“Okay, we can just make it. I’ll pick you up outside your residence in thirty minutes. That’ll give us time to get to the airport and check in.”
“I’d better get moving. I only need overnight stuff, don’t I?”
“Two nights. We’ll get back on Wednesday; Gemma is booking a couple of seats on the return flight right now – in case the court decides to let us off for good behaviour.”
“All right. See you later.”
Terry walked back to the Institute building feeling deeply frustrated. The public needed protection from those two, and they needed to be taken out of circulation. The trouble was that it took him out of circulation too, and at a rather crucial time.
Back in his office he shut down his computer, crammed a few papers into his briefcase and, after a quick look round, left.
He paused outside Maggie’s office. The door was closed. He knocked and tried it, but it was locked. It was unusual but she was probably in one of the labs upstairs. There wasn’t time to seek her out now.
He half-walked, half-ran to the hall of residence.
There was just one flight to Bermuda on Mondays and Maggie’s team had arrived on it in the late afternoon. She had no difficulty securing accommodation for them at a hotel close to St. George’s Harbour. When they’d settled in they got together in Maggie’s room and sat round a coffee table.
“Have you got the calculations, Jos?” Maggie asked.
In answer, Jos Wentink produced a print-out of a chart in which Bermuda was the only land mass, just visible in the bottom left-hand corner. He spread it on the table and pointed to a pencilled cross.
“This is where we must put our organism,” he said. “33 degrees 19 minutes north, 64 degrees 3 minutes west. It is about 80 nautical miles north-west of here.”
“Right,” Maggie said. “So the current will take it into the area I told you about, where we know the ammonia organisms are concentrated.”
“That is right. I think we should leave it for ten hours. In that time it cannot travel faster than the surface current, so it will not go more than forty nautical miles. We begin to sample forty miles out along the direction of the current, before it has arrived. That is here.” He pointed to another cross. “Then we take samples on the way back to the starting point. This way we see if it is working and how far it has spread.”
“Timing?”
“We should do all the sampling in daylight. I suggest we are at the furthest point at one o’clock in the afternoon.”
Maggie thought about the duration of her previous trip with Terry, back in May. “That means we need to leave harbour at about seven a.m. So our organism has to be put into the sea at three o’clock in the morning!”
Jos shrugged. “This part does not need daylight but we will be a long time without sleep.”
She looked around at the others. “All right, look, here’s what we’ll do. Only one person needs to go out to actually dump the stuff. That’ll be me.”
They started to protest, but she held up a hand.
“No, it makes sense. I’ll leave at eleven p.m. and come back at seven a.m. to pick up the rest of you. Then the schedule is as Jos said. But everyone has to be ready at the harbour, with the sampling gear and chests, at seven.”
“When are you going to get some sleep, Maggie?” Rob asked.
“Don’t worry; I may be able to snatch a little on the trip out and back. Yes, Sonia?”
“What about the respirator masks?”
“Yes, we mustn’t forget them. I’ll take the box with me; then we can be sure they’re on board. In any case, I may need them myself.”
“Maggie, where do we get the ice and dry ice?” Sara asked.
“The Bermuda Institute of Ocean Sciences. It’s too late to go up there today; I’ll organize it tomorrow morning. But first I’ll be going down to the harbour to charter a boat.” She put her hand on the chart. “Can I take this, Jos?”
“Yes, of course, it’s for you.”
“Good. I know just the person I want for this trip.”
CHAPTER 66
The court room wasn’t overheated but even so Milner was dabbing a handkerchief at his forehead as he regained his seat next to Terry. The trial had proceeded to time, and the two of them were giving evidence this morning.
The Clerk called Dr. Terence McKinley to the witness stand and Terry stood.
“Watch that defense counsel,” Sam hissed, as Terry passed. “He’s poison.”
Terry hardly needed to be told. Forensic evidence had already been presented to confirm that the bullet that killed Zak had come from Charles Morrissey’s pistol. But as Eddie Dominguez had guessed, the Defense case was that Morrissey had not intended to fire the fatal shot. Terry was the only one who could refute that argument.
As soon as he’d been sworn in, Denise Chadwick, Counsel for the Prosecution, opened with a question that gave him the scope he needed.
“Dr. McKinley, would you please describe in your own words what happened on the morning in question?”
Terry gave a clear account of the events up to the time the police reinforcements entered the room. In the back of his mind he was still wondering what traps Morrissey’s lawyers had been preparing for him. He heard the words “your witness” and the Counsel for the Defense stepped forward.
Paul McAdam was short and somewhat overweight, with a self-consciously oratorical style. He led smoothly up to his main theme and began to pace in front of the jury while continuing to throw questions over his shoulder. Terry recognized the calculated rudeness and was determined not to rise to it.
“I put it to you that by grabbing the defendant’s hand you caused the pistol to fire.”
“That’s just not true. The defendant managed to squeeze off two shots before I intervened.”
“You accept, don’t you, that no one apart from you saw those shots being fired?”
“Yes. Everyone else was focused on Dr. Gould.”
A smoothness entered the man’s voice.
