The Devil's Landscape

Thirteen

Steven walked by the embankment. He needed to clear his head; there were just too many variables floating around to prevent him seeing a clear course of action. He didn’t think they’d find any useful information on Barrowman’s computers and in his notes because of the man’s paranoia. Lukas Neubauer and his colleagues at Lundborg might be able to crack passwords protecting data files if they found them but the odds must be against it. Lucy might remember something useful, some casual comment made in conversation before her husband became distant and hostile, but then again, she might not.

The only realistic source of information about Barrowman’s discovery was Barrowman himself and unfortunately, someone else had concluded that too — and beaten them to it. There were two prime suspects for this, the intelligence services who had tried to prevent the research being done in the first place and secondly, those who had come up with the finance for Dorothy Lindstrom’s research.

Steven decided that the first practical thing they all had to do, despite being pessimistic about the outcome, was to find out just how much information was on Barrowman’s computers and in his notes. It was a fair bet that Dorothy Lindstrom was hard at work doing just that as he stood there, leaning on the wall, watching the rising tide. He had to concede that she had every right to do this as the future of her research group probably depended on coming up with some meaningful progress so that funding might be continued. She would probably be joined in her search by Tyler, the consultant retained by the funding body as soon as they heard what had happened, but Steven feared that this was something they might do even if they had had some involvement in the kidnapping and were currently interrogating Barrowman in some deep, dark cellar. That was the trouble with not knowing, Steven concluded, your imagination always made things worse.

Steven decided he would not request immediate access to the material found in Barrowman’s lab. Dorothy and the money men’s reps could do that while he did what they couldn’t — get hold of what the police had taken from Barrowman’s flat. He would ask Lukas Neubauer to go through it with a fine-tooth comb.

Steven was in the process of wondering whether he should give Lukas a call or go over to see him in person when Jean Roberts called.

‘I’ve spoken to the principal at Capital. He and Professor Lindstrom have a meeting arranged for two thirty this afternoon to discuss the situation. You could join them if that’s convenient?’

‘Wonderful,’ said Steven, who was well used to important people imagining their diaries were full until convinced otherwise.

‘There’s a bonus,’ said Jean. ‘The scientific consultant employed by the lawyers acting for the backers of the Lindstrom group will be attending too. Lots of birds with one stone?’

‘What can I say?’ Steven joked. ‘A bottle of finest Prosecco will be yours.’

Capital was one of the new universities that had appeared in the UK in the past ten years having previously been a south London polytechnic. Attracting a high-profile scientist like Dorothy Lindstrom had been a major coup for them and her presence over the past year had put Capital on the academic map, ramping up its reputation in accordance with an unwritten rule that said that one outstanding scientist on the staff made you good, two made you a centre of excellence. The gamble of underwriting everything that Dorothy’s start-up grant from the pharmaceutical company did not cover until government funding appeared had nearly misfired badly when her request had been turned down, but then the situation had been rescued by the anonymous injection of cash. Now it seemed that the roller coaster was about to plunge again following Barrowman’s disappearance from the scene. So much was going to depend on being able to convince the anonymous backers that the research had not been entirely lost — or at the very least could be continued by the Lindstrom group.

Steven drove up to the collection of flat-roofed, white-painted buildings that comprised Capital University and found the image of a two-star hotel on the Spanish Costas coming to mind. The solar imagery made him think that if the worst came to the worst, their time in the sun was about to end as suddenly as it had begun. Attracting press attention would once more be dependent on handing out honorary degrees to pop stars and people who ran around in circles. ‘Sic transit Gloria mundae,’ he murmured as he mounted the steps of the administration building, passing under another Latin inscription that he translated from vague schoolboy memory as having something to do with striving for the best.

‘The principal is expecting you,’ said the woman behind the desk when Steven presented his credentials. ‘This way please.’

Steven was shown into a spacious room, requiring a long walk from the door across a deep pile carpet sporting the university’s crest to where three people sat watching his progress — one behind a large antique desk whom he took to be the principal, Dorothy Lindstrom and another man on chairs in front. The man behind the desk rose and held out his hand. ‘Charles Byford,’ he said with a perfunctory smile and a look that suggested he had detected a vaguely unpleasant smell in the air. ‘I’m principal here. I believe you’ve met Professor Lindstrom?’

