At eight o’clock in the morning, the heavy glass doors of the private medical laboratory on Elm Street were unlocked.

Doctor Aris came out from behind the reception counter, smelling faintly of rubbing alcohol.

He was a broad, grey-haired man of fifty in a spotless lab coat, and he tapped a silver ballpoint pen against his acrylic clipboard as he looked at me.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.

I took the small plastic sample container out of my purse and set it on the high Formica counter between us.

“I need the fluid inside this tube analyzed for chemical compounds,” I said.