Resurrection

THIRTEEN

Dewar watched the lights of the small convoy disappear into the night as they headed off back to the airport. Hutton, who had seen it as his duty to be present throughout, looked at his watch and said that he’d have to rush, muttering something about dinner with friends. Dewar wished him good-night and suddenly wondered what he himself was going to do with the rest of the evening. He felt a distinct sense of anticlimax.

So much seemed to have happened since he’d got up that morning but, he asked himself, did he really know that much more at the end of the day? True, Le Grice had been identified as Sandra Macandrew’s attacker and it seemed almost certain that he must be the Iraqis’ man on the inside but he still didn’t know exactly what the Iraqis had asked him to do or how much of it had been achieved, any more than with Ali Hammadi. These were still the key questions in the whole affair.

Maybe he even knew less about them, was Dewar’s next depressing thought. Up until now he’d believed that Hammadi had refused to do anything at all for Siddiqui but that conclusion had been partially based on Le Grice’s report that he’d found nothing out of the ordinary when he’d cleared out Hammadi’s stuff in the lab. That was possibly a lie. If only Le Grice had owned up before he’d taken his life instead of saying nothing. What had been the point of that? he wondered. It was hard to believe that any man about to die would not take the chance to redress the balance of good and evil in his life even if he hadn’t been any kind of believer.

Another man to whom this day had been pivotal was Steven Malloy. It was the day his career had effectively come to an end. Despite having every right to do what he’d done in the circumstances- indeed, he’d had no real option, Dewar felt something approaching guilt. He liked Malloy and believed the good things Ferguson had said about him. Good research scientists weren’t that thick on the ground — much less so than Joe Public imagined. One such person tended to make a university department a good one, two made it a centre of excellence.

He wondered what Malloy was doing tonight. Would he be with friends, or was he brooding at home alone? Almost on impulse, Dewar decided to drive out to Temple and find out for himself but before doing that, he stopped at an off-licence and bought a bottle of good malt whisky.

The drive out to Temple took longer than last time because of heavy rain that started on the way. By the time he left the main road, the wipers were struggling to cope, forcing him to slow right down on the dark winding roads where water quickly gathered into pools in the dips and made estimating their depth a gamble each time before ploughing through. He was relieved when the lights of the village began to flicker through the needles of the pine trees.

When he stopped outside Malloy’s place he could see the lights were on. He sat in the car for a moment listening to a small voice inside his head that told him this was not a very good idea but eventually it was overridden by his conscience telling him that this was the right thing to do. People automatically said sorry; often when they didn’t mean it. He hoped that driving out here to say it again would convince Malloy that at least he did. He got out the car and hurried up the path, pulling up his jacket collar against the rain and hugging the whisky bottle to his chest.

Just before he reached the door he had the thought that Malloy might not be alone. He could hear music coming from inside and recognised it as Stan Getz playing, These Foolish Things. He side-stepped into the garden so that he could take a peek in through the window. As far as he could tell, Malloy was alone. He could see him slumped in a chair with his back to him, glass in hand, feet up on a stool.

Dewar knocked gently on the arched door at first but had to rap progressively louder as he failed to get an answer.

‘All right,’ complained Malloy’s voice as he finally responded to Dewar’s insistence. ‘Who is it?’

‘Adam Dewar,’

There was a long silence before the door finally opened. ‘What the f … ‘

Malloy looked at Dewar as if he still didn’t believe it was him. He was obviously the last person on earth he expected to see standing there, or wanted to see for that matter.

‘Hello. How are you doing?’

‘I don’t think I believe this,’ said Malloy, his voice slightly slurred. He scratched his head.

‘I just came to say that I really meant it when I said I was sorry about your research.’

Malloy regarded Dewar for a long moment through screwed-up eyes. ‘And now you’d like forgiveness,’ he said. ‘Te absolvo, feel any better?’

‘I didn’t come to ask for forgiveness,’ said Dewar evenly. ‘I did what I had to do and I think you know that if you’re honest with yourself. I don’t regret it but I am genuinely sorry. I though we might have a drink together.’ He held up the whisky.

