Blue Genes - By Val McDermid Page 0,44

was the unmistakable fore¬shortened figure of a police officer.
Chapter 11
To be accused of one summary offense is unfortu¬nate; to be accused of two within a twenty-four-hour period looks remarkably like carelessness. And since a reputation for carelessness doesn't bring clients to the door, I decided this wasn't a good time to attract the attention of the officer on the stairs. I shrank back from the banisters and crept toward the upper flight of stairs. In the gloom, I noticed what I hadn't before. There actu-ally were passive infrared sensors high in the corners of the stairwell; but unlike the old-style ones that show a red light when they're triggered, these were the ultra-modern ones that don't glow in the dark. The only reason nothing had happened when I'd waved my arms around on the upper landing earlier was that the alarm hadn't been switched on. Thank God for the need to impress clients with the luxury carpeting. Otherwise my fairy feet would have attracted attention for sure.

As I crouched at the foot of the second flight, I heard the crackle of the policeman's personal radio. I sidled forward again, trying to hear what he was saying. "... still here in St. John Street," I made out. ". . . burglar alarm bloke arrives. The keyholder's worried ... Yeah, drugs, expensive equipment. .. should be here by now ... okay, Sarge."

Now I knew what was going on. The keyholder had been nervous about leaving the building with what seemed to be a faulty alarm. Presumably, they had a main¬tenance contract that provided for twenty-four-hour call-out, and he'd decided to take advantage of it. It probably hadn't been difficult to pitch the bobby into hanging around until the burglar alarm technician arrived. It was a cold night out there, and minding a warm clinic had to be an improvement on cruising the early morning streets with nothing more uplifting to deal with than nightclub brawls or drunken domestics.

I tiptoed back up to the top floor and considered my options. No way could I get past the copper. Once the burglar alarm technician arrived and reset the system, I wasn't going to be able to get out without setting off the alarm again, and this time they'd realize it couldn't be a fault. Okay, I'd be long gone, but with a murder investi¬gation going on that might just lead back here, I didn't want any suspicious circumstances muddying the waters.

For all of five seconds, I considered the fire door lead¬ing off the half-landing below me. Chances were the hinges would squeak, the security lights would be on a separate system from the burglar alarm, and I'd be spotlit on a fire escape with an apron full of exotica that I couldn't pretend was my knitting bag. Not to mention a pocketful of computer disks that might well tie me right into an even bigger crime. I could see only one alternative.

With a soft sigh, I got down on my knees again and started to unlock the door of Helen Maitland's consulting room.

I've slept in a lot less comfortable places than a gynecolo¬gist's sofa. It was a bit short, even for my five feet and three inches, but it was cozy, especially after I'd annexed the cotton cellular blanket from the examination couch and peeled off my latex gloves. I'd locked the door behind me, so I figured I was safe if anyone decided further investigations were necessary. Looking on the bright side, I'd managed to postpone a thrill-packed evening in Garibaldi's with some spaced-out rock promoter. And I'd used up every last bit of adrenaline in my system. I was too tired now to be scared. As I drifted off to sleep, I had the vague sense that I could hear electronic chirruping in the distance, but I was past caring.

I'd set my mental clock to waken me around nine. It was five to when my eyelids ungummed themselves. Six hours sleep wasn't enough, but it was as much as I usually squeezed in when I was chasing a handful of cases as packed with incident as my current load seemed to be. I unfolded my cramped body from the sofa and did some languid stretching to loosen my stiffened muscles. I peed in the sink, rinsed it out with paranoid care, then splashed water over my face, dumping the used paper towels in the empty bin below. It looked as if Helen Maitland had even taken her used bin liners home. Learning