Chapter 38
Frank Young ran his hands through his hair.
“You realise that this fire changes everything.”
They all turned to him, waiting for him to explain.
“You see, if the house has burned down, and the fire is as severe as the news report indicates, then even if Peterson, Frobisher and the guards have escaped, there will be nothing to show that John or Ced were ever there. They can deny all knowledge of the place. Anyway, it’s unlikely that Peterson is going to start pointing fingers at them; it would be too risky for him.”
“Wouldn’t the guards at the gate have seen John in Peterson’s car when they arrived?” asked Sally.
“I doubt it,” replied John. “The rear windows of his car are tinted, and the guard didn’t look in the back.”
“Exactly,” continued the professor. “No, as far as the gatehouse guards are concerned, I was the only extra person there. They have a record of me arriving and leaving. And my departure was preceded by what they think was a call from Peterson.”
He paused, seeing the puzzled look on the girls’ faces.
“I called the gatehouse and gave what I think was a passable impression of his voice,” he smiled.
“Brilliant!” exclaimed Claudia.
Young continued. “Any evidence of John or Ced having been there will have been destroyed in the fire. I can say, hand on heart, that I went there to discuss a matter of great scientific interest with Peterson. When I arrived, I found he had been in some sort of accident and that he really wasn’t up to listening to what I had to say. After a while he tired, at which point I agreed to go back the next day when he was rested. That I left some considerable time before the fire started will be corroborated by the guards at the gate.”
“So that’s what you’ll tell the police?” asked Lily. “I assume they will come calling.”
“Yes, but probably not until sometime later today.”
He glanced at a clock and stifled a yawn. “You know, I think it would be better if none of you was here when the police come. Let’s try to get a few hours sleep and then you should be on your way.”
Four hours later, at eight in the morning, Lily was the first to emerge into the Youngs’ kitchen. Still jet-lagged, she had tossed around fitfully in the bed the professor’s wife had directed her to, ecstatic to have been finally reunited with her father, but with her head buzzing from the events of the past few hours.
She was pouring some coffee when John walked into the kitchen. She put down her cup and hugged him.
“Papa, I can’t believe I’m standing here with you. I keep pinching myself in case it’s all a dream.”
He smiled and kissed her.
“I’m speechless, Lei-li. To have you here, it’s, well, it’s what I’ve dreamed of for so long.”
“You must be shattered, Papa, after all they put you through.”
“Actually, I’ve probably had more sleep than the rest of you, even if it was drug-induced. Frobisher knocked me out for over half a day after I tried to escape.”
“But you’re not feeling any effects of that other horrible injection she gave you?”
“Nothing,” he said reflectively. “It would appear that their predictions about my immunity, and presumably yours, are all true. I feel fine.”
“Thank heavens! I don’t want to lose you now, not after so long.”
He wrinkled his nose. “That coffee smells good. Got any to spare?”
“I’ll pour you one,” she said.
“Can you make that two?” said Claudia, walking into the room.
“Hey, Claudia,” said Lily, “did you manage to get any sleep?”
“A little. But my head was spinning with everything. And I thought every little noise I heard was the police knocking on the door.”
They laughed.
“I’ve got a bit paranoid about the police lately,” she added ruefully.
“I’m not surprised,” said John, an amused twinkle in his eye. “You have bent a few rules, after all.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. I’m amazed you’re even talking to me. I’ve caused you so much trouble.”
“I suppose,” said John thoughtfully, “when I consider it objectively, something had to happen sooner or later. With modern technology, it was only a matter of time before something was found out about me. About us, I should say,” he added, touching Lily’s arm.
“It was different a hundred years ago,” he said. “Communication was far more limited and papers had almost no security. It was much easier for you to simply disappear and re-emerge somewhere else as someone else. Not so easy now. I hope the professor might have some ideas on where we go from here.”
“I think he will,” said Claudia, sipping her coffee. “He seems to have contacts in all sorts of places.”
At that moment, Janet Young bustled into the kitchen declaring they must all be starving. She set about preparing a huge breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages and fried tomatoes, with piles of toast and homemade jam.
“That smells amazing!” cried Ced as he bounded into the room several minutes later, Sally still clutching his arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so hungry.”
They were all tucking in enthusiastically when the professor joined them. “I’ve been looking at the news reports,” he informed them. “The fire is out and it would appear that the damage is very extensive. The house is more or less gutted, although they did manage to prevent the fire from spreading to the main research laboratory buildings.”
“Any news of Peterson or the others?” asked Claudia.
