The Devil's Landscape

Eighteen

‘Will you be staying up in Scotland to see your daughter?’ asked Jean when Steven told her he wanted to fly up to Edinburgh in the morning.

Steven said not. ‘I’m hoping it’s just going to be a flying visit. The plan is to get my hands on the package and get back to London in time to deliver it to Lukas at the lab. This could be the break we’ve been hoping for.’

‘Does this Dan Glass know you’re coming?’

Steven said not. ‘I’d like it to be a surprise.’

‘Good luck.’

Tally loaded her fork with the smoked fish risotto ready-meal that Steven had prepared for dinner, but paused to ask, ‘Don’t you like using the telephone, or do you just fancy a jolly to Edinburgh?’

‘I just fancy a jolly to Edinburgh,’ Steven replied, filling both their glasses and pretending to concentrate on his plate.

Tally looked at him suspiciously. ‘You’re lying, aren’t you?’

Steven smiled and said, ‘I don’t know what the arrangement was between Barrowman and his friend, Glass. Assuming the package contains what we hope it does and holds data on Lawler, there may be some arrangement in place as to what to do if some stranger starts asking questions. I want to be a surprise visitor.’

‘I see.’

‘Eat up.’

‘My compliments to Monsieur Tesco.’

‘Are you taking that thing with you?’ asked Tally, inclining her head to where Steven left the gun in its holster.

‘No, I’ll put it in the safe. I should manage a trip to Edinburgh without a gunfight.’

Tally gave him an unsmiling stare, reminding Steven he should never make jokes about guns.

Next morning, Steven took a British Airways shuttle flight to Edinburgh which landed just after ten. The morning rush hour was largely over, allowing him a clear taxi ride from the airport, which lay to the west of the city, to the Western General Hospital which was to the north west. As they drew near, the driver asked which ward or department he was going to. Steven told him and the man replied, ‘That’s on the east side, I’ll drop you at the Crew Road entrance. It’s a modern building, a concrete and glass box like all the rest.’

‘You’re not a fan,’ said Steven.

This was the trigger the driver needed to unload his misgivings about modern architecture. ‘It’s the only field of human endeavour I know that’s gone backwards,’ he maintained. ‘You’d think these people had never seen a cathedral, never learned anything from guys who lived hundreds of years ago. All you get these days is concrete boxes and weird looking crap they get prizes for. See that boiler house over there...’

Steven looked over to a tall chimney.

‘Bugger got a prize for that.’

Steven tipped him well and took comfort from having provided the man with a release valve for his anger. Apart from that... he had a point.

Steven took a seat while the receptionist made a phone call. He heard one side of the conversation. Dr Dunbar... Steven Dunbar... Didn’t say, do you want me to ask him?... Right, I’ll tell him.

‘Dr Glass is coming down.’

A man wearing jeans and a black tee shirt bearing the name of a pop band he didn’t recognise duly appeared. He looked to be around the same age as Owen Barrowman.

‘I’m Dan Glass, how can I help?’

Steven presented his ID and expected the usual questions about Sci-Med. He was pleasantly surprised when Glass said, ‘I’ve heard of you, you’re a sort of scientific police force?’

‘Sort of,’ Steven agreed. ‘I’d like to talk to you about Owen Barrowman, I believe he’s a friend of yours?’

‘We were students together,’ Glass replied with a smile. ‘What’s he been up to? Not in any trouble, is he?’

‘Maybe we could speak somewhere more private?’

‘Let’s go upstairs.’

Steven took Glass’s relaxed demeanour and slight air of puzzlement as a sign he had no idea what had been going on. This was a bonus. ‘I’m afraid your friend’s in a great deal of trouble,’ he said. ‘He’s had a serious mental breakdown.’

‘Owen? You’re kidding.’

‘I’m afraid not, he completely snapped, attacked his wife and injured her badly. She’s in hospital: he’s on the run from the police.’

Glass was dumbstruck until he eventually managed, ‘Christ almighty, that’s beyond belief.’

Steven accepted that Glass’s shock was genuine. After a suitable pause he said, ‘Barrowman sent you a packet sometime after your recent visit to Capital in London?’

