The Lazarus Strain

FOUR

Steven read that Timothy Devon had been fifty-eight at the time of his death. He was married to Joan, a former fellow lecturer in Biochemistry at the University of Warwick and was the father of two daughters, Julia and Imogen, aged 22 and 24. He had been head of the Crick Institute for eight years having previously worked at Warwick and before that, at the Institute of Virology in Glasgow. He had recently become a grandfather when Julia, who lived in Manchester with her graphic designer husband, Ben, had given birth to a son, James Timothy.

The forensic photographs of his body were horrific. Despite the awful sights he had seen in the course of his professional life, Steven still found himself grimacing while examining them. It was impossible not to imagine the hell the man must have gone through before death had come as a merciful release just as it was impossible not to question if concern for animal welfare could ever have justified such barbarity in the mind of any normal person. Steven concluded not. The people who had done this to Devon were sick in the head: they were sadists entirely without conscience. There was some awful difference between seeing damage done to a human body in the heat of battle and that applied coldly and dispassionately by a torturer. It might be argued that both arose as the result of human failing but the latter was so much more difficult to come to terms with.

Devon had been an acknowledged expert on vaccines and had acted as an advisor to successive governments and on several occasions. Like many academics called on by government on an ad hoc basis, his profile had generally been low but a recent rigorous defence of the MMR vaccine had brought him into public consciousness, particularly when he had attacked the science used to question its safety and the scientist who had expressed these doubts. The spat had attracted wide press attention and the government had subsequently appointed him to their vaccines advisory committee, a position he had used to warn of the dangers of losing public confidence in essential vaccination programmes. Doubts about vaccines given to soldiers in the Gulf War and the scare over MMR had done much to damage such confidence, he had argued. Government had to address that problem and look to the future in order to anticipate further needs. At present, the nation in his view would be ill-equipped to deal with a measles epidemic let alone a smallpox or anthrax attack.

The Crick Institute, as Macmillan had indicated, was a Scientific Civil Service establishment with twelve members of scientific staff and eighteen technical and ancillary staff. Its broad general mandate was to design and test vaccines in accordance with perceived national requirements.

Steven made his own notes of its location and of the staff he might want to talk to. At the head of the list was Dr Nicholas Cleary who had been one of the first on the scene and who had gone in with the bio-hazard team to check the integrity of the institute’s microbe stocks. He also wanted to speak with the policeman in charge of investigating the case, Inspector Frank Giles, and to talk to the police pathologist, Dr Marjorie Ryman. He was particularly interested in establishing who had been responsible for calling in the army to deal with the escaped animals. And why? There had been no indication of this in the file.

Collected press cuttings showed that the public in general had been outraged by the murder of Timothy Devon and feelings against the animal rights movement in the country was running high — a situation fuelled by a tabloid press who were also getting on the backs of the Norfolk Police with their demands for an early arrest. ‘Blinded with Bleach!’ screamed The Sun. ‘Tortured to Death in a Cage’ trumpeted The Mirror.

Efforts by ‘responsible’ leaders of the animal rights movement were clearly failing in their attempts to distance themselves from what had happened at the Crick: the public simply didn’t want to know. Animal activists were all being tarred with the same brush. Moderate public opinion, that might until recently have had some sympathy with the aims of the animal lobby, were now turning away in disgust. People who could dig up the grave of an old woman and steal her body in an effort to blackmail her family into closing down their laboratory animal business — an outrage that had happened only a few weeks before in Staffordshire — and who could torture and murder a quiet academic were quite beyond the pale.

The broadsheets had also involved themselves in the case with readers’ letters suggesting that feeling was running almost as high among the country’s chattering classes. Steven found one particularly interesting cutting, an article taken from The Times, in which an expert on terrorism had claimed that the UK had become the equivalent of Afghanistan when it came to training animal rights activists. The British activists, he maintained, were the al-Qaeda of the animal rights world. This made Steven consider for a moment before concluding with a wry smile that this situation would not have escaped the attention of MI5 chief, Liz Manningham-Buller and her colleagues at Thames House. He wondered just how many security service personnel had already penetrated the animal rights movement. Not too many in Norfolk, he concluded ruefully.

He closed the file and saw that it was getting dark outside. It was four o’clock on a late November day and there was a slight drizzle in the air that was forming halos round the street lights. He’d been sitting in the library for three hours and now, he decided, it was time to go home, home to the flat he’d been away from for the past two weeks. He had flown down from Scotland that morning and gone directly to the Home Office to see Macmillan.

