Steven passed a number of glaziers replacing corridor windows: he could smell the putty. He found Cleary’s office without trouble.
‘How can I help?’ asked Cleary after initial introductions were over.
‘It’s my understanding that you work on vaccines here,’ said Steven.
‘That’s right, we try to anticipate what might happen in the foreseeable future with regard to bacterial and viral outbreaks and try to make sure that the public can be protected should the need arise.’
‘So what sort of things do you work with?’
‘I hate to be a pain . . . but could I see your warrant card?’
Steven smiled and took out his Home Office ID and security clearance.
‘Thanks. I personally work on anti-bacterial vaccines rather than ant-viral ones, in particular, tuberculosis. TB has been making a bit of a comeback of late and the government’s been considering prophylactic measures. The BCG vaccine has been around for a long time and we’ve been looking at possible alternatives so that’s my main interest although I’m also involved with meningitis vaccines too.’
‘So you don’t all work on the same projects?’
‘No, we try not to overlap too much although there is still plenty of collaboration going on.’
‘So, what sort of microbes would be held in the institute,’ asked Steven. ‘You’ve mentioned TB and meningitis; what else?’
‘Let’s see, Diphtheria. A number of Clostridial strains and Brucella abortus. That’s about it for the bacteria.’
‘And what viruses?’
‘Measles, mumps, rubella, flu.’
‘How about bio-weapon microbes, smallpox, anthrax, plague?’
‘Nothing like that,’ said Cleary. ‘We don’t have a license for handling BLR-4 requiring pathogens. Labs with highest level of containment possible are Porton Down’s province.’
Steven nodded. ‘Did you know what Professor Devon was working on?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
Steven noted that Cleary’s body language changed when he said it. He moved uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Was there any reason why not?’
‘It was a technical thing,’ said Cleary. ‘Tim had been co-opted on to some high-powered government committee and complete confidentiality was required.’
‘So you have no idea what experiments he was engaged in?’
‘Well . . . actually, yes. After they discovered Tim’s body and the fact that several animals were missing, the policeman in charge of the investigation, Inspector Giles, asked me to go through Tim’s things to see if I could find out what he’d been working on. He was concerned about any potential threat the escaped animals might be carrying.’
‘So you found out from Professor Devon’s papers what he was working on?’
Cleary nodded but Steven noticed that he broke off eye contact. ‘Tim was working with flu virus. He was working on a vaccine against it.’
‘Do you still have these papers?’
‘No, I understand they were removed by a man from the Department of Health,’ said Cleary.
‘Ah yes, Mr Lees?’
Cleary nodded. ‘You know him?’
‘No,’ replied Steven. ‘Inspector Giles told me about him earlier.’
‘He confirmed what I had already found out, that Tim had been working on a flu vaccine . . . but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘Oh nothing,’ said Cleary with a dismissive gesture of his hands.
Steven watched the man for a few moments, wondering what he might be holding back, before saying, ‘Dr Cleary, if you have any reason to suspect that these animals might be infected with something other than flu virus, I would strongly advise you to tell me . . .’
‘It was definitely flu virus,’ said Cleary.
Steven again milked the ensuing pause to see if anything else was forthcoming but Cleary stared him out.
‘Were all the animals infected?’ Steven asked.
‘Four were being tested for vaccine efficiency after being challenged with live virus; the other two were experimental controls.’
‘One with virus alone, one with vaccine alone?’
Cleary nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Do you know which animals were recovered?
Cleary hesitated. ‘There was no official way of knowing once the animals had been released from their cages . . .’
‘But?’ asked Steven, picking up on the use of the word ‘official’.
‘Smithy, the man who cleaned and fed the animals, claimed he could tell them apart. When the soldiers brought in the corpses he claimed to know which one was still missing. Unfortunately, it was Chloe.’
‘Chloe?’
‘Chloe was the live virus control animal.’
‘Injected with virus but given no vaccine?’
Cleary nodded and said, ‘I’m not sure how reliable that information is . . .’
‘Well, maybe Chloe will die of flu out there,’ said Steven.
