Chris Collett - [Tom Mariner 01]

by The Worm in The Bud (txt)

  A young, pretty, female lodger; never in his wildest dreams had Mariner imagined— ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Great,’ she said. ‘You won’t regret it.’

  That settled, Mariner, closed his eyes. After a while, out of the darkness, Mariner heard Jenny get up and pad over to him and felt the warmth from her body as she plopped down beside him, very close. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?’ A hand snaked over him, finding its way inside his coat, opening up his jacket, and moving down to massage his crotch. ‘I’ll do anything you like,’ she whispered, close to his ear, her hand moving harder and faster.

  Mariner groaned in response. ‘How about something special?’ But as she enunciated the last word, Mariner exploded, his orgasm rushing uncontrollably through him.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sor…’ But when his eyes snapped open the sky was lightening to a pale grey, and he was completely alone, Jenny an illusion manufactured by his overactive brain. The fire had died, leaving the room icy cold as rain lashed against the windows. The same rain that would be beating down on Jamie Barham wherever he was.

  Mariner didn’t dare think about where the boy might be now, or in what condition. A statistic flashed unbidden into his mind; 200,000 people go missing in Britain every year.

  Three thousand of them are never found.

  And, reasonably enough, Anna Barham blamed him. It was the biggest monumental fuck-up of his career.

  Heaving himself out of the chair he hung up his coat and dragged himself upstairs where he stood under the shower for twenty minutes trying to get warm. Afterwards he lay on the bed, waiting for dawn to break.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When it did, nothing had changed. Mariner slipped out of the house early before Jenny surfaced. Even though it was only a dream, he couldn’t face her after their moonlight encounter.

  As Mariner turned the car ignition the radio came on too, tuned to local station BRMB. He caught the end of the news bulletin, ‘…growing concerns for the safety of twenty-nine year-old James Barham, who went missing in the city yesterday. Mr Barham, who has autism and severe learning difficulties, is described as being of medium build with short blond hair and green eyes. He was last seen in the vicinity of Birmingham Central Library. Police are appealing to anyone who may have witnessed anything unusual in or around the library at around midday.’

  Mariner was certain Anna hadn’t slept much last night either.

  At Granville Lane a shake of the duty sergeant’s head told him all he needed to know. Mariner went straight to his office, but it wasn’t long before Tony Knox pursued him there. ‘I thought I should let you know, boss,’ he said, sheepishly. ‘I’ve…’

  ‘Moved back home. I know thanks.’

  ‘You’ll be able to rent the room out,’ Knox said, helpfully.

  ‘I already have,’ said Mariner. ‘Jenny’s staying on.’

  Knox’s face was a picture: almost enough to make Mariner crack a smile. ‘That’s great, boss,’ he said, recovering.

  Inevitably, a sly grin crept over his face. ‘You two should get to know each other, boss. She goes like the…’

  ‘Have you made any progress with that bank account?’ asked Mariner, hoping to wipe the smirk off Knox’s face.

  But the look just turned to smug. ‘As a matter of fact, that’s what I came to tell you. It belongs to an organisation called the Queensbridge Trust.’

  ‘Which is what, exactly?’

  ‘I don’t know, yet. It’s not listed in any of the UK businesses directories I’ve looked at so far. But it sounds to me like a charity,’ said Knox.

  Mariner wasn’t so easily fooled. ‘Just because it sounds like it, doesn’t mean it is.’

  Knox was hesitant, as if aware that he was on sensitive ground. ‘If it was though, it might mean that those payments into Eddie Barham’s bank account were legitimate, and not relevant to his murder.’

  But after all that they’d been through, it wasn’t a possibility Mariner was prepared to entertain. ‘They are,’ he said, firmly, fixing his gaze on Knox. ‘Keep looking.’

  Weller’s brief had arrived in the city from Newcastle and turned up at Granville Lane mid-morning. Mariner didn’t hold out much hope of it changing anything and he returned to the interview room with a heavy heart. His fears were borne out, and before long they were going round in the same old circles, so that Sergeant Reilly’s interruption, soon after the interview commenced came as a welcome relief. ‘There’s a Colin Lloyd on the line, sir,’ Reilly said, once they were out in the corridor. ‘From Charles Hanover, the law firm. Wants to know if he should still come in to see you.’

  Mariner had completely forgotten about Lloyd. He shook his head. ‘No, just tell him that things have…’ He stopped mid-sentence. What he was about to say was right, things had moved on. The Powell family had been cancelled out of the equation long ago. But, on the other hand, Colin Lloyd was a lawyer specialising in compensation claims. It was just possible that he might have something to contribute regardless of that. Mariner reversed his decision. ‘Tell him I’ll be out to see him in about half an hour.’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’

  The offices of Charles Hanover were located close to the old Birmingham law courts and constructed from the same red brown sandstone imported from the Welsh borders nearly two hundred years ago. The leaded, stained-glass windows gave the place a monastic feel and, inside, the polished wood floors and oak panelling smelled of old money. Colin Lloyd wasn’t your average ambulance chaser. Ancient portraits gazed down on Mariner from the walls as he followed the short-skirted secretary to Lloyd’s office.