The flat would be cold and silent in the way it always was after he’d been away for more than a couple of days and the heating had been turned off. That first moment when he opened the door always served to remind him of how alone he was in the world. It was a moment he couldn’t avoid and it was always the same. Time would stand still as he thought how different life might have been had Lisa lived — he would imagine a scenario of light and warmth, full of smiles and news from Lisa and chatter from his daughter Jenny about her day at school but instead he would be standing perfectly still in darkness, feeling the cold, still air of the flat on his cheek and facing the fact that Lisa had gone for ever and Jenny was hundreds of miles away, telling someone else about her day at school. As always, he would quickly turn on all the lights, switch on the central heating and generally seek distraction in noise from either the radio or television and the moment would pass. Until the next time.

Steven’s flat was near the Thames but not quite on the waterfront. It was one street back but he could see the river and some of its traffic through a gap in the buildings opposite. He could see this from his favourite seat by the window which he plumped himself down in after pouring himself a large gin and tonic. He needed a plan of action: the water, gas and heating had all been turned back on but it would take a while for the flat to heat up and for there to be enough hot water for the bath he was looking forward to. He decided that he would go out and pick up some take-away food from his local Chinese restaurant, The Jade Garden, where he was a once-a-week regular customer; he hadn’t developed a liking or aptitude for cooking. The cupboards were bare, as was the fridge: he would have to pay a visit to the supermarket and stock up on packet meals but that could wait until tomorrow.

‘Yes sir… no sir… couldn’t agree more, sir… I’m sure we will sir… very good sir.’ Giles put down the phone.

‘Chief Super?’ asked Morley.

‘Wishing us well with our inquiries,’ said Giles.

‘That was nice of him…’ Morley faltered as he saw the sour look appear on Giles’ face.

‘If we don’t crack this and get the Press off his back real soon he’s going to have us both on school crossings for the foreseeable future.’

‘It’s not for want of trying; we interviewed nearly thirty animal rights suspects today,’ said Morley.

‘All of them adamant that the Crick affair was nothing to do with them or their responsible, law-abiding organisation and most of them with alibis.’

‘You have doubts?’ asked Morley.

Giles shook his head. ‘No, it takes a special sort of nutter to do what these bastards did to Devon and none of that lot fit the bill. They might be up for a bit of placard waving and hunt sabotage, maybe even stretch to car scratching and tyre slashing but cold blooded murder? Nope. We’re looking for outsiders. Our only hope is that they are not complete outsiders…’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I’m hoping they at least made contact with local activists for information, if for no other reason.’

‘And that these locals contact us?’

‘You got it. I’m counting on them shitting themselves when they find out just what they’ve been accessories to. It’s my guess the weakest link will already be in a bad way, unable to eat or sleep, conscience screaming at them to get it off their chest. He or she will want to contact us and tell all. The strongest on the other hand will argue the case for saying nothing — just keep your trap shut and they can’t possibly touch us… just keep your nerve… keep your nerve.’

‘Who’ll win?’ asked Morley.

‘The desire to confess will be strong. But going down for life is a powerful deterrent however bad they’re feeling.’

‘We need a break.’

‘That’s right. Someone who notices their brother or sister, their boyfriend or son or daughter falling to pieces before their eyes for no known reason. Loss of appetite, constantly watching the news on telly, jumps down your throat at the most innocent of inquiries.’

‘Let’s hope he breaks soon,’ said Morley.

‘I think the Chief Super just might agree with you on that,’ said Giles. ‘By the way, there’s a bloke from Sci-Med in London coming to see me in the morning, a Dr Steven Dunbar.’

‘What about?’

‘Just a general chat about the Crick business, I’m told. Sci-Med takes an interest in everything concerning science and medicine. Devon’s death must be right up their alley.’

Giles was woken at 3a.m. by the phone ringing. He found the receiver at the third fumbled attempt.

‘There’s been a murder, sir. The body of a man has been found in a lay-by near Melton Constable. It was discovered by a young couple who’d gone there to…’

‘Play chess,’ interrupted Giles. ‘Has Dr Ryman been told?’

‘On her way, sir.’

‘Anything else I should know?’

‘Yes, sir. The dead man is Robert Lyndon, known to his pals as, Stig. He was a known hunt saboteur, arrested three times over the past two years for breach of the peace.’

‘Was he now?’ murmured Giles, getting out of bed and cradling the phone between neck and shoulder. ‘Was he one of the ones brought in for interview yesterday?’

‘No, but he was on the list. He wasn’t at home when we called first time around.’

‘Tell Sergeant Morley I’ll meet him there.’

