Murder at Seething Wells (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 5)

by P. J. Thurbin

  Ralph slotted his vintage Jaguar alongside a Bentley, a Rolls Royce and two flashy Lamborghini Sports.

  “Seems like we are lunching with our sort of people,” said Katie with a laugh. “It’s a good job I kept a hat for these occasions.”

  Ralph knew quite a bit about Katie’s past. Her first husband had been killed in a bizarre accident in Australia. He had been very well off, so no doubt she had been used to socializing with wealthy people. Her second husband was killed in a botched rescue attempt by the French Special Forces while a prisoner of the terrorists in Somalia. They had lived in a rather posh area in London. Katie was not short of money, although it was not reflected in her lifestyle apart from the Chelsea mews house where she still lived. He had considered asking her to marry him, but he did not want to upset the comfortable friendship they enjoyed by changing the status quo. Besides, he sometimes got the feeling that Katie might view marriage as a jinx.

  A boatman dressed in a blue blazer, white shirt with a Royal Navy tie and white flannels, broke into his reverie as an immaculate well varnished launch nudged alongside the moss covered riverside moorings.

  “Professor and Mrs. Chalmers. Mr. Stein is expecting you, if you would kindly like to step aboard.” The boatman helped Katie to a seat at the stern and Ralph stepped in and sat beside her. He couldn’t help feeling like a schoolboy on an outing; He felt that surge of emotion he had experienced when he first rowed at Henley for his school. It was a mixture of the gentle buzz from the spectator’s enclosure and the flash of the oars as the crews battled two at a time up the one and a half mile course. And there was of course that clack from the Moorhens, a distinctive damp smell from the grass in the meadows and the weeds and reeds along the river bank. But they were now being helped ashore by the boatman.

  “Will we see any of the racing from here, Ralph? Wouldn’t it be better to see the finish?”

  “The races started at 11.30 and go on until 4.30. As it’s a knock out competition it’s most likely been arranged that we have lunch here at the Temple first and then go to the Enclosures to watch the race. I’m sure it’s all been orchestrated to perfection,” Ralph assured her as a tall elegant man walked towards them.

  “Ah, Professor and Mrs. Chalmers. I’m Claus Stein. Thank you so much for accepting my invitation.” After a strong handshake and a glance from Katie to tell Ralph that the ‘Mrs’ hadn’t gone unnoticed, they followed their host into the Etruscan Room where he introduced them to a small group standing next to the hors d’oeuvres table and apologized for rushing off to greet some more guests. To Ralph’s surprise, the first person he saw was Ryan Miller from the Wellcome Trust, whom he had last seen at the event at Seething Wells. In all there were about a dozen guests gathered for pre-lunch drinks.

  “Dr. Miller. We met at Seething Wells. May I introduce Katie?” Katie gave Ralph a sideways smile that told him that she had noticed he didn’t actually introduce her as his wife even though he had failed to correct their host. She thought that he probably didn’t mind people making the presumption but actually saying it was a step too far. “We’re looking forward to the rowing later on.”

  Miller also seemed surprised to see Ralph and explained that he was there as Kramer’s guest and that Wellcome set up and monitored field trials as part of the UK drug approval process. Looking around, Ralph noticed that Katie was happily chatting to some of the other guests. He had to remind himself that she was an independent soul, although he had mixed feelings about that particular characteristic. There was no way Katie could be mistaken for a shrinking violet.

  At lunch he and Katie had been seated next to Ryan Miller and quite naturally the conversation revolved around the progress of the various crews in the regatta. The wine and food were excellent and everyone started to relax, but Miller appeared upset when Ralph told him what James Portwood had said about his being tipped as a candidate for a Nobel Prize for his early work at Cambridge on vaccines.

  “All that’s history,” Miller hastened to add. “It was a long time ago and I’ve moved on. My only interest now is my work here at Oxford and my family,” he grinned as he added. “And, of course, my rowing.”

