Cat Flap

by Ian Jarvis

  Quist gave a lopsided smile and turned to Rex. ‘When you say you’re looking into Lisa Mirren’s murder, how exactly are you intending to go about that? What sort of questions were you thinking of asking at the laboratory?’

  ‘Well, er...’ Rex nodded thoughtfully. ‘Relevant, searching questions.’

  ‘Ah!’ The detective rubbed his eyes. ‘Did Lisa have any cousins?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Why?’

  ‘The staff here won’t speak to strangers, but they will to Lisa’s family. She has a cousin now - a geologist working in France. They were quite close and he’s just arrived home with two friends.’

  ‘Really?’ Rex looked blank. ‘I’ve never heard of this guy.’

  ‘It’s you.’ Quist headed for the doors. ‘Introduce yourself and then leave the talking to me. Come along, Mister Mirren, let’s see what we can discover.’

  They discovered impatient reps waiting in the lobby with sales and delivery people. Office and lab staff milled about, and a young black girl in a yellow mini dress fumed quietly behind reception.

  ‘Merry Christmas.’ Adjusting his shades, Rex leant over her desk. ‘Who’s in charge?’

  ‘A good question,’ said Lynn Chandler. ‘One that I’ve heard several times today. Are you talking about our director, Doctor Gillette, or Superintendent Lynch?’

  ‘Well, we don’t want the cops, so I suppose we’d like to see Doctor Gillette.’

  The receptionist smiled weakly. ‘Then you’d better find yourself a place in the queue. It’s not exactly business as usual, as you can probably see.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Quist looked around. ‘We saw the police cars outside.’

  ‘I’m not allowed to say, but everything is on hold while they interview the staff and take statements.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Quist. ‘This gentleman is Doctor Mirren’s cousin. It wouldn’t take long.’

  ‘Lisa’s cousin? Oh, I really am so sorry. Wasn’t that just terrible?’ Lynn glanced at the door to their left as Gillette entered the lobby with his secretary. ‘You’re in luck.’ She raised her voice. ‘Doctor, I wonder if you could spare a moment? There’s someone to see you.’

  The director turned as Amy Clarkson appeared from the corridor behind him.

  ‘Will,’ stammered Amy. ‘About my overtime - I want to take it now, if possible?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Gillette. ‘But are you sure you’re alright?’ He slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘This has been a shock for you - a shock for us all. Why don’t you go to the refectory and...’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Amy, glumly. ‘But now the police have finished with me I just want to get home and think about their proposal.’

  ‘Your car’s in the garage, isn’t it?’

  ‘I pick it up tomorrow. That’s another reason why I need to leave early. I’m on the bus and it’s raining.’

  ‘I’ll give you a lift,’ said Gillette’s secretary. ‘But they haven’t interviewed me yet. I don’t know how long I’ll be.’

  Amy shook her head. ‘Thanks, Nicole, but you could be ages. They’re concentrating first on the staff who worked with Becca. I still can’t believe she’s dead.’

  Watson nudged Quist. ‘Another one?’ he whispered.

  ‘Goodnight then.’ Gillette patted Amy’s back. ‘Please try not to dwell too much on all this. Make sure you look after yourself.’

  Quist watched the girl leave and reached a decision. The longer they asked questions in here, the more chance there was of being noticed by the police, especially with Grant around.

  Gillette turned to the waiting trio. ‘Now, gentlemen...’ He looked them over, taking in their odd appearance, especially Rex’s shades dripping with rainwater. ‘Er, how can I help?’

  Rex opened his mouth.

  ‘Are you aware that Christmas is a pagan festival?’ said Quist, motioning to the twinkling lobby tree. ‘Celebrating makes Jehovah very upset.’

  The director studied him vacantly through his wide spectacles.

  ‘We’re in the area speaking to people about the coming apocalypse.’ Quist assumed a Stepford Wife expression. ‘Tell me, how often do you read your bible?’

  ‘Fuck off, you half-wit,’ snarled Gillette, his tone suggesting he hadn’t perused the scriptures for some time.

  Nicole Patterson watched curiously as the director stormed away and the taller of the strangers ushered his friends from the lobby.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ gasped Rex. ‘You said...’

