Deception

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.

Steven saw that it was after 4pm. Time was getting on and he still had a lot to do before meeting Eve. He drove over to his hotel, got his things together and checked out, saying that he had been recalled to London at a moment’s notice. This was for the benefit of anyone who subsequently tried to trace his movements through the hotel register. He drove over to an area of the city near Bruntsfield Links, where he’d noticed that every second or third house seemed to be a small hotel, and checked in to a suitably anonymous-looking one. It had the added bonus of having its own car park round the back of the building. He didn’t want his car lying out on the street if he could help it.

When he logged on to the Sci-Med computer he found some information waiting for him on Childs and Leadbetter. Both had been trained as explosive experts during their time in the army. ‘And in the occasional use of small musical boxes,’ thought Steven. There were several other skills attributed to them: Childs spoke Arabic: Leadbetter was fluent in French and German and an authority in field communications, but it was the fact that both were explosive experts that captured Steven’s attention. It suggested that this had something to do with their being in Blackbridge although he had to admit, it was hard to see what — always assuming that blowing up Blackbridge as a solution to everyone’s problem was not an option, however appealing he found the notion himself. He thought he would take a leisurely bath before changing his clothes and setting off to pick up Eve.

Steven’s mobile phone rang while he was in the bath. Luckily he had propped it up on the edge. It was Jamie Brown.

‘Well, we’ve got some action on the rat problem,’ said Brown. ‘I’ll have to give McColl credit for that.’

‘So I saw,’ said Steven. ‘I was out there earlier. Nice to know someone can actually get something done out there when they put their minds to it.’

‘Know what you mean,’ agreed Brown. It reminds me of a joke. How many local government administrators does it take to change a light bulb? Answer, none. They’ll set up a sub committee to investigate coping with darkness. But do you want to hear the best bit?’

‘Amaze me,’ said Steven.

‘Nobody out there knows who started things moving.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘No one’s taking the credit for it and that’s unusual in itself but no one seems to know who sent in the rat killers.’

‘But someone must,’ Steven protested.

‘You’d think so but it turns out not. Apparently everyone thought that someone else was responsible. When they finally got round to talking to each other, nobody claimed the credit.’

‘Has no one asked the men on the banks?’

‘Apparently they arrived in an unmarked truck and waved away anyone who approached them. When darkness fell they left in the same truck when it arrived to pick them up. The police had a word with them but they wouldn’t tell me anything when I asked them.’

‘Not even how many rats the men got?’

‘One of the locals said they only had one sack with them when they left and it was about half full. Not more than a dozen or so, he reckoned.

‘That shouldn’t upset the British Association for the Preservation of Rats too much,’ said Steven.

‘Is there one?’ asked Brown, naively.

‘Bound to be,’ replied Steven.

When Brown rang off, Steven rang Brewer at police headquarters. ‘So who’s dealing with the rats?’ he asked.

‘Would you believe the army?’

‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Steven, astonished at the reply.

‘I wish I was,’ said Brewer. He had an air of resignation in his voice. ‘All we need now is the Berlin Philharmonic putting in an appearance and we can stage, Blackbridge, the musical.’

‘You’re sure about the army’s involvement?’

‘Two of my lads challenged them when they were leaving this evening. They were shown Army ID.’

‘Well, I suppose they can at least shoot straight,’ said Steven. ‘It makes some kind of sense, I suppose. But who made the decision?’

‘Exactly,’ exclaimed Brewer. ‘None of the briefcases up at the hotel knows, or no one will own up to knowing, and so the squabbling goes on.’

‘Well, at least someone’s shooting the rats while they set up sub committees, request clarification, defer decisions and report upwards, downwards and sideways,’ said Steven.

‘I’m really surprised that there’s been no involvement at ministerial level yet,’ said Brewer. ‘You’d think one of the buggers would have had the courage to put in an appearance.’

‘This mess isn’t going to do anyone’s career any good,’ said Steven. ‘Politicians have an innate sense of that. They’ll leave it to the spear carriers as long as possible.’

‘Suppose you’re right,’ agreed Brewer.

Steven ended the call but then thought to himself that the decision to call in the army had presumably not been made by some postal clerk in the Scottish Office down in Leith or a window cleaner in Whitehall. Surely that decision must have been taken at ministerial level, so why hadn’t the relevant minister — whoever he or she was — appeared on the scene to take the credit for firm, swift action in the wake of the Clarion’s story? Such shyness seemed well out of character. Steven found that it was difficult to work out even where the decision would have been made. Rural Affairs was a Scottish matter. Health was a bit of both. Defence — and therefore the army — was definitely Whitehall’s province.

