Chris Collett - [Tom Mariner 01] (30 page)

‘Thanks for your help,’ said Mariner, to the Worcestershire policeman. ‘And thanks for getting back so quickly.’

‘No problem, the report was to hand anyway. We had another enquiry about it a couple of months back.’

‘Oh yes, who was that?’

‘The son of the deceased. A Mr Edward Barham.’

Well, well. Thanking the officer again, Mariner went down to the property store where Eddie Barham’s personal effects were being held, and took out the wallet. The money was still there, as were the credit cards, along with another old and faded business card. Andrew Todd, Clinical Research Team. And the name of the company he worked for? Bowes Dorrinton Pharmaceuticals. Another brick in the wall.

‘So what’s all this got to do with anything?’ Knox understandably wanted to know.

Mariner told him what he thought.

‘You’ve been overdoing the home brew,’ was Knox’s verdict. ‘It’s rotted your brain.’

‘Is that why you’re like a bear with a sore head today?’ slipped in Mariner.

Knox just shot him a venomous look. The phone rang and Knox picked it up. ‘Anna Barham,’ he said, passing it over. Time to test the water.

‘I think I know why Eddie and your parents were killed,’ Mariner said, as an opener.

‘My parents? What have they got to do with it?’

‘Everything. We need to talk to their friend Liz Trueman. Do you remember where she lives?’

‘I don’t know the address, but I might remember the house. It’s up near Sutton Park somewhere. We went there a couple of times when we were kids.’

‘Can you take me there?’

‘Yes, think so, but what’s this all about?’

‘The Brocken Spectre.’

‘Oh.’ If she thought he’d lost it there was no clue in her voice.

‘I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.’

‘Want me to come?’ asked Knox, sulkily.

Mariner shook his head. ‘I think you should take a couple of hours off and go and sort out your personal life.’

‘Thank you, sir. If I need any more advice, I’ll be sure to come and ask you for it.’ And he turned and walked out.

Collecting Anna from her office, Mariner drove them north out of the city, along the six-lane Aston expressway where, fortunately, at this time of day most of the traffic was heading in the opposite direction. Over to the left they passed the stately Jacobean towers of Aston Hall nestling incongruously alongside the ultra modern Villa Park football stadium.

‘So what’s the Brockle Spectre when it’s at home?’ Anna asked.

Mariner smiled. ‘The Brocken Spectre,’ he corrected her. ‘It’s an optical illusion.’

‘Oh, that Brocken Spectre.’

Mariner ignored her. ‘It’s called that because it was first seen on Mount Brocken, in Germany. It’s a phenomenon that occurs when you’re up on a mountain above the clouds. The sun shines down and projects your shadow on to the cloud below, but magnified several times, so you look down on this huge outsized shadow of yourself. It’s amazing, very dramatic. But the interesting thing is that however many people are there on the mountain with you, the only shadow you see is your own, you can’t see any of the others around it. That’s what’s happened to us. Me. I’ve been so focused on Jamie’s “shadow” on that database that I couldn’t see any of the other people on it, and I completely missed the person it’s really all about.’

‘Who?’

‘I hope that is what we’re about to find out.’

‘Oh, come on, you have to tell me more than that,’ Anna implored.

But Mariner wouldn’t. ‘I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth,’ he said. ‘Without any hints from us.’

They were coming into Royal Sutton Coldfield, once a small market town in its own right, but now just an outer, if more exclusive annexe of the city. Mariner always thought of it as Birmingham’s Bel Air, as did many of its residents.

‘Okay, where to now?’ asked Mariner.

‘The house is near Sutton Park itself, close to the south gate. If they still live there, that is.’ But approaching the park, Anna began to recognise landmarks. ‘It’s somewhere along here, I’m sure.’ Then she saw it. ‘That’s it. That’s their house,’ she said, picking out a solid thirties detached in the shade of a huge spreading copper beech. ‘That’s the tree Jamie fell out of.’ There was a car already parked on the drive. It was a good sign. Mariner pulled in behind it, and Anna rang the doorbell.

After some delay, Liz Trueman appeared, drying her hands and wearing attire suitable for gardening. Despite the smile, her welcome seemed uncertain. ‘Anna, what a surprise. Please, come in. But I’m afraid Michael isn’t here.’ They followed her into an airy, large comfortable lounge. Almost immediately Mariner noticed the black and white symbols, like those in Eddie’s house.