Malloy looked as if he were running through a series of options inside his head, ranging from bursting out laughing to slamming the door in Dewar’s face. Eventually he shrugged and said, ‘You’d better come in.’ He accepted the bottle from Dewar and splashed whisky into two tumblers.

‘What shall we drink to?’ he asked, handing one to Dewar.

‘The future,’ replied Dewar evenly. ‘Whatever it holds. May it be kinder than the present.’

‘The future,’ repeated Malloy, without adding the cynical rider Dewar had been half expecting. That pleased him for although Malloy was drinking, he was not wallowing in self pity. Both men took a large swallow.

‘Sit down.’

‘I thought you might be with Peter Moore and George Ferguson this evening,’ said Dewar.

Malloy shook his head. ‘No, Peter will be at the post-grad union, playing the tragic role to the hilt, I should think. Always a more successful gambit with the ladies than Mr Happy, I seem to remember.’

‘You don’t see his predicament as serious then?’

‘He’s first year. He’s not lost much. Most of them take a year learning to pick their noses without poking their eye out. He’s a good student. I’ll have a word with Cairns about him. I’m sure he’ll take him over. Maybe a change of research project but no real harm done.’

‘Good,’ said Dewar. ‘And Sandra?’

Malloy grimaced. ‘She’s different. She’s going into her third year, too late to change I’m afraid. Assuming she survives her present predicament she won’t have enough for a PhD but she could write up for an MPhil.’

‘Let’s hope she gets the chance,’ said Dewar.

‘Amen to that,’ agreed Malloy, raising his glass to the notion.

‘That just leaves George Ferguson.’

‘Poor George. He’s not having the best couple of years, poor bugger. They pull his hospital down after thirty years, transfer him all around the university and now this. He’s got a wife with cancer and a mentally retarded boy, you know.’

‘I knew about the boy,’ said Dewar ‘I didn’t know about his wife. I was speaking to him before I left, or should I say he was the only one left speaking to me by that time!’

Malloy gave a lop-sided grin. ‘I can imagine.’

‘He seemed to be taking it philosophically,’ said Dewar.

‘Good,’ said Malloy. ‘He usually imagines that life is waging a personal vendetta against him.’

Dewar smiled. ‘He has a point by the sound of it. And you? What will you do now?’

‘I’ve had a couple of offers from drug companies in the last year. I turned them down but maybe it’s time for a slice of humble pie. Maybe mammon and me’ll get along just fine.’

‘Academics often talk a lot of nonsense about working in industry,’ said Dewar. ‘If you’re good, there’s no problem,’ said Dewar. ‘It’s half-arses industry’s not so keen on and most of the university-luvvies throwing up their hands in horror at the very idea of industry are exactly that. They know they’d be rumbled in that world within ten minutes and be shown the door.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

Malloy got out of his chair and replenished their glasses. Dewar was about to decline but thought better of it. He could always get a taxi back to town and pick up his car tomorrow. Malloy needed company; it seemed the least he could do in the circumstances.

The Getz record had come to an end. ‘Other side?’ asked Malloy.

‘Why not.’

Dewar woke with a splitting headache to find that he still had all his clothes on and was still in the church at Temple. Malloy was asleep in the chair opposite, snoring quietly, his glass lying on its side on the carpet at his feet. He looked for his own and found it standing on the table beside an empty whisky bottle.

‘Streuth,’ he muttered as he rubbed at the stiffness in his neck from having slept in a chair. He stood up at the second attempt and went over to the window to look out. The rain had stopped but the sky didn’t look too promising. The grass was speckled with wet autumn leaves, themselves spattered with mud after the downpour of last night. He went off to the bathroom and felt better when he’d sluiced some hot water up into his face then rinsed out his mouth.

When he returned, Malloy was coming to with groans of protest at the stiffness in his limbs. ‘God, what time is it?’ he asked.

Dewar looked at his watch. ‘Seven thirty.’

‘Coffee, I need coffee.’

Dewar grinned and switched on the kettle.

Malloy didn’t speak again until he had taken a second mouthful of black coffee then he said suddenly, ‘You know, I still don’t believe that Le Grice agreed to do what you think he did.’

‘Everything points to it.’

