oOo

Cold, it was too cold. Paul shivered, unconsciously drawing his arms around himself.

"Easy there, Mr Temple. Just take it easy," a voice off to his side said and a hand briefly rested on his arm before being withdrawn again. Paul lazily opened his eyes, his brain and body being oddly sluggish. At first, he couldn't make sense of the blurred outlines in front of him, but they cleared as he blinked slowly and coalesced into a small room, from the looks of it most likely in a doctor's surgery. Gradually, the memory of earlier events slowly percolating into awareness.

"Drugged," he mumbled, "she's been drugged..."

"As have you been, Mr Temple," the voice said. Paul turned his head to come face to face with an avuncular, gray-haired man in a white coat and thick horn-rimmed spectacles.

"How long...?" he asked, still struggling to awaken fully.

"Not long. Only about an hour," the doctor reassured him. "You were very lucky. The dose wasn't strong enough do any serious harm." Paul might have been tempted to argue the point, given how lousy felt right now, but decided that his energy would be better spent elsewhere.

"What about Beverly Kingston? Is she all right?" Paul asked, pushing himself up on his elbows. His head felt like it was filled with cottonwood.

"She's still unconscious, I'm afraid," the doctor explained. "Are you a friend of Mrs Kingston's?"

"She's an acquaintance of my wife's," Paul wondered whether the doctor was just a naturally chatty fellow or he had an ulterior motive for asking about his relationship with Beverly Kingston.

"Yes, I read about what happened to your wife," the doctor said, nodding. "A most regrettable incident." He paused. "There is a police detective here who wants to ask you a few questions. Do you feel up to seeing him?"

Paul nodded. "Yes, it'll be all right." He sat up all the way, his head still swimming. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. He still felt rather muddled. He hadn't even noticed the doctor leaving and only looked up when he heard the sound of a door closing.

"I see we met again, Mr Temple," the familiar NYPD Detective had entered the room.

"Not that I mind, but to be honest, I had hoped it'd be under different circumstances," Paul said, trying for a smile.

"As had I, believe me Mr Temple," Harrington said. "Now can you tell me what happened at Mrs Kingston's apartment this afternoon?"

"I don't really know," Paul confessed. "If I had to guess, I'd say someone drugged our tea."

"That's our theory as well," Harrington confirmed somberly. "Did you see Mrs Kingston about anything in particular?"

"Yes, in fact I did. I came to tell her that I had changed my mind and would investigate her husband's death after all," Paul told the detective.

"I'm afraid you might soon find yourself without a client," Harrington commented dryly. "According to the doctor's, it doesn't look good for her."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Paul replied, only now starting to realize that he'd had quite the narrow escape himself. "Do you have any idea who did it yet?"

Harrington eyed him sharply, but answered: "Just between you and me, Mr Temple, it looks like the maid, one Alice Wade might be involved. She is the only one who handled the tea before it was served as far as we can make out. Of course, she denies it utterly and we aren't too clear on her motive either, but we'll get there in the end."

"So does that mean I'm no longer a suspect?" Paul asked cheerily. He didn't really much care what the police thought of him, but it would greatly help his investigation if he wasn't actively suspected in the very affair he was trying to clear up.

Harrington huffed a laugh. "Come on, now Mr Temple. I believe a man of your experience would have better sense than to nearly consume a fatal dose of the drug himself! Besides, I don't think this affair has anything to do with the Peter Baxter business. Although I have to say that people around you certainly seem to live dangerously, considering recent events at any rate."

"What drug was it, by the way?" Paul asked, using the lightened mood to slip in a question. Truth be told, he still wasn't sure what Harrington really thought about him, but he believed him when he said that he didn't think Temple had been involved in drugging the tea.

"We don't know yet for sure, but the doctors think it must have been some sort of sedative."

"That makes sense," Paul commented. It tallied with how he'd felt and still did feel.

"I don't suppose you've got any idea who's behind this?" Harrington asked. Paul was slightly taken aback by the question, but didn't show his surprise.

"Why, according to what you told me, the maid is the only one who could have done it. That is, assuming that neither Mrs Kingston nor I were foolish enough to take an overdose of a sedative voluntarily."

"Yes, that's true," Harrington agreed, but something appeared to trouble him still. "Unless of course someone put the woman up to it," he suggested tentatively.

Paul didn't reply. His own thoughts had been running along similar lines, but he wasn't ready to reveal as much. Not yet at any rate. Not until he was certain.

"How is your wife doing, by the way?" Harrington asked, interrupting Temple's train of thought. "Is she up for visitor's yet?

When Paul shot him a questioning glance, he elaborated: "We still need her official statement, just for the record. Although Dr. Daystrom already mentioned that she wouldn't be able to give us anything."

