Chris Collett - [Tom Mariner 01] (33 page)

‘I tried to believe that it was just an unhappy coincidence, but afterwards I attempted to establish whether Malcolm’s briefcase had been recovered from the scene.

I knew he kept a lot of the vital information with him, for security reasons. It never was. It just vanished. I suppose I had a feeling then that there could be more to it.’

‘But you never attempted to follow this up yourself?’

‘No. I’m ashamed to say that since Malcolm’s death I have never pursued it. I didn’t have Malcolm’s emotional incentive and I was fearful. My family had already been threatened. The implications of this thing are enormous, Inspector. Were this ever to be made public, Bowes Dorrinton would be liable for hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, of pounds in compensation. I always suspected that they would do anything in their power to suppress it and as far as I was concerned, Malcolm’s death was confirmation of that.’

‘But how did Bowes Dorrinton know what Malcolm Barham was up to?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did they know that he’d been in touch with you?’

‘I’ve sometimes wondered about that. Even after leaving the company, I often used to get the feeling that I was being watched, but put it down to my own paranoia. So now I have that on my conscience too. If only I hadn’t published that research, if only Malcolm hadn’t read it…’

‘You couldn’t possibly have foreseen the outcome,’ Mariner said, feeling an unexpected sympathy for the burden this inoffensive man had carried for so long. ‘So what happened next?’

‘Nothing, for years. I thought that was finally an end to it, until a few weeks ago Eddie Barham tracked me down.

He’d discovered his father’s original notebooks and begun compiling data from the letters sent to his father. He wanted to meet. I tried to call him back to warn him, but apparently I was too late.’

‘That was when you spoke to Anna Barham. His sister.’

‘Oh. Poor girl.’

‘Who’s behind all this, Mr Todd? Who does Bowes Dorrinton get to do their dirty work?’

‘You mean the real people? I honestly can’t tell you. I don’t know. They used to have a whole department of people to deal with complaints. They called them “the bleachers” because they made everything look whiter than white. But now? I don’t know. I’m sure procedures are much more sophisticated these days.’

Mariner hadn’t really expected any different.

But the old man was becoming increasingly agitated, the nervous twitches becoming more pronounced. ‘I’ve said more than enough. I’d like you to go now.’

‘But I will have to come back, Mr Todd.’

Mrs Todd walked him to the gate.

‘My husband isn’t a well man. If anything happens to him, I shall hold you personally responsible,’ she said, uncompromisingly.

Leaving the farm, Mariner couldn’t help but feel desperately sorry for Andrew Todd. He, Mariner, had got this so spectacularly wrong. Todd was on Malcolm Barham’s side and probably, in his way, had suffered just as much; a man with integrity, trying to do the right thing.

But what had it got him? He’d exchanged a comfortable indoor job for a rundown farm, and carried the deaths of three people on his conscience. What a thing to wake up to every morning.

From the farm, Mariner dropped down to the more familiar territory of County Durham, and the desolate, undulating moors. In the distance, he could see a single stone-built chimney standing alone, the sole remnant of the once prevalent smelt mills, built to carry the poisonous filth from populated areas in the valley, to be expelled high on the deserted hills, out of harm’s way. Unsettled by the interview with Todd, Mariner pulled up on the roadside, discarded his jacket and tie in favour of a fleece, and changed his shoes for boots. He probably looked ridiculous, but there was no one around to see as he strode out over the brown springy heather along the course of the underground flue. The moors were eerily silent, with not even the distant bleat of a sheep.

The higher Mariner walked up the winding single track, the mistier it got, until he was enveloped in a dense freezing fog and a biting wind that whipped at his ears and he could see only a few grey yards in each direction. But the route was well marked, occasionally the sky lightened as the fog drifted away, and from the top it suddenly cleared again, exposing a commanding view of the rusty red moorland.

It took him twenty minutes to reach the tall, crumbling tower of the chimney and sitting on its plinth he leaned back against the rough stone, gazing out over the vast exhilarating emptiness, and asking himself as he always did in this situation, why he didn’t leave the city completely. There was nothing keeping him there. Not yet anyway. But if he lived somewhere like this all the time, where would he escape to?

