‘So without even asking for more information he actively put you off the idea?’
‘I suppose he did. Do you think it could be illegal or something?’ Suddenly Anna began to share Mariner’s gathering interest. ‘That might have given Eddie his story.’
But Mariner was less sure. ‘If a drug’s illegal, normally the first place you’d find it would be on the Internet and you’ve tried that. Unless it’s just unavailable.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, either it’s so new that it hasn’t yet been clinically approved in this country. Or it could be like Viagra.’
‘Viagra?’
‘Yes, it’s for…’
‘I know what it’s for,’ Anna said, curious about where this was going.
Mariner shifted in his seat. ‘Yes, well. When Viagra first came on the market, if you remember, the government tried to withhold it in this country because of the predicted burden the massive demand for it was going to place on the NHS,’ he said. ‘It was thought to be too expensive and too popular to make it widely available. But in the end, the government had to bow to public pressure, because anyone could get hold of it from the US and a vast Internet black market for it was going to develop. Once people knew about Viagra they wanted it. You’ve been looking at drugs that might be of benefit to Jamie, haven’t you. But what puts you off?’
‘The side effects.’
‘Right, so you don’t go for anything. But say one company developed a drug that was both effective and free of side effects. What would you do then?’
‘I’d grab it with both hands.’ Anna was beginning to see what he was getting at.
‘As would any other person who’s caring for someone with autism. And the NHS would have to foot the bill.’
‘Except that there wouldn’t be anywhere near as much demand for it as for something like Viagra. It wouldn’t be much of a bill.’
‘Wouldn’t there? I thought autism was on the increase.
And don’t some treatments for illnesses like multiple sclerosis run into tens of thousands of pounds, just for one person? If Pinozalyan turns out to be considerably more expensive in the first place, then the cost would soon mount up. And what better way to avoid having to pay out for any drug than to suppress it.’ He was becoming perceptibly more animated.
‘But that’s immoral.’
‘Which I would have thought made it exactly the kind of story Eddie would have been interested in,’ Mariner concluded, with faultless logic. ‘This database could be the list Eddie was collating of the people who would potentially benefit from the drug, were it available. Including Jamie.
And there’s your scandal: all these people being denied an effective drug that doesn’t carry the side effects that all the others do.’
‘But how would Eddie have found out about it in the first place?’
‘He was an investigative journalist. He’d have ways and means. And he certainly had the motivation. Now, assuming that these other initials also belong to autistic kids, where would Eddie have got the names? Jamie’s day centre?’
Anna was doubtful.
‘The people there have a whole range of learning difficulties.
I’m sure there wouldn’t be enough specifically with autism.’ Remembering Susannah’s parents, she scanned the column of initials. There was no S, but then she remembered the comment from Susannah’s father: ‘I hope you’re not going to start stirring things up…’
Perhaps Eddie had tried them, but they didn’t want to be involved.
‘So maybe it’s not just autism we’re talking about.’
For a few minutes they both sat staring at the screen, hoping it would yield an answer. It didn’t, and eventually Mariner sat back, rubbing his eyes. ‘Christ. It’s like having the first three pieces of a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle and trying to fill in the rest.’
Because when it came down to it, all they had was speculation.
Without specifics they had reached another dead end. Anna knew it, but Mariner wasn’t about to admit it.
‘There must be a bigger picture, something that would help us to complete it,’ he said.
Anna couldn’t help but admire his doggedness. It was doubtless what made him good at his job. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Call it a gut thing.’ Right on cue, Mariner’s stomach gurgled loudly.
Anna laughed. ‘You trust a gut that makes that noise?’
‘Sorry.’ Mariner grinned, mildly embarrassed. ‘I’m late for my appointment with Mr Lau.’
‘Mr Lau?’
‘The proprietor of my local Chinese takeaway.’
‘We haven’t eaten either,’ Anna realised suddenly.
