Deception (12 page)

Steven decided against the hotel where he had spent the previous night simply because he didn’t like it. It had been all right for one night but he had no idea at this stage how long he was going to be working on the case. He wanted something different from a concrete tower block of identical cells.

He knew where his train of thought was taking him and felt a bit apprehensive over it. He and Lisa had come to a concert at the Edinburgh Festival the year before she died and they had stayed over at a small hotel in the south west of the city. He might be courting the ghosts of times past but he decided that he was going to go there. Seeking association with times past hadn’t worked out too well in the past but he still felt that he wanted to do it.

In the immediate weeks after Lisa’s death he had gone to all the places that had meant so much to them during their time together in the hope of recapturing a feeling of closeness to her but this had failed miserably. All he had found in these places was a mind-numbing sense of loneliness. He was acutely aware of the possibility of this happening again but then again, he reasoned, things just might be different now that more time had passed?

Steven was in Edinburgh by four thirty and had checked in to the Grange Hotel in the quiet well-heeled south west of the city by five. He didn’t have the same room as last time but the view from the window was the same. He stood there, looking out and remembering Lisa pointing out the wishing well at the foot of the garden and saying that they must visit it before they left.

So far so good, he didn’t fill up with feelings of maudlin sentimentality and he wasn’t as yet crushed by sadness and loneliness. He looked at the well for a few moments, remembering their laughter when they’d discovered on the morning of their departure that it wasn’t a real well at all but a garden ‘feature’. He smiled fondly before turning away to call Macmillan at Sci-Med.

‘
I feared you might phone,’ said Macmillan. ‘You’re going to tell me that we should take it on?’

‘
I do think something smells bad in the Blackbridge situation,’ agreed Steven.

‘
Are you absolutely sure?’

‘
I can’t be a hundred percent certain because I’ve had to be discreet in terms of who I’ve spoken to in the village, but the situation is a long way from being under control. Officials are running around like headless chickens and the opponents of GM crops are on the verge of taking matters into their own hands.’

‘
Even at that, it sounds like a matter for the police, not us,’ said Macmillan. ‘What exactly is our interest?’

‘
The opposition has been encouraged to believe that right is on their side. They’ve been told that the crop growing on Peat Ridge Farm is not the one the company was licensed for but a different one containing more foreign genes. Personally, I think it is the same crop but some trouble-making third party with an alternative agenda has commissioned a deliberately misleading report, knowing full well that “misunderstandings” would arise.’ Steven told Macmillan about Millar and his sudden desire to give up work and visit South Africa.

‘
Hell and damnation,’ said Macmillan.

‘
A report, coming from that particular lab, would have the official stamp of ministry approval on it. I think this is why Agrigene feel so aggrieved. You don’t normally expect a government report to be deliberately misleading.’

‘
So you think Sci-Med should find out who this third party is?’ said Macmillan.

‘
They’ve caused a lot of trouble by their actions and it could get worse. People could get seriously hurt if this thing is not sorted out soon and it doesn’t look like the relevant authorities – and there seem to be plenty of them - are making much of a fist of it. It seems to be a case of internecine strife all the way.’

‘
Mmm,’ said Macmillan. ‘I’m not sure I like the idea of Sci-Med picking up such a political hot potato. We could get our fingers badly burned.’

‘
Up to you,’ said Steven, sensing his director’s reluctance.

There was a long pause before Steven added, ‘You obviously have doubts about us taking it on.’

‘
To be quite honest, I was thinking that
Sir
John Macmillan had rather a nice ring to it. I’ve recently been led to believe that this might actually become a reality in the New Year’s honours list. Eleanor would be so pleased.’

‘
But if you should happen to rock the boat at this particular juncture . . . ‘

‘
Quite so.’

‘
You’re calling the shots,’ said Steven.

‘
No, you are,’ said Macmillan abruptly. ‘Notify in the usual way if you’re quite sure.’ He put the phone down.

Steven looked at the receiver, eyes wide in astonishment. Macmillan had dumped the whole thing in his lap, including his own prospects of a knighthood when all was said and done. ‘Well, thank you,
Herr Direktor
,’ he murmured. ‘Thanks a million.’

Steven went back over to the window and looked out at the lawn. Did one biotech company playing some dirty trick on another biotech company really matter that much in the great scheme of things? he wondered. Was the possibility of a government scientist taking a back hander for being deliberately vague about a lab report such a big deal? After all, it wasn’t as if the man had actually lied or falsified the report, he had just . . . nurtured a misunderstanding. Was any of it really that important?

Steven turned away from the window and opened up his laptop slowly. He connected the modem link to the phone socket, inserting the plug with an air of finality. ‘Damned right is,’ he muttered. He typed in the message, BLACKBRIDGE RED and hovered over the send button for a moment before adding, ‘sorry’. A few minutes later he had the reply, BLACKBRIDGE GREEN, signifying that Sci-Med had understood and agreed that he was now fully operational. There was a codicil from Macmillan. It said, ‘No reason to be sorry. I’d have sacked you if you’d done anything else. Good luck.’

The dye was cast. Steven took a shower, changed his clothes and went downstairs to have a drink in the bar. One of the staff thought he recognised him and asked politely if he had stayed there before. Rather than get involved in an unwanted conversation about the circumstances of his last visit, Steven said not. He had dinner in the conservatory restaurant, as he and Lisa had done before, and tried to remember as much about the details of that night as he possibly could. What Lisa had been wearing, what they had talked about, what they’d eaten, the wine they’d drank, whether they’d had one cup of coffee after or several. He remembered the mock argument over the last piece of tablet given out with their coffee. Lisa had won. Nothing was too trivial to ponder. He didn’t notice any of the other diners around him and the staff scarcely registered. To them he was a man preoccupied and happily, they respected that.

