‘Why not?’ ‘Because I'm not a geneticist.’ Viktor squeezed the back of his neck, but no amount of massaging could get rid of his headache. ‘Where are you now?’ he asked the PI. ‘Westend Hospital. I know a guy who works in one of the labs. I had to sneak out into the corridor to call you because I'm not supposed to use my phone. They reckon it interferes with the equipment.’ ‘Standard hospital policy. You'd better be quick.’ ‘Here's the deal. This mate of mine is a biochemist. I talked him into running some tests in his lunch break. I gave him a phial of blood from your bathroom – although I probably could have given him a vat.’ ‘Just tell me the results.’ ‘Like I said, it came from a woman, older than nine and younger than fifty – but probably a whole lot younger than fifty.’ ‘Josy was twelve when she went missing.’ ‘It wasn't her blood.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘It was fresh – a couple of days old; three at the outside. Josy has been missing for over four years.’ ‘I'm aware of that, thank you,’ snapped Viktor, opening the kitchen door slightly and peering through the crack.
