her.’
‘Perhaps I should.’
They went down to the arrest suite. The alcoholic had dozed off on his bunk but was shaking under his blankets.
‘Who’s that poor devil?’ said the police doctor.
‘Alcoholic, third-timer.’
‘Why don’t you give him a bottle from the confiscation store?’
‘It’s against regulations.’
‘There are no regulations any more, Jensen. And this man’s freezing.’
They moved on to the cell where the dead woman was, openedthe steel-barred door and went in. The police doctor gave her a cursory look and ran the tip of his index finger along the skin of her stomach.
‘The epidemic?’ Jensen asked curiously.
‘Yes. The illness. She died of it. Look how the skin’s almost transparent. The genitals unnaturally swollen.’
‘What’s the illness called?’
‘I don’t know.’
He paused and then said:
‘It’s a new invention.’
‘Is there a cure?’
‘No. If you’d taken a blood sample from her just before she died, it would have looked like cream.’
‘Is there a vaccine?’
‘No.’
‘Aren’t you afraid of catching it?’
‘No.’
The police doctor looked gravely at Jensen.
‘This illness isn’t infectious,’ he said.
CHAPTER 18
The man on the sofa shifted uneasily and opened his eyes. Thirty-five minutes had elapsed since the police doctor had climbed into the jeep and driven off. Jensen pulled his chair up closer and caught the man’s uncomprehending eye.
‘You’re at the main station in the Sixteenth District. My name’s Jensen.’
He made a move to get his ID badge from his breast pocket, but stopped himself and let his hand fall back. Instead he said:
‘Do you want something to drink?’
The invalid nodded, moistening his lips with his tongue.
‘Yes please.’
His voice was clear and youthful.
‘Your friend brought you here. He’ll be back later. Are you in pain?’
The man shook his head. Jensen opened one of the bottles of fizzy drink and poured it into a plastic cup. The man took it and drank. His hands shook.
‘Have you always been disabled?’
‘What? Oh, that. No, not at all.’
‘How long?’
‘I don’t really know. What day is it? Today, I mean.’
‘Wednesday the fourth of December.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s cold here.’
Jensen went for another blanket. Spread it over the man.
‘Does that feel any better?’
‘Yes, thanks. What was it you were asking?’
‘What have you been through?’
‘It’s a long story. You know what’s happened as well as I do.’
‘No.’
The invalid gave him a curious look and said:
‘Who are you, anyway?’
Jensen took out his service badge.
‘Police. Inspector Jensen. Sixteenth District.’
‘I hate the police.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘How can someone like you ask that? What are you planning to do with me?’
‘Nothing. Look after you until your friend comes back.’
The man on the sofa seemed as confused as ever.
‘Fourth of December,’ he said to himself. ‘So it’s been more than a month.’
‘Since what?’
‘Since the second of November.’
‘What happened on the second of November?’
‘Don’t you remember? Are you mad?’
‘I wasn’t here. I didn’t come until the day before yesterday.’
‘I don’t believe you. You’re trying to trick me.’
The man turned his head away, lay with his face to the back of the sofa.
‘What am I trying to trick you into?’ asked Jensen.
The other man gave no reply and Jensen did not repeat his question. Outside, the rain had turned to snow. Big, wet snow-flakes plastered themselves against the windowpanes. At length, the man on the sofa said:
‘You’re right, of course. What could you trick me into?’
Renewed silence.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘I’m trying to find out what’s happened.’
‘I can only say what happened to me personally.’
After a brief pause he added:
‘And to some people I know.’
Jensen was silent for a while. Then he said:
‘You know the police
‘Perhaps I should.’
They went down to the arrest suite. The alcoholic had dozed off on his bunk but was shaking under his blankets.
‘Who’s that poor devil?’ said the police doctor.
‘Alcoholic, third-timer.’
‘Why don’t you give him a bottle from the confiscation store?’
‘It’s against regulations.’
‘There are no regulations any more, Jensen. And this man’s freezing.’
They moved on to the cell where the dead woman was, openedthe steel-barred door and went in. The police doctor gave her a cursory look and ran the tip of his index finger along the skin of her stomach.
‘The epidemic?’ Jensen asked curiously.
‘Yes. The illness. She died of it. Look how the skin’s almost transparent. The genitals unnaturally swollen.’
‘What’s the illness called?’
‘I don’t know.’
He paused and then said:
‘It’s a new invention.’
‘Is there a cure?’
‘No. If you’d taken a blood sample from her just before she died, it would have looked like cream.’
‘Is there a vaccine?’
‘No.’
‘Aren’t you afraid of catching it?’
‘No.’
The police doctor looked gravely at Jensen.
‘This illness isn’t infectious,’ he said.
CHAPTER 18
The man on the sofa shifted uneasily and opened his eyes. Thirty-five minutes had elapsed since the police doctor had climbed into the jeep and driven off. Jensen pulled his chair up closer and caught the man’s uncomprehending eye.
‘You’re at the main station in the Sixteenth District. My name’s Jensen.’
He made a move to get his ID badge from his breast pocket, but stopped himself and let his hand fall back. Instead he said:
‘Do you want something to drink?’
The invalid nodded, moistening his lips with his tongue.
‘Yes please.’
His voice was clear and youthful.
‘Your friend brought you here. He’ll be back later. Are you in pain?’
The man shook his head. Jensen opened one of the bottles of fizzy drink and poured it into a plastic cup. The man took it and drank. His hands shook.
‘Have you always been disabled?’
‘What? Oh, that. No, not at all.’
‘How long?’
‘I don’t really know. What day is it? Today, I mean.’
‘Wednesday the fourth of December.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s cold here.’
Jensen went for another blanket. Spread it over the man.
‘Does that feel any better?’
‘Yes, thanks. What was it you were asking?’
‘What have you been through?’
‘It’s a long story. You know what’s happened as well as I do.’
‘No.’
The invalid gave him a curious look and said:
‘Who are you, anyway?’
Jensen took out his service badge.
‘Police. Inspector Jensen. Sixteenth District.’
‘I hate the police.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘How can someone like you ask that? What are you planning to do with me?’
‘Nothing. Look after you until your friend comes back.’
The man on the sofa seemed as confused as ever.
‘Fourth of December,’ he said to himself. ‘So it’s been more than a month.’
‘Since what?’
‘Since the second of November.’
‘What happened on the second of November?’
‘Don’t you remember? Are you mad?’
‘I wasn’t here. I didn’t come until the day before yesterday.’
‘I don’t believe you. You’re trying to trick me.’
The man turned his head away, lay with his face to the back of the sofa.
‘What am I trying to trick you into?’ asked Jensen.
The other man gave no reply and Jensen did not repeat his question. Outside, the rain had turned to snow. Big, wet snow-flakes plastered themselves against the windowpanes. At length, the man on the sofa said:
‘You’re right, of course. What could you trick me into?’
Renewed silence.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘I’m trying to find out what’s happened.’
‘I can only say what happened to me personally.’
After a brief pause he added:
‘And to some people I know.’
Jensen was silent for a while. Then he said:
‘You know the police
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