by Ian Jarvis
‘How do you mean?’ asked Rex.
‘It’s hard to say. I realise the new Solstice was specialised, but do you know anything about the spectrum?’
The trio nodded, but only Quist looked convincing.
‘White light from the sun is made up of seven colours. The blue end of the spectrum contains ultra-violet that damages skin DNA and gives a tan. Blocking agents would need to absorb and filter this blue light, perhaps using paba-para amino-benzoic acid and titanium dioxide.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Rex, nodding astutely.
‘What are you getting at?’ questioned Quist.
‘Well we seemed to be producing something that screened radiation from the red end of the spectrum. Becca worked on eight experimental retinols that were useless in stopping UV, but they all blocked red light.’
‘Intriguing.’ Quist stroked his large nose. ‘Although you never saw the finished products, what effect did they have?’
‘Everything is sent away for testing, but they can’t have been much good. As I said, the projects were terminated due to lack of progress.’
‘Okay,’ said Watson. ‘Now we know what Amy does for a living, how about getting back to the detective stuff? Instead of chemistry crap, what about those badges?’
Rex looked puzzled. ‘What on earth do badgers have to do with this?’
Quist ignored him. ‘Yes, Amy, what do you know about Harley Davidsons? Do you know of any motorcyclists who work or call at the lab? Especially anyone who rides a Harley?’
‘There’s no one that I know of.’
‘I’ve been thinking...’ broke in Rex. ‘If you and this Gillette are the only ones left from your research team...’
‘I know,’ sighed Amy. ‘It’s scary, but the police want me to continue with my routines over the next few days. Undercover people are being posted at the lab, a policewoman is at my house and unmarked cars are following me. There’s one right outside now. Believe me, if it hadn’t been for that, I’d never have been stupid enough to come here with you.’
‘They think the murderer will go after you next?’ Watson whistled and peered through the window. ‘How do you feel about being used as bait?’
‘They’ve assured me I’ll be fine.’ She grinned nervously. ‘Suspicious characters will be snatched before anything happens. Anyway, if they catch the killer, it’ll be worth it. I suppose I was half hoping that Rex might have had something to do with this when I accepted his offer - to get it all over with quickly.’
‘About that Harley Davidson,’ said Quist. ‘Can you recall if Lisa, Becca, or Diane ever mentioned a motorcyclist?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Amy shook her head. ‘No one called her Diane, by the way. She was Di to everyone who knew her.’
‘That’s weird, Guv,’ murmured Watson. ‘Selden called her Diane when he tried to hire you, and he’s her fiancé.’
‘Nice going with the confidentiality,’ growled Quist. ‘You’re about as discreet as a wrecking ball.’
‘Whoops! Strange though, eh?’
‘Here’s something stranger,’ said Amy. ‘She didn’t have a fiancé.’
Quist stiffened. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Seventeen stone bloke,’ said Watson. ‘Tattoos, shaven head, and the IQ of an onion bhaji.’
‘Pretty sure.’ Amy nodded. ‘Di was gay.’
***
Due to the shortage of York Rastafarians and the police backlash against anyone harassing ethnic students, Selden and his cronies occasionally filled a van with lager and baseball bats and travelled along the A64 for a night out in Milverton, an area of Leeds that makes Harlem look like Shangri La. Although the authorities deny the existence of no-go areas, no sane officers patrol this Leeds borough and police vehicles never enter without riot gear.
The skinhead didn’t seem worried as he strode alone along Milverton’s main street in his swastika shirt. Turning onto an avenue of four-storey houses, he homed in on a loud Bob Marley drumbeat and arrived at his destination with minutes to spare. Four-thirty he’d been told, but a little either way wouldn’t matter.
The tenement looked too dilapidated to be occupied, but it was home to an illegal club run by the more unsavoury elements of the community, where drink, drugs and girls could be purchased. Selden knew of several of these dives and had always intended to petrol bomb them one day. The cops didn’t seem bothered. They were too busy making easier arrests on kids smoking weed in their student flats - somewhere else that Selden believed should be petrol bombed.
