The Devil's Landscape

Twenty-One

‘How are you today?’ asked John Macmillan.

Steven recognised there was more to the question than a polite enquiry.

‘Sorry, I was a bit abrupt last night,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t face going over all the events of the day. The attack on Lucy was the final straw.’

‘Understandable, no one saw that coming.’

‘Thanks.’

Steven went through everything that had happened on the previous day, how his suspicions had been aroused by the photographs from the US fire department, moving on to his meeting with Jane Lincoln and her offer of help in establishing who might have been with Paul Leighton and Carrie Simpson immediately before the fire on that awful night and ending with his conversation with Neil Tyler.

‘It was Neil who brought up the possibility that his employers might have been implicated in the American deaths,’ he added, ‘Now the fear is that they are monitoring what Dorothy’s new group comes up with before... putting a stop to it.’

Macmillan leaned back in the chair and interlaced his fingers across his stomach before saying, ‘Assuming that what you and Tyler are suggesting is true, it would seem to suggest that Professor Lindstrom’s backers are not scientists and, by association, neither are those behind the American murders. You’re a medic, Tyler’s a scientist; you both could see that the professor’s plan to replicate the work of her dead colleagues would take a long time; that’s something the anonymous backers clearly didn’t take into account.’

‘That is a very good point,’ Steven agreed. ‘and happily, it may also take US intelligence out of the frame.’ He answered Macmillan’s inquiring glance by pointing out how much it would be costing to fund Dorothy’s research. ‘They’d be one of the few candidates capable of financing it anonymously, but, of course, they would have the scientific nous to realise how long something like that would take and would keep watch from the side lines rather than rush in.’

‘Well, I think we can call that progress,’ said Macmillan, ‘Mind you, I’m keen to call anything progress these days.’

‘We can safely adopt the politicians’ gambit,’ said Steven.

‘Which is?’

‘Blame other people.’

Macmillan grinned. ‘I think in this case we may have good cause. Have you informed the US police about your suspicions?’

‘Not yet,’ said Steven, hoping he might be able to leave it at that, but Macmillan expected more.

‘I thought I might delay until we see if Jane Lincoln comes up with anything.’

‘Can I ask why?’

‘We’re working in the dark. If the US police agree there might be something wrong with their original conclusions and instigate a full-scale murder — or should that be homicide — investigation, it will alert people we don’t want to alert and maybe scare them off.’

Macmillan accepted this but pointed out, ‘We don’t want to end up investigating an American murder; that’s way outside our remit.’

‘Agreed, but if Jane should come up with the identity of a third person present in the restaurant that night, it would probably mean more to us than it would to the local police and might even help with our inquiry if we could see a connection.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘How long is it since you last spoke to your daughter?’ Tally asked.

‘A couple of weeks,’ Steven replied, ‘I couldn’t get a word in edgeways for hearing about the wonders of Jason,’

Tally smiled. ‘You should call her,’ she said, ‘Play her at her own game, tell her how wonderful I am.’

‘Everyone knows that,’ said Steven.

‘Maximum brownie points,’ said Tally, slapping a phone into his hand. ‘Go on, call her.’

Steven was surprised when Jenny herself answered. ‘Hi nutkin, how are you? I wasn’t expecting you to pick up the phone.’

‘I’m waiting for Jason to call, Dad.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, maybe I should call back?’

‘Don’t be silly, Dad, he can wait.’

This cheered Steven. He deliberately extended the call by asking every conceivable question he could think of about school and life in general, happy in the knowledge he would be keeping Jason waiting. Eventually, he gave in and said, ‘Well, I’d better go and let you speak to your beau.’

‘My what?’ Jenny exclaimed.

‘Sorry, it’s an old-fashioned word for boyfriend.’

‘Dad?’

‘Yes, nutkin?’

‘I love you.’

Steven felt himself choke and struggled to manage, ‘Love you too, nutkin,’ before ending the call.

Tally took the phone from him, ‘Well, my big, brave warrior,’ she said, ‘that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Steven smiled.

Next morning, the sun shone from a clear blue sky after having been absent for several days. Steven took the opportunity to walk by the river and enjoy the warmth of its rays on his face as he thought about Jenny and how grown-up she’d sounded the night before. It made him reflect on how quickly life was passing by. In an ideal world there would be a slow-down or pause button somewhere. A rewind would be a step too far — what was gone was gone — but it would be nice to have just a little more time to cherish things that really mattered.