Afterwards, Mariner drove into the town to have a look at Bowes Dorrinton Pharmaceuticals. It was more or less as he’d expected; a complex of vast, featureless, factory hangars and a block of offices, set back off the road behind immaculately groomed lawns. The only identifying feature, the company trademark: capitals BDP linked together to form a distinctive logo. The guard at the barrier wasn’t overtly armed, but as far as Mariner was concerned, he may as well have been. Somewhere on the other side, in those innocuous-looking buildings, were individuals who had gone as far as conspiring to murder in order to protect their own interests. The question was: who did they get to deal with their filth?

Not knowing how difficult Todd would be, Mariner had planned to stay in the north-east for another night. But the job was done and it was still only late morning. One of his options was to have a lunchtime drink in a couple of the nearby pubs and chat up a few locals to see if anything interesting turned up. But it was a long shot. He couldn’t see anyone around here spilling the beans to a complete stranger, even if there was anything to spill. This was evolving into a different beast, and a far more dangerous one than he had anticipated. These people were resourceful and sophisticated, and the conversation with Todd had left Mariner feeling uneasy about Anna Barham, with or without police surveillance.

Although Mariner had instructed her to do nothing, Anna had found it impossible. Inactivity just was not in her nature. Besides, the two of them shut in the flat, Jamie was going to drive her crazy. The climbing club seemed the obvious solution, but when she’d phoned to book had been told that Saturday and Sunday mornings were dedicated to under 16s. She’d even considered taking Jamie swimming, but couldn’t face the complications that getting him changed would cause.

At the surgery, Dr Payne was out on call and the officious receptionist was uncertain of the procedure for getting hold of Anna’s mother’s medical records. She promised to get back to Anna ‘as soon as possible’.

The only other useful option Anna could think of was a visit to the library to see if she could locate a copy of her father’s letter to Autism Review, which surely couldn’t do any harm. Mariner had told her to behave normally and normal people went to the library every day. And part of her was intrigued now to know what it was that she’d missed all those years ago. Besides, the city’s main central library was only a short walk from her flat.

To be on the safe side Anna decided to employ the tracking device Mariner had given her earlier that week. Activating the handset as Mariner had shown her, as she and Jamie were poised to go out of the door, she surreptitiously slipped the tiny receiver into his shirt pocket. But, despite her subtlety, Jamie saw immediately and wasn’t having that, so he pulled it out again. Diverting his attention, Anna then tried clipping the receiver to the back pocket of his trousers, but he felt it and ripped it off. As a last ditch, using distraction tactics again, she attached it to a belt loop. This time, it stayed where it was, but only until they got out into the hallway.

‘No!’ With an emphatic shout Jamie tossed the tiny black button on the floor. Defeated, Anna picked it up and pocketed it before recognising the stupidity of carrying the now-redundant, bulky transmitter with them. Unlocking the front door again, she dropped the device just inside on the floor. Securing the flat again she sneaked them out of the back entrance to the apartments, so avoiding any awkward questions from the young PC who was vigilantly keeping watch outside in his car.

Being a Saturday, the canal basin swarmed with tourists, daytrippers queueing for narrow boat excursions along the waterway and shoppers seeking refuge in the restaurants and coffee houses overlooking the picturesque quayside.

But Anna and Jamie passed along it and through a bustling Brindley Place without incident, Jamie lagging his customary five feet behind his sister. The library was a quiet haven amid the frenetic activity. Archive copies of Autism Review, Anna was told, were not in great demand and would be stored on microfiche up on the fourth floor. After a brief demonstration from one of the librarians, she stationed herself at one of several machines, leaving Jamie to meander around the aisles. Wary of him straying too far, Anna looked up to check on him constantly but for once he seemed to be staying out of trouble, content to study and recite the catalogue numbers on the book spines; enough to keep him occupied for days. Two other people were using the machines, and several students browsed the shelves.