‘This is Detective Inspector Mariner,’ Anna said, once they were seated, and had declined the offer of refreshment.

Mariner proffered his ID. ‘This isn’t exactly a social call, Mrs Trueman,’ he said, sensing that she’d already guessed.

‘It’s about Eddie, isn’t it?’ she said, apprehensively.

‘Yes, it is. We now know for certain that Eddie’s death was not suicide.’

‘I knew it.’ Liz wrung her hands together anxiously. ‘I said that to Richard, my husband. It was all so—unnatural.

First Susan and Malcolm, then Eddie.’

‘How long had you known Mr and Mrs Barham?’

Mariner asked.

‘Years. We first met soon after Jamie was diagnosed.

Finding out that your child is autistic is a very lonely experience, Inspector. Back then it was even worse because there were no ready-made support groups and much less was known about the condition. It was both devastating and isolating. Then one day, completely by accident, I ran into Susan Barham in the doctor’s waiting room. That was when we lived in Birmingham of course, shortly before we moved out here. The relief of finding someone else who was going through the same emotional turmoil was indescribable.

We clung to each other. We grieved together.’

‘Grieved?’

‘For the sons we didn’t have, and never would have,’ she said, her voice filled with sadness. ‘It never stops, you know. Every time your child fails to reach another milestone you grieve all over again for what might have been.

One of the hardest things is when you realise they’re not children any more, they’re adults and they’re never going to change.’ Her eyes glistened as momentarily her emotions got the better of her.

Mariner allowed time while she composed herself. ‘Mrs Trueman, have you ever seen this before?’ He showed her the database. ‘This is Jamie and we think this must be Michael.’

Liz studied the document for a few moments. ‘I haven’t, but I know what it’s about. You’re right. It is Michael. Did Eddie put this together?’

‘We found it on his computer.’

Liz Trueman sighed. ‘Eddie contacted us last summer.

He said that he was coming under increasing pressure from Jamie’s respite care home to allow them to use some form of medication for Jamie, so he’d begun to research what was available. In the course of this, he had looked up your father’s old notebooks.’ She glanced over to Anna. ‘He came across our name and address amongst the paperwork and said he wanted to renew our acquaintance. He was having a difficult time with Jamie, so we were only too willing to offer him some support. He said he was interested in the fact that Michael has been on a programme of medication for several years now, because he was considering it for Jamie too. In retrospect I think that was probably just an excuse to come over and talk to me. He and Jamie visited us here a couple of times and spent some time with Michael. Not that Jamie or Michael were in the least bit interested in one another of course.’

‘And is that all you talked about? Michael’s medication?’

She shook her head. ‘On the second visit Eddie brought the notebooks with him.’

‘Dad’s research project?’ said Anna.

‘What was left of it. Your dad had always been determined to find some kind of logical explanation for autism.

I’m sure it was his way of coping with Jamie. Anyway, at the back of your father’s notebooks was a whole section about a drug called Pinozalyan, but Eddie didn’t know why. It was a drug that could treat insomnia, so Eddie thought it might be of benefit to Jamie. He wanted to know if we’d ever heard of it.’

‘And had you?’ Anna held her breath.

Liz looked suddenly tired, as if she’d been through all this before. ‘Oh yes.’

‘But it wasn’t for Michael, was it?’ said Mariner.

‘No.’

‘Then what?’ Anna was confused.

‘Michael didn’t take Pinozalyan, I did. Back when I was expecting Michael, I was finding it hard to sleep and my blood pressure had rocketed as a result, so I was prescribed Pinozalyan. It was something else your mother and I found we had in common. When your father realised we had both taken the same drug while we were pregnant, he seized on it.’

‘Pinozalyan, which acts on the serotonin system.’

‘Yes. Being a chemist, he realised at once that there could be a link between the drug and the fact that our children had both subsequently been diagnosed autistic, displaying the very behaviours that excess serotonin would cause. So he set about proving it.’

‘The Brocken Spectre,’ said Mariner, grimly. ‘We were so busy looking at Jamie on the database, that we missed your mother completely. We thought it was all about the treatment, when really it’s about the cause.’ He turned Liz’s attention back to the database. ‘So this last row of dates, the ones before Michael was born…’

‘Refers to the dates when I was prescribed Pinozalyan. I didn’t remember, of course. I had to go back to my GP and asked to see my medical records.’

