismiss the case and call on the establishment to discuss what on earth was going to be done to stop this happening again.



                                                                ***



  “Start, you bugger!” said Jack, as he turned the key for the third time.

Like the car was just going to wake up and listen to him all of a sudden. His attitude to his car was similar to his work ethic - minimal effort. Unfortunately, his ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t even let it enter your head’ approach extended to a complete lack of any preventative maintenance or servicing. Consequently, the car was now buggered. His yearning for a better car was constantly undermined by an inability to hold onto money only exceeded by Katie Price’s inability to hold onto a husband.

Eventually, it spluttered into life, and he slowly chugged his way through the rush-hour traffic back to his flat.



                                                                ***



There were a few messages on his phone when he got through the door. One from his best friend ‘Stick’ (don’t ask) wondering what he was up to on Saturday night; one from his landlord demanding money…again and one from a woman known as ‘Titch’ who asked him to ring her ASAP but neglected to leave a number.

“Stuff that.” Jack thought. Titch was a blast from the past, but there was no conceivable reason to revisit that chapter. He erased the messages. Stick would ring again.

But Saturday night was Hollywood night.

 

- 2 -

Hollywood is – let’s be honest - a brothel: the brainchild of one Dick Richards, the Richard Branson of the porn industry. Brothels began to flourish around ten years ago when prostitution was legalised: the result of a very liberal, Liberal government - the first in over one hundred years.

The difference with Hollywood was - if you haven’t already guessed - that its employees are clones. Clones of movie stars.

Acceptance of brothels, and those that frequented them, was accelerating beyond belief. People could now spend the night (or the next five minutes depending on the size of their wallet) with their favourite film-star. This was temptation beyond anything imagined before.

This rise in popularity was helped in no small measure (and with feminist-slaying irony) by the fact that almost half of Hollywood’s customers are women.  The advent of Hollywood and its quota of male celebrity clones means they can put their money where their mouths have been. Or their mouths where their imagination has been.

Not that the choice at Hollywood is vast at present. It isn’t exactly ‘A-list’, so to speak. It mostly consists of stars whose light faded a little around the beginning of the century. Those who could still make serious money from actually making movies wouldn’t dream of selling their DNA into such depravity. Although there was a brief flirtation with the thought that it just might be the height of (real) Hollywood fashion.

Jack was introduced to Hollywood a fortnight ago.

On a work visit.

This is exactly the kind of thing the Institute has to keep track of: how many clones are here? Where did they come from?

It’s a tough job, but somebody had to do it. And Jack was that man.

Imagine how interesting he was down the pub the following night.

But Saturday was to be a personal visit. He’d only visited a brothel once before, about five years ago - more of a drunken student dare than anything else.

This time, he’d thought about it, thought of little else, in fact, for the past two weeks.

Ever since he’d seen his dream woman on the ‘menu’, he’d practically had an erection for the past 14 days, and it wasn’t going to go away until he did something about it.

He had the odd moment of doubt when logic popped by, and reminded him that this wasn’t actually his dream woman. But the brain in his trousers told logic to piss off, and that she is physically identical and to bloody well get on with it. In fact, said trouser-brain, the clone is better than reality right now, because, as with most of the stars in question, their clones at the Hollywood brothel are significantly younger than they are at present. More like they were in their prime.

Most disturbing to Jack, on his official visit, was the suggestion by Richards, that cloned, dead movie stars could soon be introduced. He’d apparently had hundreds of requests for several stars from the ‘Golden Age’ of movies.

  “Imagine being able to sleep with Marylin Monroe!” said Richards. “Not some pretty lookalike, but the Marylin Monroe.”

The best bit from his point of view was that certain of his clients were well-heeled enough to sponsor these requests. The cloning process isn’t cheap, nor the search for suitable DNA material. But the market is definitely there, and people like him are getting rich supplying it.

                                                                ***

  “So Jenny,” said the WPC, “Do you mind if I call you Jenny?”

  “No.”

  “Jenny….you see….the problem is, until we have proof that this little girl isn’t your daughter, we don’t have anything to investigate”

  “But Dr Jacobs said he didn’t think it was her.”