Giles pulled up his collar as he stepped out the car and walked over to the taped off area of lay-by. Marjorie Ryman, in white coveralls was already there, kneeling by the body: the scene was lit by portable lighting being run off a noisy generator. ‘We can’t go on meeting like this,’ he said as he squatted down beside the Pathologist.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, what have you got?’

‘Male, early twenties, stab wounds, been dead three to four hours but…’

‘Don’t quote you. Murder weapon?’

‘I’d say something small, clasp knife possibly, that sort of size.’

‘Carried out here?’

‘No, definitely somewhere else and then the body was dumped here. There’s very little blood on the ground so that means there’s plenty of blood around somewhere else. The abrasions to the left side of his face and the tears to his clothing suggest he was dragged along the ground — possibly after being pulled out of a car.’

‘Thanks Madge. As always, you’re a star.’

‘Go get ’em, Batman.’

Sergeant Morley joined them.

‘Better late than never, Sergeant,’ said Giles.

‘Sorry sir. I was at a friend’s house… up in Cromer… I got here as quickly as I could.’

Giles made a play of looking at his watch and Marjorie Ryman hid a smile at the younger man’s embarrassment.

‘Could this be the weak link you were looking for, sir?’ asked Morley.

‘That’s my fear,’ said Giles. ‘Someone thought he couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut… so they shut it for him.’

‘Poor bastard.’

‘Dr Dunbar is here to see you, sir,’ announced Sergeant Morley, holding back the door to allow Steven to step inside.

Giles got up from behind his desk and shook hands.

‘You had a rough night, I hear,’ said Steven.

‘Another murder,’ said Giles. ‘And not unconnected with the first by the look of things.’

‘How so?’

Giles explained his thinking. ‘Needless to say, we’re trying to establish who Lyndon was with last night.’

‘I hope you get the break,’ said Steven.

‘I’m not quite clear about Sci-Med’s interest in all this,’ said Giles. ‘Apart from the fact of course, that a well-known academic was the victim.’

‘It’s not so much that,’ smiled Steven. ‘We’re more concerned with the escaped animals and what they might have been used for.’

‘Ah,’ said Giles. ‘Now I understand. I was told it was an influenza experiment. Have you any reason to believe differently?’

‘Flu?’ exclaimed Steven.

‘That’s what the man said.’

‘What man?’

‘A suit from the Department of Health named Nigel Lees. He turned up at the institute while we were all there. I was a bit concerned myself about what the animals might be carrying but he reassured me there was no risk to the public.’

‘So who called in the army?’

Giles smiled as if anticipating the question. ‘Funny you should ask that,’ he smiled. ‘Not me. I thought broadcast warnings to the public and the involvement of the RSPCA and PDSA would cover the situation but apparently someone thought different.’

‘But you don’t know who?’

Giles shook his head. ‘You could ask Mr Lees.’

‘I think I just might,’ said Steven. ‘As I understand it, five of the animals were shot but one hasn’t been recovered?’

‘That’s my understanding too,’ agreed Giles.

‘Do you know what happened to the dead animals?’

‘They were taken back to the institute for incineration.’

Giles looked at Steven and then asked hesitantly, ‘The fact that you’re here… and the fact that the army was called in… I mean, you don’t suspect the flu story was some kind of a cover-up, do you?’

‘I don’t think anything at the moment,’ said Steven. ‘I’m trying to keep an open mind but I’ll keep you informed if I find out anything.’

‘Same here,’ said Giles. ‘I take it you’re going over to the institute?’

‘On my way there now,’ said Steven.

‘They’ll still be cleaning up. They made a right mess of the place.’

Steven drove over to the Crick Institute, thinking about what he’d learned. Not a lot. He hadn’t really thought the police would know who had called the army in and Giles was probably right about it having had something to do with the man from the Dept of Health — Lees, the same man who had told Giles that the animals had been part of an experiment involving influenza. Shooting them seemed a bit extreme… but in these litigious times, playing safe was probably the right option. On the other hand, why get the army to do it? Surely police marksmen would have been first choice in any civilian situation? British governments were always reluctant to involve military personnel… unless it was deemed absolutely necessary.

Several workmen were occupied in attempting to remove the spray paint daubing from the wall of the institute with high pressure detergent guns as Steven walked up to the entrance. Tradesmen were also much in evidence inside the building: two joiners were repairing the Reception area and an electrician was engaged in replacing smashed light fittings. Steven tiptoed through the mess on the floor to where he could see a young woman sitting at a computer console in a small office. He tapped his knuckles lightly on the door. ‘Steven Dunbar. I think Dr Cleary is expecting me.’

