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interviewed Denny, but, as he knew that Tamar would futz up the film in the camera, he was not overly worried about that.
    When the news crews finally left, the police insisted that they all go to the hospital to be checked out, and they were bundled into ambulances.  They slipped out at the hospital and Tamar teleported them home.  In all the confusion,  they were unlikely to be missed and, even if they were, hospital staff are far too busy (sneaking out to the car park for a crafty smoke) to go chasing after patients who don’t want to be helped.
    * * *
     ‘That’s not journalism,’ said Denny switching off the TV, ‘that’s lying with style.’
    ‘I especially liked the part where the big bearded guy took your place as the hero of the hour,’ agreed Tamar laughing.  She had completely recovered her equanimity, but had so far refused to discuss what had happened in the small room with the white faced man.
    ‘I’ll tell you sometime,’ she said evasively. ‘Just not now, don’t worry about it, he didn’t hurt me.’
    ‘But something happened,’ Denny persisted.  ‘You were in a right state.’
    Tamar looked shrewdly at him.  ‘It wasn’t your fault you know. I don’t blame you; it was my choice; I knew what I was doing.’
    Denny subsided; it would have to do, for now.
    ‘I wonder who those guys were – really,’ Denny was saying. ‘I don’t believe for one minute that they were escaped convicts like the TV said, we’d have heard about it before.’
    ‘I don’t think they know who they were either, they just have to say something.’
    ‘It makes you wonder.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘How much of what’s on TV is just a load of drivel.’
    ‘All of it, I’d say.’
    ‘At least entertainment shows are honest about the fact that it not supposed to be true.’
    Tamar glanced outside; it was getting dark.
    ‘I have to go,’ she said, she held up a hand as Denny opened his mouth to offer to go with her.
    ‘I’ll see you later.’
    She was not to know just how much later.
     

~ Chapter Seven ~
     
    ‘W hat do you mean, he’s gone?’
     Finchley was backing away from the infuriated figure.  Just because he could not see a face, did not mean that he could not still tell that the person inside the hood was snarling.
    ‘I – I couldn’t help it, he let them in and they took him.  It was like he was in a trance.’
    ‘Damn it! You idiot, all you had to do was … you let him sober up, didn’t you?’
    ‘Of course .  He’s an alcoholic – I … wait a minute.  It was you , wasn’t it?  You put him back on the drink again.  Who are you?  Why would you do such a thing?’
    The figure pushed back the hood and Finchley gasped.
    ‘I had good reason; you’ll just have to trust me.  Now, which way?’
    Finchley pointed automatically then he suddenly moved himself into the figure’s path.
    ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘You tell me what’s going on.  What did you do to him?  What are those …?’
    The figure sighed. ‘I haven’t got time for this.  I really am very sorry about this.’
    ‘About wh…?’ said Finchley before he sailed off to dreamland on the end of a right hook
    * * *
    D.C.I. Jack Stiles was flying.  He had sobered up some time ago, but his head felt like it was full of pink cotton wool.  He was feeling no surprise that he was up in the air.  All he felt was a sense of calm contentment; it was like being drunk, only better. The world felt – right somehow. Everything was how it should be.
    There were three of them, he thought through the fog in his head, beautiful women – angels perhaps.  They were supporting him carrying him; they would not let him fall. They would protect him; it was wonderful; everything was wonderful. It did not matter that he could not even remember his name let alone where he was or how had got here.  It was a familiar state of mind for him anyway.
    Now he was lying on a cloud, the angels were there too.  Was he in heaven? Had he died?