  “He told us that he suspects this isn’t the same little girl you took to see him last week. But you have here a little girl who matches exactly your own description of your daughter. So we can’t really start a search for a missing person. Do you see?”

  “I know but….”

  “But what the hell do you intend to do?” Alex blurted.

  “We intend, Miss…?”

  “Ms Foster.” said Alex

  “We intend, Ms Foster, to authorise a fast-track DNA test to help us identify this child. You don’t need to go back to Dr Jacobs. He has sufficient sample material at the surgery. The result should be with us tomorrow.”

Alex wasn’t happy with that. She had worked in a solicitor’s office and knew that the fast track DNA test was a process designed to compare two samples to see if they matched - used mainly to prove if a suspect had or hadn’t been at the scene of a crime. It was fine if the samples were identical, but told you little if they differed. The police were obviously trying to prove this is Elizabeth and fob Jenny off. But for now, she kept her mouth shut - for Jenny’s sake.

  “So,” said the WPC, “We’ll call you tomorrow when the result comes back and take it from there.”

  “Isn’t there anything else you can do?”

  “As I said Jenny, we can’t start searching for someone until we know they are definitely missing.”

  “But if this isn’t Elizabeth,” nodding at the toddler playing on the floor in front of them, “my Elizabeth could be anywhere. Anything could’ve happened to her.”

  “Look, if it will help, take some time this evening to think about your movements between your visits to the surgery last week. That will help if we have to take things further.”

  “When, not if.” said Alex.

  “We’ll see. Tomorrow.” said the WPC as she walked to her car.

  “Why won’t they do anything Alex?”

  “They can’t yet Jen’. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t.”

  “But I don’t know where to start.”

  “Let’s start with the minute you left Jacobs for the first time last week.”

They went back inside and sat down, Elizabeth laughing obliviously at the TV.

                                                                ***

Princess Leia had arrived back safely from an encounter on Tattooine with Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and the furry thing with the funny voice. She closed the door of her room behind her, undid the neck of her cape and let it fall to the floor around her feet.

The floor was unusually clean, the walls painted a nondescript shade of computer-case beige, with lots of souvenirs of previous adventures filling several shelves on two side walls. The room was randomly lit with odd candles and plasma lamps. There wasn’t much furniture, just a large bed with black silk sheets in the middle of the room.

The princess walked slowly forwards to the foot of the bed, sliding carefully onto the mattress on all fours.

Then she began to undo Jack’s zip.

He could not believe what was happening. This was all his teenage fantasies come true. Come to think of it, it was most of his adult fantasies come true as well. He was about to find out what was underneath that tight white outfit - for real.

And boy, could he feel the Force.

                                                                ***

At about 3am, Jack opened the door to his flat. He’d driven home at a snail’s pace, unable to focus his mind sufficiently to go any quicker without killing one of the other late-night revellers still wandering the streets. He flicked the kettle and TV on and slumped down into a chair, staring at the screen but not really caring what was on.

Within minutes he was asleep.

 

- 3 -

The next morning, Jack was rudely awakened by the now very appropriate Star Wars theme tune, which he’d downloaded onto his phone the day before, in honour of the occasion of his visit to Hollywood.

It didn’t quite rouse him completely, though, instead enhancing his dreams about the events of the night before. Only when Princess Leia leaned over him and said, “Jack, it’s Titch,” did he realise he was listening to his answering-machine.

  “Ring me please, it’s important.”

Click.

  “Bog off.” Jack managed, as he half-slid, half-fell out of the chair, onto his feet.

He shuffled into the kitchen, made himself a coffee and switched on his PC.

                                                                  ***

  “Yes, I understand. Thank you.”

Jenny put the receiver down and stared blankly in front of her.

  “What did they say?” enquired Alex.

  “They said…erm. They said the results showed a match with the sample registered when she was born.”

  “Mmm, thought they might.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Well, think about it. If this is Elizabeth, the samples will match. If it isn’t, then the only explanation I can think of is that she’s been cloned. Either way, the samples will be the same. There was no point doing the test.”

  “How the hell can anybody have cloned my baby?”