Steven drove out to Blackbridge and picked up Eve outside the hotel at eight as arranged. He thought she looked stunning in an emerald green dress that highlighted her beautiful red hair and said so.

‘Smooth southern bastard,’ said Eve with disarming frankness but she was far from being annoyed. ‘You’ve changed your car,’ she observed.

‘I’m that kind of a guy,’ said Steven. ‘Wild, impetuous, untamed.’

‘Anchored only to this earth by your civil service superannuation scheme,’ added Eve.

‘Ye gods, the night is only five minutes old and I’ve been shot down in flames already,’ Steven complained.

‘Where are we going?’

‘The Witchery.’

‘You must want me to talk to Trish real bad,’ said Eve. ‘When I go out with a bloke for a meal, it’s usually a Dutch treat at Pizza Hut.’

‘It’s not just that,’ said Steven.

‘Of course not,’ laughed Eve.

‘How are your folks?’ asked Steven, as they drove off.

‘They’ve gone to Aunt Jean’s down in North Berwick for a few days. It’ll do them good to get away from here for a bit.’

Steven agreed, thinking it would do anyone good to get away from Blackbridge for any length of time. ‘How did they take the Clarion story?’ he asked.

Eve snorted at the memory. ‘Bloody rag,’ she complained.

‘I’m sorry. I take it they were very upset?’

‘No,’ said Eve quietly, sounding strangely embarrassed. ‘Mum and Dad actually believed that the Clarion ran the story out of concern for them and their feelings.’

‘I see,’ said Steven. ‘And what did you tell them?’

‘I kept my mouth shut and let them go on thinking that.’

‘Good for you. Sometimes education can be a dangerous thing.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Eve. ‘You know, it’s so ironic that the very thing good, decent people strive to give their children is often the very thing that drives them apart. I keep seeing it.’

‘Not in your case though.’ said Steven.

‘I’ve worked out what’s really worth having in life and you don’t find it in Harrods or the glossy pictures in the Sunday supplements.’

Steven had to seek Eve’s advice when he thought they were getting near the restaurant.

‘Turn left at the next junction, then left again,’ Eve directed.

‘What like’s parking there?’ he asked.

‘Go round into Castle Terrace,’ said Eve. ‘It should be okay at this time of night.’

They found a parking place without trouble and Steven got out to stare up at the floodlit castle, towering above them. ‘Impressive,’ he said. ‘What’s all the scaffolding for?’

‘It’s not really scaffolding,’ Eve corrected him. ‘It’s the seating for the military tattoo. The Edinburgh Festival starts soon. You won’t be parking here then!’

They walked the short distance to the restaurant, which was situated very near to the entrance to the castle esplanade and walked down the steps to the Secret Garden of the Witchery.

‘’So what do you really think Trish has got herself mixed up in?’ asked Eve.

‘I honestly don’t know,’ Steven confessed. ‘She may not be directly involved in anything herself but she certainly knows something about what’s going on and I think she told the authorities about it after making some kind of deal with them.’

‘So if the authorities know about this, how come you don’t? You’re one of them, aren’t you? Right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing?’

‘More serious than that. There’s some kind of conspiracy going on, something I’m not party to.’

‘A conspiracy to do what?’ asked Eve.

‘In the beginning, I thought it was a straightforward industrial espionage thing; one biotech company setting out to discredit another through rumour and innuendo about their experimental crop, hoping perhaps to get their license revoked, but I was wrong. It’s something much bigger although it’s still tied up in some way with the crop in the fields at Peat Ridge.’

‘A conspiracy involving the government and all over a couple of fields of oilseed rape?’ said Eve doubtfully.

‘Genetically modified oilseed rape,’ Steven reminded her.

‘Oh yes,’ said Eve thoughtfully. ‘We mustn’t forget the big bad ‘G’ word. The minute you mention that, people start running for the hills. Frankly, from what I’ve seen of ‘government’ in Blackbridge, these people would be hard pushed in conspiring to cross the road safely.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with the people at the hotel,’ said Steven. ‘They’re small bit-players. This is something way out of their league.’