  Quist ran to the car. ‘I changed my mind.’

  ‘Changed it?’ Watson eyed him inquisitively. ‘Sounded like you’d bleedin’ lost it.’

  ‘Will you get a move on before that girl disappears,’ hissed Quist. ‘With the police sniffing around, it’ll be easier to speak to her than the staff in there.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ conceded Rex.

  ‘You want to help, don’t you?’ Quist looked him up and down. ‘Here’s something you should excel at.’

  ***

  The Jefferson Road bus stop stood fifty yards from Ebor Pharmaceuticals at the entrance to an industrial estate. A Perspex shelter had been erected next to it, but local youths had obviously taken exception to this and the mangled roof lay in nearby shrubbery. Five people waited in the rain: three workmen, an elderly woman and Amy Clarkson. The doctor wore a saturated mackintosh and viewed the umbrella beside her enviously.

  ‘Come on,’ chuckled the old lady. ‘Get yourself under here. It’s a terrible day.’

  Amy didn’t argue. ‘Yes, it certainly...’ She paused as a black Ferrari skidded to a halt in the water-filled gutter and drenched the queue. ‘What the hell...’

  The window sank. ‘Hi.’ Rex winked at Amy over his shades. ‘Fancy a drink?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A drink in a pub. Soft lights, soft music... me.’

  ‘Piss off,’ snapped Amy, shaking her dripping coat.

  Rex gaped in astonishment. Was she blind or just stupid? Hadn’t she noticed the car? More to the point, hadn’t she noticed the good-looking guy behind the wheel?

  Something rang a bell in the back of Amy’s mind, something about a black Ferrari and an imbecile, but she’d no idea what. Taking a deep breath, she leant down to the window. ‘I saw you in the lobby back there with two other guys. Who are you and what the hell do you want?’

  ‘It’s your lucky day.’ Rex patted the passenger seat. ‘I’m offering you a drink and a lift home in style. Now who could refuse an offer like that?’

  ‘I could.’

  ‘I’m not bothered about a drink, luv,’ said the lady with the umbrella. ‘But I’ll have a lift.’

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ said Rex. ‘You’re worried, right? The thing is, I have to talk to you and...’

  ‘I don’t get into cars with strange men. Talk all you want, but make it fast. My bus is due any second.’

  ‘Okay, calm down. I should have shown you this straight away.’ He held up his phone with a photo of Raoul and Lisa Mirren. ‘This is my brother with his fiancé, Lisa. You knew her, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I worked with her.’ Of course! That was it. Lisa had mentioned Raoul’s strange brother. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘Raoul asked me to investigate her death and I’d like to ask you a few questions. You might be able to help. Quist knows a pub on this side of town and thought it would be a good place to chat.’

  ‘Quist?’

  ‘A private eye who’s helping me; you saw him in the lobby. So what do you say?’

  ‘Maybe, but some other time.’ Amy handed back the phone. ‘Yes, Lisa mentioned you, but it’s been a really bad day and I just want to go home.’

  ‘You’re still suspicious?’ He removed the shades. ‘Rex Grant
’s the name. I mean, honestly, do I look like a murderer or a loony?’

  She smiled faintly. ‘You don’t look like a murderer. Investigating Lisa’s death? What are you? Police or a private eye like your friend?’

  ‘Hardly.’ He stuck an arm through the window. ‘Captain Grant, SAS.’

  ‘Wow!’ She shook hands. ‘Lisa never mentioned that.’

  ‘Naturally. Raoul will have told her not to.’

  Ice water splattered down Amy’s neck as the bus appeared in the distance. A Ferrari, a cheerful pub and the company of a Tom Cruise look-alike from the SAS were beginning to sound inviting. She checked to ensure a red Audi was parked down the road.

  ‘Okay. I suppose you’re safe enough.’ She opened the door. ‘It’s Amy, by the way.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Er, my name.’

  Rex pressed the accelerator, treating the bus queue to a second drenching, and Gregson in the Audi pulled out of the lab entrance to follow. The white BMW in the industrial estate started up too and the driver began to chuckle.

