In the lab, one egg from Alexis would be stripped down to its nucleus and loaded into a micropipette one tenth the thickness of a human hair. Then one of Chriss eggs would be injected with Alexiss nucleus and hopefully the chromosomes would get it on and make a baby. This nuclear fusion was a lot less immediately spectacular than nuclear fission, but its implications for the human race were probably bigger. It was obvious why the doctor had chosen to use an alias.
I couldnt help wondering what would happen when men found out what was going on. If there was one thing that was certain, it was that sooner or later the world was going to know about this. It didnt seem possible that Helen Maitland was the only one who had worked out the practical means of making men redundant. I had this niggling feeling that all over California, women were Making babies with women and doctors with fewer scruples than Helen Maitland were making a lot of money.
That was another thing that had become clear from Alexiss story. In spite of their desperation, Helen Maitland wasnt bleeding her patients dry. The prescriptions were expensive, but there was nothing she could do about that. However, her fees for the rest of the treatment seemed remarkably cheap. She was charging less per hour than I do. If the medical establishment had found out about that, shed have been struck off a lot faster for undercharging than she ever would have been for experimenting on humans.
There was no other word for it. What she had been doing was an experiment, with all the attendant dangers. I didnt know enough about embryology to know what could go wrong, but I was damn sure that all the normal genetic risks a foetus faced would be multiplied by such an unorthodox beginning. If Id been the praying sort, Id have been lighting enough candles to floodlight Old Trafford on the off chance it would give Chris a better chance of bearing a healthy, normal daughter. Being the practical sort, the best thing I could do would be to find Helen Maitlands killer before the investigation led to my friends. Or worse. I couldnt rule out the possibility that someone had killed Helen Maitland because theyd discovered what she was doing and decided she had to die. Anyone with so fundamental a set of beliefs wasnt going to stop at seeing off the doctor who had set these pregnancies in motion. There was a lot to do, and the trouble was, I didnt really know where to start. All I had was an alias and a consulting room that I hadnt been able to get near.
I finished my drink and stared moodily at the dirty grey water of the canal. The city has screwed so much inner-city renewal money out of Europe that the banks of our canals are smarter than Venice these days. The water doesnt stink either. In spite of that, I figured Id be waiting a long time before I saw a gondola pass. Probably about as long as it would take me to raise the money to buy Bill out of the partnership.
I couldnt bear the idea of just throwing in the towel, though. Id worked bloody hard for my share of the business, and Id learned a few devious tricks along the way. Surely I could think of something to get myself off the hook? Even if I could persuade the bank to lend me the money, working solo I could never generate enough money to pay off the loan and employ Shelley, never mind the nonessentials like eating and keeping a roof over my head. The obvious answer was to find a way to generate more profit. I knew I couldnt work any harder, but maybe I could do what Bill had done and employ someone young, keen and cheap. The only problem was where and how to find a junior Brannigan. I could imagine the assorted maniacs and nerds who would answer a small ad in the Chronicle. Being a private eye is a bit like being a politician wanting the job should be an automatic disqualification for getting it. I mean, what kind of person admits they want to spend their time spying on other people, lying about their identity, taking liberties with the law, risking life and limb in the pursuit of profit, and never getting enough sleep? I didnt have time to follow the path of my own apprenticeship Id met Bill when I was a penniless law student and he was having a fling with one of the women I shared a house with. He needed someone to serve injunctions and bankruptcy petitions, and I needed a flexible and profitable part-time job. It took me a year to realize that I liked the people I spent my time with when I was working for Bill a lot better than I liked lawyers.
I walked out of Metz and set off across town to where Id parked my car. On my way through Chinatown, I popped into one of the supermarkets and picked up some dried mushrooms, five spice powder and a big bottle of soy sauce. There were prawns and char siu pork in the fridge already and Id stop off to buy some fresh vegetables later. I couldnt think of a better way to deal with my frustrations than chopping and slicing the ingredients for hot and sour soup and sing chow vermicelli.