The beep of an incoming text message interrupted his reverie, especially when he saw it was from Jane Lincoln. It said, ‘Can we meet? Reply by text.’

Steven replied, asking where and when and was told, 3p.m. Rose’s coffee shop in Cedar Avenue. He had to look up the address and saw it was quite a long way away from the university. Was there a reason for that? he wondered.

The reason became clear when they met. Jane told Steven that she shared a flat around the corner in Cedar Crescent and had taken the afternoon off. ‘I didn’t want to meet you anywhere near the university,’ she said, ‘or even have you call me there.’

‘Okay,’ said Steven, not understanding but hoping this was about to be put right.

‘I’ve got some news.’ Jane paused when Steven’s espresso and her own latte arrived along with two pieces of chocolate cake which Jane insisted he must try. Steven could see by the smiles being exchanged that Jane was a regular.

‘I heard back from my friend... there were three people at the table in Romero’s that night.’

‘Excellent, this could be a big piece in the puzzle.’

‘There’s more.’

Steven felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

‘I asked her if she knew who the third person was and she said, no.’

The hairs settled.

‘But she could see what he was.’

Steven rubbed the back of his neck. ‘And what was that?’

‘A priest, a Roman Catholic priest.’

‘Well, well, well,’ murmured Steven, but feeling unsure why he’d said it or what to think about it.

‘There’s more. Thinking ahead, I asked if she could describe him and she did, not all that well — she had no reason to pay him close attention — but well enough for me to think he might have been the same priest I saw with Dorothy in the lab in the days following the fire — short, paunchy, clean-shaven, balding at the front. My friend said they all seemed very friendly and remembers that the priest left with Paul and Carrie: they went off in the direction of the lab.’

‘That could be so important,’ said Steven.

‘Could it?’ asked a troubled looking Jane. ‘If that man had anything to do with the fire and then turned up in the lab to see Dorothy, it could mean that Dorothy was involved after all.’

‘Point taken.’

‘That’s why I didn’t want to be seen talking to you or have anyone thinking it was you on the phone.’

‘You did right, but let’s not implicate Dorothy just yet... for all the reasons we spoke about before.’

Jane nodded. ‘It’s still a worry.’

Steven agreed that it was, but asked her to carry on as normal for the time being. He promised to get in touch when he had any news and she did likewise. As he got up to go, he said, ‘That was the best chocolate cake I ever tasted.’ He left two smiling women behind.

When he got back to the Home Office, Jean told him that John Macmillan had been called to a special meeting by the Home Secretary. Steven told her what Jane Lincoln had come up with and her eyes widened in surprise, ‘A priest?’ she exclaimed, ‘what do you make of that?’

‘Jane thinks there’s a good chance it was the same priest who came to see Dorothy Lindstrom at the university after the fire,’ said Steven, ‘the one I asked you to run a check on.’

‘I remember,’ said Jean.

Steven confessed that he hadn’t got around to taking a look at the file. He’d been distracted after seeing the fire department photographs.

‘Can you remember if he came up as part of the pastoral care team at Yale?’ he asked.

‘Actually, no, he didn’t. I half expected him to be one of the chaplains but he didn’t appear on the list.’

‘I know they have a department of Religious Studies,’ said Steven. ‘He could be a faculty member.’

‘I’ll check.’

‘He might even be a local priest.’

‘Dorothy’s local priest perhaps?’ Jean suggested. ‘Do we know anything about the area where she lived while she was at Yale?’

‘I could find out discreetly from Jane Lincoln, but I don’t want Dorothy to know we’re sniffing around,’ said Steven. ‘Maybe Neil Tyler might be able to help out. He was actually there at the time of the fire.’

‘Do you really think this priest was involved?’

‘Right now, he’s our prime suspect, however unlikely it sounds.’

‘In that case...’ said Jean, pausing to look through papers on her desk, ‘Time to bring in the big diggers for... Father Liam Crossan.’

John Macmillan returned from his meeting with news that Special Branch had identified the first two transfers in the chain Barrowman’s packet had taken. They were confident of coming up with the other two within the next twenty-four hours.

‘Progress at last,’ said Steven.