  “I don’t know Jen, but it doesn’t take much to get a sample - just a hair or something would be enough. Almost anyone who’s been in contact with Elizabeth could have done it. If I were you, I’d start with Jacobs. He’s my chief suspect.”

  “He wouldn’t do something like this.” she paused, “Why would he?”

  “I dunno. To prove he can?  Make another appointment to see him and we’ll see what we can find out.”

  “Shit. I’m so confused Alex. Is this my baby or not? If it isn’t, where the hell is she? If it is her, how do I know it is? Will I ever know? Just how easy is it to make a clone?”

  “Oh, God knows mate, but it’s being done virtually every day now isn’t it? You’ve seen all the stuff on the TV.”

  “Yes, but I thought it was all organised. Not something just anybody could do.”

  “Me too. But who knows? Technology gets into the wrong hands doesn’t it? Maybe it’s not as difficult as we think.”

  “Then we’ve got to assume that she…Elizabeth…is a clone. And trace my movements and work out who’s had the opportunity to get to her. And who could be capable of doing this.”

                                                                  ***

Jack’s inbox was full, as usual. He checked it virtually every day - sometimes two or three times. Most of it was junk. He’d built up a network of contacts here, there and everywhere. It practically guaranteed a dozen or so emails every day. Made him feel wanted.

One from Stick.

  “Where were you, you borin’ bastard?”

Short and to the point. Typical Stick.

But now, Jack would have to explain where he’d been on Saturday night. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell the truth just yet, so he replied straight away. It was easier to lie by email.

The door buzzer….buzzed.

  “Oh, not today, it’s Sunday.” Jack moaned.

Besides, he was still basking in the curious glow of the weirdest experience of his life, and he didn’t want a reality-check yet.

Bzzzzzzzzzz….

Jack was tempted to ignore it, but his car was parked outside and anyone that knew him also knew that he didn’t walk anywhere. And he had a conscience…of sorts. For all his faults, he was pretty much an open book and didn’t like deceiving people. Except by email.

So he shuffled to the intercom as slowly as he could without actually falling asleep, hoping that whoever it was would go away before he got there, and he could at least say he’d made the effort.

  “Hello?” he said gruffly, hoping to sound unwelcoming at best, ill or near death if possible.

  “Jack, it’s me, Titch.” said a crackly voice through a cheap speaker.

  “Shit!” he said out loud.

While his pulse accelerated like a cat with a firework up its arse, Jack cursed his own honesty, his ‘niceness’. He could’ve just ignored it.

  “Who?” he said in a pathetic attempt at amnesia.

  “Oh, come on Jack. How many ‘Titches’ do you know? Let me in, I need to talk to you.”

His niceness prevailed and he pressed the door button. He hadn’t a clue what was going on, but he was sure that the next hour would bring him down to earth pretty fast.

                                                                  ***

After a few minutes, there was a tap at the door. Jack quickly straightened his T-shirt, then checked his flies for anything embarrassing. He ran his fingers quickly back through his hair - immediately wishing he hadn’t - and opened the door nonchalantly.

Titch stood their looking sheepish.

She drew breath and quietly said, “Hi.”

Jack was a bit puzzled. First of all, he’d expected a tirade. From her tone on the answerphone, he thought he was in for an earbashing, although he couldn’t imagine why. Secondly, she was even prettier than he remembered. It was three years or more since he’d last seen her and she’d still been a student at heart. She seemed more grown-up now, more refined or something. She was simply-dressed, in jeans, T-shirt, black leather jacket and boots, but that simplicity only enhanced her features. She’d always had a good body.

  “In proportion.” Jack had once said, “For somebody under five feet tall. In heels.”

Pork pies went down better at bat mitzvahs than that remark had.

  “Come in.” he said. “Do you want a coffee or something?”

  “Please.”

Titch wandered in slowly and looked around to see how much had changed since her last visit.

Not a lot.

  “So how are you?” she said.

  “Erm. Fine. Fine…you?

  “Not bad.”

They were both suffering from ex-boyfriend/girlfriend awkwardness - exacerbated by three years not having spoken to each other. Actually, they’d never been a couple as such but, after years of being ‘mates’, they’d suddenly come over randy as rabbits and bonked each other silly for three months. And then it stopped as quickly as it had started. Jack had got paranoid about things getting serious and went cold all of a sudden. Titch had been upset. More at the loss of a friend than a lover - she could find another of those.

