"I agree, and I'm not looking forward to when he's done. You'd better pour me one of those, too."

Twenty minutes later, Quinn came back into the room. His face was very pale and the right hand shook slightly as he raised the file.

"Can I keep this?"

"Of course," Ferguson said.

Quinn said, "Right, I'll go along to the mortuary now. I'll need to identify her."

"Then drink this." Dillon poured another Bushmills. "Get it down. You're going to need it. In fact, I'll come with you."

"That's kind of you." Quinn turned to Hannah. "What about the inquest?"

"It's tomorrow morning. We managed to get them to bring it forward."

"Good. The sooner the better." He drank the Bushmills and said to Dillon, "Let's get it done."

Rupert had sat patiently in his Mercedes just down the street from the apartment. Finally, Quinn and Dillon came out, got into the limousine, and were driven away.

"Dillon," Rupert said softly, "now, that's interesting." A moment later, he was following them.

The mortuary was the sort of aging building that, from the outside, looked more like a warehouse than anything else. Inside, it was different. There was a pleasant reception area, well decorated with fitted carpets. A young woman at a desk looked up and smiled.

"Can I help you?"

"My name is Quinn. I believe you have my daughter here?"

She stopped smiling. "Oh, I'm so sorry. We had a call a short while ago saying you were coming to identify the body. I've notified the local police station. It's only five minutes away."

"Thank you."

"And I've notified Professor George Langley. He's our regular forensic pathologist, and fortunately he's in the building right now. I thought you'd want to speak with him."

"Thank you. We'll wait."

He and Dillon sat down, but only moments later, a small gray-haired, energetic man entered. The girl whispered and he came over.

"George Langley."

"Daniel Quinn, and this is Sean Dillon, a friend."

"You have my deepest sympathy."

"May I see my daughter?"

"Of course." He said to the woman, "Send in the police officer when he arrives."

The room into which he led them was walled with white tiles, with fluorescent lighting and a line of modern-looking steel operating tables. Two bodies were covered with some sort of white rubber sheets.

"Are you ready?" Langley asked.

"As I ever will be."

Helen Quinn looked very calm, her eyes closed. A kind of plastic hood was on her head and a little blood seeped through. Quinn leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

"Thank you."

Langley replaced the sheet and Quinn said, "I've seen your report to the coroner. The alcohol, the drug? There's absolutely no doubt?"

"I'm afraid not."

"It's so unlike her. That's just not the girl I knew."

"That's sometimes the way of it," Langley said gently.

"And the boy? Is that him?" He nodded to the other body. "I didn't even know he existed."

"Well, yes, that is Alan Grant." Langley hesitated, then said, "I shouldn't do this, but it's an unusual business."

He lifted the sheet and Quinn looked down at Grant, who seemed even younger in death. "Thank you." Langley replaced the sheet. "And do you think he committed suicide, the way the police are hinting?"

"I only deal in certainties, sir. He had consumed a vast amount of vodka, but there was no trace of Ecstasy. No sign of any kind of bruising. Did he fall by accident off that wharf, did he jump? I can't help you there."

There was a knock at the door and a uniformed police officer appeared. "Ah, there you are, Professor."

The Sergeant had a form on a clipboard. "I regret the circ.u.mstances, Senator, but would you please formally identify the deceased?"

"She is my daughter, Helen Quinn."

"Thank you, sir. If you'd sign the form," and he nodded to Dillon. "Perhaps you'd be kind enough to witness it."

They did as they were asked and he withdrew. Langley said, "I'll see you at the inquest."

"Of course. Many thanks," and Quinn led the way out.

They got in the Mercedes, and as Luke drove away, Dillon said, "A h.e.l.l of a business."

Quinn said, "We'll drop you off," then leaned back and closed his eyes.

And Dauncey followed.

11.

QUINN ARRIVED AT THE CORONER'S COURT AT TEN THE following morning. There were few people about, the odd police officer pa.s.sing through. A young man was sitting on one of the benches, wearing a trench coat, a traveling bag on the floor beside him. He looked tired and unshaven.

Quinn shook a cigarette from a packet of Marlboros and lit it. The young man seemed to wince. Quinn held out the pack. "Can I offer you one?"

"I'm supposed to have stopped, but what the h.e.l.l." He took a cigarette, fingers shaking, and accepted the light. "I'm knackered. I just flew in from Berlin and there was a delay at Templehof. You know what airports can be like when you're sitting around for four or five hours. I thought I'd miss the hearing."

And Quinn, having gone through Hannah Bernstein's file several times now, knew instinctively who he was.

"Is your name Grant?"

"That's right, Fergus Grant."

"Alan Grant's brother."

Grant looked bewildered. "Who are you?"

