Could it be that DH Biotech are already aware of me, know that I’m on the scent which could lead me straight to their door? It can’t be. That’s just crazy. Isn’t it?

I push it out of my mind and look at the photos again, at the man with the thick beard. I’m sure I’ve never seen him before, I’ve not seen any of them, but there’s something about him, something so familiar. I note that he is one of the images with a score underneath. Which means, if what I’ve just been told is true, that he probably died as a result of the trial. But still, he looks so familiar.

Volunteer Number Six

To speak to sales, press one. To talk to us about a change to an existing policy, press two. To make a claim, press three. Thank you. Unfortunately all our claims specialists are helping other customers at present, but please continue to hold and one of our agents will be with you shortly.

Bunch of fuckers. And honestly I’m dreading speaking to them. Because whilst I assume my policy covers me for arson, I can’t check because even if there was paperwork somewhere on board, and really I don’t recall seeing any, there’s precisely zero chance that it escaped the blaze.

The only other person in the incident room is the guy who’d grassed me up to Beving about Jansen’s shoes, so I put the phone on speaker and slide it away from me across the desk. The music’s probably the headline track on a compilation called Tunes to Hang Yourself By. Just what you need on an insurance line.

I try to shut my ears off and pull the sheet of photos out. I want to have another look, especially at the one who seems familiar. There’s definitely something there, something I just can’t place. We need to find out who all these people are. But I’m not sure how we’re going to be able to do it. DH Biotech will know of course, but we’re not at the warrant stage yet, and there’s nowhere near enough evidence to request one.

And yet it’s crucial we know who died, and, more importantly, who survived. After more staring I’m no closer to an answer so I push it aside and, with the music showing no sign of giving way to an actual human being I can talk to, I get on the desk phone. The woman who answers tells me that Nellie is seeing patients, so I ask to be put through to the records office. My thought process is this: Stephanie was sure several died, and there must be a record of their deaths. Not even a large pharma company can cover that up, can they?