It had a girl of about fourteen, with tears streaming down her face. She
held out a pleading hand, and her voice was scared. "It's--it's mama!"
"Where?"
"Leibnitz."
Leibnitz was near enough. Doc started his tractor, motioning for the
girl to lead the way. The little dwelling she led him to was at the edge
of the village, looking more poverty-stricken than most.
Chris Ryan, and three of the Medical Lobby police were inside, waiting.
The girl's mother was tied to the bed, with a collection of medical
instruments laid out, but apparently the threat had been enough. No
actual injury had been inflicted. Probably none had been intended
seriously.
"I knew you'd answer that kind of call," Chris said coldly.
He grinned sickly. They'd wasted no time. "I hear it's more than you'll
do, Chris. Congratulations! My patient died. You're lucky."
"She was certainly dead when my men took her picture. The print shows
the death grimace clearly."
"Pretty. Frame it and keep it to comfort you when you feel lonely," he
snapped.
She struck him across the mouth with the handle of her gun. Then she
twisted out through the door quickly, heading for the tractor that had
been camouflaged to look like those used by the villagers. The three
police led him behind her.
A shout went up, and people began to rush onto the village street. But
they were too late.
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