Chapter 7

‘Good afternoon, Doctor. It’s me. How are you today?’

Kreeger recognised the friendly voice calling from the Embassy. Filcher was probably the only person in this vast city of millions with whom he felt at ease. ‘Ah, Maynard. I am fine thank you; one too many drinks perhaps but I am sure it will not kill me, ha.’

‘Oh yes, your farewell bash, I forgot. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’

‘Yes you are, and thank goodness for it. Yap is making another one of his ridiculous speeches. You saved me again.’

Maynard Filcher had been working as the liaison officer, helping to connect the American doctor with the local forensic and pathology community. He had not exactly saved the doctor before but he had certainly made his life a lot more comfortable than it would have been without his interventions. Kreeger often wondered what he would have done without Filcher.

‘Something has come up,’ Filcher said. ‘Something urgent.’

Kreeger noticed the gravity in Filcher’s voice. ‘Urgent? Hold on a minute will you.’ he said. He removed the knee that he had been using to take his weight on a chair; he turned around and sat down. Kreeger was a big man and in his present surroundings he was always the tallest man in the room; sitting, he had mistakenly thought, made him less obvious. It was still too noisy to hear what Filcher had to say (Yap had just translated another ancient idiom into English and his underlings were killing themselves with sycophantic laughter) so he turned the chair into the wall.

‘What is urgent,’ Kreeger said at last, ‘and how can I be of help?’ Filcher had been so kind to the doctor that he was more than willing to return any favours that might be asked of him

‘A young American has turned up dead out in one of the provinces. Looks like murder.’

‘Well,’ Kreeger began, ‘how terrible. I will be off the day after tomorrow, but if there is anything that I can do in the meantime . . .’ That date, September the sixth was burning brightly in his consciousness. The last month had been hell for Kreeger and he had only managed to get through it with the knowledge that it would all end on the first Sunday of the following month—only that had kept him going. Now he had just one more full day left; he barely had time to see a few of the sights that his busy schedule had kept him away from, buy a few more gifts, and pack his bags. It was so close.

‘Doctor Kreeger, can we meet this afternoon? I’ll come right over to your hotel, if that’s okay?’

‘Of course, Maynard,’ Kreeger said, but he did not like the agitation in Filcher’s voice. He may have had one too many lunchtime drinks but he was not too far gone not to realise that something was wrong. ‘Yap’s performance will be over soon and I suppose one of them will take me back to the hotel soon. I can meet you in the lobby.’