Eve looked puzzled. ‘You know, I still can’t see it,’ she said. ‘You’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to betray my friend.’

Steven topped up her glass while he pondered a decision about how to proceed, then he made it and said quietly, ‘The rats’ behaviour has been changing around Blackbridge.’

Eve looked at him questioningly then her eyes widened a little as shock arrived with the realisation of what he was implying. ‘The rats in the canal!’ she exclaimed, then looked about her to see if anyone had overheard. She lowered her voice. ‘And you think it has something to do with the genetic changes made to the crop?’

‘Don’t get me wrong; I don’t see how that can possibly be but the continued attempts to have it discredited and destroyed suggests that someone knows more about it than I do.’

‘God, this is awful!’ exclaimed Eve in a hoarse whisper. ‘It never occurred to me to think… I mean… apart from anything else this could mean that my brother died because of it! That rat might not have bitten him otherwise.’

‘Steven nodded and agreed, ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but that’s possible.’ He now had Eve’s full attention. ‘McNish didn’t drown,’ he continued. ‘The rats got him first. They severed his carotid artery. The story about him drowning was a fabrication.’

Eve grimaced and said, ‘Oh my God, I don’t think I know what to say. What is it that you want me to do exactly?’ she asked.

‘I need to know what Trish Rafferty knows about the vendetta against Peat Ridge Farm. I think it might be tied up in some way with the reason she left her husband, so try picking away at that. You might also ask her about the two men staying at Crawhill Farm, Rafferty’s so-called business advisors. They’re not. They’re part of the plot too.’

‘I’ll call her in the morning,’ said Eve. ‘I’ll suggest we meet up for a bit of a girls’ night out. How much can I tell her?’

‘Nothing. You must play the innocent; you’re just a friend concerned for her welfare. If she suspects for a moment that you’ve been put up to it, she’ll clam up and say nothing, I’m sure of it. Don’t say anything to anyone else either,’ said Steven. ‘If the local yobs get wind of any connection between the Peat Ridge experiment and the rats’ behaviour they’ll use it as an excuse to make big trouble and someone could get badly hurt.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Eve.

Steven thanked her. He picked up the sweet menu. ‘What takes your fancy?’ he asked.

‘I think I’ve just lost my appetite,’ said Eve.

They both settled for just coffee. Eve was now very subdued although she did her best to respond to Steven’s attempts at lightening the conversation and smiled in all the right places. He, for his part, knew that she was brooding about her brother. It was inevitable but he could think of nothing reassuring to say in the circumstances.

It was raining quite heavily when they left the restaurant but Eve declined Steven’s offer that she should wait in the dry while he went to pick up the car and bring it round. Instead they both ran through the puddles. Steven reached out his hand and Eve took it. It was a nice moment and helped dispel the cloud that had settled over Eve. Halfway home however, she said, ‘You know, I can’t see how oilseed rape, GM or otherwise, could have caused a behavioural change in the rats. A change in the weed-killers they’re using on the fields would be a much better bet for something like that.’

‘My thoughts too,’ said Steven with a smile. ‘That’s always been the big worry about this kind of trial. No one really knows what effects a sudden change to the use of powerful weedkillers would have on the environment.’

‘You know, it would be a good idea to check out the rats for traces of chemicals in their bodies,’ said Eve.

‘It’s in hand,’ smiled Steven.

Eve looked at him sideways and smiled. ‘Of course it is,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. Now I feel stupid. That was probably the first thing you did.’

‘You’re a very long way from being stupid, Eve,’ said Steven. ‘Keep thinking about it. We’d welcome your input.’

‘We? I thought you worked alone.’

Steven told her about James Binnie’s involvement.

‘Nice man,’ said Eve.

Steven pulled up outside Eve’s parents’ house. ‘I’ll need your phone number,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I’ve had a chance to talk to Trish.’

Steven wrote it down on the piece of paper that Eve tore from a small notebook in her handbag. ‘Thank you for a nice evening,’ she said.

‘Maybe we could do it again?’ suggested Steven.

Eve looked at him for a long searching moment before saying simply, ‘Maybe.’ Without warning she leaned over and kissed him full on the lips and ran her fingers softly down his cheek. Steven was surprised but did not draw away. Eve sat back and looked into his eyes. ‘I hope that’s guilt I see and not revulsion,’ she said.

‘Definitely not revulsion,’ Steven assured her.

‘Good Night.’