‘If Norfolk in November doesn’t get her first,’ said Cleary, relaxing a little. ‘Perhaps you’d like to meet the rest of the staff?’
FIVE
Cleary led the way to the staff common room where makeshift attempts had been made to clean up the place and an electric kettle had been pressed into service as a substitute for the coffee machine which had been destroyed during the mayhem.
‘Only instant I’m afraid,’ said Cleary.
Steven smiled and took the mug of instant coffee and was introduced to the staff members in turn. He had expected them to display the usual range of human emotions in the circumstances but the degree of violence used against Devon was subduing them so there were no angry tirades against the animal rights movement or pompous assertions about the value of animal experiments in saving human lives. He could sense that people were evaluating their own position in the scheme of things and a more popular theme was the need for better security in the future.
‘It’s crazy they could just walk in here,’ said one man, a sentiment no one was going to disagree with although one person, later introduced to Steven as Dr Pat O’Brien, did point out that the microbial storage areas had remained secure throughout. ‘Woops, pardon me for speaking,’ he said when a silence ensued. ‘I always suspected looking on the bright side was a flawed philosophy,’ he murmured to Steven.
‘Paddy works on meningitis vaccines,’ said Cleary.
‘And this is Dr Leila Martin,’ said Cleary. He pronounced the name the French way. ‘Leila is a visiting research fellow from the University of Washington. She was working with Professor Devon. She too is an expert in the field.’
Steven shook hands with a good looking woman in her thirties with jet black hair, a smooth olive skin and dark brown eyes that seemed to appraise him without seeming intrusive.
‘Forgive me, Dr Dunbar, but I’m afraid I have no idea who or what Sci-Med are,’ she said.
Steven gave her a brief outline of Sci-Med’s function.
‘Ah, you’re a scientific policeman.’
‘Sort of,’ he agreed with a smile, thinking that only a French accent could make the word ‘policeman’ sound sexy. He wanted to tell her that but instead said, ‘Have you worked on influenza virus for long, Doctor Martin?’
‘I did my PhD on it.’
‘You must find it fascinating?’
‘I find its capacity for antigenic change fascinating,’ said Leila. ‘It’s one of the biggest challenges to be faced when it comes to vaccine design. It’s a sort of scarlet pimpernel of a virus, always moving, always changing its appearance and characteristics.’
Once again Steven found the French accent delicious. ‘Sounds like something the scientific police should be hunting down,’ he smiled.
Leila smiled politely.
‘Professor Devon’s death must be a huge blow to your research efforts?’
‘Tim was a lovely man. He knew more about flu virus than anyone else on Earth but he was a true scientist: he shared his knowledge with others unlike so many others these days who rush to the patent office as soon as they have a result. Because of Tim’s openness it will be possible for others to carry on where he left off.’
‘At least that’s something,’ said Steven. ‘And you personally, will you stay here or go back to the States?’
‘It’s too soon to say,’ said Leila. ‘I need time to think. This has come as such a tremendous shock to everyone.’
‘Of course. Well, whatever you decide, I wish you well.’
Steven moved on to chat to some of the others about their work before Cleary eventually escorted him to the front door. Steven handed him his card and looked him directly in the eye. ‘Let me know if you think there’s anything else I should know.’
‘Of course,’ said Cleary.
Steven sat in the car for a few minutes, trying to decide whether or not his investigation was over. The institute hadn’t been licensed to carry out work on the highly dangerous bacteria and viruses normally associated with biological weapons and the escaped animals had not been carrying anything more dangerous than flu virus. Five of the six beasts were already dead and the other probably wouldn’t last long in the wild. End of story . . . or not, because there was no denying that he did feel uneasy about something. Nothing the police or Cleary had told him had given him cause to feel this way. It was just a feeling that he wasn’t in full possession of all the facts. Someone was holding something back and that someone was Nick Cleary.
There had been something about Cleary’s body language during the interview that had aroused his suspicions. He felt sure the man had been considering telling him more but had changed his mind. It might have been something important: equally, it might not, but a small seed of doubt had been planted and Steven had the kind of mind that nurtured such things to maturity. He still had to talk to Marjorie Ryman, the police pathologist, but it seemed unlikely that she would be able to offer him reassurance or wipe away the unease.