‘We have the Home Secretary to thank,’ said Macmillan. ‘She made it very plain to a number of very senior people that they should start checking their pension arrangements if they didn’t pull their fingers out.’

‘Good for her. Did you discuss the opening procedure?’

‘The final box is not to be opened until you and Five’s appointed representative are both present. The Royal Mail’s security man will do the opening.’

‘And then what?’

‘That, of course, will depend on what the contents are,’ said Macmillan. ‘But if, as we all hope, the packet posted from Scotland should still be there and found to contain what seems to be data sources — disks, memory sticks, whatever — they should be copied there and then and shared between ourselves and Five. Lab notes are to be photo-copied and shared.’

‘This requires the presence of suitable hardware,’ said Steven.

‘I thought of that,’ said Macmillan. ‘The Home Secretary has agreed that both MI5 and Sci-Med can take along one extra person with the skills and equipment to carry out the copying and sharing.’

‘Lukas,’ said Steven.

‘Lukas,’ Macmillan agreed.

‘I’ll call him,’ said Steven, ‘put him on stand-by. In fact, I’ll go over and see him, tell him what’s been going on. Was this all the special meeting was about?’ he asked.

Macmillan moved uncomfortably in his chair — only momentarily but Steven noticed.

‘There were a couple of other things,’ Macmillan said, making as if to get up.

Steven didn’t move and Macmillan sank slowly back down. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘we shouldn’t have secrets from each other.’

‘Would you like me to go?’ asked Jean.

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ Macmillan responded — a bit too loudly for Jean who was startled. ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ he repeated more softly. ‘You are an invaluable member of our team and contribute to it greatly.’

‘Thank you, Sir John.’

‘The Home Secretary’s main reason for calling the meeting was to inform us that Mrs Lillian Leadbetter has gone missing.’

‘The MP who broke the Moorlock Hall story?’

‘Yes.’

‘She was treated pretty shabbily by her fellow MPs when they discovered the public didn’t give a damn and the press followed suit,’ said Steven.

‘Exactly,’ said Macmillan. ‘Her husband says that she was angry at first but then became depressed, especially when colleagues started avoiding her and it began to dawn on her that her career might be over, just when she’d been led to believe that promotion was on the cards and a glittering tomorrow was about to unfold before her.’

‘Poor woman,’ said Jean.

‘Don’t feel too sorry for her,’ said Steven, ‘the whole thing was about her career, just as it is for those avoiding her now.’

‘Oh, Steven,’ said Jean.

‘Sadly, he’s right,’ said Macmillan. ‘The woman left a trail of wreckage behind her in her quest for advancement. She destroyed the career of medical director, George Groves, without a second thought,’

‘How long has she been missing?’ asked Steven.

‘Three days,’ said Macmillan, ‘and just before you say that’s not long, the Home Secretary called the meeting to appraise us of events in case things should turn out badly and there was a press frenzy.’

‘What does missing mean exactly?’ Steven asked.

‘Her husband came home and found her gone, no note.’

‘Car?’

‘She’d taken her car but no overnight bag — or any clothes as far as he could see although her briefcase had gone — but he says that it might have been in the car anyway. She was a bit careless about leaving it there.’

‘I take it someone brought up the possibility of suicide?’

‘Her husband was adamant that she wasn’t suicidal. He agreed that she’d been very low, but she’d been getting back to being angry again and was determined to “show these bastards” as she put it.’

Steven thought for few moments before asking, ‘Did he know what she meant by that?’

‘He didn’t elaborate, why do you ask?’

‘I was just wondering if it had been an empty threat or if she actually had some plan of action to get back at those she felt had wronged her.’

‘What could she do?’ asked Jean.

‘Who knows... a couple of barrels of gunpowder in the boot of the car and little boys could be celebrating Lillian Leadbetter Day in centuries to come. Penny for the Lillian, mister.’

Macmillan shot Steven a look that discouraged further black humour.

‘Maybe she’s gone to see her sister in Wales?’ Jean suggested, feeling the diplomatic need to move the conversation on.

‘Has she got a sister in Wales?’ asked Macmillan.

‘Er, I don’t actually know, Sir John, I was just sort of making a general suggestion as it’s only been three days and there may be a perfectly innocent reason for Mrs Leadbetter’s absence.’

‘Quiet,’ Macmillan agreed, ‘and we have plenty of other things to keep us occupied. Any progress?’