Cover-Up Story by Marian Babson Page A

situation.
    â€˜Checking the hospitals,’ Uncle No’ccount said. ‘Been gone a coupla hours now. Seems like there’s an awful lot of hospitals in London.’
    There were quite a few morgues, too, but it wasn’t a thought to voice aloud. Uncle No’ccount nodded at me glumly, as though he had caught the vibrations of that thought. ‘Don’t seem like good sense to go rushing around like a hen with its head cut off. We can’t tell which ones he’s been to until he gets back to tell us. Then maybe you can think of some others we might try. Not the police, though.’ His voice was firm. ‘Not yet.’
    It was the other half of Public Relations. There are things to be seized upon and publicized for more than they’re worth. And there are things to be hushed up – usually the things that would get you the most publicity, but the wrong kind. A few police inquiries here and there, and the story of the Client’s private predilections might be discovered. So, the police were out.
    And if some frightened, bewildered lady were roaming around an unknown city with a case of amnesia, well, that was just too bad – for her. She’d just have to continue roaming around, until she either remembered at last or until one of us caught up with her and told her. The Client must be protected.
    Meanwhile, the Client was glaring down into the street with a burning intensity. Willing Maw Cooney to come back to the bosom of her loving Troupe? Somehow, I doubted it. I moved up behind him and followed the direction of his eyes.
    The attraction was instantly obvious. They stood waiting at the bus stop, twittering together, in the shortest mini-skirts I’d seen in months. Not birds, fledgelings definitely. Out of school uniform for the afternoon, probably. Not much older than thirteen.
    The Client exhaled a deep breath. ‘Man,’ he said softly, ‘ain’t they something?’
    That was when the policeman knocked on the door.
    He was a very young constable. He moved into the room, looking very unhappy. Perhaps the Police School had warned him there’d be days like this. Someone ought to ask him for directions to put him at his ease, but I wasn’t up to it. He saw Lou-Ann’s red-rimmed eyes and the pile of soiled Kleenex at her feet, and retreated half a pace. He seemed to be wishing they’d handed him a simple assignment, like straightening out a three-mile traffic snarl-up at Hyde Park Corner.
    Lou-Ann rose to her feet and advanced upon him. ‘Maw?’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘You’ve come about Maw?’ Crystal moved with her, and Uncle No’ccount came forward swiftly.
    The constable winced, but stood firm as they approached. He’d be worth his weight in riot duty some day. Trying to by-pass the women, he spoke across them to Uncle No’ccount.
    â€˜I’m terribly sorry. Perhaps I could speak to you in private, sir.’
    â€˜She’s my mother,’ Lou-Ann challenged him. ‘Tell me. ‘Where is she? Is she all right? Does she have amnesia –’
    It was obviously worse than the constable had thought it was going to be. Too much showed in his face. Lou-Ann didn’t miss any of it.
    â€˜She’s hurt!’ she shrieked. ‘What happened? Where is she? Let me go to her!’
    â€˜Take it easy, honey.’ Crystal put an arm around her. Uncle No’ccount glanced, with some pity, at the young constable. Bart still looked out of the window, indifferent to the scene in the room. Yet he was listening.
    â€˜She’s in Charing Cross Hospital.’ Perhaps they have a formula for these things. If so, the young constable had forgotten it. He blurted out the information. ‘It was a traffic accident. On the Embankment. Yesterday afternoon.’
    â€˜Yesterday afternoon! But –’
    â€˜There was no identification,’ he defended. ‘We weren’t able to trace