The skinhead kicked open the door. ‘Move!’ he grunted, pushing past three passage guards. One dropped his machete in disbelief. ‘Why don’t you piss off back to Africa and eat watermelon?’
Thirty black faces glared as Selden barged through the lounge to where the hi-fi blasted reggae. A giant with dreadlocks sat beside it, cutting cocaine with a knife. He cursed as the debt collector knocked him aside, spilling the tray.
‘Right!’ Switching off the music and turning to his audience, Selden shouted what were, understandably, to be his final words. ‘Listen to me, you heroin-pushing bastards - this is a citizen’s arrest.’
***
‘I’m out, so leave a message. And don’t get any ideas about robbing an empty flat. There’s a dog here that’ll rip your fuckin’ arms off.’
‘No one home.’ Quist passed Watson’s mobile back across the pub table. ‘It’s a rather eloquent answerphone message.’
‘So why would Selden say he was her fiancé and ask us to investigate?’ Watson shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘I have no idea.’ Quist’s signet ring tinkled thoughtfully against his glass. ‘This is getting ridiculous!’
‘Just give me five minutes with this guy.’ Rex cracked his knuckles. ‘I’ll soon get us some answers.’
‘Normally I loathe violence.’ Quist stroked his nose to conceal a smirk. ‘Although I’ll be glad of your military fighting skills tonight.’
‘You’re going to let him kick the shit out of Selden?’ Watson beamed. ‘Can I watch?’
‘I’m not talking about Selden. The chances are we’ll be needing his talents at our next port of call.’
‘Next port of call? You mean you’re not dropping this?’ Watson looked baffled. ‘If Selden spouted a pack of lies, it’s a dead cert he isn’t intending to pay you. What he thought about us was never a secret, so this is probably his warped idea of a joke.’
‘Believe me, Watson, there’s more to this than the stupid prank of some dumb thug. I need to know what’s going on.’
‘So where are we going next?’
‘You’ll soon see.’ Quist gave Amy one of his lopsided smiles. ‘Thank you, Amy. The talk was enlightening.’
‘I suppose I should thank you.’ The doctor finished her drink. ‘I felt terrible after hearing about Becca and then the thought of being watched by the police. The company has done me good. I still don’t think looking into this will help the police, but I wish I could have been more useful.’
‘So what now?’ Rex winked over his shades. ‘Do you have any plans tonight?’
‘Yes, a bath, a bottle of wine and a TV. The policewoman nanny will be arriving at my place soon to babysit.’
Quist picked up his coat. ‘Come along then. We’ll get you home safely. Leave the Ferrari here for now and we’ll use my car. The Volkswagen has four seats.’
‘Thanks.’ Amy laughed as Rex pulled back her chair. ‘Good thing I’m not a feminist.’
‘I don’t mind feminists,’ he admitted. ‘Providing they know their place.’
***
Parked across the street, Constable Gregson sat watching the Golden Fleece from his Audi. Rain performed a drumbeat on the car roof and he switched on the wipers as Quist, Watson and Rex
emerged with Amy. A Maserati started up several yards behind, and further away, a fourth vehicle pulled out to follow.
‘Incredible!’ The BMW driver chuckled into his mobile. ‘It’s like a convoy.’
‘I shouldn’t laugh yet,’ warned the voice on the phone. ‘I’ve checked the registrations you gave me. The Ferrari belongs to Rex Grant, the son of the building magnate Lionel Grant.’
‘Grant Homes? What’s he doing here? How about the Maserati?’
‘The Maserati is the problem; it’s Carl Dreyer. He’s the Leeds manager for Brightshield Glazing - one of Tayman’s men.’
‘Ah!’ The white BMW accelerated towards Ouse Bridge, keeping the cars in sight. ‘I think I understand. Brightshield have a York sales office below Quist. He’s probably been trying to sell him windows.’