"He's right," Paul confirmed grimly. "She won't be able to tell you anything. She's suffering from a form of amnesia and doesn't even remember the shooting."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harrington sounded sincere. "In that case, the statement can definitely wait." Harrington pocketed his notebook and pencil. "Good-bye, Mr Temple!"

Paul nodded and moved to get up as well. He wobbled slightly on his legs and had to brace himself on the exam table for a moment, before he regained his equilibrium. It was only then that he noticed that he was missing his jacket. He spotted it, neatly folded, on a small table standing against the wall. Paul put on his jacket and proceeded to look for his hat and coat until he occurred to him that they were probably still at the Kingston flat. He was still thinking about his unconventional attire when he nearly bumped into the avuncular doctor from earlier.

"Mr Temple, but where are you going?" he queried. "You shouldn't be exerting yourself like this just yet."

Paul felt like a little bit like he was child caught up way past his bedtime. "I feel all right now," he replied somewhat sheepishly.

The doctor looked at him, cocking his head slightly. "All right, as you wish, Mr Temple. I can't keep you here against your will. Just make sure that you see a doctor, should you feel any sort of delayed ill-effect."

oOo

Paul had contemplated visiting Louise in hospital after discharging himself, but not only was it rather late for a visit, but he himself didn't really feel up to it, not after the events of the afternoon. He was tired and his mind was still slightly sluggish, so he decided to post-pone the visit, partly also because he suspected he looked even worse than he felt and didn't want to worry Louise unduly.

Instead he returned to the Laurent Hotel where a telegram from Sir Graham was waiting for him when he collected his room key. Paul collected the envelope and the key and made his way to up to his room.

As soon as he got to his room and closed the door behind himself, he tore open the envelope and examined its contents eagerly.

"By Timothy," he exclaimed under his breath as he read about the results of the background checks he had asked Sir Graham to perform. He had been right! Every single person on the list - Beverly Lloyd, now Beverly Kingston, Patrick Kingston, Winifred Morris and Peter Baxter had all lived in Cape Town during the same period of time in the last ten years. While it was gratifying to see his theory proven right and to know that he was on the right track, but there was another thought that intruded, making him feel uneasy. Steve had lived in Cape Town during the same period of time. Paul didn't know much about Steve's life back then, except for what little she had told him when they first met and he'd never asked for any further details. Now he wondered if things had been different if he had. Maybe he could have prevented the shooting form happening in the first place...

Paul shook his head. It wouldn't do to dwell on that now. Things were as what they were and there was no way to change what had happened. All he could do now was try and keep Steve safe and the best way to do that would be to figure out what had happened in Cape Town all those years go, connecting all the players concerned in this affair. He was sure that there was something linking them, beyond having lived in the same place at the same time. With Patrick Kingston and Winifred Morris dead, and the other two, Peter Baxter and Beverly Kingston, in hospital, the only person who could possibly tell him more about that time was Louise. Always, assuming she would trust him that was. The very thought of her having any reason to mistrust or even fear him cut deep, but he was determined to give her the time to learn to trust him again, no matter how long it took. He only hoped that it would time that they had, because whoever was systematically killing these people might, was moving fast.

oOo

Louise was startled awake by a faint noise. Ever since the shooting, she had been sleeping very lightly and often times was woken by the routine sounds of the hospital. Usually she fell asleep again almost immediately, often times not even remembering later that she had woken, but this time, she paused and listened. At first, she could hear nothing but the permanent cacophony of background noises of the hospital that seemed to go on day and night. Opening her eyes, all she could see was the dim light that illuminated the ward at night. Nothing appeared amiss, yet she had the strangest feeling of foreboding that something was about to happen. Suddenly, she heard footsteps. They sounded different, heavier and quicker than the usual footfalls of the nurse doing her nightly check. Louise strained to see in the dim light, but her vision was still somewhat blurry and she couldn't make out anything in the murky distance. Suddenly however, a hand was pressed over her mouth. Louise screamed in surprise and fear, or rather she would have done so, had the gloved hand not muffled the sound of her voice almost completely. She attempted to turn around to see te intruder, but before she could move, a cold, thin object made contact with her throat.

"Do not move," a voice whispered. "I have a knife."

Louise held very still, the blade pressing against her neck as she waited.

An eternity seemed to go by, before the man spoke again. "If you scream, I'll cut your throat. Do you understand?" The hand was lifted from her mouth. For a moment, she contemplated screaming, in spite of the warning, but as if he'd read her mind, the blade pressed deeper all of a sudden and she kept quiet. Then there was a rustling sound, and a piece of cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth. She tried not to breathe, realizing that it must have been soaked in something - chloroform maybe, but eventually her body's survival instinct won over and she drew a shuddering breath, inhaling the sickly sweet smelling substance involuntarily. She tried to struggle, the knife all but forgotten, but it was too late.

TBC