‘On the occasion when we were both declined government funding on the same day,’ said Steven with a smile that was not returned.

‘And this is Dr Neil Tyler, the scientific consultant who has been liaising with us and Professor Lindstrom’s group on behalf of her financiers.’

Steven nodded to the second man who nodded back.

‘Your Miss Roberts was kind enough to explain to me who and what Sci-Med did,’ said Byford, ‘but I’m afraid neither I nor Professor Lindstrom are clear what it is that you’re investigating.’

It occurred to Steven that, if pomposity were an Olympic sport, Byford would be fed up hearing the national anthem. ‘Let’s see,’ he said. ‘One of Professor Lindstrom’s post docs is carrying out research into criminal psychotic behaviour at a secret government establishment which no one is supposed to know about. His personality changes and he becomes secretive about what he’s discovered to the point of paranoia. He descends into further psychosis and attacks his wife, coming close to murdering her and her unborn child. He is arrested by the police but is kidnapped by person or persons unknown when on the way to undergo psychiatric assessment. Call me picky, but I think there are quite a few things here needing investigation.’

Byford moved uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I think Professor Lindstrom and I have been assuming that the police had everything in hand.’

‘In matters scientific and medical where specific expertise is required the Sci-Med Inspectorate take precedent and will spearhead inquiries, to be assisted by the police where necessary.’

Byford acquiesced with a slight nod while Dorothy Lindstrom looked down at the floor.

Steven looked to Tyler and said, ‘I’m afraid you have the better of me. We haven’t met. You report to the people funding Dr Barrowman’s research I understand?’

Dorothy Lindstrom interrupted angrily, saying, ‘It’s my research, Barrowman is one of my post-docs. The funding has been awarded to me.’

‘Ah yes, sorry,’ said Steven. ‘Forgive me.’ He smiled inwardly at being reminded how important it was that academic ego should be approached on tip-toe. He turned again to Tyler. ‘Who are they?’

Everyone seemed shocked.

Steven maintained eye contact with Tyler, hoping his directness was about to pay off, but Tyler didn’t flinch. He gave the impression of searching through empty memory banks before saying, ‘I really don’t know.’

‘You don’t know,’ Steven repeated.

‘I’ve been retained by a firm of solicitors — Scarman, Medici and Weiss, if it helps. I report to them and they report to the donors who would prefer to remain anonymous.’

‘I take it you have particular expertise in the area Owen Barrowman was working in?’ Steven asked.

‘I’m a forensic psychologist,’ said Tyler.

‘Ah,’ said Byford, making a clumsy attempt to involve himself. ‘Modern thumbscrews and the rack.’

Tyler acknowledged the comment with a slight smile and responded. ‘I’m interested in the workings of the mind, Dr Byford, but I spend very little time torturing people. In fact, my particular interest lies in what makes people strap explosives to their bodies and blow themselves to kingdom come taking large numbers of our citizenry with them. I’m also interested in what makes young men leave the country of their birth to go to one completely foreign to them and of which they know nothing in order to be trained to slaughter the folks back home. I’d like to find a way of stopping them. From what I was told of Dr Barrowman’s work when approached by Scarman et al, I didn’t think our interests were a hundred miles apart. I’m sure we’d both like to put an end to psychotic behaviour, the difference being his subjects of study were securely locked up, mine aren’t.’

Steven took a liking to Tyler and was willing to believe that he really didn’t know who was behind Lindstrom’s funding. He said, ‘I think it’s in all our interests to work together on what has happened. Police interest lies in finding Barrowman and his kidnappers so that they can be charged with criminal offences. Sci-Med’s interest lies in finding out why it all happened. We’d like to know who’s financing the research and why.’

Tyler nodded his understanding.

Steven continued. ‘As I see it, Dr Tyler would like to be able to give his employers a detailed report on Barrowman’s work so that they might make an informed decision about continued funding for the Lindstrom group. Professor Lindstrom and, of course, the university are hoping for a favourable decision and will be keen to find positives arising from Barrowman’s work.’ Steven turned to Dorothy. ‘Perhaps you’ve already started examining Owen Barrowman’s files, Professor?’

‘I have.’

‘I think we were all afraid that Owen in his paranoid state might have wiped the lot?’