‘Mmmh, and Tayman wants to know how his sales technique failed? That’s possible, but we can’t have him watching them. It’ll jeopardise everything.’
‘Don’t worry.’ The BMW driver chuckled again. ‘Leave the Dreyer problem to me.’
Chapter 24
The Pennines are known as the Backbone of England–rugged hills of heather moorland and surly, damp sheep, that separate Lancashire in the west from Yorkshire in the east. The M62 motorway was constructed across this forbidding landscape in the early seventies, bisecting Northern Britain and connecting Manchester with Hull. The highest motorway in the country, the road rises to 1221 feet as it crosses the Rishworth and Saddleworth moors. In the right conditions, this wilderness can be starkly beautiful, but on winter days like this, it resembled Tolkien’s land of Mordor.
The cab windows in the Mercedes van were fitted with black glass, which allowed the occupants to see out, but no one to see in. This was fortunate, as the opposite way around would have been awkward for Fisher the driver. He cruised along the M62 at eighty, with Browning beside him and Sangster, Hinds and Strand lounging in the luxuriously-upholstered rear. Despite the winter rain. all five wore sunglasses, which coupled with the black suits, gave the men the appearance of CIA operatives.
‘Watch the speedometer,’ said Strand.
The van drifted across the hard shoulder.
‘I’ll rephrase that.’ He grabbed the driver’s head, jerking it upright. ‘Watch the road, but keep your speed below seventy - okay?’
‘Okay, Sir,’ said Fisher.
‘Good.’ Strand sat back. ‘We don’t want to attract motorway police.’
Strand stared out at the rain, his thoughts on the previous day’s meeting. Disembowelled by bullets probably wasn’t the way in which Sharp wished to depart this world, but it was preferable to some deaths he’d seen. Creasey from Aberdeen was the last society member to break Silva’s rules. The furnace they threw him into had been turned down low and his demise had taken an awfully long time. Strand had smoked an entire cigarette before the scratching on the metal door stopped. It was typical of Silva to have the latest Elite execution performed theatrically before the Committee - as if they needed such warnings. If all went to plan, such deaths and the dark days of terror would be soon be over.
Browning turned. ‘Good news with the weather, Sir.’
‘Mmmh?’ Strand realised the bodyguard had been listening to the radio. ‘What is it?’
‘Fog and possibly snow predicted for tomorrow in Yorkshire.’
‘Excellent!’ said Strand. ‘We don’t get enough fog these days. You can’t beat a spot of pleasant weather on a field trip like this.’
***
Driving rain soaked into the broad shoulders of Sangster’s suit. The huge bodyguard kicked a broken padlock out of sight beneath shrubbery, swung open Stapleton’s wrought iron gates and stepped back into the shadows of the high wall. Fisher killed the van lights and turned off the York cul-de-sac into the dark driveway. Sensor-activated floodlights kicked in, bathing the modern mansion and its pseudo-Georgian frontage in illumination.
‘That’s better.’ Fisher pulled up by the porch. ‘Now we can see to break in.’
‘Yes.’ Strand took a remote control from the glove compartment. ‘Although, as those lights are there to warn of intruders, I think it might be a good idea to get rid of them, don’t you?’
Dropping the window, he aimed at a tree where he knew some of the secreted motion sensors to be. The lights died, and adjusting settings, he pointed and pressed again. Stapleton’s alarm and surveillance systems were supplied by Silver Security Systems and foolproof, unless you had a nullifier which could switch off the central defence computer.
‘There. Now it’s safe.’
Climbing from the van, Strand glanced around, ensuring trees concealed the nocturnal visitors from neighbouring houses. Bishopthorpe was one of the most exclusive suburbs of York and the Linden Mount residents would watch out for suspicious activity.
‘It looks empty,’ said Hinds, peering at the windows with their closed curtains as Sangster returned from the gates. ‘There are no lights showing in...’
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Strand turned to see Browning reaching for the porch doorbell. ‘Get away from there, you lunatic. Come here, all of you.’