  “You aren’t still rowing competitively?” Ralph asked somewhat surprised. “I know you are a bit younger than I am, but competitive rowing has moved to another level from when I was here competing as part of the Molesey crew.”

  Miller explained that he kept his single scull at the City of Oxford Rowing Club and still raced occasionally. Ralph knew that he was well respected in the rowing community, having won the cup in the single sculls at Henley a few years back. After a bit more discussion about rowing and the upcoming races that afternoon, Ralph eased the conversation in a different direction.

  “I’m sure you have heard the sad news about Dr. Stephen Chen?”

  “Yes, awful bad luck. We heard it was a hit and run or something like that?”

  “Actually, the local police are treating it as suspicious,” Ralph explained. “Were you aware that he was working on a SARS vaccine at the time of his death?” The question was meant to push Miller, as Ralph knew that he had already told Linham he was surprised to hear that the work was going on. Miller struggled to keep his voice down as the question had obviously caught him off guard.

  “Stephen Chen was a maverick scientist who meddled in things that he didn’t really understand. He was much more interested in making money and in boosting his own ego than in the pursuit of pure science.”

  The outburst startled Ralph. For someone who was meant to be a cool headed scientist, Miller seemed quite vehement in his denigration of a fellow scientist who had recently been killed.

  “I understand that quite a few other scientists are working on a SARS vaccine as well,” Ralph ventured.

  “It’s unlikely that anyone will find a way of dealing with the SARS virus at any effective level beyond helping some extreme cases of the disease,” Miller replied somewhat testily. “Chen’s claim to have made a breakthrough caused a myriad of problems, and not only for the legitimate scientific community. It became a political issue between National Governments and the World Health Organization.”

  Ralph wondered why, if Miller knew so much about Chen and his work, he chose to feign surprise when Inspector Linham had asked the same question. Of course the Inspector could have misinterpreted Miller’s reaction, but knowing Linham, that was unlikely to be the case. Ralph could see Katie giving him meaningful glances. He realized that he was at a social gathering and he should back off from pressing the issue further. After a few more comments about the races and the wonderful luncheon they were enjoying, Ralph decided to risk one more question.

  “I’ve heard a lot about something called a Magic Bullet in tackling disease causing organisms. Is all that something from 1930’s science fiction or is it a viable concept?” Ralph hoped his query came across as simply an idle comment rather a probing question.

  “No. it isn’t simply science fiction. As a matter of fact it’s been the focus of my work since my Cambridge days. I’m now close to finding a cure for Alzheimer’s disease.”

  “Why the focus on just one illness? I thought the Magic Bullet idea was meant to tackle a whole host of diseases.”

  Miller hesitated for a moment and looked down before he answered.

  “My wife has Alzheimer’s. Before it struck she had a brilliant career as a mathematician at Oxford and now some days she doesn’t even remember who I am. So I have to find a cure.” Fortunately the embarrassing moment was interrupted when Claus Stein invited everyone to gather on the lawn for a Pimms before heading to the Stewards’ Enclosure to watch the finals of the races.

  Once outside in the heat of the afternoon sun, Stein took Ralph aside on the pretext of showing off some of the architectural features of the Temple building. Having apologized for talking shop in a social setting he told Ralph about his concerns over Chen’s work.

  “It sounds a bit odd, Professor, but I’m worried that other groups may
be trying to gain access to the work that Stephen Chen was doing for us. Perhaps I shouldn’t name names, but Wang Lew Industries are a major player in the world of new leading edge pharmaceutical products and are heavily backed by the Chinese Government. They’ve been working on a parallel programme to ours. We’re talking about billions of pounds to whoever can develop a product, get it approved and to market first. We know that the Chinese Government are represented on the Governing Body at the National University of Singapore and they had been putting pressure on the NUS to find a way of getting Chen recalled to Singapore, which in turn would have stopped him working for us. They even tried to leverage off of Chen’s concerns for his family who live there, by all accounts. Now the poor chap’s dead, so it may all be water under the bridge. Perhaps these sort of power plays may seem of no consequence to you academics, but for Kramer it means millions if not billions are at stake.”