‘Jamie will be famished. You can stay and have something with us if you like, though it will only be pizza. I haven’t yet found anything else that Jamie will eat. Apart from chocolate ice cream.’ She tried to make it sound casual, take it or leave it, but she hoped he would stay.
‘Pizza sounds good, thanks.’
‘And how about a proper drink? Or are you on duty?’
‘I officially went off duty hours ago,’ said Mariner. ‘I could murder a beer.’
‘Help yourself. I don’t drink the stuff and it doesn’t look as if anyone else will be coming back for it.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ though to Anna’s ears, he didn’t sound entirely truthful. The microwave pinged to indicate that the pizza was ready. Jamie stayed sitting at the kitchen table until he’d eaten two slices.
‘That’s a record,’ Anna observed. ‘You must be a good influence.’
‘Not on everyone.’ Mariner’s blue eyes held hers for a moment and something in the air crackled. Then the phone rang.
‘Hello, Anna? It’s Mark. I’m sorry it took so long, but I’ve got you the information you asked me for about Pinozalyan.’
Fantastic. ‘Hold on a minute, Mark.’ Anna switched the phone to speaker mode so that Mariner could listen in, too.
‘I’m not sure how much use this will be,’ Mark went on.
‘Are you certain this is the drug you’re looking for?’ To double-check he spelled it out.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘Okay, here goes then. But, be warned, we’re talking ancient history here. Pinozalyan was on the market between 1957 and 1973. Basically it acted on the pineal gland, blocking the electrical impulses that inhibit the release of the hormone melatonin. Melatonin is what makes you feel sleepy; Pinozalyan was used in the treatment of insomnia.
It seems to have been quite successful, but with some minor side effects.’
So it wasn’t brand new drug at all, it was old. Obsolete in fact. Mariner could barely conceal his disappointment.
‘Mark, this is Inspector Mariner, West Midlands Police,’ he said. If Mark was surprised that Anna had a policeman in her flat this late in the evening, he didn’t question it. ‘If Pinozalyan was so successful, why did they stop making it?’
‘I expect because it was superseded by something better, more effective. It happens all the time.’
But Mariner wouldn’t let it go. ‘Would there be any way of getting hold of it again?’
‘I doubt it. And if there are better products around, who would want to?’ Mark hesitated, apparently confused by the conversation. ‘Look Anna, if you need anything why don’t you come in and see me. Are you having trouble sleeping?’
Anna laughed. ‘Not me, Mark. If Jamie would let me, I’d sleep for a week.’
‘What would have replaced Pinozalyan,’ Mariner asked.
‘Particularly for anyone with autism?’
They could hear Mark tapping keys at the other end of the line. ‘There are a number of possibilities around just now,’ he said. ‘It would depend on the precise nature of the symptoms, but it could be something like Fenfluromine, or Impramine. There’s a whole group of them, these days they’re commonly referred to as PSTIs.’
‘But they have side effects too,’ Anna said, practi
cally an expert now.
‘Possibly Anna, I don’t know much about them, I’m afraid. I’d have to look them all up individually.’
‘Could you fax through what you’ve got on Pinozalyan?’
‘Sure, and if you wanted anything more, you could try the Barnes Medical Library at the university.’
‘Thanks, Mark.’
Moments later Anna’s fax machine coughed out a single sheet of paper, confirming what Mark had already told them: that, once manufactured by pharmaceutical company Bowes Dorrinton, Pinozalyan was no longer on the market, and hadn’t been for more than twenty-five years.
‘A brilliant theory bites the dust,’ said Mariner, ruefully.
‘But what would have been Eddie’s interest in a drug that had become obsolete so long ago?’
‘You tell me,’ said Anna forcing her mouth back into shape. She was hoping that Mariner hadn’t noticed her stifling the yawn, but apparently he had.
‘I guess it’s one for another day,’ he said, getting up to go. She would have liked to ask him to stay, but what was the point? She had a night of fielding Jamie to look forward to.