Browning joined the others in a semi-circle. ‘I thought...’
‘Listen,’ snarled Strand. ‘Now would be a good time to clarify things before your stupidity causes any problems. In Manchester you belong to the President and wield a certain amount of power. Here in the field it’s different. Silva placed me in charge and you were ordered to obey. You’ll do everything I say and nothing more, is that fully understood?’
The quartet blinked as the words sank in. Silva had hand-picked his private security squad from the muscle-bound, criminal dregs of run-down gymnasiums–psychopathic bodybuilders, violent boxers, and vicious heavies from protection rackets. They obeyed the President without question, but their cerebral skills could be likened to the lovemaking skills of pandas.
‘I still think we should have set off sooner,’ said Sangster. ‘The President said he wanted this clearing up as soon as possible.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Strand. ‘Follow me. I want to look around the back.’ Moving cautiously to the house corner, he led them through the bushes to a terraced rear patio. ‘The lounge is empty.’ He cupped his hands against the French doors, where the curtains weren’t fully drawn. ‘Right, we’re going to search the place.’
‘What are we looking for?’ asked Hinds.
‘Anything to explain this vanishing act or tell us where Stapleton is. With the alarm neutralised, we can use the front door and...’ Strand froze as a crash split the silent darkness. He slowly closed his eyes.
‘No need to go back round.’ Fisher clumsily disentangled his foot from the shattered glass door. ‘We can get in here.’
Chapter 25
Quist turned his Beetle off Micklegate and into a quiet backwater of Victorian houses. The terraces were arranged in neat rows beneath the grassy embankment of the city walls, with well-maintained gardens and mature trees. Amy lived three rows in from the battlements on Appleton Terrace
‘So there was no reason why Diane would take her life?’ said Quist. ‘She didn’t know about Lisa’s murder, did she?’
‘None of us knew until Monday when the police arrived at the lab.’ Amy shrugged sadly. ‘No one there can believe Di killed herself. She was the happiest girl you could imagine.’
‘This really is a strange business,’ murmured Quist.
‘Not as strange as some weirdo claiming to be her fiancé,’ said Amy.
‘Yes, we’ll be chatting with Selden about that tomorrow morning.’
‘I’ll be interested to hear what he says.’ The doctor pointed halfway along the terrace to a smartly-painted house with wisteria. ‘This is it - the white door.’
Quist brought the Volkswagen to a halt. �
�I know this is asking a lot, but is there any way I could see the research for your recent products or learn where they were sent for testing? It could be important.’
‘Important?’ She looked puzzled. ‘You mean to these murders?’
‘I’m not sure. I just have a peculiar nagging feeling.’
‘Not really. The Solstice and eye droplets were confidential and even mundane data isn’t left around. Will keeps all the formulas, testing destinations and results on computer.’
‘Wise man.’ Watson eyed Quist. ‘All practical folk use computers.’
‘In that case,’ angled Quist, ‘I er, wonder if it’s possible to access the computer?’
‘If it was, do you think I’d tell someone I hardly knew?’ Amy grinned. ‘It’s only my career and pension on the line. Besides, it’s a personal office terminal that isn’t hooked into the internet like the company computer. Hacking is impossible.’
‘I admit it was a ridiculous request.’ Quist smiled. ‘Anyway, thanks again, Amy. It was nice meeting you.’
‘And you.’ She laughed as Rex leapt into the rain to help her out. ‘You have my number. Let me know what your skinhead friend has to say for himself. Goodnight, Bernard.’
‘You say an armed policewoman is staying?’ Rex watched as she searched the mackintosh for her key. ‘Will you be okay until she arrives?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Amy checked the time. ‘WPC Farnon will be here any time now.’
‘I could spend the night too, if you wanted. If it would help you sleep better.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Amy laughed again. ‘I’ll be seeing you, Rex.’
‘Talking of seeing people...’ He looked over his rain-spattered shades. ‘It might be a good idea to get together again to discuss this situation. I mean if...’