he asked. “About a case,” I said emphatically. “I'll be back in two hours, and then you can clear off home.” He didn't appear any happier but there was nothing he could do because, when it came down to it, I was his boss. Not that I'd ever pull rank, but with Rivron I knew I wouldn't have to. I patted him on the shoulder on the way out. The bar in which I'd arranged to meet Rick Muir was a fake Olde English pub, lots of plastic beams, a dartboard, warm beer and chicken in a basket. It was run by a couple of homosexual expatriates whose camp act seemed to be every bit as fake as the decor. Rick was an expatriate, too, but his libido was heavily on the side of heterosexuality which I always reckoned was his main reason for moving to the West Coast. He spent more time prowling the beaches for babes than he did in his lab, but he put out enough papers to justify his grants and was climbing pretty quickly through the academic hierarchy.