‘He did.’

‘I must ask you to hand it over please.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ replied Glass, still appearing shocked.

‘It’s not a request, Doctor... I do have the authority...’

Glass appeared to come to his senses and said apologetically, ‘Oh, no, sorry, I’m not being awkward, I don’t have it any more.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Owen has it, he asked me to send it back to him.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘He asked me to send it back to him.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Steven. ‘When?’

‘Yesterday.’

Steven had an image of Barrowman floating up from the watery grave he imagined him to be in. Questions tumbled out. ‘Where was he? Where did you send the package? What did he say?’

‘He sounded like he was in a bit of a hurry and didn’t have much time to talk,’ said Glass, ‘He apologised for messing me around and asked that I send the package to the address he gave me. I said, no problem, I’d do it right away.’

‘Do you still have the address?’

Glass looked round at the surface of a cluttered desk. ‘I think so.’ He got up and started rummaging.

‘Did he tell you what was in the package?’ Steven asked.

‘He didn’t.’

‘And you didn’t ask?’

‘He was a friend asking for a favour. If he’d wanted me to know he would have told me. Ah, here it is...’

Glass handed Steven the piece of paper he’d found.

‘A post box number in London’ Steven exclaimed, ‘nothing else, did he say where it was?’

‘He had no reason to, I suppose I assumed it was a box used by the university. What was in this packet anyway?’

Steven ignored the question and said, ‘Dr Glass,’ he said, ‘Owen Barrowman is a wanted man with serious charges pending against him.’ He handed his card to Glass. ‘Please call me immediately if you hear from him again. In the meantime, I’d rather you didn’t mention our conversation to anyone.’

Glass looked as if something was troubling him. ‘Of course not,’ he said hesitantly... ‘But you know, Owen didn’t sound as if he were suffering from a severe breakdown...’

‘Maybe I chose the wrong words,’ said Steven. ‘I think experts might call it a severe personality disorder.’

‘I’m struggling to believe it.’

‘So is Lucy in her hospital bed.’

‘I’m sorry... give her my best.’

Steven called Jean on the way to the airport and asked if she would try to get information on the post box number. ‘It could be one that Capital University uses,’ he added. ‘But maybe not.’

‘No package?’ she asked.

Steven said not. ‘Barrowman phoned Glass and asked him to send it to the number I’ve just given you.’

‘So, he’s still alive.’

‘And with a plan apparently.’

Jean said, ‘My God, his life is in ruins, he’s on the run from the police for murder and he’s still piddling around with this research data nonsense. It’s unbelievable.’

‘For a normal person, Jean, but he’s not normal. He’s devious, cunning, totally unpredictable and completely devoid of compassion or sympathy. What we mustn’t do is underestimate him. He may be a nutter, but he’s a nutter with a PhD who believes he is on some kind of mission.’

‘And with that happy thought...’ said Jean, ‘I can tell you that the stuff you asked for from the US has come in. I’ll leave it on your desk along with anything I find out about the box number. I’ll be leaving a bit early tonight.’

‘Choir?’

‘We’re giving a concert.’

‘Have a good one.’

The news that his flight back to London had been delayed because of engine problems did little to improve Steven’s mood. It darkened further when the aircraft eventually took off only to be put in a holding pattern over West Drayton an hour later while it waited for a revised landing slot at Heathrow.

‘We’d like to apologise for the slight delays you’ve suffered today...’

Passengers exchanged glances at the word “slight”.

‘...and thank you for flying British Airways today. We hope to see you again soon.’

Next time I’ll use a pogo stick.

Steven found the office empty when he got back to Whitehall. There was an envelope on his desk containing the information he’d asked for from the US and a note from Jean stating that she had ‘hit the wall’ in her efforts to find out where or what the post box number was linked to. The ‘wall’ appeared to be Royal Mail security.

Steven swore under his breath, but noted that Jean had enlisted John Macmillan’s help in resolving the problem before leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes while he considered the world’s obsession with what they imagined was security. People were becoming afraid to say or do anything. It was really blame that they feared most. Lawyers and the threat of litigation stalked their every move and listened to every word. Steven checked his watch and decided to take the US material home.