“Nothing yet, but I think the scene is still too hot for them to go in and search.”
“Do you really think they might have been in there?”
“It’s a possibility, Claudia, some of them, at least. We’ll have to wait and see. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.” He pushed a hand through his ever-unruly hair.
Revitalised by Janet Young’s breakfast and several cups of coffee, the five of them set off shortly after nine. Once they were on their way, John called Lola and they agreed they would all meet up at Sally and Ced’s.
Lola’s timing was perfect. With the aid of a Satnav she’d borrowed from her neighbour, she found her way faultlessly to Ced and Sally’s house, arriving a minute after Ced’s SUV pulled into the driveway. Sophie and Phoebe bounded out of the car and raced up to Lily.
“Lily! Lily! Are you really our cousin?” they both squealed as she bent to hug them.
“I am, my darlings, I am!” she laughed tearfully, hugging them tightly.
Lola folded herself into John’s outstretched arms, her hands stroking his face and hair while her eyes searched into his.
“John! I–”
“It’s OK, sweetheart,” he said, hugging her. “It’s all over.”
They stood there for a few minutes saying nothing. Then he stood back, smiling at her. “I can’t believe that Lei-li turned up, almost as I disappeared, and that the two of you seem to have become instant friends.”
“More than friends, John. Lily’s family. She needs us John; she needs you especially. It’s fantastic that she’s here.” Her eyes danced in delight. John thought he had never seen her so happy.
“A dream come true, believe me,” he said softly.
They all moved inside, the two little girls swinging happily on Lily’s arms, firing questions at her, wanting her to tell them all about New York. Sally made tea and coffee and filled a large plate with biscuits, smacking Ced’s hand as it instantly moved towards them. “There’s homemade elderflower cordial for the girls, Lola. Do you think they’d like it? My mum made it a few weeks ago.”
“They’ll love it, Sally, it’s their favourite,” called Lola as her eyes roamed over a pile of art books scattered around the living room. “So this is the nerve centre for all the art history research. The rumbling of John Andrews.”
“More like the desperate frustrations of Ced Fisher,” laughed Sally, walking into the room c
arrying a tray. “It’s just as well Ced doesn’t have long hair, there would be handfuls of it all over the floor from where he’d been tearing at it. He was beside himself with confusion over why his program didn’t seem to work.”
“When all the time it was working brilliantly,” added John, picking up one of the books. He smiled as it opened to a portrait by Tommaso Perini.
“Well, that one takes me back,” he said, scrutinising the detail. “I’d love to see it again. Where is it?” He read through the text under the picture. “The Met in New York. A well-travelled painting.”
“You can see it when you visit me,” said Lily, “which according to the girls, will be tomorrow, if not sooner!”
“The last time I was in New York, I stayed at the Waldorf-Astoria,” said John, a faraway look in his eyes.
“You didn’t tell us you’d been to New York, Daddy,” cried Sophie. “When did you go?”
“Many years ago, sweetheart, long before you were born.”
“Did Mummy go with you?” asked Sophie.
“No, sweetheart, she didn’t.”
“Did you seed Lily there?” followed Phoebe.
“No, she didn’t live there then.”
“This is surreal,” commented Ced, offering John a biscuit. “You know, John, I’d love to show you my program, but I realise that now is not the time. I hope we can get together soon on it.”
“Without doubt, Ced. I’m fascinated by it and I really want to try to understand how it works, even though I’m a caveman when it comes to computers. I want to see if I can fool it.”
“Challenge accepted!” beamed Ced.
“Actually,” he added, “joking aside, that’s exactly what you need to do: find a new style that the program won’t connect with your present one. That won’t be easy. In fact, I wonder if it’s possible.”
“Fun to find out,” smiled John, picking up Sophie to give her another hug.
“Ced!” called Sally. “Your phone’s ringing. It’s by the front door.”
Ced walked through to the hallway and found his phone. The caller was Frank Young.
“Prof. Hi. We’ve just got back. How are you?”
“Good, Ced, thank you. I thought I’d let you know that the police have been to see me. They left a few minutes ago.”
“Everything OK?”
“Yes, I think so. They seemed to accept my explanation. They told me the fire investigation will take a few days, but in their preliminary sweep through the site, they found five bodies.”
“Five!” exclaimed Ced, shocked that what they had all thought a possibility had been confirmed.
“Yes, five. Four in the laboratory and a fifth in the hallway, but he seems to have fallen from the floor above when the ceiling collapsed.”