Marjorie Ryman was at work in the post-mortem room when Steven arrived. One of the mortuary technicians spoke to her over an intercom link in the reception area: she asked him to put Steven on. After apologising for still being busy at the time they had arranged to meet she gave him the choice of joining her in the PM room or of waiting until she had finished – she thought about forty minutes. He chose to join her rather than wait – a trip to the supermarket was still on the cards. He was shown into a small adjoining room by the technician where there was a row of pegs along one white-tiled wall with green, surgical gowns hanging from them. Below them and underneath a wooden slatted bench, Wellington boots were lined up like troops guarding a royal route.
‘Size?’ asked the technician.
‘Eleven,’ replied Steven.
Steven slipped off his shoes and put on the boots he was handed before standing up to slip his arms through the sleeves of the green gown being held out to him by the Technician, who then secured the ties at the back. He declined the offer of gloves, saying, ‘I won’t be that involved.’
He entered the PM room, wrinkling up his nose at the smell. ‘Dr Ryman?’ he asked.
‘Come in, Dr Dunbar. Sorry I’m still up to my eyes but the police are anxious to have the report on this one and it just seems to have been one thing after another today,’ said a pleasant, endomorphic woman in her early forties with dark hair that was just beginning to grey and intelligent eyes that seemed to reflect a confident but pleasant personality. ‘Otherwise we could have had tea and biscuits in my office.’
‘The murder victim from last night?’ asked Steven, joining her at the furthest away of three stainless steel tables on which the pale corpse of a young man lay with its chest cavity already opened up.
‘This is the fellow,’ agreed Ryman. ‘Dead before his twenty-fifth birthday . . .’
There was a pause during which the gurgle of water sluicing down the drain on the table seemed to offer up a mocking requiem.
‘Inspector Giles seemed to think there might be a link between this murder and that of Professor Devon at the Crick Institute,’ said Steven.
‘So I understand,’ said Ryman. ‘But there’s no pathological reason to think that, so I couldn’t really comment. Suffice to say their deaths were very different. This chap was killed in anger after a short, violent knife attack. Prof Devon was subjected to slow deliberate torture over a period of several hours before being killed suddenly and efficiently by someone who knew exactly what he or she was doing. It takes some skill to puncture the heart with one thrust from a venous cannula. Can I ask why Sci-Med is interested in these deaths?’
‘It’s more the escaped animals that caught our attention,’ said Steven. ‘And what Prof Devon might have been using them for.’
‘Oh, of course, the monkeys,’ said Ryman with a knowing smile. ‘I should have realised. One of them actually bit someone I understand?’
‘A man over in Holt,’ said Steven.
‘Hope it wasn’t carrying anything too nasty.’
‘Only flu,’ said Steven.
‘That was a bit of luck,’ said Ryman. ‘I keep thinking it can only be a matter of time before one of these people releases something really nasty into the wild. They don’t seem to consider what “freeing” the animals means when they start throwing open the doors of research labs.’
‘They probably think it’s a
Tales of the Riverbank
world out there. All the animals will nip down to Toad Hall to attend a lecture on social responsibility with regard to the spread of infectious disease.’
‘You sound like Frank Giles,’ said Ryman with a smile. ‘He’s a sarcastic bastard too.’
‘Must be the job,’ said Steven.
‘Tell me about it,’ said Ryman, gesturing to the corpse on the table. ‘Strikes me, we’ve all come a long way from Walton’s Mountain.’
‘So what kind of person does what they did to Prof Devon?’
‘Not my province,’ said Ryman. ‘I deal with the dead not the living and in this instance, I’m glad about that. I don’t even want to think about the kind of minds behind that one.’
‘That bad?’
Ryman stopped working and looked directly at Steven. ‘I was physically sick when I wrote the report.’
Steven nodded and said, ‘Well, the general feeling seems to be that the animal rights brigade has gone too far this time. Any public sympathy they might have had has all but evaporated. That can only help the police catch whoever was responsible.’