  “So what’s up?” Jack ventured, figuring he’d better get to the point.

  “Sorry?”

  “What’s up? You said you had something important to tell me.”

  “Oh. Yeah…erm. I don’t really know where to start.”

Jack just looked at Titch.

  “You want me to guess?”

  “You’d never guess anyway.”

  “Jack… do you remember that weekend we spent together at my flat just before we… you…left?”

  “Y e e e e ssssss” Jack confirmed slowly.

It was a good weekend. One of many. Sex with Titch was the best Jack had ever had, before or since - with the possible exception of last night’s escapade.

  “Well, I kept something of yours that weekend.”

  “Like what?”

  “Semen.” said Titch. “Your semen.”

As pregnant pauses went, this one was sextuplets. Jack froze. Like somebody had pressed the pause button. He could’ve sworn she just said ‘Semen’.

  “I’m sorry?”

It was his turn to look blank. Was he in the presence of a female pervert? He’d always been open minded, but keeping bodily fluids was pushing it a bit.

  “I kept some of your semen.” she said again.

Titch looked at Jack in the vague hope that it would all dawn on him and she wouldn’t have to explain it all.

Nope.

  “Er…why? How?”

  “Because I wanted a baby Jack. And I knew you didn’t. I wanted a baby whether or not we stayed together. I was fairly sure you’d freak at the thought, so I… I saved some.”

Jack was gobsmacked. He was normally proud of his laid-back attitude. Not much could shock him or get him flustered but, for once, he was stunned. He wanted to ask how on earth she’d done it, but if she was telling the truth it was the least of his worries.

  “Like I wouldn’t freak at the thought of you having a bottle of my sperm on your mantelpiece! So what are you telling me? That you want to have a ba…?”

Reality began to dawn before the last few words had left his mouth.

  “Fuck! You’ve already done it haven’t you?”

He’d been expecting a grilling from Titch, but probably just something he could brush off and forget. He had no ties to her. Nothing to worry about.

  “I saved some semen until the next day. Then I took it to the university and used it to fertilise one of my eggs. The embryo was frozen and kept, until I’d got a job and a better place to live. Then I had it implanted. She was born normally nine months later.”

Jack couldn’t believe that this was coming from Titch. That she’d been so organised, so calculated. So bloody devious. But she was right, he would’ve freaked at the thought of becoming a father. He had freaked, in fact, at nothing more than the possibility that she might want to get serious. To ‘settle down’, let alone have kids. The same cold sweat was crawling up the back of his neck and over his face.

  “So what now? Why are you telling me now?”

  “Because I need your help Jack.”

His heart sank. He didn’t think Titch would’ve trapped him into a situation like this and then come begging.

  “Titch, I don’t….I can’t…”

  “Relax, Jack, I don’t want money.”

Phew.

  “But something’s happened and I thought you might be able to help.”

                                                                  ***

Titch walked out of the lift feeling a little more optimistic than she had when she’d gone up earlier. Jack was going to help. She walked to the door of the foyer and the security desk where she had to sign out. She wrote the time by the side of her name. Titchmarsh.

Jenny Titchmarsh.

 

- 4 -



Stick didn’t like Mondays any more than Jack. That’s probably why they got on so well. They both had a relaxed approach to their work. They worked in different parts of the same building, but managed to see plenty of each other - coffee breaks, fag breaks etc.

Whereas Jack was involved in tracing and recording existing genetic experiments and clones, Stick worked in the New Applications department - where bona fide scientists would register their intentions before they went ahead. In theory.



Ideally, in the future, the two departments would merge, as the existing records simply reflected what had come through the New Applications department. But for now, the reality was far from that. ‘New Apps’ was a small team, with a naive, idealistic goal. The work they did was quite straightforward. Jack envied Stick his job. It was even easier than his, but far less interesting. Jack’s work took him to places like Hollywood.



Having said that, Stick got to find out what a lot of people wanted to do. Not all of the applications they received were approved, but most were. The difficulty in approving a new application was that, despite the increasing numbers of clones, it was still difficult to predict the effect of many of the experiments. Cloning applications were relatively straightforward.