‘Hi Tally,’ he called out as he unlocked the front door. He was slightly out of breath after choosing to run up the stairs rather than take the lift, a habit he adopted when opportunities for planned exercise were curtailed. He’d never liked the idea of “going to the gym”, preferring to run through landscapes rather than gaze out of a window while on a treadmill — even if the landscape happened to be the hell of sand dunes or rain-swept mountains.

As he turned after closing the door, a small white object caught his attention and he bent to pick it up... it was a card... a business card. The blood drained from his face as he read the name on it... Dr Owen Barrowman. On the back was written, “Sorry you were out”.

Steven remained frozen to the spot. Barrowman had been here. All he could think was that the card was the psychotic weirdo’s idea of a joke. His own presence at Barrowman’s flat had been given away by him leaving his business card and this was some kind of what? A warning that more was to come? Tally wasn’t home... but she could have been.

Steven found his mouth dry and his throat tight as he walked slowly through the flat, checking the rooms, reassuring himself that there was nothing amiss. He was in the bedroom when he heard the key go in the lock and Tally’s voice asking if he was home.

‘In here.’

Tally came in and smiled. ‘There you are,’ she said, ‘What’s wrong? You look strange...’

‘Just pleased to see you.’ He gave her a hug.

‘I’m really not that late, Steven,’ said Tally. It was a joke, but she was clearly concerned.

Steven flirted briefly with the idea of trying to hide what had happened but didn’t feel comfortable doing that. He showed her the card.

Tally’s normal air of self-confidence collapsed. She took a series of deep breaths before exclaiming, ‘He’s been here?’

‘He put it through the letterbox.’

‘Why? What did he want?’

‘He’s off his head, Tally, it was some kind of a sick joke. He found my card in his place... he was letting me know what it felt like...’

Tally looked at Steven accusingly. ‘Is that how you see it? Is that how you really see it, Steven?’ She took a step back. ‘That sick creature nearly beat his wife to death, he goes on to murder an intelligence officer and he came here as a joke? If I’d been here... If I hadn’t been held up at the last moment this evening, I might have answered the door to him... I could have died laughing at that joke, Steven.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Steven’s tone had changed. He’d given up on hiding the truth from Tally. She’d always hated his job and this kind of situation was why. It wasn’t a flaw on her part, far from it; she was a decent, normal human being who loathed violence and anything to do with it. Her job involved doing her level best to make sick children well again and give them the best possible chance in life. She couldn’t come to terms with his world because, despite his protestation that Sci-Med investigations were largely routine, the threat of danger and violence was ever present at the back of her mind or, as in this instance, the front.

‘He won’t be back.’

‘How do you know?’ Tally’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

‘The flat will be put under twenty-four-hour surveillance and you’ll be given police protection from now on until this is over.’ Steven knew he sounded cold and dispassionate, but, for the moment, this was what was required

‘And who is going to protect you?’ Tally asked.

‘I am. I can call for police assistance any time I need it.’

‘He obviously blames you for all that’s happened. He wants revenge.’

‘Doesn’t seem right,’ said Steven. ‘You’d think looking for revenge would be way down his list of priorities in his situation.’

‘You’d think getting his hands on his research data would be even further down,’ countered Tally.

‘Good point.’

‘Supposing it comes down to you versus him?’

‘I’ll win.’

Tally looked at Steven, feeling that she was seeing a side to him she’d never seen before.

‘He’s spent his life as an academic, I haven’t. If it comes down to him taking me on, he’ll wish he’d stayed home and played with his train set.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Tally softly. ‘We’ve been here before, I’m giving you a hard time and you don’t deserve it. It’s probably the last thing you need after finding that thing.’

‘You’ve every right to be upset and I’m so sorry that something that shouldn’t involve you at all has come so close.’

‘I guess it’s always a bad idea to bring your work home,’ said Tally, with a smile that competed with tears.

Steven wiped the first teardrop away with his forefinger before saying, ‘The world needs people like you, Tally; unfortunately, it also needs people like me.’

Tally took a deep breath. ‘We’ll make the best of it.’

‘I’ll make some phone calls.’