Another long pause while Malloy, coffee mug cupped in two hands, considered. ‘I knew the man well,’ he said. ‘I didn’t like him much but we got on and I respected him as an able scientist. He was a lot of other things too- ambitious, insensitive, intolerant, obstinate: I wouldn’t have wanted my sister to marry him but he was anything but a fool and only a fool would have contemplated playing around with smallpox.’

‘I hear what you say,’ said Dewar. ‘But I have to go on the facts and they say he was up to no good.’

‘Oh, I accept that,’ said Malloy. ‘I just don’t think live smallpox was involved in the no-good he was up to.’

‘I can honestly say I hope to God you’re right about that,’ said Dewar with feeling. ‘Let’s look forward to Sandra being able to tell us what really happened before too long,’

‘Thanks for coming over last night,’ said Malloy. ‘I appreciate it.’

Dewar got up and started to put on his jacket. ‘It’s been a while since I drank myself to sleep.’

‘Me too,’ said Malloy.

The two men shook hands and Dewar started back for the city. The journey was uneventful and he got a knowing look from the desk clerk at his hotel when he asked for his key. He answered it with a stony stare before going upstairs to shower and change. He checked with the hospital; Sandra was still unconscious. He checked with Barron; the Iraqis still hadn’t shown any signs of leaving. He reported in to Sci-Med and was told that the contents of Malloy’s lab had reached Porton Down safely and were now being examined as a matter of urgency. There was nothing to do now but wait.

By Friday morning Dewar was starting to worry, not because Sandra was still in a coma but because the Iraqis were still not preparing to leave the city. This was not in the script. The fact that they were still there even started to cast doubt over Le Grice’s role.

‘We’re bored stiff,’ complained Barron when Dewar spoke to him in the afternoon. ‘What the hell are they waiting for?’

‘I’m damned if I know,’ replied Dewar. ‘But it sure isn’t going to come from the institute now. The Porton mob took away the lot.’

‘Maybe they’re just sitting tight to make us think we were wrong all along,’ suggested Barron.

‘Or maybe they’re waiting until a new target institute’s been identified and then they’ll move on.’

‘As long as it isn’t in the UK,’ said Barron.

‘Self, self, self,’ said Dewar.

Karen phoned just after five to say that she had arrived at her mother’s. When would he be joining them?’

‘About seven?’ replied Dewar tentatively.

‘No excuses,’ replied Karen in a sotto voce voice that suggested her mother was listening in.’

‘Would I?’ said Dewar.

‘Hmmm.’

As good as his word, Dewar turned up at the house in North Berwick just before seven and kissed Karen lightly on the cheek before doing the same to her mother and saying, ‘Good to see you again, Jean.’

‘I understand you’re working in Edinburgh just now, Adam. What brings you up here?’

‘A problem at one of the research institutes,’ replied Dewar, accepting the glass of sherry that Karen held out to him.

‘Nothing to do with that foreign student who hanged himself a few weeks ago by any chance?’

‘He was a student at the same institute,’ conceded Dewar.

‘Foreigners,’ snorted Jean, ‘Intrinsically unstable.’

Dewar looked at Karen who shot him a warning glance.

Dewar said nothing. He had prepared himself for an evening of reactionary nonsense from the woman in tweeds. He was not to be disappointed as Jean put forth her views on the absolute necessity of arming the police, using the handle of her knife to emphasise important points by banging it down on the table. She followed up with a treatise on repatriation of coloureds and the introduction of more stringent immigration laws. Finally she outlined her master plan of imposing curfews on all UK streets after ten in the evening. She was of course, willing to relax regulations on certain days like new years eve — ‘I’m not a monster, Adam.’ — and certain other festive dates. Naturally some people would have to be exempted from the rules.

Dewar couldn’t help but feel that among those would almost certainly be certain elderly women, wearing tweeds, body warmers and substantial stockings who lived in large comfortable houses in North Berwick on money left to them by their late husbands.

Karen, suspecting that Dewar’s patience was running thin, suggested that he and she should have a walk round the harbour before doing the dishes. Dewar leapt at the chance.