“Dr. McKinley, I am not blaming you for intervening, and I am not suggesting that you intended it to happen, but it is entirely possible, is it not, that by grappling with the defendant you actually caused the firearm to be discharged?”
“No, it isn’t possible. Both shots were fired before I took hold of him.”
“May I ask how you come to be so qualified in the martial arts?”
“I took up Judo when I was at school. I rose to Black Belt, first Dan, during my undergraduate days at university.”
“I see. As a black belt, then, you would know a good deal about the vulnerability of the human body. Tell me, Dr. McKinley, did you intend to dislocate the defendant’s shoulder when you attacked him?”
“No, sir, I meant to break his arm.”
This raised a murmur of laughter and the judge frowned and slapped his hand on the desk.
“So, Dr. McKinley,” Counsel continued, “it would be fair to characterize you as a violent man.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Terry saw Denise Chadwick half-rise to object, but he responded quickly:
“Only when someone’s taking pot shots at my friends.”
She smiled and sat down.
“Let us turn to the evidence in the case of Mr. Ramsay. You claim, do you not, that you were attacked by Mr. Ramsay?”
“I don’t have to claim it. The others witnessed it.”
“And yet, Dr. McKinley, when the police reinforcements entered the room they testified that Mr. Ramsay was being restrained most painfully by you in some kind of arm lock.”
“That’s right.”
“Isn’t there a contradiction here, Dr. McKinley?”
“None at all. He attacked me and I restrained him.”
“No more questions.”
Ms. Chadwick asked if she could put a supplementary question.
“Dr. McKinley, you were violently assaulted by the defendant Mr. Ramsay, and this left you severely bruised and beaten about the face and
body. In the end you were able to use your considerable skills to immobilize your opponent. But suppose, like the unfortunate Dr. Grant Challoner, you did not have those skills. Would a sustained beating like that have been sufficient to kill a man?”
“Objection. Counsel is asking for an opinion, an opinion which the witness is not qualified to give.”
“Counsellor?”
“On the contrary, your honour, Counsel for the Defense has already established that the witness is admirably qualified to provide an answer.”
“I’ll allow the question.”
Terry took a deep breath. “I’m young and reasonably fit, but I found that short encounter with the defendant very punishing. In my view, a sustained attack of that intensity could well have proved fatal to an older man such as Dr. Challoner.”
“No further questions.”
“Thank you, Dr. McKinley. You may stand down.”
St. George’s Harbour had looked very different the last time Maggie was here. She recalled the intense blue-green of the water, the brilliant blue sky, the arriving cruise liners and the sails of the turning yachts. Now the sky was a uniform grey, the sea was the colour of pewter, and sky and sea merged in the distance without any apparent horizon. A solitary fishing boat made its way out of the harbour, the throb of the engine carrying across the water. There was no warmth in the sun and Maggie was glad of her windproof jacket as she lowered her head into a keen onshore breeze.
She suspected that Max Gibson would never be far away from his beloved boat. Sure enough as she went down the quay to Cleaver II she saw his battered white cap moving around near the wheelhouse. He looked up as she called his name and hurried over.
“I bet you didn’t expect to see me again,” she laughed.
He pumped her hand. “Well, well, well, you after findin’ some more weed?”
“Sort of. Max. I’d like to charter your boat for two months.”
His eyebrows lifted. She could imagine what that meant to him. Even during the normal season business would seldom be that good. Right now there was no tourism at all, even in season.
“Two months?”
“Yes, the people I work for want the boat available during that time. But you’ll only have to make a few trips. There’ll be some long days, that’s all.”
He frowned. “And weed?”
“Possibly, yes. But I have the respirator masks, and we’ll be sure to use them this time.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Great. I’d like to show you the route. Is there somewhere we can get out of this wind?”
He pointed and they walked to the office on the quay.
While the girl at the desk was preparing the paperwork for an unprecedented two-month charter, he led Maggie through to the small room behind, where he spread the chart out on a table and studied the schedule she’d written down for him. The girl called through the open door:
“Ma’am, is that two months from today – Tuesday?”
“Yes, please. From today.”
Max looked up at her. “So you wanna go out tonight?”
“Yes, is that okay?’
He shrugged. “An’ we leave again soon as we get back?”
“Yes. We’ll take the rest of the team and equipment on board at seven tomorrow morning. You won’t get much sleep, I’m afraid.”
He grinned, the teeth an unexpected show of white in that weather-beaten face. “Won’ be the first time.”
“Ma’am, I need your signature here.”
“Okay,” she called. They stood up.
“I best be gettin’ back,” Max said.
She shook his hand. “I’ll see you at eleven tonight.”
The waitress came by with a insulated jug.
“Would you gentlemen like some more coffee?”
Terry, Milner, and Dominguez shook their heads.
Dominguez said, “I’ll take the bill now, miss.”
“Be right with you.”
“You don’t have to pick up the tab, Eddie,” Milner protested.
“It’s mine – least I can do after you guys came all the way up here.”
“Do you think they’ll need to recall us, Eddie?” Terry asked.