Chapter Nineteen
The house was dark as Mariner let himself in the front door and he noted, with some gratitude, that it was also quiet.
On the way home, Anna Barham, together with his wandering imagination, had combined to produce the half-mast erection that he could always rely on when it wasn’t needed. Being forced to listen to Knox and Jenny shagging each other senseless tonight would have been more than flesh and blood could stand.
His mind was still buzzing from their discussion, and he didn’t feel much like sleep, so cracking open another bottle of home-brew, he poured himself a glass. It was a big improvement on the lager Anna Barham had kept in her fridge, but then he couldn’t expect everything.
Jenny, he noticed, was beginning to make her mark on the house. A vase of flowers stood on the mantelshelf, and unless Knox had dramatically updated his musical taste, the pile of CDs by the player had to be her introduction.
The table in the dining room was covered in papers too: Jenny’s assignment, an apologetic note to one side explained. Straining to decipher the scrawl, Mariner could see that Jenny already had one major qualification for joining the medical profession. As he stood over the table, his attention was caught by a whole series of striking black and white photographs. At first glance Mariner thought they looked rather like pictures of cauliflower florets, until he realised that they represented a foetus in different stages of development, right through from embryo to fully formed infant.
Underneath were descriptors explaining which part of the baby developed at which stage; at week six, the head, liver, intestines; week ten, the nervous system; week fourteen, the muscles and sexual organs. Greta’s baby was developing like that, Greta’s baby that wasn’t his. Mariner still couldn’t decide whether he minded that or not. Although at the time the prospect of fatherhood had terrified him, the idea of bumping into a ready-made replica of himself had also been an intriguing one. The way things were going, that chance may never present itself again and a tiny part of him regretted that. Maybe it always would.
The phone rang, shattering the silence. Mariner grabbed at it. At the other end was a small voice. ‘Hello. I know it’s late, and I’m sorry to bother you, but could I speak to Anthony please?’ An unmistakable Liverpool lilt.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mariner began. ‘There’s no one…’ A penny fell from a great height, spun where it landed and came to rest. ‘Ah, You mean Tony. Er, I’m sorry he’s not around just now. Can I take a message?’
A pause, then, ‘No. There’s no message.’ Another pause, then the voice even lower. ‘Is he still with her?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Technically it was the truth. Mariner couldn’t be certain that at that precise moment they were together, but all the same as he said it he still felt like a shit.
That night, Mariner dreamed he was climbing Tryfan, way up high above the snowline, the spectacular view bearing an uncanny resemblance to the Himalayan range. He was on a steep and narrow winding path, a knife-edge that he had to cling to with both hands, but when he looked down he saw Greta with a whole gaggle of kids, skipping along carelessly like the family Von Trapp from The Sound of Music. Sporting brilliant white, beaming smiles, they were waving at him but as he raised his hand to wave back he lost his balance and fell, tumbling down the mountainside until he woke with a jolt to see the first pale traces of dawn creeping over the sky outside.
Almost immediately he became aware of a gentle rhythmic creaking from the bedroom above. He felt a sudden buzz of excitement, but for once it had nothing to do with sex. During the night, in that slow osmotic way that thoughts form and consolidate, Mariner had developed the ghost of an idea about why Eddie Barham had been killed.
Details eluded him and, thanks to his late night drinking session, his head felt as though he’d made a recent investment in ear-to-ear cavity wall insulation.
He would need Anna’s help in confirming what he thought, so he had to be sure of the logic of what he’d already worked out. He couldn’t plough in there at half cock (ho ho!). For one thing it was bad policing and for another it would raise her hopes, but most of all, and he even admitted this to himself, Mariner wasn’t eager to make a total idiot of himself in front of her. That would come later perhaps. What he needed now was some fresh air and time to think.
Pulling on an old pair of combats, he drove through the empty streets to the outer limits of the city to where the Lickeys, a huddle of rolling hills that straddled Birmingham and Worcestershire, rise gently out of the urban sprawl.