A monthly publication, Anna noted that an issue of Autism Review had been issued three weeks before her parents’ deaths in January 1985. Anna scanned each of its pages in the tiny print of the microfiche, eventually finding what she wanted towards the end of the letters page, from Malcolm Barham, Harborne, Birmingham. It read:

Dear Editor,

I am the father of a fourteen-year-old boy with autism, and am currently looking into possible causes of his condition. I would like to hear from the parents of autistic children born between 1957 and 1973, particularly where forms of medication were prescribed during pregnancy.

Yours faithfully,

Malcolm E Barham.

It was so true to her father’s style, concise and formal, that she could actually hear him reading it. She rubbed at her eyes, cross with herself for being so weepy lately.

Setting up the machine to print off the article for her, she went to find Jamie to warn him that they would be going soon and so hopefully avoid a major incident. He’d been great, she’d hardly known he was there. She’d reward him with lunch at McDonald’s, even though twice in one week was rather too much of a good thing for her. She walked over to where she had last sighted his black jacket through the gap in the shelves, but he’d moved on. Gradually Anna worked her away around the rows, scanning each one, ‘Jamie? Jamie, where are you?’ but Jamie was nowhere to be seen.

Her initial calm began to accelerate into concern and then towards mild panic. Jamie wasn’t here. Anna had never considered the possibility that he would ever really wander off without her, but now he’d done it. Why the hell hadn’t she insisted on him wearing the tracking device? The transmitter button was burning a hole in her pocket. In case he was simply keeping one step ahead of her, Anna moved more quickly, her eyes sweeping up and down the aisles, desperately seeking out the familiar black coat and cargo pants. At one point she thought she saw his flapping hands, but it was only a middle-aged man scratching his head in concentration.

She’d covered the whole of the fourth floor now, but Jamie wasn’t in evidence. The escalators were tucked away in the corner and Anna had felt sure he wouldn’t have ventured on to them alone, but now she had to consider the possibility that he must have. The problem was, had he gone up or down? It would be impossible to search the whole six-floor library herself. She approached the librarian on the desk, trying to keep the tremor from her voice, ‘Excuse me, I need some help. I’ve lost my brother.’

‘Yes, of course.’ With a minimal hand signal, the woman summoned a uniformed security guard. ‘This lady has lost a little boy, can we do a search?’

‘No,’ Anna interrupted. ‘He’s not a child, he’s a man, an adult, but he’s autistic. He can’t communicate and he has no sense of danger. I have to find him.’

The guard was reassuring. ‘Don’t worry, madam, this kind of thing happens all the time. We’ll soon find him.’

Taking out a walkie-talkie, he activated a button. ‘Put out a call on a missing person, John,’ he said and relayed the description Anna provided. Meanwhile, Anna went shakily down to the main library reception area where, she was told, the search would be coordinated and Jamie would be brought when he was found.

She waited for an agonising fifteen minutes, at the end of which the original guard came back to her shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry, love, we’ve looked everywhere. He’s not in the library. Would you like us to call the police?’

Anna didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t understand how Jamie could have managed to find his way out of the building on his own. Then, suddenly, by the main doors to the library, she caught sight of something red and shining lying on the ground. It was an empty Hula Hoop pack. She shivered as someone walked over her grave. ‘No,’ she said.

‘No thank you. I’ll do that.’ Outside the library she took out her mobile phone. ‘I need to speak to DI Mariner. It’s urgent…’

‘I’m sorry, madam, Inspector Mariner isn’t in the station today.’ Of course, he wasn’t. In her distress she had completely forgotten. He’d taken the weekend off and was not expected back until Monday. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ the officer asked.

‘I don’t know. It’s my brother.’

‘And what’s his…’ There was a deafening hiss, and the sergeant’s voice was drowned out by a wave of interference.

Anna waited for the static to clear. It didn’t, there was no other option but to terminate the call. She would have to move to somewhere else and try again. But before she could, her phone rang again.

‘Thank you for calling back, Sergeant,’ she began.

‘There was some interference…’

‘Miss Barham?’ An unfamiliar male voice cut her off.

‘Yes?’

‘Let me reassure you. Your brother is safe and well.’

‘What? Who is this?’ Anna grappled for understanding.