But there had to be something here. Some clue, some pattern, some explanation as to what this was all about. As to why Matthew Daley was back.

He shook his head, and not for the first time. No, it couldn't be Daley---- how couldit be Daley?

He let out a tuneless whistle, picking up the photos again. Something Croft had missed and which he must find. Something that would be the key to this whole thing.

Something... something...

Robbins leaned back in his chair and tried not to think about how badly he needed a drink. He reached down and opened the drawer on his right, then took a bottle out.

~

It was growing dark by the time Beth returned to the hospital. There were a few messages waiting for her when she got back, some about the shifts she'd traded to take the day off, some about patients she was keeping tabs on, and one from an anesthetist she'd been out for a drink with the previous week and wouldn't leave her alone. Why she'd done it was beyond her now, the guy was a total sleazebag. But he'd asked, and she'd agreed, then spent the whole damned evening wishing she was somewhere else.

As she made her way down the corridor to her office, she said hello to the doctors and nurses she knew----and the porter, Gary. He was wheeling a patient back to his ward after going for a scan.

The lights were off in her office, so when she opened the door she reached around for the switch inside. Beth flicked it, but nothing happened.

"Blast," she said, considering going back out to look for Gary. Then she felt it. There was someone in the room with her. Beth scanned the dark office, the shapes of her filing cabinet, the desk, even the fish tank she kept on the side----the fish helped her to relax----but she could see nothing out of the ordinary. Yet...

She heard breathing, slow and shallow.

"Hello?" she ventured.

The lights came on suddenly and she jumped.

"Dr. Preston... Beth, you have to help me," said the man she'd examined yesterday. He was standing only inches away.

This wasn't like the first time. Now she knew what he was----or thought she did. Not just some oddball prisoner in a cell, but someone whose grave she'd been standing by that very morning. She tried to speak but couldn't get the words out.

"Please," he said. It was the one word she couldn't resist, and somehow he knew it.

"Matthew."

He clapped his hands together and smiled, albeit briefly. "Thank you, thank you."

"For what?"

"For calling me by my name," he said.

She slid sideways along the wall. "It's who you said you were."

"I stillam," he replied. "That's what I keep trying to tell you people. You know, don't you? You've known from the start."

Beth found herself almost in the corner of her room, and remembered how Wilson had been found. She stopped. "How did you get away this morning, what did you say to PC Wilson?"

"Nothing he wasn't meant to hear." His voice poured ice water over her. "Same as you. Sarah ishappy, you know. She doesn't blame you."

"Stop it," said Beth, shaking her head. "I don't----"

"It wasn't your fault."

She rounded on him now. "I've heard that from the best counselors around, I don't need to hear it from you!"

"Hear it from someone, hear it from her maybe?"

Beth remembered what Wilson had said about his aunty and uncle. She'd heard enough. "Stop it, stop talking about this right now!"

"I'm sorry," he said.

"How dare you!" Beth's eyes were starting to well up. "How bloody well dare you? You come back here and expect people to just take it in their stride----your mother, you son, your widow----to deal with it like it's something that happens every day of the week. And now we're meant to think you're in touch with..." She couldn't finish her sentence. "I hate to break it to you, but that's not normal. None of this is normal."

"You're upset, I----"

"What do you expect?" She was having trouble staying on her feet now, and he made to help her. "Stay back where you are."

"I should go," he said, half turning.

"No, wait," she replied instinctively. "Let me call Robbins."

"And be locked away again?" He stared at her. "Or worse? I just thought you could help, that's all. I was wrong."

Was it her imagination or was there genuine hurt in his voice? She blinked away another tear, tasting the salt water as it trickled into her mouth. "What is it that you want?"

He hesitated before speaking, then examined a spot on the floor. "I'm seeing things. Things from when I died, I think. But it's all so muddled. I can feel the pain. I can remember bits and pieces and a tunnel of bright light."

She couldn't help laughing at that. "Pretty standard for NDE."

"For what?"

"Near death experience."

He nodded his understanding.

"White light, figures beckoning, then something stops the person from going any further and they come back. Not exactly what happened to you..."

"No," he agreed.

"If you're really who you say you are, then you've been where nobody has before."

"I don't know what to tell you. All of that, all the important stuff is a blank."

"But the fact is you've come back, Matthew. You've come back. The question remains why? And how exactly do we all deal with it?"

"Will you help me to remember?" he asked her.

She chewed on her lip a moment before answering him. "On one condition. You let me take you to Robbins, so he can call off the search."

"I'm not going back to that cell."

"He's not as bad as he seems, you know. And he might be able to help you get to the bottom of this too."

"All right, I believe you," he said finally. "So, where do we begin?"

"Tell me everything you can remember about the night you died," said Beth.

Chapter Ten

The dead man talked for the better part of an hour.

He told Beth what he could remember of the images, the sights, smells and sounds. She listened intently as she'd learned to do in her particular trade, pushing all thoughts about who or what he was to the back of her mind. For a little while at least he was simply another patient, one she wanted to find out more about. One she wanted to help if she possibly could. The talking was as much for her benefit as his, really. But it would take time for him to remember fully, she told him. Things would come back to him in small chunks, when they were good and ready. It was hardly surprising he'd blotted out so much of what was possibly the most traumatic thing that could ever happen to a person. Visual stimuli might help too, perhaps visiting familiar surroundings from that night. But for right now she wanted to get him back to the station, back to Robbins.

Beth led him out of the office and down the corridor. Past the doctors and nurses she'd seen on the way in----his bare feet drawing odd looks and whispers----past the wards of people in bed. The man she called Matthew glanced at them, with a certain amount of sadness. Especially at the ones with eyes closed, heads back on the pillow as if they had already given up the fight.

"You see it every day here, don't you?" he said.