“I don’t think so. Take Charlie. See, if it was only Zak he shot there’d be just a shadow of doubt – you know, about whether he really intended to, or whether the pistol went off in the struggle. It was Terry’s word against his. Of course, Terry’s the more reliable witness but that doesn’t always count if the jury has a bit of sympathy with the plaintiff. The young cop, that’s different. Remember when I went out to fetch him? He was dead on the doorstep and his sidearm was still in the holster. That means Charlie shot him in cold blood. Courts don’t like people shooting cops, especially in cold blood.”
“I see. Shooting scientists is all right, but shooting cops is a serious business.”
“Nah, you know what I mean. Scientists don’t go out putting their lives on the line for the benefit of the public.” Then he laughed, reaching across the table to punch Terry’s shoulder. “At least, usually they don’t.”
“And Ramsay?”
“Yeah, I can’t see him getting off. He made such a mess of Challoner there had to be evidence to place him at the crime scene and there was: forensic took spots of Challoner’s blood off his clothes and his trainers so we know he was at the crime scene. The post mortem was pretty clear about the cause of death and from the way he lammed into you there’s no doubt about who was responsible. It may not be first degree murder, but it sure as hell won’t be manslaughter. And then you’ve got the fact that the two were working together. It would be hard even for that Defense Counsel to convince a jury that one of them was just an innocent bystander.”
“That means we can fly back tomorrow, as planned,” Terry said.
“Should be fine.”
The waitress brought a small plastic folder to the table. Dominguez shot her a smile.
“I’ll deal with this at the desk on the way out,” he said.
The waitress said “Sure thing, have a nice day,” and went away. Dominguez turned back to them.
“So, much as I enjoy seeing you guys I don’t think there’ll be any call for you to come up here again.”
“We got off lightly,” Milner said to Terry. “Sometimes you’re hanging around forever with these cases.”
“Just as well,” Terry replied. “I have to get back. Besides, I’ve decided I don’t like court rooms.”
“Me neither,” Milner agreed. He stretched. “Well, shall we make a move?”
They all got up. Dominguez selected a bill from his wallet and left it for the waitress. They waited for him at the reception desk, then moved to the glass entrance doors.
“Thanks for dinner, Eddie,” said Milner. “Damn, looks like it’s raining.”
Terry opened the door and the air entered his lungs like a knife. Milner was about to follow when Terry grabbed him by the arm.
“Hang on,” he said.
A couple emerged behind them, found that they were in the way, and pushed roughly past. The man stepped onto the pavement, slipped, and fell heavily.
“Omigosh, are you all right, honey?” the woman screeched.
He picked himself up cursing and rubbing his hip. “I guess. Watch the ice. Dammit, I didn’t think it was that cold.”
He limped away with his partner clutching his arm. Their breath escaped in short white trails that lingered in the air behind them.
At that moment a bus came around the corner and began to slide. They were close enough to see the driver battling with the steering wheel. Eventually it came to a stop almost broadside on, the back wheels resting against the kerb. They saw him turn to the passengers. He was saying something and shaking his head. The passengers were shouting back at him, evidently unhappy about something. The driver got out, grabbed at a handle as his feet almost went out from under him, then walked away.
“He wasn’t prepared to take the risk,” observed Dom
inguez. “Can’t blame him. Those people will sue at the drop of a hat if there’s an accident.”
Milner looked curiously at Terry. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t. I just sensed something was wrong. This street was buzzing with traffic and pedestrians when we went in. Look at it now.”
Milner glanced up and down and nodded. “Jeez, and I thought it was only rain.”
“It is rain. But it’s supercooled. Turns to ice the moment it hits something.”
“No shit. Where are you parked, Eddie?”
“Back in your hotel garage. Fortunately I’ve got an all-wheel drive but they can still go sideways.”
Terry said, “This stuff’s like glass. I suggest we link arms to walk back. Six legs are better than two.”
Milner let him take his arm. “People will think we’re gay,” he said.
“Let them. Better that than break a leg.”
At eleven o’clock the quayside was deserted. Maggie stood for a moment, looking out across the pool. The only sounds were the soft lapping of waves against the concrete walls and the boats creaking and knocking gently in their moorings. There was no moonlight and the water would have been invisible but for the runs of silvered ripples where it was caught in the lights from the quayside. Beyond the lights the blackness was impenetrable. The cool air sent a small shiver through her body.
Her footsteps echoed loudly as she boarded the boat. In the weak, yellowish illumination of the wheelhouse she saw Max lift a hand in greeting. He gestured at the smaller man with him.
“This here’s Casey Brown. He’ll be crewin’ this trip. Casey knows these waters better’n anyone, even me.”
Casey Brown grinned and touched two fingers to a wool hat that looked as if it had seldom left his head. Like Max he was wearing a roll-neck pullover two sizes too large, and his jeans disappeared into seamen’s boots. In this light it was impossible to tell how old he was.
“All set?”
She nodded.
Casey didn’t need to be told. He vaulted onto the hull and ran down the edge like a cat along a fence. She could see him detaching ropes from cleats, winding them into neat coils and hanging them on posts on the quay. Then he jumped back into the boat.
NH3 Page 37