Blood Will Tell

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I said, holding up my hand and interrupting the nice young man’s rapid spiel. ‘Just show me how to make a phone call. At the moment that’s all I need. I can learn the rest later.’ If I want to, I added silently.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘First you’ll want to program in your numbers from your old mobile.’

  ‘My old phone was smashed to bits a couple of days ago. And I must say I sorely miss it. It was so simple!’ I ended on a near wail, and the clerk finally realized I was a refugee from the age of dinosaurs and took pity on me.

  ‘I understand,’ he said kindly. ‘All right. Look. Is there a number you often call, that you can remember?’

  Alan pulled out his phone, with Nigel’s number showing on the display. I read it off to the clerk.

  ‘Oh, great! I can transfer the data on his phone to yours, if it’s OK with both of you?’

  ‘Amazing. Yes, please. I can delete anything I don’t want. At least if you’ll show me how to do that.’

  ‘Right. Now turn on the mobile. That’s this button here.’

  I turned it on. A keyboard appeared on the screen.

  ‘Touch the numbers you want to enter.’

  I did that.

  ‘Touch this, and your call is on its way.’

  I gazed at the screen.

  ‘No, hold it up to your ear.’ He managed not to roll his eyes, but I could see it was a struggle.

  Aha! It was actually ringing, with a clearer sound than I’d ever had on the old phone. Nigel didn’t answer, though; the call went to voicemail. I left a brief message asking him to call me back and then asked the clerk, ‘Quick! What’s my new phone number?’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’ll show up on your friend’s phone. Press here to end the call, and I’ll show you how to find your number.’

  We were able, right there, to buy a few minutes of time I could use until we worked out what network I wanted to join, and we walked out of the shop, my phone in my purse and a jumble of instructions in my head. Alan, I think, was slightly amused, but I was feeling rather battered.

  ‘Don’t worry, love,’ said my dear husband. ‘I’m sure it’s a bit confusing at first, but if six-year-olds can master the wretched things, so can you.’

  ‘Six-year-olds,’ I retorted, ‘do not have seventy years of habits cluttering up their brains. They don’t even know what a dial phone looks like. For that matter, they don’t know what a clock dial looks like. The other day I said something about “clockwise” to the teenager at the till in Tesco’s, and I might as well have been speaking Swahili.’

  A burst of loud and rather tinny rock music assaulted my ear. I looked around to see who was rudely playing a radio at such a volume.

  Alan cleared his throat. ‘I think it’s your mobile, darling.’

  I managed to fish the thing out of my purse before it stopped making its dreadful row. Alan touched the place that allowed me to answer.

  ‘Dorothy? Nigel. Sorry I couldn’t answer before. I was just putting Greta Jane’s carrycot in the car for Inga. Today’s her one month check-up. Can you believe it?’

  ‘You’ll turn around and blink a few times, and she’ll be sixteen and pestering you about learning to drive.’

  ‘Isn’t it terrifying? Nigel Peter’s starting school next term, and I was putting him in his carrycot only yesterday or so. I’m beginning to feel like an old man.’

  ‘Are you staying with him while Inga deals with the baby?’

  ‘Only temporarily. I’m due back at the uni in a few minutes, so I’m taking the Nipper to stay with Jane until Inga can pick him up.’

  ‘Oh, dear, this isn’t a good time, then. Nigel, Alan and I need your help, or your advice, or – well, what we really want is to pick your brain, I guess. It’s a long story.’

  ‘Right. Can you give me a précis, and then we can talk late this afternoon? Will that work?’

  ‘Um. OK, there’s a lot to tell you, but the root of it may be a student prank here at St Stephen’s. You’re not so far removed from your student days, for all you’re the father of two. Think about the very best prank you can come up with, using a bunch of very bright students in the biological sciences.’

  ‘Biologists. Hmm. That makes it harder than, for example, engineers or mathematicians.’

  ‘You studied history, as I recall, and I’ll bet you had some ideas.’