‘You know, it’s like working in the middle of a building site,’ smiled the woman as she picked up a green phone and dialled a three digit number before saying, ‘Dr Dunbar is here.’

The woman came to the door of the office and pointed along the corridor to the left. ‘Go right along to the end and turn right. Nick’s office is the second on your left.’

Steven passed a number of glaziers replacing corridor windows: he could smell the putty. He found Cleary’s office without trouble.

‘How can I help?’ asked Cleary after initial introductions were over.

‘It’s my understanding that you work on vaccines here,’ said Steven.

‘That’s right, we try to anticipate what might happen in the foreseeable future with regard to bacterial and viral outbreaks and try to make sure that the public can be protected should the need arise.’

‘So what sort of things do you work with?’

‘I hate to be a pain… but could I see your warrant card?’

Steven smiled and took out his Home Office ID and security clearance.

‘Thanks. I personally work on anti-bacterial vaccines rather than ant-viral ones, in particular, tuberculosis. TB has been making a bit of a comeback of late and the government’s been considering prophylactic measures. The BCG vaccine has been around for a long time and we’ve been looking at possible alternatives so that’s my main interest although I’m also involved with meningitis vaccines too.’

‘So you don’t all work on the same projects?’

‘No, we try not to overlap too much although there is still plenty of collaboration going on.’

‘So, what sort of microbes would be held in the institute,’ asked Steven. ‘You’ve mentioned TB and meningitis; what else?’

‘Let’s see, Diphtheria. A number of Clostridial strains and Brucella abortus. That’s about it for the bacteria.’

‘And what viruses?’

‘Measles, mumps, rubella, flu.’

‘How about bio-weapon microbes, smallpox, anthrax, plague?’

‘Nothing like that,’ said Cleary. ‘We don’t have a license for handling BLR-4 requiring pathogens. Labs with highest level of containment possible are Porton Down’s province.’

Steven nodded. ‘Did you know what Professor Devon was working on?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

Steven noted that Cleary’s body language changed when he said it. He moved uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Was there any reason why not?’

‘It was a technical thing,’ said Cleary. ‘Tim had been co-opted on to some high-powered government committee and complete confidentiality was required.’

‘So you have no idea what experiments he was engaged in?’

‘Well… actually, yes. After they discovered Tim’s body and the fact that several animals were missing, the policeman in charge of the investigation, Inspector Giles, asked me to go through Tim’s things to see if I could find out what he’d been working on. He was concerned about any potential threat the escaped animals might be carrying.’

‘So you found out from Professor Devon’s papers what he was working on?’

Cleary nodded but Steven noticed that he broke off eye contact. ‘Tim was working with flu virus. He was working on a vaccine against it.’

‘Do you still have these papers?’

‘No, I understand they were removed by a man from the Department of Health,’ said Cleary.

‘Ah yes, Mr Lees?’

Cleary nodded. ‘You know him?’

‘No,’ replied Steven. ‘Inspector Giles told me about him earlier.’

‘He confirmed what I had already found out, that Tim had been working on a flu vaccine… but…’

‘But what?’

‘Oh nothing,’ said Cleary with a dismissive gesture of his hands.

Steven watched the man for a few moments, wondering what he might be holding back, before saying, ‘Dr Cleary, if you have any reason to suspect that these animals might be infected with something other than flu virus, I would strongly advise you to tell me…’

‘It was definitely flu virus,’ said Cleary.

Steven again milked the ensuing pause to see if anything else was forthcoming but Cleary stared him out.

‘Were all the animals infected?’ Steven asked.

‘Four were being tested for vaccine efficiency after being challenged with live virus; the other two were experimental controls.’

‘One with virus alone, one with vaccine alone?’

Cleary nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘Do you know which animals were recovered?

Cleary hesitated. ‘There was no official way of knowing once the animals had been released from their cages…’

‘But?’ asked Steven, picking up on the use of the word ‘official’.

‘Smithy, the man who cleaned and fed the animals, claimed he could tell them apart. When the soldiers brought in the corpses he claimed to know which one was still missing. Unfortunately, it was Chloe.’

‘Chloe?’

‘Chloe was the live virus control animal.’

‘Injected with virus but given no vaccine?’

Cleary nodded and said, ‘I’m not sure how reliable that information is…’

‘Well, maybe Chloe will die of flu out there,’ said Steven.

‘If Norfolk in November doesn’t get her first,’ said Cleary, relaxing a little. ‘Perhaps you’d like to meet the rest of the staff?’