  Chapter 23

  This real detective work was turning out to be much better than those murder mystery weekends in hotels, decided Rex. Already, he’d met a genuine private eye and taken a blonde doctor for a drink. He and Amy sat on one side of the pub table with Quist and Watson facing. A lovely wood-panelled tavern, with sagging beams and bulls-eye windows, the Golden Fleece was busy this Wednesday afternoon.

  ‘This is the most haunted pub in York,’ said Watson, looking at the Christmas tree beside them. ‘What do you reckon to that, Guv?’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Quist, running an eye over the doctor opposite. ‘I like inns with history, atmosphere and character, and the Fleece positively oozes all three.’

  ‘So what’s this about?’ sighed Amy. Her wet raincoat hung over a radiator and she sat in a sweater and jeans. ‘Rex was telling me about Lisa being his brother’s fiancé and how he promised to look into this while he’s on leave, but how are you involved? Murder is hardly private eye work, is it?’

  ‘Consultant detective,’ corrected Quist.

  ‘There’s a difference?’ asked Rex.

  ‘Not that you’d notice,’ said Watson.

  ‘Make yourself useful.’ Quist passed the teenager a banknote. ‘You know what everyone wants and I’m sure you can find the bar.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you’re doing here either, Rex,’ added Amy. She ran her eyes over his black clothing and sunglasses. ‘I know your brother is upset and thinks you might be able to help, but surely the police will sort this out?’

  ‘Yes.’ He sat back and crossed his legs. ‘But they’ll catch Lisa’s killer a lot faster with us working independently alongside them.’

  Quist rolled his eyes. ‘We met Rex in Lamberley, but it isn’t Lisa’s death I’ve been asked to investigate; it’s Diane Woodall’s.’

  ‘Who’s employing you?’ asked Amy.

  ‘No one as yet. I haven’t decided whether to take the case, but I still have to respect the client’s confidentiality.’

  ‘We think Lisa’s murder and Diane are connected.’ Rex winked conspiratorially at Amy over his shades. ‘That’s why he was in Lamberley and why we joined forces.’

  The detective bit his tongue.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ confessed Amy. ‘It’ll be in the papers tomorrow so I can tell you. With this latest death, the police no longer believe Di was a suicide.’

  ‘Here we go.’ Watson set down a tray of glasses and crisps. ‘Merry Christmas.’ He picked up the lager and passed Amy the white wine. Rex took the vodka martini, and Quist the beer.

  ‘I hope this was made how I specified?’ said Rex. ‘Shaken, not stirred.’

  ‘Ah!’ Quist patted the pile of crisps. ‘Watson seems to have treated himself to a snack with my money. Would you care for a bar meal, Doctor Clarkson? I’ve eaten here before. They have a good range of vegetarian dishes.’

  ‘Vegetarian,’ snorted Watson. ‘Don’t you ever eat proper food? Something that’s frolicked with its mum in a meadow.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Amy shook her head. ‘And as I’ve said, I don’t see how I can help. I don’t know anything, and anything I do know I’ve already told to the police.’

  ‘We overheard something about this latest death when we called at the lab,’ said Quist, softly. ‘Was it a friend?’

  ‘Becca Travis.’ The girl sipped her wine. ‘Becca wasn’t really my type, but I knew her pretty well. I knew all three of them. It’s so hard to believe they’re gone.’

  ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘Are you a secretary there?’ quizzed Rex.

  ‘She’s a doctor,’ said Quist, testily.

  He peered curiously. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Probably not the sort you’re thinking of,’ admitted Amy. ‘A doctor of biochemistry, not someone who hands out pills.’

  ‘Mmmmh!’ Watson grinned. ‘Obviously not as blonde as you look.’

  Amy dipped into Watson’s crisps and smiled. It was difficult to dislike these three and she was beginning to appreciate this strange invitation.

  Rex watched her munching with interest, having seldom seen girls eat. The models he dated usually picked at their food, before visiting the toilet to attend to their coke habit and surreptitiously regurgitate whatever had been swallowed. He was surprisingly attracted to this fair-haired girl - surprisingly, because in the clubs he frequented, he’d never have noticed her. Doctor Clarkson, in her non-designer sweater and jeans, wasn’t exactly supermodel material. She was pretty rather than beautiful, and intellect had never ranked highly with him. On the Grant checklist of female assets, where a tight little arse was number three and long legs number five, brains limped in at number twelve.