‘How come you turned out normal?’ he asked Karen as they walked down the cobbled street leading to the harbour.

‘She’s not as awful as she sounds,’ said Karen. ‘She has a good heart really.’

‘I’ll take your word for that,’ said Dewar ruefully.

‘Granddad — Mum’s father, was a colonel in the army like Dad. She’s always been used to standards influenced by the ruling classes. She didn’t like it when the world changed so she and her friends built a little world for themselves. They stick together and pretend nothing’s changed. They all have money so it’s not difficult to find tradesmen and professional people who will pander to them and maintain the illusion.

‘That still doesn’t answer my question. You’re not like her.’

‘I might have been had I not gone to university and learned to think for myself. Then I did voluntary service overseas and saw just how little some people had to live on. Working in Public Health has been a bit of an eye opener too, seeing just how little some people in this country have. Unlike my mother, I know what the real world’s like; I’m not afraid of it like she is. I have no illusions about it but I don’t feel threatened all the time. I feel okay.’

Dewar put his hand on Karen’s buttock and squeezed lightly. ‘Yup, you do,’ he agreed.

‘Trust you to lower the tone.’

‘Now you’re sounding like your mother.’

Karen gave him an elbow in the ribs and said, ‘You haven’t told me how your investigation’s going.’

Dewar told her what he could.

Karen shivered slightly and Dewar suggested they start back. ‘You are going to stay over?’ she asked.

‘If you want me too.’

‘Of course I want you to. Mother would take it as a personal slight if you didn’t.’

‘Even though she can’t stand the sight of me?’ said Dewar.

‘Don’t be silly. Being slightly to the right of Mussolini herself, she sees you as an incipient red menace because you care about people and tend to say so.’

‘So do you in your job,’ said Dewar.

‘Ah but she sees that differently. She thinks of me as doing charity work People like her have always done that. You know, the knitting socks for soldiers bit, the WVS tea van, driving ambulances and the like.

Dewar took a deep breath before they entered the house and Karen smiled. ‘I’m proud of you,’ she said. ‘Keep it up. She’s an early bedder.’

Karen’s mother asked if they’d noticed the graffiti down by the harbour. They hadn’t. ‘Young thugs with nothing better to do with themselves,’ declared Jean, using this as a starting point to expound her views on the shortcomings of the young and how they should be tackled. ‘And what do they get if they’re caught? Probation,’ she snorted. ‘As if that’s going to stop them. They’re laughing at authority, that’s what they’re doing.’

‘I think I know how to stop recidivism,’ said Dewar.

Karen shot him a warning glance but it was too late.

‘Really Adam?’

‘Hang first offenders,’ said Dewar with a straight face.

‘Well, you know my views about hanging, dear … ‘ Jean began then she realised she was being mocked. ‘That’s silly, Adam,’ she said with a sour expression.

Karen closed her eyes momentarily then said, ‘It’s about time we did the dishes, Adam.’

‘Right.’

‘I think I’ll go up to bed dear,’ said Jean. ‘I think I’ve got a migraine coming on.’ She kissed Karen on the cheek and said a frosty good night to Dewar.

‘And you were doing so well,’ said Karen, making a start to the washing up.

Dewar came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. ‘Sorry,’ he said, nuzzling her neck.

Karen moved her head to one side and held up her rubber gloved hands. ‘Don’t think you’re going to get round me that way,’ she said but she was smiling.

‘Are you going to let me come to your room?’

‘No, we agreed, it’s right next to Mother’s.’

‘Well, you can come to mine.’

‘You’re on the other side of her,’ said Karen.

‘I bet she planned it that way,’ complained Dewar. ‘With all that military background in the family, I bet she’s a tactical genius.

‘A little exercise in self restraint won’t do you any harm at all,’ said Karen.

‘On the other hand … ‘ said Dewar sliding his hands down on to Karen’s hips.

‘What? … ‘

‘I could have you right here over the kitchen sink.’ He slid his hands down further to grip Karen’s skirt and start hitching it up.

‘Adam!’ protested Karen in a stage whisper.

Dewar continued to nuzzle the side of her neck as he brought her skirt right up over her bottom and drew her back into him.

