Deception (24 page)

‘
Anything I can do?’ asked the manager.

Steven asked if he might borrow some tools. He followed the man back indoors and emerged a few seconds later with electrical pliers and a few small screwdrivers. It didn’t take long to reconnect the ignition system. Luckily it was a simple job, not requiring much in the way of concentration. This was just as well because his mind was on other things.

As a scare tactic, the music box had been a big success. He had to admit that it had been a long time since he’d experienced the real paralysing fear he’d felt when he’d first realised the connection between the music and the ignition switch. The threat had been made and now he was left wondering just how serious it was. Was Sigma 5 really prepared to kill him if he didn’t back out of the investigation at Blackbridge? People working for his own government?

It had been his intention to drive out to Blackbridge early and catch James Binnie before he went off on his rounds. He felt that, as he hadn’t heard from Binnie yesterday, there must be a good chance of something arriving in the post for him this morning from the vet school. In view of what had just happened however, he changed his plans and returned back upstairs to contact Sci-Med. He put in a request for a firearm, the first time he’d ever done such a thing. Such a request would automatically be given priority and he had a reply within ten minutes saying that he could pick up the weapon at Livingston Police Headquarters at his convenience.

Steven drove directly out to Livingston and asked for Brewer. The chief inspector, who was already expecting him, handed over a 9mm automatic pistol, two boxes of ammunition and a Burns Martin shoulder holster, all of which he signed for in triplicate.

‘
Not for our pathologist friend, I hope,’ said Brewer.

‘
Not for anyone I hope,’ said Steven. ‘I dislike these things as much as you.’ He told Brewer about the incident with his car.

‘
Christ!’ exclaimed the policeman. ‘Is no one ever going to tell me just what the fuck is going on my patch?’

‘
I’m not keeping you in the dark,’ Steven assured him. ‘I’m in it myself.’ He told Brewer why he had decided not to pursue Levi over the cause-of-death change on the PM report and the policeman nodded. ‘Makes sense, I suppose.’

‘
Have you seen him?’ asked Steven.

‘
Two weeks sick leave, I understand,’ replied Brewer. ‘Wonder how he’ll square it with his conscience.’

‘
I can’t see that being a problem,’ said Steven. ‘The pressure would have been applied along the lines of, doing it for the good of the public, helping to prevent the spread of fear and alarm, giving the authorities a little time to deal with the problem, that sort of seductive crap. He’ll probably end up feeling like a hero who’s saved the nation. Come to think of it there might even be an MBE in it for him come New Year time. Let’s watch this space.’ It would be more than Macmillan was now going to get, Steven thought privately.

Brewer watched while Steven took off his jacket and strapped on the shoulder holster, adjusting it until it felt comfortable. He loaded the gun and slipped it into place, removing and replacing it twice to get the feel of it.

‘
Need time on the range?’ asked Brewer.

Steven shook his head. ‘If I need this it’ll be at close quarters and in extreme circumstances. I won’t go scaring the locals. I promise.’

‘
But you’re taking the business with your car as a serious warning?’ asked Brewer.

‘
Let’s say, I’m not writing it off as a boyish prank.’

‘
They – whoever “they” are, obviously know your car and where you’re staying,’ said Brewer.

‘
I’ll have to move,’ agreed Steven. ‘And keep moving every couple of days. I’ll change to a rented car too. Maybe you could store mine for me?’

‘
I’ll supply you with a pool vehicle if you like,’ suggested Brewer. ‘You can keep changing that too. It means you’ll also have a police radio too. That might come in handy.’

Steven agreed that this was a good idea and accepted Brewer’s offer to arrange it right away. He put his own car down in the police garage and took charge of a dark grey, unmarked Ford Mondeo. He thanked Brewer for his help and offered to buy him lunch, an offer the policeman accepted and the two of them had a bar lunch in a nearby pub. Afterwards, Steven set out for Blackbridge much later than he’d planned. As he feared, James Binnie was not at home when he finally got there but Ann was able to tell him that he had still had no word back yet from the vet school.