‘And have you any idea who any of these other people may be?’

Liz frowned. ‘No. There were a couple of other local families, but not nearly this number. Although shortly before he was killed, Malcolm did make some kind of breakthrough and got what he considered to be some concrete evidence. I don’t know where it came from, but he was very excited about it and published a letter in Autism Review. The response he got was overwhelming.’

‘The letters,’ Anna said, suddenly.

‘What letters?’

‘The letters at the solicitor’s I told you about last night.

They were from the parents of autistic children, describing their children’s behaviour, the date of diagnosis. They were addressed to Dad, because it was his research in the first place, but Eddie must have been trawling back through them.’

‘To compile his database.’

‘The next thing we heard was that Malcolm and Susan had been killed. We just couldn’t believe it.’

‘But surely you don’t think…’ Anna began.

But Liz’s silent tears made perfectly clear what she was thinking.

By the return journey, however, scepticism had set in. ‘I’m sorry,’ Anna said. ‘It’s just too far-fetched, like some second-rate sci-fi film.’ They were driving south again, over the tangled roads of Spaghetti Junction, cars scurrying around its loops and strands like mice in a maze, reflecting the muddled confusion of Anna’s thoughts.

‘On the contrary,’ Mariner argued. ‘It all makes perfect sense. Your father discovers the link between a prescribed drug and a debilitating condition, publishes his theory in a magazine. Weeks later he’s killed. Then, years after that, Eddie discovers your father’s notes and starts following the same line of enquiry, and now he’s dead, too. What other explanation is there? Lightning doesn’t strike twice. And where are your father’s notebooks now? Our lads have been into every nook and cranny of that house and haven’t come across them.’

‘Eddie might have hidden them somewhere safe.’

‘No. He’d have left them with the solicitor. I think that when Eddie went to meet Kerry that night, someone was waiting for him to go out. While he was gone they broke into the house to look for your father’s notebooks and any other evidence of what he was up to. They shoved Jamie in the cupboard under the stairs and began to destroy Eddie’s computer files. But Eddie and Kerry came back too soon and disturbed them.’

‘That’s ridiculous, it’s far too melodramatic. Who would kill Eddie just for the sake of some half-baked theory of my father’s?’

‘Someone who knew he was right. Imagine if your father was really on to something. If he could conclusively prove that Pinozalyan had caused Jamie’s autism and that of other kids? It would be like Thalidomide all over again. A drug prescribed to women during pregnancy that led to the births of hundreds of damaged children.’

‘But that was thirty years ago.’

‘It makes no difference. The end result is the same. Once the link between Thalidomide and birth deformities was proven, the company responsible for producing the drug was liable. Think about it.’

Anna did. ‘It’s mind-blowing,’ she said, numbly.

T know. And all we’re left with is the task of proving it.’ Even to Mariner’s own ears it sounded frighteningly simplistic. ‘There was a business card in Eddie’s wallet belonging to an Andrew Todd, an employee of Bowes Dorrinton, I’m sure he must be involved somehow.’

‘I know that name,’ Anna looked at him. ‘A man called Andrew Todd phoned Eddie’s house that afternoon, when you told me he’d been—after you’d gone. When I said what had happened to Eddie, he just hung up. I tried calling him back but the number was unobtainable.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t know it was relevant.’

‘He’s the connection with the drug company,’ Mariner snorted with disgust. ‘He was checking that the job had been done.’

‘But that’s crazy. Surely Eddie wouldn’t have been naive enough to go to the company directly with this.’

Mariner let that one go for now. ‘Somebody found out what he was up to,’ he said. ‘Eddie must have talked to someone apart from Liz Trueman.’

‘It wasn’t Darren.’

‘Darren’s only a kid. Who else would Eddie have told?

Who would he have trusted?’ But as he’d already learned, Eddie was a loner. Nobody came to mind.

‘So what now?’ Anna asked, tentatively.

‘It would help if you could get access to your mother’s medical records. At least then we’d have confirmation that she took Pinozalyan, too. And we need to get hold of those letters to your father and cross-reference them with the database. Where’s your solicitor’s office?’