‘That’s not the case,’ said Dorothy. ‘There’s actually a great deal of data on his computer and all of it is derived from his work in high security prisons up and down the country. We also found copious notes and some interesting conclusions.’

‘That is good news,’ said Tyler.

‘Some of the DNA sequencing is incomplete as is some of the biochemical analysis, but it seems that Owen was well on the way to describing significant differences between criminal psychopaths and the rest of us and even some of the biochemical consequences of these differences.’

‘Forgive my ignorance,’ said Byford, ‘I’m not a biologist, but that sounds as if he has discovered genes connected with the condition and what consequences they actually lead to?’

‘Yes,’ said Dorothy, letting the affirmative hang in the air. ‘And if we know what a gene does in terms of what it produces... it’s possible we can do something about it.’

‘That sounds exciting.’

‘At first glance, I don’t think it’s going to be too difficult to fill in the blanks in the data.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Byford. ‘So, can I take it that, with a bit of work from your group, this will all be publishable?’

‘I think you can,’ said Dorothy with a glance towards Tyler.

‘I look forward to seeing it,’ he responded.

Steven was not so easily impressed and wondered if Dorothy was launching a PR offensive for Tyler’s benefit, seeing what she’d found through rose-tinted spectacles when it was a view that might not be shared by a cold, dispassionate reviewer assessing a paper’s suitability for inclusion in a good quality journal. Medical science had identified lots of genes connected with specific conditions but had been unable to do anything about it. Barrowman had really been looking for the switches that turned these genes on and off, not what they produced although, he conceded, identification was of primary importance.

‘Did you find any data based on the Moorlock Hall prisoner?’ he asked.

‘Not specifically,’ Dorothy replied, ‘but it’s early days. I’ve just been trying to get a broad overall picture.’

‘Of course,’ replied Steven. I’ll take that as a no. He felt depressed at what he thought he could see what was happening. Barrowman had left all the data surrounding his research on psychopathic prisoners on his work computer and probably the one he used at home too. This was exactly what you’d expect to find on the computer of a conscientious post-doctoral fellow who was hiding nothing from his boss or her colleagues. It sounded as if his findings were interesting and publishable so his group leader would and should be pleased — as would the university whose address would be on the published paper. Everything in the garden was lovely, wasn’t it? What did it matter if studies on one prisoner were missing from the list. No one could be upset about that, could they? ‘Oh yes, they could,’ Steven murmured inside his head, ‘Me.’

Despite Steven’s suspicion that the one prisoner missing from the list, Malcolm Lawler, must be the sole source of Barrowman’s exciting discovery and that they were not going to find anything about that in his notes or on his computers, he decided not to share his thoughts. He told the others that the Sci-Med labs would be examining the material taken from Barrowman’s flat by the police and suggested they meet up again when everything had been scrutinised thoroughly.

Steven left with Neil Tyler who said, ‘For what it’s worth I understand why you want to know who’s funding Barrowman’s work, but I honestly don’t know.’

‘I believe you,’ said Steven.

‘Good. You people have probably been checking me out?’

‘Probably,’ agreed Steven with a smile.

‘And getting nowhere?’

Steven gave a non-committal shrug but his smile was still there.

‘In there, I told you what my interests were. What I didn’t say was that my wife was a victim of terrorist bombing some five years ago.’

‘My god, I’m sorry.’

‘When I... got over it I gave up my academic position and became an independent investigator working to my own agenda. I tend to move around a lot and keep a low profile. I’ve managed to amass a great deal of data on the problem.’

Steven digested this and said, ‘But someone knew how to find you and reckoned you were the right man to monitor what Barrowman was up to?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sounds like they made a good decision,’ said Steven. ‘Mind you, what interests me is how they knew all about you when my people came up with a blank.’

‘I agree... that is interesting. By the way, the Moorlock Hall prisoner you asked about in there, was he Malcolm Lawler?’

‘Yes.’

‘Interesting, I read about the place in the papers this morning.’

The two men exchanged contact details, something that gave Steven a stab of conscience when he was reminded of the awful aftermath of giving someone his card. ‘I’ll call you if we find anything new in the stuff taken from Barrowman’s flat.’

‘Thanks,’ said Tyler. ‘Dorothy seems to have had very bad luck with her post-docs... Barrowman is the third who has come to a sticky end.’

They came to the parting of the ways but Steven felt he had been given food for thought. Had that been intentional?