‘
Maybe these things take more time than I thought,’ said Steven, disappointed at the news.

‘
I think James was surprised too when nothing came back this morning,’ said Ann. ‘He’d actually asked a friend of his over there to carry out the examination and told him it was urgent. I think he expected the report back yesterday if truth be told.’

Steven said, ‘Maybe I could give James a ring on his mobile?’

‘Why don’t you come inside and do it,’ said Ann. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’ She disappeared into the kitchen and Steven called Binnie on his mobile. It was answered after the fifth ring and Binnie sounded harassed. ‘Yes? What is it?’

James? It’s Steven Dunbar. I’m sorry to bother you . . .’

‘
Not many people can say they had their arm half way up a cow’s arse when their phone went,’ interrupted Binnie. ‘I’m grateful to you for giving me the opportunity.’

Steven tried not to laugh. He asked about Binnie’s friend at the vet school.

‘
Yes, I asked John Sweeney if he’d do it for me; we’ve been friends for years. We were at university together.’

‘
Would you mind if I went over there to the vet school and spoke to him personally?’

‘
I suppose not,’ replied Binnie after a moment’s thought. ‘That’s probably a good idea. I can’t understand what’s taking him so long.’

‘
Okay,’ said Steven lightly. ‘Just thought I’d check with you first.’

‘
Thanks a bundle,’ replied Binnie ruefully.

‘
You got him then?’ asked Ann Binnie, returning with two mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits.

‘
At a bad moment it seems,’ said Steven.

‘
Don’t take it to heart,’ laughed Ann. ‘He gives everyone a hard time when he feels like it. He’s not one for bottling things up, is my Jim. Says what’s on his mind, he does. That’s why we haven’t a friend left in the world.’

Steven looked at her but then saw that she was joking. ‘He’s a pussy cat really,’ said Ann.

FOURTEEN

As Steven was driving up the hill between Peat Ridge and Crawhill farms he slowed near the canal bridge when he noticed newly erected barriers across the access steps on both sides leading down to the towpath. He stopped the car and got out. Plastic-covered notices headed, ‘Public Health Notice’ were tied with string to the striped barriers, declaring the towpath closed to the public until further notice. They didn’t say why but when he looked over the bridge parapet and saw several men dressed in white coveralls and carrying what looked to be 0.22 calibre rifles, he realised that the rat cull must have started.

The men were spaced out at intervals of fifty to a hundred metres and walking slowly eastwards with their weapons cradled in the crook of their elbows. Steven crossed to the other side of the road and looked along the towpath in the other direction. He could see another two similarly dressed men patrolling to the west before a turn in the canal obscured any further view.

As he watched, one of the men raised his weapon to his shoulder and fired at something on the opposite bank. Steven couldn’t see the target or the outcome but the gesture the marksman made with his left arm suggested that he’d hit what he’d been aiming at.

He felt a sense of relief that at last someone in authority seemed to be getting something done in Blackbridge. It made him reflect on the power of the press as he got back into his car and continued his drive back to the city. But did it justify the anguish that Alex McColl must have caused the Ferguson family? Was it a case of the end justifying the means or just the lucky by-product of an opportunist tabloid crusade fuelled by hypocrisy?

Steven found a parking space in a narrow street of Victorian villas, running parallel to Melville Drive and the Meadows. He fed the nearby machine with sufficient coins for a one-hour ticket and stuck it on his windscreen before walking back the two hundred metres or so to The Royal Dick School of Veterinary Medicine, known locally as the Dick Vet. He asked at the servitor’s box for Dr John Sweeney and was in turn asked his business. He wasn’t surprised at the question. There were notices all around reminding staff to be vigilant in the light of continuing threats from animal rights groups. He showed his ID and the servitor picked up a phone.

‘
Visitor for Dr Sweeney . . . From the Sci-Med Inspectorate . . . Right, will-do.’ The man replaced the receiver and turned back to Steven. He pointed to the lift and said, ‘He says to go on up. Third floor, room 308.’

