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bush within the last couple of weeks.’
    Which, when you think about it, seemed to make sense.
    It was with the blood sample that things got a little sticky and the story we concocted eventually fell apart, but it was the best we could come up with at the time. Miriam had asked a friend of hers called Jeff Fowler to analyse it. He was the head of some research team or other that was working on blood fats. When he called Miriam back he had sounded distinctly twitchy so she fixed for the three of us to meet at my place.
    As he came in through the door, he said, ‘Where did you get this sample from?’ We hadn’t even shaken hands.
    â€˜Before I answer I want to know one thing,’ I said, stalling for time. ‘Is it human and, uhh – what would you like to drink?’
    â€˜The answer to your first question is a qualified “Yes”. And I’ll have some of that Jack Daniels. On the rocks.’
    Miriam went into the kitchen to get the ice.
    I put my back between Fowler and the bottle and poured out three thick fingers of Sippin’ Whisky. ‘That really surprises me. I thought it might be chicken blood. Or maybe pig.’
    â€˜No, it’s human,’ said Fowler. ‘Only more so. That’s why I want to know who you got this from.’
    Miriam returned from the kitchen. I took the ice and sent her in to bat. ‘What exactly do you mean, Jeff?’
    â€˜Just what I’ve said,’ replied Fowler. ‘The blood is human but it differs from any other sample I’ve seen in two important respects. First, it appears to have been subjected to a heavy dose of radiation – ‘
    â€˜Not unreasonable.’ I handed over the glass of bourbon in the hope that it might sap his zeal for the truth. ‘My client had been receiving cobalt therapy for cancer of the stomach.’
    Miriam eyed me and did her best to look as if she knew all about it. ‘And the second thing?’
    â€˜The red cell structure is abnormal,’ said Fowler. He didn’t seem to have noticed that the ice cubes didn’t touch the bottom of his glass.
    â€˜In what way?’ I asked.
    â€˜Do you know anything about blood?’
    I shrugged. ‘I know it retails at ten dollars a pint.’
    Fowler gave up on me. ‘It’s too complicated to explain in detail. What I really need is a bigger sample to run more tests but if the abnormality I found was reproduced throughout the body, it would arrest the ageing process.’
    â€˜I wish I knew the secret,’ said Miriam.
    â€˜I’m not kidding,’ said Fowler. ‘This is dynamite. Whose blood is it?’
    I put on my blandest expression. ‘It, uhh – belongs to a gentleman who paid several visits to a centre for psychic healing in the Philippines. As Miriam had probably explained, I’m a lawyer. My client’s family had reason to believe that the treatment was fraudulent and we were preparing a law suit against the people involved.’
    â€˜Got it,’ nodded Fowler. ‘Some of those guys are pretty smooth operators.’
    â€˜Exactly,’ I said. ‘It took months of planning and skullduggery to obtain a sample of the blood that allegedly came from the stomach of my client after one of the ‘operations’. The last thing I expected was that it would be human.’
    â€˜Group O,’ said Fowler.
    I grimaced disappointedly at Miriam. ‘My client’s blood type …’
    â€˜Where is he?’ asked Fowler. ‘Can we run some more tests?’
    â€˜I wish it were possible,’ I said. ‘He died last Friday. I’m acting for the family.’
    It was Fowler’s turn to look disappointed. ‘I see. Has he, uhh – been buried yet?’
    â€˜No, cremated,’ I replied. ‘But if the blood cells were transformed in the way you suggest, it would seem to imply that some of these people actually
do
have paranormal powers. If