age.”
“Where can I meet you? I cannot real y come to this house al the time and, if I do, I cannot get away too easily to meet up with you.”
“Do you know the barn down the lane, here - the next barn, leaving the vil age – the derelict one?”
“I am sure I can find it.”
“Meet me there. What time would be best?”
“Shal we say at 10:00 in the morning, or is that too early for you?”
“No, that would be good.”
“I’l see you then, then. I cannot offer you anything more than friendship, natural y, and I probably wouldn’t have done even when I was alive.”
“Were you real y a lesbian …. ?”
“Paul, where the hel are you?” Mike shouts up the stairs, interrupting us.
“Coming in a second,” I shout back.
“You have been up there for hours!”
“I’l be with you. I’ve been looking around for ghosts.”
“Did you find any?”
Alice winks.
“No. They must al be out for the day,” I quip.
Mike returns to the main room.
“Alice,” I continue, “could I ask you a favour?”
“Natural y.”
“Can you conjure up these body parts of yours at wil ?”
“Yes, anything I like.”
“Can you do the same thing twice?”
“Yes, I am sure I can. They aren’t real, except in appearance. Why?”
“The people up at the Château …. ”
“ …. oh, that lot. They make me sick …. ”
“That lot. They have been betting on which part of your body wil turn up next …. ”
“That real y makes me sick. They must be psychos …. ”
“ … no, just bored, like you …. ”
“I would never think of that.”
“Anyway, do you want to punish them, and help me, and have a good laugh as wel ?”
“D’acc.”
“This is my idea. I wil find out today what parts everybody is betting on, and I wil join in and bet on a different one. Then, tomorrow, when we meet up, I wil tel you which one I am backing, and you produce it. I’l get Mike to do it too, so it won’t always be me. What do you think?”
She laughs. “I think that would be pretty funny. I’l do it. You must go now,” she adds, and then she kisses me three times on the cheek, without actual y touching of course. “Until tomorrow.”
* * *
After a sort of lunch, it is time to look around the garden to search for the rest of the remains of whomever it is Inspector John keeps finding the parts of.
“Can the police laboratories here do any kind of DNA match?” I ask, interested suddenly.
“They have tried,” replies Inspector John. “They haven’t found anything of Alice’s to match the DNA in the forearm and foot – the Picards are searching high and low for one of Alice’s stray hairs – but they could, in principle, compare it with the parents’ DNA and at least calculate a level of probability as to whether or not they could belong to their daughter, but the strange thing is, and this is exceedingly strange, they cannot extract any DNA from the forearm and foot whatsoever, try as they might. This has never happened to them before, they say, and I can believe it. DNA matching has become extremely precise recently – the techniques have come on in leaps and bounds even in the last five years. One pathologist in Manchester told me that progress has been the equivalent of going from the first car ever built to the Space Shuttle in five years, and I cannot imagine that France is any less advanced than we are. If anything, they are probably more advanced but, in this case, they cannot get a read at al . They say that it is as if these body parts aren’t real y real at al , although obviously they are.”
“Spooky!” Mike declares, intuiting the truth without realising it.
“That is strange,” I add.
“Isn’t it? So they have no clue whatsoever whose body I am finding. Maybe the next piece wil reveal something more.”
“Where should we start looking?” asks Mike, eager for instructions.
“You sound as if you are real y looking forward to finding something, Mike,” I comment.
“I
“Where can I meet you? I cannot real y come to this house al the time and, if I do, I cannot get away too easily to meet up with you.”
“Do you know the barn down the lane, here - the next barn, leaving the vil age – the derelict one?”
“I am sure I can find it.”
“Meet me there. What time would be best?”
“Shal we say at 10:00 in the morning, or is that too early for you?”
“No, that would be good.”
“I’l see you then, then. I cannot offer you anything more than friendship, natural y, and I probably wouldn’t have done even when I was alive.”
“Were you real y a lesbian …. ?”
“Paul, where the hel are you?” Mike shouts up the stairs, interrupting us.
“Coming in a second,” I shout back.
“You have been up there for hours!”
“I’l be with you. I’ve been looking around for ghosts.”
“Did you find any?”
Alice winks.
“No. They must al be out for the day,” I quip.
Mike returns to the main room.
“Alice,” I continue, “could I ask you a favour?”
“Natural y.”
“Can you conjure up these body parts of yours at wil ?”
“Yes, anything I like.”
“Can you do the same thing twice?”
“Yes, I am sure I can. They aren’t real, except in appearance. Why?”
“The people up at the Château …. ”
“ …. oh, that lot. They make me sick …. ”
“That lot. They have been betting on which part of your body wil turn up next …. ”
“That real y makes me sick. They must be psychos …. ”
“ … no, just bored, like you …. ”
“I would never think of that.”
“Anyway, do you want to punish them, and help me, and have a good laugh as wel ?”
“D’acc.”
“This is my idea. I wil find out today what parts everybody is betting on, and I wil join in and bet on a different one. Then, tomorrow, when we meet up, I wil tel you which one I am backing, and you produce it. I’l get Mike to do it too, so it won’t always be me. What do you think?”
She laughs. “I think that would be pretty funny. I’l do it. You must go now,” she adds, and then she kisses me three times on the cheek, without actual y touching of course. “Until tomorrow.”
* * *
After a sort of lunch, it is time to look around the garden to search for the rest of the remains of whomever it is Inspector John keeps finding the parts of.
“Can the police laboratories here do any kind of DNA match?” I ask, interested suddenly.
“They have tried,” replies Inspector John. “They haven’t found anything of Alice’s to match the DNA in the forearm and foot – the Picards are searching high and low for one of Alice’s stray hairs – but they could, in principle, compare it with the parents’ DNA and at least calculate a level of probability as to whether or not they could belong to their daughter, but the strange thing is, and this is exceedingly strange, they cannot extract any DNA from the forearm and foot whatsoever, try as they might. This has never happened to them before, they say, and I can believe it. DNA matching has become extremely precise recently – the techniques have come on in leaps and bounds even in the last five years. One pathologist in Manchester told me that progress has been the equivalent of going from the first car ever built to the Space Shuttle in five years, and I cannot imagine that France is any less advanced than we are. If anything, they are probably more advanced but, in this case, they cannot get a read at al . They say that it is as if these body parts aren’t real y real at al , although obviously they are.”
“Spooky!” Mike declares, intuiting the truth without realising it.
“That is strange,” I add.
“Isn’t it? So they have no clue whatsoever whose body I am finding. Maybe the next piece wil reveal something more.”
“Where should we start looking?” asks Mike, eager for instructions.
“You sound as if you are real y looking forward to finding something, Mike,” I comment.
“I
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