At the till, the elderly Chinese woman on the cash register gave me a fortune cookie to sample as part of a promotion they were running. Out on the street, I broke it open, throwing the shell into the gutter for the pigeons. I straightened out the slip of paper and read it. It was hard not to believe it was an omen. Sometimes, beggars can be choosers, it said.
Chapter 8
As my car rolled to a halt outside Debbie and Denniss house on a modern suburban estate, the curtains started to twitch the length of the close. Before I could get out of the car and ring the bell, the front door was open and Debbie was coming down the drive of their detached home with gleaming blonde head held high for the benefit of the neighbours. She looked like a recently retired supermodel slumming it for the day. The dignified impression was only slightly diminished by the tiny stride imposed by the tightness of her skirt and the height of her heels. Debbie folded herself into the passenger seat of my car, her long legs gleaming with Lycra, and said, Nosy so-and-sos. Did you see them nets? Up and down like a brides nightie. Imagine having nothing better to do all day than spy on everybody else. That Neighbourhood Watch scheme is just a licence to poke your nose into other peoples business, if you ask me. Sad bastards.
How you doing, Debbie? I asked in the first pause in the tirade.
She sighed. You dont want to know, Kate.
She wasnt wrong. Id had a brief taste of seeing the man I loved behind bars, and that had been enough for me to realize how hellish it must be to lose them to prison for months or years. You know you can always talk to me, Debbie, I lied.
I know, but it does my head in just thinking about it. Talking about itd only make it worse. Debbie flicked open the cover of the cars ashtray with a manicured nail. Seeing it was clean and empty, she closed it again and breathed out heavily through her nose.
Its OK to smoke if you dont mind having the window open, I told her.
She took a pack of Dunhills out of a handbag that I knew wasnt Chanel in spite of the distinctive gilt double C on the clasp. I knew it wasnt Chanel because I had an identical one in the same burgundy leather-look plastic. It had been a passing gift from Dennis about a year before, when hed come by a vanload of counterfeit designer accessories. It had been good gear; Richard was still using the Cerruti wallet. She managed to light up without smudging her perfect lipstick, then said, I flaming hate seeing him in there. I really appreciate you coming today. Itll do him good to see you. He always asks Christie if shes seen you and how youre doing.
From anyone other than Debbie, that would have been a deliberate crack, a sideswipe aimed at triggering a major guilt trip. But given that her IQ and her dress size are near neighbours, I knew shed meant exactly what she said, no more and no less. It didnt make any difference to me; I still got the stab of guilt. In the seven weeks Dennis had been inside, Id only got along to see him once so far, and that had been the week after he went down. Sure, Id been stretched at work, with Bill clearing his desk before Australia. But that was only half the story. Like Debbie, I hated seeing Dennis inside Strangeways. Unlike her, nobody was going to give me a bad time for not visiting him every week. Nobody except me.
Im sorry Ive not managed more often, I said lamely.
Dont worry about it, love, Debbie said. If I didnt have to go, you wouldnt catch me within a hundred miles of the place.
I refrained from pointing out she lived only half a dozen miles from the red-brick prison walls; I like Debbie too much. Hows he doing?
Not so bad now. You know how he is about drugs? Well, theyve just opened this drug-free unit where you can get away from all the junkies and the dealers and hes got on it. The deal is if you stay away from drugs you get unlimited access to the gym. And if you work out daily, you get extra rations. So hes spending a lot of time on the weights. Plus the other blokes on this drug-free wing are mostly older like him, so its not like being stuck on a wing with a load of drugged-up idiots. Debbie sighed. He just hates being banged up. You know he cant be doing with anybody keeping tabs on him.
I knew only too well. It was one of the things that united the two of us, superficially so different, but underneath disturbingly similar. And time passes a lot faster on the outside than it does behind those walls, I said, half to myself.
Dont you believe it, Debbie said bitterly.
In silence, I navigated my way through the city centre, catching every red light on Deansgate before we passed the new Nynex arena. Its an impressive sight, towering over the substantial nineteenth-century edifice of Victoria Station. Unfortunately but predictably, it opened to a chorus of problems, the main one being that the seats are so steeply raked that people sitting in the top tiers have had to leave because they were suffering from vertigo.