                                                                  ***

Stick lit up a cigarette, took a drag and farted. Good job he was stood outside.



  “You dirty bastard!” said Stick, “You lucky bastard!”

Jack had just related the events of Saturday night. This morning’s fag-break was turning into an epic. And he hadn’t got around to Sunday morning yet. That would have to wait until lunch.



                                                                  ***



  “Come in Jenny, sit down.”

Dr Jacobs’ office was small and, Jenny thought, fairly spartan. Shouldn’t you have more to show for thirty years as a GP? Obviously not, but Jenny had always believed him to be professional and considerate, and his room had everything it needed and nothing it didn’t. Jacobs was an open-minded kind of bloke, not a fuddy-duddy like some of his peers who were set in their ways. That’s why Jenny trusted him, even now, when others - like Alex - might point the finger in his direction.



  “What can I do for you?” he began.

Jenny raised her eyebrows.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I can guess, but I have to ask - just in case you’re ill”

  “I need to know more about what you said last week, and why. What do you think has happened to Elizabeth.”

  “I really don’t know Jenny. I don’t know anything, I promise you.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I…I was puzzled when I saw Elizabeth. The cut on her leg had gone. I can normally see a trace of something, but there was nothing. And she didn’t seem…she just didn’t seem the same. The same little girl.”

  “What do you know about cloning?”

  “Cloning? Well, that depends. A lot more than the man-in-the-street perhaps, but not as much as others in this profession.”

  “So what are the chances that Elizabeth has been cloned?”

He took a deep breath.

  “God, Jenny, I don’t know.” he sighed. “It’s possible, but I can’t see why anyone would want to.”



Jenny braced herself. She didn’t like confronting people, particularly people she trusted. But she had no choice.



  “Some people would say you had the best opportunity.”



It had crossed his mind that she might ask him this, but he’d dismissed it quickly because he couldn’t think of a good answer.



  “Yes, I suppose they would Jenny….but I didn’t. What can I say?”

  “You can help me. You can help me find out.”

  “How? Where do we start?”

  “What about the hospital?”

  “The hospital?”

  “Yes. You provided samples for a DNA test didn’t you ?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “So who else has access to those samples? Where are they kept?”

  “Well. Yes. They’re kept at the hospital. Every child born there has a few samples taken and stored. It’s the law now. We have to have a sample of everyone’s DNA.”

  “So, who has access to them?”

  “Well, erm, they’re locked away, and you have to get permission to get at them. But I suppose anyone at the hospital could if they wanted to. Mind you, if someone was going to misuse them, they wouldn’t go through the normal channels and put their name to it would they?”

  “So, if someone got a sample, how long could they keep it for until they used it?”

  “Indefinitely. If they kept it in a freezer.”

  “Hmmm. And they keep records of who’s been in there?”

  “Yes, but like I say…”

  “How easy is it to see them? Can you get hold of them?”

  “I don’t know. They must be on the network at the hospital.”

  “I need to see them. I need to see who’s been in there since Elizabeth was born.”

  “And you want me to get that information?”

  “Yes. You said you’d help. It’s the only place to start.”

  “I don’t know where to look.”

  “But you’ll try for me won’t you?”



                                                                  ***



Alex wasn’t happy at being made to sit in the waiting room. She’d even claimed to be Jenny’s sister to try to get into the surgery with her but the receptionist wouldn’t have it. So she’d spent the last ten minutes flicking through a well-thumbed copy of FHM, looking at photos of the world’s most bizarre deaths.



  “Good job they’re dead.” she thought. “They’d never have lived it down.”



  “Right. Are we off?” said Jenny from the doorway.

  “Ooh! Jeez, Jenny, I was miles away.”

  “I can see that. Come on.”



They wandered outside into the rain and headed for the car.



  “And?” said Alex when they got in.

  “And….I think we’re getting somewhere. Slowly.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I don’t think he’s got anything to do with it Alex, I really don’t. I know he could have, but I don’t think he would.”

  “OK, but is he going to help?”

  “Yeah, I think so. As much as he can.”



                                                                  ***