John Sweeney proved to be a small man with narrow shoulders and a mop of crinkly brown hair. He wore a pristine white lab coat over a Bengal striped shirt and university tie with a large, skewed sausage knot in it. There was at least a two-inch gap between his throat and the start of his shirt collar, giving him the air of a learned tortoise emerging from his shell. He wore brown corduroy trousers and highly polished shoes of a colour somewhere between dark brown and red. ‘How can I help you?’ he asked.

‘
I understand we have a mutual friend,’ said Steven. ‘James Binnie, the vet over at Blackbridge?’

Instead of the smile of recognition that Steven expected to see at the mention of Binnie’s name, he saw a look of caution appear on Sweeney’s face, even nervousness. ‘Ye..s, I know James. We qualified together many years ago. What is it that you want exactly? He inquired tentatively.

‘
It’s about the rat that James brought over to you the other day for autopsy. I was wondering if you had completed your examination on it?’ asked Steven.

‘
The rat,’ Sweeney repeated, diverting his gaze.

There was no element of question in Sweeney’s voice, Steven noted. The man had simply repeated the word as if stalling for time. ‘What about it?’

‘
We were wondering about your findings, Doctor?’ Steven repeated, somewhat unnecessarily, he thought.

‘
It was fine,’ said Sweeney.

‘
Fine?’ queried Steven.

‘
I’m sorry, I should have got back to James sooner, but I’ve been busy with one thing and another. No, there was nothing unusual about the animal’s body condition. It seemed perfectly healthy.’

‘
I see,’ said Steven, aware that he was unnerving Sweeney by watching him intently. ‘And the toxicology tests?’

‘
There was no trace of any glyphosphate or glufosinate compound in the animal at all.’

‘
So it was a perfectly normal rat in every respect?’

‘
Yes . . . absolutely,’ said Sweeney.

Steven was convinced that the man was lying. The look on his face, the way he shuffled his feet uncomfortably and a reluctance to establish eye contact all said that he was. Steven took a deep breath before saying, ‘Doctor Sweeney, I know James asked you to carry out this examination unofficially, as a friend, but now I’m asking you officially, with the full weight of the law behind me, ‘Did you come across anything unusual in your examination of that rat? Anything at all?’

Sweeney’s eyes opened wide like saucers. ‘I can’t say that I did,’ he stammered.

His wordplay didn’t work. ‘Can’t or won’t?’ Steven persisted.

‘
Can’t.’

Steven let Sweeney stew in his own obvious discomfort for a few moments to see if anything else would emerge.

‘
Damn it, I really can’t see why you people don’t talk to each other,’ Sweeney blurted out. ‘I take it you’re all on the same side?’

‘
What does that mean?’ asked Steven calmly.

‘
Nothing,’ said Sweeney, recovering his composure.

Steven had a thought. He remembered that many public sector employees were obliged to sign the official secrets act as part of their work contract. He asked if this was the case with Sweeney.

‘
Yes, I’ve signed it,’ replied Sweeney, looking relieved again.

‘
Then I won’t bother you any more in the circumstances,’ said Steven resignedly. ‘It would be unfair.’ He played his last card in what he saw as a losing hand. ‘I would however, add that sometimes a man has to decide what’s right and what’s wrong in his own mind . . . and act accordingly, regardless of what the rules might say.’

Steven left the building feeling dejected. He felt as if he were trying to run in ever-deepening soft sand. He took what was positive from the meeting with Sweeney and tried to concentrate on that. There had almost certainly been something wrong with the rat but Sweeney was under orders to keep quiet about it, maybe under the threat of breaking the official secrets act. From the look of relief on Sweeney’s face when he’d asked about herbicides, they had had nothing to do with it, so he supposed that that was some kind of progress.

The question that worried him now was how had the opposition known about Binnie’s request to his friend? It had been a completely unofficial thing so Binnie must have mentioned it to someone other than himself and his wife, Ann. He’d ask him about that when he saw him next. In the meantime he could only hope that his appeal to Sweeney’s sense of what was right in his own conscience might bear fruit and he might see fit to confide in his old friend, Binnie.