Ken McClure - Trauma

“I’ve seen him on television,” she said. “He’s a junior minister in the Scottish Office.”

Lafferty nodded but didn’t say anything. He was wondering if the presence of the newcomer answered his earlier questions. He could see that Tyndall had recovered all his old self-confidence as he engaged the government man in conversation. “Tyndall doesn’t know we’re alive,” he said.

“The bastard,” spat Sarah.

“It may turn out to be our word against his,” said Lafferty, voicing his fears about lack of evidence.

“He is not going to get away with it,” said Sarah resolutely. “Even if it means sifting through the ashes of that building and checking dental records for the next year to establish the identity of the patients.”

Lafferty did not reply immediately. He was thinking about the obstacles that would be put in their way and the almost certain lack of cooperation they could expect from the authorities. He became aware that Sarah was waiting for him to say something. “Are you with me?” she asked.

Lafferty looked at her and smiled. “I’m with you, Sarah.”