  ‘So what biochemistry work do you do at the lab?’ he asked.

  ‘Dermatological research,’ said Amy. ‘We develop pharmaceutical and beauty products for the skin and eyes. Lisa, Di and Becca worked with me in the same department.’

  Rex paused, glass to lips. ‘How many others?’

  ‘No one, and that’s the creepy part. I’m the last surviving member of South Lab.’

  Watson choked on crisps. ‘I take it you’ve slapped in a transfer?’

  ‘What are you working on at the moment?’ asked Quist.

  ‘Everyday products. Wrinkle creams, mascaras, moisturizing lotions and... well, that’s about it.’

  ‘And...’

  ‘Two unfinished projects.’ Amy debated if she could trust them. ‘Have you heard of Solstice, the sunscreen?’

  ‘One of the first super-sunscreens,’ said Rex. ‘It’s been around a while.’

  Quist was impressed. Apparently Grant’s head wasn’t entirely empty: he knew something about sunbathing.

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Amy. ‘We purchase existing products to develop when their patents expire.’ She leant forward. ‘Complaints have been emerging from people experiencing burns and moles after using the original Solstice in hot countries.’

  ‘I can guess why.’ Quist smiled grimly. ‘Solar radiation is increasing.’

  ‘Right. We discovered the first ozone hole over Antarctica decades ago, but air pollution has damaged the atmosphere and more holes are appearing. Ultra-violet has increased ten percent in the past decade and every one percent rise leads to a two percent rise in melanomas and carcinomas.’

  ‘Come again?’ said Watson.

  ‘Skin cancers. So far the situation isn’t serious and everything has been hushed up, but the super-sunscreens, Solstice included, are becoming useless, even dangerous for sensitive individuals.’

  ‘What exactly is a super-sunscreen?’ enquired Quist.

  ‘They were designed to remove holiday hassle,’ said Rex.

/>   Amy nodded. ‘Active pigments absorb into the subcutaneous layer and biologically bind to the keratin - the skin itself. The barrier doesn’t wash off like normal sun filters when bathing or swimming, so you simply apply them and forget them for up to forty-eight hours.’

  ‘I see,’ said Quist. ‘But they were developed before the ozone damage and now need upgrading?’

  ‘A much higher blocking factor is needed for fair skin,’ confirmed Amy. ‘And eye droplet protection too. That was our other unfinished project: a liquid solution to shield eyes from ultra-violet.’

  ‘You say it’s being hushed up?’ Watson looked bemused. ‘Why?’

  ‘You can’t allow people to become scared of the sun,’ said Quist. ‘Airlines, summer-wear industries and countless other firms would crumple overnight. Thousands would be redundant in this country alone.’

  ‘On bright days no one would dare leave for work,’ agreed Amy. ‘That’s why the lab director wants our work kept quiet.’

  ‘This won’t go any further,’ Quist assured her.

  ‘Fortunately the danger was discovered in time and many labs are working on protection.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ Quist sipped his beer. ‘Anyway, this superior Solstice and the eye droplets were the last products you worked on?’

  ‘Yes. The moisturizer, mascaras and creams were completed, but those two were terminated. We weren’t making any progress.’

  ‘And nothing odd has happened recently at your company?’

  ‘Apart from a string of murders,’ said Watson.

  ‘Not really...’

  ‘That sounds like: apart from,’ said Quist.

  ‘It’s nothing worth mentioning, but there were a couple of things. The new system in our department, for example. Will, the director, introduced it when we started on the eye droplets and bought the Solstice patent.’

  ‘Doctor Gillette?’ Quist nodded. ‘We met him briefly.’

  ‘Yeah, he doesn’t read the bible,’ said Watson.

  Amy smiled. ‘No one was allowed to work on the cream or eye drops as a whole. Each researcher worked on different solutions which were blended and finished by Will himself. I worked with the base bonding emulsions. Lisa, Becca and Di worked on various blocking agents, and then Will would take our work for completion in his private lab. We never saw the end product. Not even Doctor Keating had access to the completed batches and she’s the assistant director. Secondly, it sounds stupid, but the chemicals weren’t right. I suppose they must have been, but it didn’t seem like it at the time.’