“The other guard?”
“It would appear so. Now the interesting thing is, apart from that guard, who was probably overcome by smoke while he was sleeping, the four in the laboratory all appear to have been shot in the head.”
“Shot? All of them? But who–?”
“Yes, shot, and one of them, who was female, was apart from the other three and she had a gun in her hand. They are treating the whole thing as a probable murder/suicide. They need to wait for the post mortem to identify the bodies properly, but they are fairly sure that one of the three men is Peterson – there’s a ring on the remains of a finger that I confirmed I’d seen him wearing – while they think the other two are the guards. They were well built, they said. They know from the guardhouse at the gate that Hannah Frobisher was on-site and although the female body is very badly burnt, they’re working on the assumption that it’s her. The gatehouse guards appear to have had their ears to the ground and the gossip is that there was a lot of tension between Peterson and Frobisher. Apparently, she carried a torch for him, but he ignored her unsubtle advances. They think there might have been a huge row. Frobisher was known to have been a difficult, highly strung and demanding woman.”
“Did the fact that the three men in the laboratory were all tied up concern them at all?” asked Ced.
“They found it a bit strange, but I think they are working on developing a story that will include it. They are satisfied with what they’ve got and in the absence of anything really compelling to the contrary, if I know the police, they will accept the story and close the case. Of course, the post mortem will support the initial indications over the identities and since the bodies are so badly burnt, any evidence of Frobisher having been injected with anything will have been destroyed in the fire.”
“If Peterson really is dead, what will happen to your research?” asked Ced.
“I don’t know. I’ll need to talk to the Peterson Board about my general research. However, now I know about John, I want to continue the work on his DNA and I don’t think that can be carried out under the umbrella of a commercial company. It’s too delicate. Listen, Ced, is John still there? I’d like a quick word if I may.”
“He’s here, Prof. I’ll get him for you.”
In the hall, John listened while Young told him about the police and the findings at the scene of the fire.
“I don’t think there is any further cause for worry about Peterson and his henchmen, John,” said Young as he finished. “Any potential threat to you or your family has now gone away completely.
“But I’ve been thinking beyond that potential problem to another one that I don’t think will go away. That is, the ongoing predicament for both you and Lily of identity. You must already realise that changing identities as you have in the past is becoming increasingly difficult, and it’s only going to get harder as time goes on.”
“You’re right, professor. It’s a serious problem. I honestly don’t know what to do about it in the future.”
“Well, my thoughts on the matter, for what they’re worth, are as follows. Peterson’s maniacal moves aside, you must realise that both you and Lily would be of immense interest scientifically for legitimate and highly confidential research that won’t mean taking litres of blood from either of you or pumping anything into your bodies. Not only that, there is another sort of invaluable and also highly confidential research. Both of you are in a position to give an unprecedented insight into the minutiae of everyday life over a huge tract of time – particularly you, John, since you are so much older. You are living resources of priceless value for a great variety of academics: general historians, art historians, social scientists, linguists; the list will be a long one. My point, John, is that you have a lot to offer, and, in return, it should be possible to solve your problems, if the whole thing is set up with the right people.”
“The right people?”
“I’ve taken the liberty of calling a person I’ve worked with on classified projects on a number of occasions. He works for the government, obviously. Like many of these people, you never really find out what they do and to whom they answer, but they have all sorts of contacts and inside information that very few people are privy to. I’ve given this person the vaguest outline of a hypothetical situation, not mentioning either art or absolute ages, no more really than the suggestion that there could be people who are very much older than they seem and how there could be a situation of mutual benefit both to them and to the government. He has said he will get back to me. When he does, John, I can guarantee from my own dealings with him that whatever transpires will be completely legitimate and will be handled with the utmost secrecy and delicacy.”
He paused, waiting for a response, but John was silent.
“John,” continued Young, “think about it and talk it over with Lily. I know over the past forty-eight hours you’ve had a horrific experience with exactly the wrong sort of person. This would not happen with the people I have in mind; I’d stake my reputation on it. It could be the answer to your problems.”
“OK,” said John, at last, “Lily and I will discuss it. Thank you, Frank, I’m very grateful for your concern and your desire to help us.”
�
��You’re very welcome, John. Of course, I have a vested interest,” he added lightly. “Research into your immune system will more than fill the rest of my working days.”
“Didn’t they give Watson and Crick Nobel prizes?” said John.
“You know more about science than you pretend,” laughed the professor, “but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Rare Traits (The Rare Traits Trilogy Book I) Page 39