  Ralph was a bit taken aback by Stein’s revealing so much about his competition and the

  politics surrounding Chen’s work. But his years as a consultant had taught him that one of the characteristics of a good CEO was the ability to judge when to take risks and invite others to share in the tough business decisions that had to be made. Stein continued.

  “Stephen Chen was a brilliant scientist, but he strayed into the political arena, and that is where we are facing some difficulties. Our company needs international backing when it comes to research and the long process of gaining approval for new vaccines. Instead of promoting the benefits of mass vaccination against new strains of influenza in general and the SARS virus in particular, his paper at the WHO was seen as scare mongering. It focused not only on the threat of a world flu pandemic, but on the likelihood of terrorists getting hold of the virus and spreading it among populations as a way of toppling governments. He used the example of the radical religious group Alum Shinriko who leaked SARTN nerve gas on the Tokyo subway and suggested that Singaporean terrorist groups might try a similar trick with the SARS virus.”

  “But how could that harm your research?” Ralph asked.

  “Well, needless to say the Singaporean Government weren’t that happy with Chen’s paper. They have their hands full already trying to quiet a population that is prone to being volatile. And on top of that, some factions at the WHO are beginning to argue that outbreaks of diseases such as SARS are best handled with a tight international policy based on discovery and strict quarantine rather than mass vaccination. That’s not good for us. You see my point, Ralph. We are in the vaccine business. Mass vaccination is good for us as well as our competitors. Sometimes our objectives conflict with those of the WHO which is always interested in finding the lowest cost solution to world health.”

  “One thing that has me puzzled is how a small team at Kingston could possibly compete with, say, a large government funded project in America,” Ralph said.

  Stein explained how some Pharmaceutical companies invest in a lot of small what they call ‘side bets’ in the hope that one would come up trumps. He explained that the big cost was not in the preliminary research but in mounting clinical trials in order to get approval for a new drug. This would be done by the big hitters, not by the smaller research centers like Kingston.

  “But enough shop talk. It’s time for me to get you and my other guests down to the Stewards’ Enclosure and watch the crews battling it out,” exclaimed Stein as two launches drew up alongside the jetty.

  “There sure is a lot of posturing going on,” whispered Katie as they stepped ashore and entered the Stewards’ Enclosure.

  “It’s just tradition. We must keep the standards up, you know,” Ralph replied in that slightly prissy way that Katie found infuriating.

  “Is that why you wore the blazer and flannels? I knew there had to be a reason other than wanting to look as though you were in a 1920s play. But you do fit right in with this bunch, I’ll give you that. And in this heat, too. You must all be mad.”

  “I must say you look very nice,” Ralph said, trying to move the focus away from himself. “That long dress suits you.” Katie wasn’t about to tell him that she chose it because he had complimented her the only other time she had worn it. Besides, she had googled the regatta to see if there was a dress code, just in case.

  “A few years back a woman was refused entry to the Enclosure because her dress was too short,” said Ralph. “She tried to talk her way in by claiming that if it had been acceptable at Royal Ascot then it should be good enough for Henley, but they wouldn’t budge.”

  “If she had been with an Aussie escort he would have sorted them out,” Katie retorted. But Ralph was already busy watching the races.

  “By the way you had better turn off your cell phone,” he said as he checked his own to make sure the ringer was off. “They only give one warning before they escort you out.”

  “I don’t expect they allow women to compete,” Katie said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Actually they do. Women have rowed here since the early 1990s and they lifted the rule on only amateurs being allowed to row a couple of years after.”

  “I guess that’s progress. I’m relieved to know that it’s not just you being peculiar. I guess it’s a British thing. Thank goodness the ones who were transported to Australia left all that pomposity behind,” Katie laughed as she turned her attention to the race and waited with the other spectators for a sight of the boats.

  “How will we know who’s winning?” She asked. “It’s impossible to see what’s happening from here and no one seems to be commentating.”