  ‘I’ll say we did! There was the time—’

  ‘Daddee!’ came a wail from the background.

  ‘Pipe down, monster,’ said Nigel affectionately. ‘I need to go, Dorothy. Let me ask one question. Am I allowed to imagine calling in students in other fields to help?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that, but I don’t see why not.’ Further childish distress sounded. ‘I’ll let you go. Call as soon as you can. Thanks so much, Nigel!’

  ‘No good,’ I reported to Alan, who wasn’t surprised, having heard my end of the conversation. ‘He’s buried in work and the demands of fatherhood. He’ll think about it and call back this evening, but we need ideas right now. It wouldn’t be so urgent if it weren’t for Tom. I wish, just for once, we’d get a piece of luck!’

  Looking back on it, I was certain that my wish had served as a prayer, one that was answered immediately. I didn’t see it that way at the time. I was standing stock-still in one of the crowded pathways of the market, and a teenager absorbed in her mobile cannoned into me and pushed me into a display set out on a stall.

  I wasn’t hurt, or not much. Some of the bruises from my fall raised fresh protests, but no new damage was done. I was mightily annoyed, however, and so was the owner of the stall, who spoke with inventive profanity about such-and-such so-and-sos who didn’t mind where they were adverbially going.

  Alan agreed, though in somewhat seemlier language. ‘You’re all right, love?’ he asked.

  ‘More or less. I hope I haven’t damaged any of your stock?’ I asked the proprietor. I looked at what I had fallen into – a bin full of what seemed to be small mechanical toys.

  ‘No worry, madam. This lot is the cheap end of the line. Now these in the back, they’re the real thing. Cost a pretty penny, these do.’

  I felt I owed him a few minutes of attention, though I wasn’t really interested. ‘I see,’ I lied. ‘Those certainly seem to be better made. And bigger.’

  The man looked at me pityingly. ‘They’re real! Those in the bins, they’re only plastic models. These work!’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

  ‘I think,’ said Alan, who had been studying the display with some interest, ‘that what Mr … er …’

  ‘Levenger.’

  ‘What Mr Levenger means is that his more expensive wares are robots, real ones that actually perform.’

  That sparked a little mild interest. ‘Oh, really? What do they do?’ I had once seen a small version of R2D2, the adorable little robot from Star Wars. The one I’d seen could dance around and make various noises in response to voice commands, but it seemed of little use beyond entertainment. Cute, though. The ones in this display were very odd-looking, resembling nothing so much as large fantastical insects.

  ‘These, madam, are meant to be used in the home. This one can retrieve objects from under furniture. This one is designed to clean, dust and polish surfaces, and will not fall off edges nor knock over objects on the surfaces. This one can actually carry objects up and down stairs! And this is the only place you can get them. They’re quite new, designed by a team of students here in Cambridge.’

  I took a discreet look at the price tag on the surface-cleaning one, and when I had my breath back decided that sponges and dust rags weren’t all that hard to move back and forth. ‘Well, very interesting,’ I said. ‘The wave of the future!’ We managed to escape fairly gracefully.

  ‘Good grief, Alan,’ I said when we were out of earshot, ‘did you see what he was asking for those absurd little gimmicks? For that money I could hire a housekeeper to do all those things seven days a
week, and do them better.’

  ‘They’re gimmicks now, but people will buy them, all the same, just because they’re exactly what you say: the wave of the future. Robotics studies have grown exponentially in recent years, and robots have grown more and more useful in areas like industry and the military. They can do jobs that are far too dangerous for humans, like minesweeping, for example, or handling hot metals in steel work.’

  I shuddered a little. ‘Yes, well, they’re also used for jobs that aren’t so pretty. I was reading about one that’s used on board ship. It’s like an intelligent cannon. It fires itself and even chooses the target. That’s coming awfully close to the fictional kind that can think and take over the world.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Alan, which is almost as annoying as ‘yes, dear’.

