The Secret (Dr Steven Dunbar 10) by Ken McClure

didn’t go in,’ said Steven, conscious of how implausible it sounded in the circumstances.
    ‘Pathetic,’ snorted the one remaining officer who had sat throughout with a sneer on his face. He got to his feet and leaned across the table, his face close enough for Steven to smell the tobacco on his breath. ‘Of course you went in and when Dr Lagarde rejected your advances, you had your way with her anyway. Then you strangled her and left her like a piece of trash you’d finished with.’
    Steven kept calm but he was struggling. ‘Are you telling me that Aline Lagarde was raped?’ he asked.
    ‘Are you pretending she wasn’t?’ retorted Le Grice.
    ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Steven angrily. ‘This the first time I’ve heard it mentioned.’
    ‘You’re angry, doctor.’
    ‘Damn right I’m angry. I didn’t know Aline Lagarde well but from what I saw I liked and respected her. She, like my friend Dr Ricard, was doing an incredibly difficult job – one that I couldn’t do – for very little in the way of thanks or reward and she ends up being raped and strangled in the heart of the “civilised” world and the best you and your bozos can do is question me about it.’
    Le Grice turned to his colleagues. ‘Leave us.’
    This was something Steven hadn’t expected.
    Le Grice offe red Steven a cigarette which Steven declined, then lit one himself, drawing on it deeply before exhaling and making sure the smoke went upwards by protruding his lower lip. At least we’ve avoided that little cliché, thought Steven.
    ‘Dr Lagarde wasn’t raped,’ Le Grice said matter-of-factly.
    ‘Then what the hell was that all about?’
    ‘She wasn’t robbed . . . and she wasn’t strangled.’
    Steven’s eyes opened wide. ‘Are you telling me that she’s still alive?’ he exclaimed.
    ‘Unfortunately not. She’s dead, shot through the back of the head with a nine millimetre pistol. Her money and her passport were still in the room and there were no signs of sexual assault.’
    ‘A professional hit?’
    ‘All the signs,’ agreed Le Grice.
    Steven took a few moments to come to terms with the information before asking, ‘Why all the play-acting?’
    ‘We couldn’t imagine Dr Lagarde coming across too many hit men in her line of work but, by some strange coincidence, she was about to have dinner with a man who might conceivably fit the bill . . .’
    Steven screwed up his eyes for a moment, reluctantly accepting the logic. ‘I’m hardly that,’ he said softly.
    ‘A Sci-Med investigator with a military past including service with British Special Forces.’
    ‘I had nothing to do with Aline’s death.’
    ‘No, I know you didn’t,’ said Le Grice, ‘but I had to be sure. You had nothing to do with Dr Ricard’s death either; we checked you weren’t in Prague at the time of the “accident”. Any idea what’s going on?’
    ‘None at all.’
    ‘What’s Sci-Med’s interest?’
    ‘It’s personal,’ said Steven, ‘not official. Simone Ricard was my friend. I felt I owed it to her to make sure her death was accidental. I thought it was and now this happens . . .’
    Le Grice smiled distantly. ‘Dr Ricard was French but her death is being regarded by the Czech police as an accident so there is no call for us to become involved. Dr Lagarde’s death is quite another matter. We will continue to investigate her murder using all means at our disposal, although the involvement of a professional assassin will . . . complicate things.’
    Steven nodded his agreement.
    ‘If, however, you intend to maintain your interest, perhaps we might exchange notes . . . cooperate on our findings?’
    ‘Of course,’ said Steven, ‘although to be honest I don’t quite know where to start.’
    ‘Then we are as one already,’ said Le Grice, getting up. He offered his hand then gave Steven his card. ‘You’re free to go, doctor.’
    The air tasted sweet: freedom did have a taste, Steven decided as once again he headed