"Daniel Quinn. Helen Quinn's father."

Grant looked dismayed. "Oh, my G.o.d. Look, I know almost nothing about any of this, except that they're both dead. The police spoke to me by phone and just gave me the bare facts. That he was found drowned, that his girlfriend was dead. I never even knew he had a relationship."

"And I didn't know she did. What about your parents?"

"My old man cleared off when I was twelve and Mum died of cancer five years ago."

"I'm sorry."

Grant shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette. "They've told me hardly anything."

"Well, this inquest should cover it all." At that moment, Hannah Bernstein came in, followed by Ferguson and Dillon, and Quinn said to Grant, "Excuse me," and joined them.

"The man I've been talking to is young Grant's brother, Fergus. Just in from Berlin."

"Yes," Hannah said. "I heard this morning that this was to be a joint hearing."

Before she could elaborate, the doors opened and an usher appeared. "Court Three is now in session."

They filed in, followed by Grant and half a dozen members of the public, the kind of people who came for the entertainment value more than anything else. There were several functionaries, a Police Sergeant in uniform, and the Clerk of the Court. Hannah went and spoke to him, then returned to the others and joined them at the benches.

A moment later, George Langley came in and reported to the Clerk of the Court. Dillon said to Ferguson, "The pathologist."

Rupert Dauncey and Henry Percy came in right afterwards, with an usher who escorted them to the Clerk. As they turned away, Dauncey looked directly at Quinn and his friends, smiled slightly, and sat down on the other side of the aisle with Percy.

The Clerk of the Court got things moving. "The Court will rise for Her Majesty's Coroner."

The Coroner, a scholarly-looking man with white hair, came in and sat high above the Court on the bench, the officials below. A door opened to one side and an usher led in the jurors, who squeezed in along their benches. The Clerk of the Court administered the oath and the proceedings got started.

The Coroner had a dry and precise voice. He said, "Before we begin, I wish to make a statement. Circ.u.mstances being what they are, and with the permission of the Lord Chancellor's Office, this inquest will consider the facts surrounding the deaths of both Helen Quinn and Alan Grant, each appearing to have a bearing on the other." He nodded to the Clerk. "We'll start with the police evidence."

The uniformed Sergeant was called and quickly went through the basic facts, how Helen Quinn was delivered to the hospital, how Alan Grant was traced to Ca.n.a.l Street, and then the discovery of his body. The Sergeant was dismissed and the Clerk called Henry Percy, who went to the stand nervously and confirmed his ident.i.ty.

The Coroner picked up a paper from the stack in front of him. "So, Professor, you knew Helen Quinn and Alan Grant well?"

"Oh, yes."

"And can you confirm they had a relationship?"

"It was common knowledge amongst the other students."

"Were you aware of any ill feeling between them?"

"On the contrary. They seemed to live in each other's pockets."

"On the day in question, the coach trip to the rally in Whitehall, you were on the coach, I understand?"

"Yes. We'd heard that the rally might get violent, and we feared that the students would become embroiled, and so we begged them not to go."

"Did they listen?"

"Only half a dozen."

"You said 'we'?"

"Rupert Dauncey was with me, representing the Rashid Educational Trust. They fund Act of Cla.s.s Warfare, the group I belong to."

"A curious name. What does it signify?"

"A dislike of capitalism. We aim to re-educate people, change their thinking."

"You mean, catch them young," the Coroner said dryly. There was laughter in the Court. "You may go."

The Clerk called Rupert Dauncey, who moved to the stand. He looked imposing in an excellent navy blue flannel suit. The Coroner didn't keep him long.

"I've read the list the corporation sent over of the charities supported by your Trust, Mr. Dauncey. All very laudable, I'm sure."

"The Countess of Loch Dhu and Rashid Investments have spent millions worldwide on these enterprises."

"But you weren't happy about the trip to London?"

"Not at all. When I heard that the United Anarchist Front was behind it, I was horrified. I went to Oxford to back Professor Percy in asking the students not to go."

"And you saw Helen Quinn and Alan Grant there?"

"I sat next to them. I'd been introduced to her on a previous visit by Professor Percy. I urged her in the strongest terms not to go. Grant told me they were spending the weekend in London at his brother's house, so I suppose that was a reason for them to go anyway. However, I deeply regret my failure to persuade Helen to listen."

"You had no personal responsibility, Mr. Dauncey."

"Yes, but it was an organization backed by Rashid that ended up at that rally and she went along for the ride. If she hadn't been in London, things might have turned out differently."

"I doubt that, sir, but your self-questioning does you credit. Stand down."

Rupert returned to his seat, having obviously made an excellent impression, and Professor George Langley was called.