  ‘Anyway, I’m not going to spend hundreds of dollars on something that looks like an aluminum praying mantis and does what I could do better, if I could get down on hands and knees anymore. And leaving aside silly robots for the moment, do you have any suggestions about our problem? Since mine can’t be followed up until later.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do. Are you really undamaged by that young idiot who ran into you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Up for a bit of a walk?’

  ‘How much of a bit?’ I replied cautiously. I’ve learned over the years that English ideas about walking can be quite different from mine.

  ‘Down past the University Arms and through Parker’s Piece, that green park behind the hotel, to the police station. I’d like to talk to Elaine, find out what they know about the blood samples from the zoology lab, see if she’s heard any more from or about Tom, and so on.’

  The day was growing warmer, almost hot in the sun. My nether parts were beginning to ache rather badly, and I’d already done as much walking as I wanted to this morning. ‘If it’s all the same to you, love, could we drive there instead?’

  He grinned and led me to a little outdoor café a few steps away. ‘I have another idea. Why don’t I phone Elaine and see if she can join us here for morning coffee?’

  I sat down gratefully. The chairs were cushioned, and not too uncomfortable. I ordered two coffees while Alan was being shunted through layers of protective secretaries. The coffee had arrived by the time he rang off.

  ‘No joy,’ he said with a sigh. ‘She can’t get away. She can see us for a few minutes if we go to the station, though. I hate to suggest that I go alone, but …’ He made a gesture of resignation.

  ‘No, look.’ I took a swig of coffee. ‘Where’s the nearest place you can drive to?’

  ‘King’s Parade, probably, but I can’t park.’

  ‘I can walk that far, and there are some benches in front of King’s College. Why don’t I wait for you there?’

  ‘So long,’ he said firmly, ‘as I escort you there, and you promise not to move an inch till I pick you up.’

  We asked for paper cups for our coffee, paid and took off as rapidly as I could manage. ‘And speaking of blood,’ I began as we walked. ‘Though we weren’t.’

  ‘Not here, I think,’ he said. ‘After we get in the car.’

  ‘Well, remind me. My mind is too full of shards these days.’

  It was delightful to sit in the sun in front of one of my favourite buildings in the world, or it would have been if the bench hadn’t been such sturdy concrete. I reneged slightly on my promise not to stir, and stood to take off my sweater and fold it into a somewhat lumpy cushion. In the warmth of the sun, my posterior needed its comfort a whole lot more than my arms and shoulders. But I was still very glad when Alan rolled to a stop a few feet away, and I was able to exchange the bench for a well-upholstered car.

  SIXTEEN

  We probably could have walked almost as quickly, and we certainly would have taken a more direct route. Cambridge is a very old city, parts of it Roman. The streets were not laid out with modern transport in mind. They are winding and narrow and have a tendency to come to abrupt ends at pedestrianized zones. Many are one-way. All are filled to clogging point with motor vehicles of every kind, with bicycles, with mothers pushing prams, with pedestrians. The students all have loaded backpacks and their faces are, almost to a man (or woman), buried in their mobiles. Add in the cars that are double-parked to let off or take on passengers, and the odd dog or two trotting along the kerb, and you have a traffic nightmare of epic proportions.

  Alan is a temperate man, of both behaviour and speech. He said nothing as he threaded through the maze, doubling back when a street took him the wrong way, stopping to wait for halting buses, for pedestrian crossings, once for a wedding party spilling out of a church into the street, but something about his silence told me I’d better keep quiet, too. We could talk about blood later.

  Eventually we fetched up at the police station, and Alan pulled into the car park. I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Alan rolled his window down to speak to the constable who was approaching with a frown on his face.

  ‘Sorry, sir, but this car park—’

  ‘Is reserved for police personnel. Yes. I am Chief Constable Alan Nesbitt, here by appointment to see Superintendent Barker. Where would be the best place to leave my car? And would you like to take the keys?’

  ‘Yes, sir. That is, no, sir, keep them. Your car will fit just there, if you will. That is … I trust you won’t be a long time?’

