The Yeare's Midnight (15 page)

She
stepped
cautiously
off
the
train
and
clicked
briskly
in
her
high
heels
along
the
platform.
There
were
two
or
three
other
people
between
her
and
Crowan
Frayne.
She
walked
into
the
car
park
and
used
her
remote
to
beep
off
the
security
system
of
her
grey
Audi
TT
.

Frayne
held
back
and
pretended
to
jangle
his
own
car
keys
at
the
door
of
a
nearby
Renault
Clio.
The
Audi
roared
to
life
and
growled
expensively
along
the
line
of
cars.
Crowan
Frayne
made
certain
not
to
look
until
it
had
gone
completely
past
him.
Then
he
wrote
down
Elizabeth
Drury’s
licence
plate
number
on
his
hand
and
walked
back
into
the
station.
He
took
a
local
train
into
Cambridge
and
then
changed
for
New
Bolden.

Once
home
he
wrote
down
the
following
details:
‘Wednesday.
Office
6.30.
7.17
from
Liverpool
Street,
first
class
carriage.
Afton
station
8.22.
Grey
Audi.
EDR92.’

The
next
morning
he
called
the
Drury
Clinic
and
spoke
to
the
same
Australian
receptionist.
He
used
a
name
that
he
knew
Drury
would
recognize.

‘
Good
morning.
My
name
is
Dr
Thomas
Stiglitz.
I
am
a
professional
acquaintance
of
Dr
Drury’s.’

‘I’m
afraid
she
is
with
a
patient
at
the
moment.
’

‘
Can
I
make
an
appointment
to
see
her?
I
am
in
London
for
two
days
next
week
and
would
like
to
visit
her
at
the
clinic. I
’m
calling
from
the
United
States.’

‘I’ll
check
her
diary.
Which
day
did
you
have
in
mind?’

‘December
the
eleventh.’

‘What
time?’

‘Six
o’clock.’

‘That
should
be
OK.
She
has
a
five-thirty
but
I
could
bump
that
forward.’

‘If
you
could.
As
soon
as
I’ve
seen
Elizabeth,
I’m
heading
back
to
LA.’

‘Can
I
check
the
spelling
of
your
name,
sir?’

‘Stiglitz.’
Frayne
checked
the
bibliography
of
The Weight of Expectations,
which
he
had
opened
in
front
of
him,
‘S-t-i-g-l-i-t-z.
I
am
from
the
University
of
Los
Angeles
at
Berkeley.’

‘Thank
you,
sir.
That’s
all
booked.
Have
a
good
day
now.’

Elizabeth
Drury
was
surprised
and
delighted
when
she
saw
the
new
name
in
her
diary.

‘Stiggy!
I
haven’t
spoken
to
him
in
five
years.’

‘He
sounded
like
a
real
nice
guy,’
said
Sally
the
receptionist
from
behind
a
steaming
café
latte
in
a
cardboard
cup.

‘He
is.
Kind
of
brilliant,
too.’

Elizabeth
Drury
went
back
into
her
consulting
rooms
with
a 
smile
on
her
face
and
marvelled
at
how
the
world
seemed
to
get
smaller
every
day.
Miles
away,
in
a
darkened
living
room,
Crowan
Frayne
closed
the
copy
of
The Weight of Expectations
that
he
had
stolen
from
the
New
Bolden
library
and
threw
it
in
the
bin.

A
week
had
passed
since
Crowan
Frayne
had
arranged
the
meeting.
During
that
time
he
had
been
active:
planning,
researching.
He
had
cleaned
Lucy
Harrington’s
eye
thoroughly
and
spent
considerable
time
enjoying
its
dead
blueness.
He
had
expended
much
time
the
previous
evening
delicately
cutting
away
residual
muscle
and
raggedness
from
the
surface
of
the
eyeball.
He
wanted
it
to
be
smooth
as
glass.

He
had
also
washed
and
checked
his
collection
of
medical
instruments.
When
the
exceptional
brilliance
of
his
conceit
had
first
sparked
across
his
brain
he
had
quickly
taken
stock
of
the
equipment
available
to
him.
Kitchen
knives
and
carpet
cutters
seemed
to
him
cumbersome
and
witless
tools
for
such
an
import
ant
exercise.
He
had
rooted
through
his
grandfather’s
garage
in
search
of
more
delicate
knives
and
found
instead
two
steel-
headed
hammers.
He
realized
these
would
be
useful.
One
was
small
enough
to
be
concealed
in
the
sleeve
of
his
jacket.

The
question
of
cutting
instruments
had
perturbed
him.
He
needed
small,
light
and
razor-sharp
knives,
along
with
other
specific
equipment
like
forceps.
There
were
no
stores
in
New
Bolden
that
sold
medical
equipment.
He
wondered
if
Cambridge
with
its
University
medical
faculty
and
Addenbrokes
Hospital
might
be
a
more
likely
hunting
ground.
He
quickly
realized
that
there
were
no
medical
equipment
suppliers
in
the
region
that
sold
over
the
counter.
Frayne
was
frustrated.
What
were
his
alternatives?
Stealing
equipment
from
the
hospital
or
the
univer
sity
was
a
possibility
that
he
quickly
discounted.
That
would
be
a
highly
risky
undertaking:
both
locations
were
always
crowded
with
people
and,
Frayne
mused,
probably
protected
with
video-
camera
surveillance.
It
was
too
big
a
chance
to
be
taken.

Then
Frayne
had
an
idea.
He
remembered
that
the
essence
of
his
work
was
beyond
science
and
history,
filling
the
gaps 
between
knowledge
and
belief.
Like
his
conceit,
he
would
need
to
transcend
time.
Or
fold
it.
He
had
turned
on
his
computer
and
linked
up
to
the
Internet.
After
typing
in
the
search
terms
‘antique
medical
instruments’,
half
a
dozen
options
had
appeared
on
his
screen.
One
of
them
seemed
especially
promis
ing.
An
antiques
shop
in
Hampstead,
London
called
Lieber
man’s.
Its
home
page
promised
‘antique
furniture,
paintings,
works
of
art,
and
glass,
antique
surgical
equipment.’
Better
still,
there
was
a
section
of
the
website
devoted
entirely
to
Lieber
man’s
collection
of
medical
and
scientific
items.
There
were
photographs
of
three
boxes
of
surgical
knives
dating
from
the
nineteeth
century
and,
to
Frayne’s
great
delight,
an
ophthalmic
surgery
kit
from
1840.
He
had
driven
to
London
that
same
afternoon
and
after
trying
unsuccessfully
for
an
hour
to
park
in
Hampstead
had
eventually
left
his
van
in
the
car
park
of
Jack
Straw’s
Castle
and
had
walked
down
Hampstead
High
Street
to
Lieberman’s.