Jack watched in awe as Rachel made a pot using a push-button kettle that poured exactly the right amount of hot water, and mugs with talking sensors attached to the sides. To see her wander about her home, you’d never guess that she was partially sighted. In fact, if it wasn’t for the living room clock announcing the time on the quarter hour, Jack would never have guessed this home had been modified at all.

“He was a genius back in the day. Sharp as a tack, wily as a fox—that was our Dougie. The only time he ever went inside was when that stupid kid of his was caught forging betting slips. Dougie owned up to that one for him, thinking they’d never send a dying old man down. Got three years. You can’t get a license to run a betting shop if you’ve got a criminal record, see, so Dougie had to go down for Gareth, in order to secure both their futures. Dougie didn’t mind prison—within a week, he’d forged a medical referral and got a cushy time in the hospital wing. What he did mind was people thinking he’d forged Gareth’s terrible bloody betting slips—very shoddy workmanship. Gareth’s got no style. You met him?”

“Briefly,” Jack said. “Mrs. Yarborough, I’m wondering if you can suggest any old-time forgers who might still be active in the area.”

“If by ‘old-time’ you mean anyone mine and Dougie’s age, then no. We’re the last ones. I gave it all up years ago, way before my eyes started to let me down, on account of being a terrible liar. If I ever got questioned by the police, I was bound to give myself away, so I quit while I was ahead. Dougie worked a good twenty years longer than me. Great liar, he was. That’s why all the big names trusted him.”

“Names like Harry Rawlins?”

“There’s a blast from the past! He did do a bit of work with Dougie, yes.” Rachel smiled as she remembered Harry. “He was a master. And we were his willing servants. If you did right by Harry, he did right by you. He liked Dougie because he didn’t look like a genius. He hid in plain sight. What the coppers saw was a fat fucker in a betting shop—what Harry saw was an artist.” Then Rachel said something quite unexpected. “Can I touch your face?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Jack said when he’d got over his initial surprise, “but my nose is a little sensitive at the moment.”

Jack fitted right in at the hospital; no one gave his face a second look. It was 6:30 p.m. and Maggie was thirty minutes away from starting her night shift. Jack was enjoying doing nothing except eating a beef sandwich and watching Maggie eat a tuna salad. All he wanted to do was sit, relax and enjoy the company of his lovely, beautiful, pregnant, soon-to-be wife. Maggie had other ideas.

The Antenatal Unit was, of course, empty, but Maggie’s pass got her into any area of the hospital. She opened a wardrobe at the back of the room and got out an ugly, tan-colored vest with a padded front. She held it up for Jack to put on. Maggie zipped him in.