Leaving his car at the Rose and Crown, Mariner put on his boots and strode out on a cushion of brown pine needles up the steep incline through dark conifers, the raw early morning air searing into his lungs and the dank smell of vegetation invading his nostrils. It was a dull and misty morning, and on the climb up he passed no one except a couple of conscientious dog walkers, the impression of isolation dispelled only by the permanent auditory backdrop of the rumbling motorway traffic.
From the castle-like monument on the summit, Mariner looked out over the conurbation spread out at his feet like a bluish grey patchwork, intricate in its detail. It was an unspectacular sunrise, the skies too grey and overcast to be anything more than a sluggish paling of the sky to the east, and at first only the geological features were discernible: to the west the rise of Dudley Castle hill, the north of the city marked by the mound of Barr Beacon. But, little by little, landmarks emerged in the developing daylight, linking together to form the coherent whole, as the facts of Eddie Barham’s death continued to take clearer shape in his head.
Back home, enervated, Mariner showered and ironed himself a clean shirt; a habit he’d clung to since his return to the civilised world all those years ago. When he went downstairs again, Jenny was in the kitchen, wearing what looked like one of Tony Knox’s sweaters. It barely covered what it needed to.
‘Hi,’ said Mariner, keeping his eyes above shoulder level.
She gave him a sleepy smile in return. ‘Hi.’ Then, noting that he was fully dressed. ‘You’re keen this morning, aren’t you? Want a coffee before you go?’
‘No thanks,’ Mariner said, raising his half-drunk mug.
‘But there is something you can help me with, Jenny. I noticed your project…’
She grimaced. ‘Oh, I’m sorry about that. It’s just that there’s more space here than in hall. I will tidy it up today, promise.’
‘No, it’s not that. There’s something I wanted to ask you. The endocrinal system, that’s hormones isn’t it?’
‘A medical student in the making.’ Jenny smiled.
‘If you took something, some form of medicine that impacted on the system in adults, does it follow that it would also have an effect on the same system in an unborn child?’
‘Wow, this is heavy stuff for eight o’clock in the morning. Actually, I couldn’t say f
or sure. Pharmacology isn’t until year four, but it would seem logical that it would.’
She hadn’t said no.
Knox appeared, looking equally dozy. ‘Any chance of a fry-up love?’ he asked.
From the expression on Jenny’s face, it didn’t look much like it and the atmosphere suddenly thickened.
‘You haven’t got time for that,’ Mariner said, partly to relieve the growing tension. ‘We’ve got work to do.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like when you get into the station, I want you to get hold of whoever dealt with the paperwork on Susan and Malcolm Barham’s accident.’
‘What for?’
‘I’m short of light reading material. See you at the shop.’
And, swigging back the rest of his coffee, Mariner picked up his keys and strode purposefully out of the house.
From the station, the first thing Mariner did was to phone Anna.
‘I’m sorry, she’s not in the office yet,’ said her secretary.
‘Can I take a message?’ Mariner asked that she should call him back. His mind on other things, he checked his emails while he waited for Knox to put in an appearance.
Eventually, there was a knock on the door and Knox entered clutching a manila folder in one hand and a half eaten canteen bacon sandwich in the other. Add assertiveness to Jenny’s many talents.
‘Managed to tear yourself away from love’s young dream, then?’ said Mariner.
Knox only grunted in response, so Mariner turned his attention to the information the constable had come up with. The car accident in which Anna’s parents had been killed had occurred over the border in Worcestershire and so had been handled by the West Mercia force, renowned for their paperwork efficiency.
True to form, they had been able to provide the accident report in a relatively short time and Knox had recorded the details of one of the officers who had dealt with it. But half an hour later, as Mariner listened to the gentle Worcestershire burr at the other end of the line, his optimism began to fade.
Chris Collett - [Tom Mariner 01] Page 23