  “They’re only allowed to give the rate of striking, the distance between the crews and the progress markers, and the crew who is leading.”

  “How are we doing?” Katie asked craning to see as they flashed past.

  “They’re past the barrier marker now and Molesey is a length behind Harvard. Oh bad luck,” Ralph said as he looked out over the river through his binoculars as the Harvard boat crossed the finish two lengths ahead. “Just 4 seconds off the course record. It looks like we were beaten by the better team.”

  “They probably just needed you on their team,” Katie said, not entirely without sincerity. Sometimes he was just how she liked him. Enthusiastic but with that level of reserve that at times she found quite endearing. At others, bloody infuriating.

  ***

  As they drove back to London they talked about Miller and his determination to find a cure for his wife’s illness.

  “He seemed to me like someone who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted,” said Katie. “He’s certainly driven by some pretty big demons.”

  They were silent for a while as Ralph reflected that Katie possessed that same determination. Certainly it was her undoing when her single-mindedness landed her in Holloway after her reckless attempt to find the money to pay the terrorists who were holding her husband at ransom, especially as it had been to no avail, since they murdered him anyhow. But then it was that same grit that she drew on to get her life back together. He had to admit that she had spunk.

  “For a bloke who was tipped for a Nobel Prize in his early 20’s only to throw it all away by getting hooked on gambling, and now he’s back at the top of his field, distracted by an invalided wife. Pretty rotten luck if you ask me,” said Ralph as he moved the Jag over to the fast lane.

  “I’m not sure if I like your phrasing, Ralph. Is that how you see a wife? As a distraction from work?” Asked Katie with that tone that he knew from past experience meant he had stepped over some hidden boundary.

  “That’s not what I meant. And I’m not married.”

  “With an attitude like that I’m not surprised,” she said, realizing that she had perhaps gone a bit too far herself. “Sorry that was unfair. Too much sun has made me snitty. Miller told me that his wife was in a very exclusive and expensive home that cost a bomb. I wonder if he’s reverted to his gambling habit to cover the costs,” Katie said in an attempt to turn the conversation back to Miller.

 
“He’s certainly under a lot of pressure from all sides,” Ralph agreed. “He told me that he and two of his researchers at Oxford have been nominated for the Nobel Prize next year for their work on Alzheimer’s.” Ralph eased down through the gears and turned onto the M25 which was signed for the A3 to Esher.

  “I read somewhere that the prize is around a million US dollars. Even if they had to split it, it’s a fair little windfall,” Katie said with a whistle.

  “His wife’s nursing care would eat that up in no time,” said Ralph. “But if he did win it he’d probably be in demand as a guest speaker all over the world, so it would certainly make a difference to his finances.”

  “Hey Ralph, I thought we’d stay on the M4 straight in to London,” Said Katie as she heard the click - click of the indicator as Ralph turned at the sign for Surbiton.

  “I thought you might like to stay over. You left some of your things at my place from the other weekend. I’m not working Monday and I thought we could talk over your plans for Paris.”

  _________________

  Chapter 8

  In England the notion of an Indian summer is more a question of nostalgia than reality. This September was the exception and Ralph had taken the opportunity to spend a weekend sailing the Gypsy Lady out of Bideford and along the North Devon coast. A soft sou’wester blowing at a comfortable 10 knots gave him the chance to relive his younger days sailing with his late Uncle Harry. He had always found sailing cleared his mind of the day to day concerns of teaching and the trivia, that if not careful could dominate and then become one’s life. He wondered what it would be like to just keep sailing: down past Ireland, the Canary Islands off West Africa, round South Africa and the Cape of Good Hope, then across the Indian Ocean to the Far East. He pondered how practical it would be to sail to Singapore. He wondered if Katie would be up for an adventure of a lifetime. But a drenching in the spray from a rogue wave jolted him out of his reverie. Time to haul in the sails and head to Bideford. He’d just make the evening train back to London.