Murder of a Dead Man by Katherine John Page B

satisfied.’
    ‘Can we run something by you?’
    ‘As long as it’s in my office over coffee. I’ve been on my feet all night.’
    ‘Nothing for me, thanks.’ Trevor had been served Patrick’s specimen beaker coffee before. No matter how many times Patrick and his assistants assured him that a few beakers were kept just for coffee, he couldn’t bring himself to drink it.
    ‘Dan?’
    ‘Nothing for me either, thanks.’
    ‘Just one,’ Patrick called to his assistant before slumping in the chair behind his desk.
    ‘You heard of face transplants?’ Dan asked.
    ‘Force keeping up with the latest plastic surgery developments?’
    ‘Only since our victim’s been identified as a dead man.’
    ‘That’s interesting.’
    ‘Did you notice any signs of surgery on the face?’
    ‘You saw what was left. I’ve showed you what I’ve got. I’m not a miracle worker.’
    ‘But face transplants are possible?’
    ‘Oh yes.’
    ‘In America?’
    ‘Here.’
    ‘London?’
    ‘Here,’ Patrick repeated. ‘In the Burns Unit.’
    ‘In the General?’
    ‘Area burns unit was re-located here two weeks ago. Don’t you read the papers? There was an official opening. Royalty…’
    ‘And they’ve carried out face transplants?’ Dan leaned towards Patrick.
    ‘I had a drink with the chap in charge the other night. Nice fellow. We talked procedures for harvesting material from donors. He wanted to know if I’d be interested in acting as standby physician to carry them out. He’s only done two so far, but from a physical point of view they’ve been spectacularly successful.’
    ‘He’s done them here?’
    Patrick shook his head. ‘Private hospital, Germany. Both women. One born with malformations, the other a burns victim.’
    ‘And the press hasn’t reported them.’
    ‘Apart from a few general articles the press has been kept in the dark about the programme. I mentioned both transplants were physically successful, mentally is another matter. Both recipients have had psychological problems in adapting to their new image.’
    ‘I can understand that,’ Trevor said. ‘Must be quite a shock to look in the mirror and see another face.’
    ‘You sure there’s been no case of a male face transplant here?’ Dan pressed.
    ‘I didn’t know anything except what had been printed in the press until last week. You’d be better off speaking to the chap in charge of the Burns Unit.
    It’s easy to find. It cost forty million to build, and thirty-six of those went on the foyer.’
    ‘What’s his name?’
    ‘Mark Addison. But he flew out to a conference in Key West this morning. His assistant should be around. Dr Randall.’ He glanced at Trevor. ‘She’s familiar with the procedures involved. Before she came here she assisted the chap who pioneered them. The first operations were carried out in a leper colony in Africa. Good place to try out experimental medical techniques.’
    ‘No one with money enough to sue when things go wrong.’
    ‘You’ve got it in one, Trevor.’

CHAPTER FIVE
    ‘Mr Marks will see you now, Sergeant Collins, Sergeant Bradley.’ Miss Wilkinson, Brian Marks’s middle-aged secretary picked up their empty coffee cups from the impersonal cream and brown solicitor’s waiting room. ‘But he is giving you what is left of his lunch hour. He has an appointment with a client in fifteen minutes. If you had telephoned we could have arranged a more suitable time.’
    ‘Fifteen minutes will be more than sufficient,’
    Anna interrupted, wary of Peter cutting in with something that would upset the woman.
    Brian Marks was a tall, balding and surprisingly handsome man in his late sixties. He left his desk and ushered them to comfortable chairs set around a coffee table in front of a window overlooking a park. His office was high-ceilinged and oak-panelled and it housed an enormous desk as well as the coffee table and chairs and was lined with bookshelves that complemented the panelling. They held the