When the exorcism was over, for that’s what he hoped it might be, Steven signed the bill and returned upstairs feeling much better about things. The gamble had paid off. For the first time since Lisa’s death, thinking about her had brought him happy memories instead of feelings of pain and sadness. He felt much stronger because of it. He’d passed another milestone on the road to full recovery.

He shut the room door and lay down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about what might lie ahead. The investigation was going to begin in earnest in the morning so he had to decide what he was going to do and in what order he was going to do it. He saw speaking with Ronald Lane and Thomas Rafferty as priorities. Ideally he would have liked to have interviewed them together but he supposed that that would be out of the question, considering the current level of animosity between them. He would also have to speak to the local police at some point to find out how they viewed the situation and to find out what level of understanding they had of the scientific element of the problem. Finally he wanted to know a bit more about what officialdom was doing about all of this. He would pay a visit to the Blackbridge Arms.

As soon as Sci-Med had given him his encryption codes for the computer he would seek information about Sigma 5 and also about recent transactions into and out of Dr Gerald Millar’s bank account, including details about his early retirement package. For that, Sci-Med would seek the co-operation of the Inland Revenue Service.

Steven watched the Scottish news on the television in his room. There was an item on the Scottish Parliament, which appeared to have been bedevilled with controversy since its inception, according to the reporter. Steven paid close attention. He felt he needed to know more about the Scottish Parliament. From what Eve Ferguson had told him, this kind of friction, albeit at a lower level, was proving to be a major stumbling block in Blackbridge. This requirement, he decided, was going to take care of his evening. He connected his laptop to the Internet via
Netscape
and sought out information on the Scottish Parliament. He was pleased to find that it had its own website and that it opened by declaring its commitment to openness and accountability.

‘
Just what I like to hear, chaps,’ he murmured.

SEVEN

Steven was once more stopped by security men at the entrance to the track leading up to Peat Ridge Farm.

‘
I want to speak to Mr Lane,’ he said to the uniformed man who had waved him down.

‘
No press. On your way!’

‘
I’m not press.’ Steven showed his ID. The guard frowned and showed it to his partner who read it and then pulled out his mobile phone. Steven watched him read from his ID and wait for a response. It came with the return of his ID and a wave of the hand that he should proceed.

There was a Land Rover and a dark green Jaguar S-type saloon parked outside the farmhouse. Steven glanced admiringly at the jag as he walked up to the door, noting in passing that it had been bought in Norwich and had a personalised number plate.

The door was opened by a small woman in her sixties with round shoulders and wearing a floral tabard over a pink, fluffy jumper and brown skirt: she had a feather duster in her hand, which she held up in her right hand like a fairy wand. ‘Yes?’

‘
It’s all right, Mrs Fraser, let him in,’ said a voice with a South African accent from somewhere behind her before Steven could say anything.’

Steven entered, taking great care to wipe his feet in the presence of the person who did the cleaning and looked to Mrs Fraser for directions.

‘
You’ll find Mr Lane in there,’ she said, pointing to the left with her duster.

Steven walked towards the room and found the door ajar. He knocked quietly and got a brusque, ‘Come!’ in response. There were two men in the room. Neither got up when he entered.

‘
What d’you want?’ asked the one with the South African accent whom Steven took to be Lane unless the other one, who hadn’t yet spoken, should also turn out to be South African.

‘
Mr Lane?’ asked Steven.

‘
Yes, what d’you want?’

‘
I’d like to ask you some questions about your GM crop.’

Lane turned to his companion and said sarcastically, ‘Did you hear that Phil? A man from the government wants to ask us some questions about our crop. How novel. May I suggest you ask your many colleagues who’ve beaten a path to my door wanting to do exactly the same thing or better still, put your questions to our solicitors,’ said Lane coldly. ‘Now, get out.’

‘
I’d rather put them to you, Mr Lane’ said Steven evenly.

‘
I said to get out, pally,’ Lane repeated menacingly, looking over his glasses at Steven to emphasise the point.

Steven now understood why Lane wasn’t exactly Mr Popular in the village. He said, ‘Mr Lane, I am empowered by the Sci-Med Inspectorate to ask you anything I feel may be relevant to my investigation. Whether we do it here or at a police station or in the prison cell you will certainly end up in if you persist in obstructing me, I leave up to you. Now, shall we start again . . . pally?’

‘
I hope you’re not bluffing, my friend,’ said Lane, but a degree of uncertainty had crept into his voice.

‘
I’m definitely not bluffing,’ Steven assured him with a level gaze.

‘
What exactly are you investigating?’ asked the other man who obviously thought the time right to intercede. He spoke with an English accent.

‘
And you are?’ asked Steven.

‘
Phillip Grimble, technical manager of Agrigene Biotechnology. It’s our crop that Mr Lane is growing.’

‘
At the moment, I’m investigating your difficulty in convincing people that you should keep your licence, Mr Grimble.’

‘
You mean you’re on our side?’ exclaimed Lane, looking astonished.

‘
I didn’t say that and I don’t want to be on anybody’s side but from what I’ve learned so far, you do seem to be subject to certain misunderstandings over what you have in the fields out there.’

‘
Misunderstandings?’ snorted Lane. ‘It’s a bloody set up. Some bastard is out to fuck us up big time.’

‘
Why would anyone want to do that?’ asked Steven.

‘
Christ knows. None of it makes any sense to me. The whole thing is just plain bloody crazy. We do everything by the book, jump through all the hoops, hop over all the hurdles, get all the permissions and then they turn round and say we’re not really licensed because some clown in a lab coat can’t tell his arse from a hole in the wall. ’