"I'm sorry?"

"Death. People die all the time here."

Beth nodded. "Unfortunately, yes."

They took the stairs rather than the lift, bringing them out onto the floor of the Accident and Emergency department. There was a smattering of people waiting, seated on plastic chairs and looking up at a digital display that repeatedly informed them they would be there for some time.

Beth's charge held back as they entered. "I... something about this place. I remember something," he told her. Then he pointed. "I was here, but not here. I-I was sort of looking down on this."

"Like you were hovering over the scene?"

He nodded sharply. "I was here. This is where they brought me, isn't it?"

Before she could answer, the set of double doors at the far end of A&E burst open and two figures in green wheeled in a stretcher. All eyes turned in this direction, the most excitement they'd had all evening.

"Motorcyclist, got hit by someone pulling out of a junction," they heard the first paramedic state. "He's in a really bad way."

A doctor in a set of blue scrubs came to attend to the patient, then the gurney was wheeled out of sight, away from the people in the waiting room. The man who claimed he was the late Matthew Daley followed, breaking into a run.

"Matthew, no!" Beth wasn't far behind him, reaching out to grab his arm but missing by a mile. The crash team were working on the motorcyclist in a side room and hadn't had time to close the door----they were too preoccupied with trying to save his life. The nurses had cut away the leather of his jacket, and there was blood everywhere. The man's eyes were rolling over white into his head. Matthew was at the doorway looking inside when Beth caught up with him. She tugged at his arm to pull him away, but he didn't see her at all. He was in a trance.

"We're losing him," said the doctor, now holding the paddles of a defibrillator in his hands. The whining sound of the patient flatlining cut through the air. He told everyone to stand back and shocked the motorcyclist. His body jerked, and there was a weak pulse, then he crashed again. The doctor repeated this process three times but it was the same result. "I'm calling it at seven fifty. All in agreement? He'd suffered massive trauma; there was nothing any of us could have done. Have his family been contacted?"

"Come on, we shouldn't be back here," Beth told Matthew.

He shook his head. "No."

Pushing her to one side, he walked into the room. The doctor was so shocked he stood back. One of the male nurses came around the bed, in an effort to stop Matthew's approach, but it was too late. He was next to the motorcyclist and his hands were on the man's chest.

"Someone call security," shouted a female nurse.

The male nurse tried to pull Matthew away, but he shrugged him off. "No, I won't let this happen." He closed his eyes.

"Matthew!" shouted Beth, and the doctor recognized her.

"Dr. Preston? Who is that? What's the meaning of all this?"

There was confusion in the room, lots of voices and shouting. Then a sudden beep sent everyone quiet. It was followed by another... then another. The nurses all looked at each other, then the doctor looked at Beth. "Dr. Preston?"

The noise had drawn a crowd of people from the other rooms and cubicles in A&E, mostly relatives who were sitting with their sick loved ones, but a handful of patients too----their gowns flapping as they tried to get a better look.

"Did you see that?" said one person behind Beth. "He just brought that man back to life."

"You what?" said a late arrival.

"I swear to God. Just laid his hands on him. Doctors had given up."

"Bloody hell."

The beep of the heart monitor was strong and sure. The doctor who'd pronounced the motorcyclist walked slack-jawed towards Matthew and the bed. "What... what did you just do?" The nurse who'd called for security was crossing herself.

"Vitals are stable," said the male nurse, blinking at the monitor.

Matthew stepped back from the bed, retreating to the door. Someone out in the corridor held up a mobile phone and snapped a blurry picture with a mechanical whir. Matthew pushed past them all, pushed past a speechless Beth, and began to stagger back off up the corridor. There was a second's lapse, then she followed him again, back out of the department. He was running at a trot, but this time she did catch up with him, grabbing his arm and twisting him around.

"You can't just walk away like that. Hey!"

He faced her. "I-I think I know what happened to me," he told her. "I think I remember."

"Look, we can't stay here now. You're attracting too much attention." Beth looked over her shoulder at the group of people following them: relatives, doctors, patients.

"You're right. I have to go." He pulled away from her and ran out through the double doors into the ambulance bay. The doors flapped back on her as she tried to follow. Beth Preston pushed on them and stumbled out into the night air.

She looked left and right.

But Matthew was gone.

Chapter Eleven

Detective Chief Inspector Steven Robbins yawned.

It had been a long day, a long week, and he hadn't seen much of his bed. The statements, reports and notes on his desk were all merging into one. The photographs, though still disturbing, had now lost much of their power to shock since the first time he'd seen them. The Matthew Daley case would never really be solved until they found the man who claimed to behim. Robbins couldn't help smirking at that one; it wasn't every day that the deceased ended up helping the police to solve the mystery of their own murder.

He closed his aching eyes, then rubbed them.

The door to his office opened, the hinges squeaking just like they always did. "Never hear of knocking?" he said, attempting to open his eyes again. The figure before him was out of focus, like the letters on an optician's board when they put in the wrong lens. He screwed up his eyes, and the figure started to take shape. The man was older than Robbins, older than Wilson even. He took a seat opposite and smiled, the lines on his face stretching to accommodate it.

"Make yourself at home," said Robbins.

"Thanks," said the man, "don't mind if I do." He looked around the office, nodding contentedly. "It's changed a bit in here."

Robbins let out a tired breath. "Look, I don't know how you got in, but I'm a bit pushed right----"

The man reached out and picked up one of the reports from the desk. He flipped through it casually. "You're looking for connections where there aren't any," he said. "Frustrating, isn't it?"

"If I wanted the advice of a total stranger then I'd ring one of my ex-wives."

The older man laughed. "But I'm not a totalstranger, Robbins. You know me."

Robbins studied his face, but couldn't place him. "If we've met before then I can't remember it."

"Ah, well, we haven't exactly met as such. But you know me all the same."

"It's getting late, and I haven't got time for riddles tonight," Robbins said impatiently.

"I've come to give you that one piece of information you're looking for."

A look of enlightenment suddenly dawned on Robbins' face. "You're here to take over, is that it? I'm being replaced? I wondered how long it would be. You're welcome to it, the whole fucking thing. I'm in over my head anyway."