  ‘Less than half an hour, probably. I believe the superintendent is very busy, and I don’t want to take too much of her time. Thank you, constable.’

  I grinned at him as we got out of the car. ‘You don’t often throw your title around.’

  ‘My former title. My dear, that young man should be happy my title was the only thing I threw. I was not in a mood to be trifled with.’

  We found the front door and walked into the station, a modern building that looked, from the outside anyway, more like an ordinary office building. I could see from his face that Alan was prepared to do battle with functionaries, but the desk clerk had apparently been warned. We were shown immediately to the superintendent’s office. She gestured to us to sit down while she finished a phone call.

  ‘That was the lab,’ she said, nodding at the phone. ‘Our lab, that is, not one at St Stephen’s. I pushed hard for immediate results, and they responded nobly. The critical thing is that the blood found on the floor of the zoology lab, and on the scalpel, is indeed human. I’m going to have to close off the whole building as a crime scene.’

  ‘But the animals—’ I protested. I was thinking of those cute guinea pigs.

  ‘I’ll have to see to it that their cages are taken elsewhere. I need to phone Bob Everidge straight away, and then launch enquiries about missing persons, hospital admissions, and so on, so if you’ll excuse me …’

  ‘Just one quick thing, Elaine,’ said Alan. ‘Have you heard anything more from or about Tom?’

  She shook her head as she picked up the phone.

  Well, that was that.

  Alan drove us back to the college, each of us silent in our own thoughts. When he had dropped me at the gate and gone to park the car, I went to our room, padded the desk chair with a pillow from the bed and pulled my little notebook out of my purse. Alan walked in to find me at one of my favourite occupations – making lists.

  ‘Ah, I wondered when you’d get around to it.’

  ‘It’s past time. We’ve been floundering. It’s time to get organized.’

  ‘What have you decided on thus far?’

  ‘Well, we don’t have easy access to the Hutchins Building anymore. No one does, except for the police. And whoever takes the lab animals away.’

  ‘That’ll be police, too. Some constables will be assigned that chore. They can be trusted to keep their eyes open and not exceed their brief.’

  ‘In other words, they won’t pull any funny stuff.’

  ‘My dear Yank, have you taken, this late in the day, to reading hard-boiled crime novels?’

  �
�That isn’t even medium-boiled, my dear Brit. Just standard American. I only hope they pick constables who aren’t afraid of rats and snakes. All right. So we can’t check out the building, and there’s no real reason for us to get in on the act, anyway. Elaine’s minions will do an excellent job of that, I’m sure. I do have one important question for Elaine, the one I was going to ask you earlier, but I don’t think she needs to be bothered about it right now.’

  ‘And that would be?’

  ‘The blood. The blood I saw, I mean. Alan, I can’t swear to it, but I think it was still liquid. Now that would mean either that it was really fresh, or that something had been added to it to keep it from clotting. They can do that, can’t they?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Hospitals and clinics have to, in order to make sure the blood they draw for tests and so on stays liquid.’

  ‘It never meets the air, though, at least I don’t think it does. Straight from vein to vial to the lab. So is there something they could put in it to keep it liquid even in the open air? Because if not, this idiotic prank the students were planning wouldn’t have worked.’

  Alan shrugged. ‘Yes, a question that needs to be answered. Although, as I’ve said before, since you could smell the blood you found, it was certainly fresh. But you’re right: not something for Elaine just now.’

  ‘Well, we could have asked one of the forensics people at the conference if I’d thought of it soon enough. Or I could phone our doctor. But our immediate need, if Tom is to be found, is not scientific detail, but a better insight into the human end of things. So the only thing on my list, for a start, is to talk to Terence and his girlfriend, Everidge’s daughter.’

  ‘Then we’ll need their phone numbers. I can’t bother Elaine about that just now either, and Everidge is going to be up to his ears dealing with the repercussions of crime-scene tape around a college building, with all that implies.’