‘I don’t really … think this … is a very …good idea,’ moaned Karen in a voice that suggested it wasn’t entirely a bad one. ‘You randy b … ‘

‘Karen darling, I should have said, you really must use up the … ‘ Jean’s voice behind them faded away. Dewar closed his eyes and prayed for the ground to open up. Karen just froze.

‘Well, really!’

‘Oh God, tell me that didn’t happen,’ prayed Dewar aloud.

‘It did,’ said Karen, who was now taking the situation better than Dewar. She even found the look on Dewar’s face amusing. ‘Well, that cured your randiness, didn’t it?’

‘Damned right,’ replied Dewar, still stricken with embarrassment. ‘I may never rise again.’

‘It’s not the end of the world,’ said Karen. ‘I’m sure after all this time even my mother has worked out that we don’t spend all our time together playing Scrabble.’

‘Even though …’

The telephone rang and Karen left the kitchen to answer it. She returned saying, ‘It’s for you.’

‘I had to leave a number,’ Dewar apologised.

The call was from Ian Grant. ‘I’m at the hospital, Sandra Macandrew is showing signs of regaining consciousness. I thought you’d want to know.’

‘I’m on my way.’

Dewar explained to Karen that he’d have to go.

‘Saved by the bell,’ said Karen.

Dewar still looked embarrassed. ‘What should I do about your mother?’ he asked. ‘Apologise?’

Karen shook her head. ‘If I know my mother, she’ll pretend nothing ever happened. It’ll probably never be mentioned. Let’s just do the same.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Dewar putting on his jacket.

‘I’m not,’ said Karen. ‘It’s rather nice to be wanted. Long may it continue.’

Dewar gunned the Rover up the thirty odd miles to Edinburgh in a little over thirty minutes. He found Grant seemingly having an argument with one of the medical staff. Both men were speaking in whispers but the fact that it was an argument was pumping up the volume. Grant caught sight of Dewar and looked relieved. ‘Good to see you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying to explain to Doctor Sellars here that you must speak to Miss Macandrew first.’

‘What’s the problem?’ asked Dewar.

Sellars looking harassed, said, ‘I’m under pressure from her parents. They know she’s coming round and they want to be with her. It’s only natural.’

Dewar nodded his understanding. ‘Maybe I should have a word with them?’

‘Worth a try,’ said Sellars, happy to pass the buck to anyone in the circumstances.

Dewar was shown into the room where a nurse was attempting to pacify Sandra’s parents.

‘This is outrageous,’ her father was complaining.

‘I’m sorry. I’m the cause of all this trouble,’ said Dewar, announcing his presence. He held out his hand and shook hands with both of Sandra’s parents. ‘I know this must all seem totally unreasonable but it’s vital I speak to Sandra first. She knows something that could conceivably affect the lives of millions of people.’

‘Our Sandra?’

Dewar nodded. ‘I think you can take it as a good sign that she’s coming out of her coma and you have my assurance that you’ll be allowed to sit with her as soon as possible. Please, just bear with me a little longer.’

The couple seemed satisfied if more than a little taken aback at what Dewar had told them. They sat down and Dewar left them alone with the nurse again.

‘Okay?’ asked Sellars.

‘For the moment,’ replied Dewar. ‘Can I see her now?’

Sellars led the way.

‘Sandra! Can you hear me?’ asked Sellars loudly.

Sandra moved her head on the pillow as if annoyed at the insistence in Sellars’ voice. ‘Go away,’ she murmured.

‘Come on now Sandra. Open your eyes.’

Sandra’s eyes opened like those of a toy doll that had been moved into an upright position. ‘How many fingers Sandra?’ asked Sellars, holding up three fingers.

‘Three, ‘ replied Sandra.

‘How many now?’ Sellars held up four.

Sandra moved her head from side to side again in a gesture of annoyance. ‘Four,’ she mumbled.

‘Good. Who’s the prime minister?’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘Come on now, Sandra. Tell me who the prime minister is.’

‘Blair,’ mumbled Sandra.

‘Who? Louder.’

‘Blair. Tony bloody Blair.’

‘All yours,’ said Sellars to Dewar.