  ‘Good morning Inspector.’ Colin Lloyd stood up from behind his desk and extended a hand in greeting. It was a firm, no-frills handshake and accompanied by a genuine smile. Unusual for a lawyer and Mariner liked him immediately.

  Tall and athletic, Lloyd had the healthy glow of a man who’s just spent a relaxing fortnight in the Seychelles.

  ‘Our first child was conceived there,’ he explained, sitting down again opposite Mariner. ‘We try and go back when we can. Sentimental reasons, I suppose.’

  On his salary, Mariner thought, wryly, it would be no more of a commitment than a weekend jaunt to France.

  ‘I was stunned to hear about Eddie Barham,’ Lloyd was saying. ‘He was a good man.’

  That surprised Mariner. ‘You knew him?’

  ‘Mainly it was by reputation, I must admit. A colleague on the criminal side of the business, the one who referred him to me, spoke highly of him. That view was substantiated by the one meeting we had.’

  ‘Regarding Mr and Mrs Powell.’

  Lloyd’s face creased to a mystified frown, but presumably he couldn’t be expected to remember a case that had never materialised.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Stephen Powell versus the Birmingham Health Authority,’ Mariner elaborated, to help him out.

  ‘Expecting a baby post-sterilisation.’ But already a creeping realisation was making his spine tingle.

  ‘No, Inspector,’ Lloyd corrected him calmly. ‘Eddie came to talk to me about some research his father had done, into a drug called Pinozalyan.’

  Of course he had. Now that Lloyd had said it, it was so glaringly obvious. So why the hell hadn’t Mariner made that leap before? It was he who had made the assumption that Lloyd and the Powell family were connected, and in his head that connection had lingered. ‘Shit!’ he said out loud, at his own stupidity.

  ‘You know about all that?’ Lloyd asked.

  Mariner gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Yes. I know all about it.

  It just hadn’t occurred to me that you would, too. I thought Eddie had come to talk to you about something altogether different.’

  ‘So you’ll know that Eddie felt that his father had uncovered some pretty conclusive proof that Pinozalyan had caused Jamie’s autism. Eddie came to me for advice on whether what he’d got would stand up legally, and on how he should proceed.’

  ‘And wha
t did you tell him?’

  ‘Unfortunately, I think, not what he wanted to hear. On the plus side, I felt that with his father’s notebooks, the testimony from all those other parents, he probably had a strong case against the drug company. On top of that of course he had the backing of one of the clinical researchers, Andrew Todd. Todd had actually published a paper on the harmful effects of the drug back in the late sixties. He’d also informed the company management, yet they had failed to act.’

  ‘They circulated a warning to GPs,’ Mariner reminded him.

  ‘A drug alert, yes. But post-Thalidomide there would be a powerful argument that it wasn’t enough. Not when there were such clear indicators that Pinozalyan was unsafe.’

  ‘But surely all this was exactly what Eddie did want to hear?’

  ‘Oh yes, that part was. The problem was that Eddie was in a hurry. Of course he wanted justice, but I gather he was also under some financial pressure and, as you know, these things can’t be resolved overnight. At best the legal process moves at a snail’s pace, and that’s without all the obstacles that a company as large as Bowes Dorrinton can throw in the way.

  And running alongside that are the costs of bringing a case like this. It could amount to hundreds of thousands of pounds. Sure, there might be a massive payout at the end, but you have to have the money to finance it to begin with.

  Regretfully, I think by the time Eddie left here I’d successfully discouraged him from taking any action at all.’

  Mariner shook his head. ‘Not at all, Mr Lloyd. I think what you did was divert him from the legitimate legal path.

  Eddie Barham took a shortcut. I think he attempted to blackmail Bowes Dorrinton.’

  ‘Good God.’ Lloyd took a moment to absorb the information.

  ‘And you mean his death is tied in with this?’

  ‘Shortly before he died Eddie received two large payments from an offshore bank account, a month apart.

  We’ve traced them to an outfit called the Queensbridge Trust. You don’t know it, do you?’

  Lloyd didn’t.

  ‘We haven’t yet identified what exactly the organisation is or does, but I’m certain there will be a link with Bowes Dorrinton. I think the company played along with Eddie to begin with, humoured him. But Eddie was a journalist.

  They could never be sure that he wouldn’t expose the truth about Pinozalyan.’

  ‘Or increase his demands. On principle, major organisations don’t give in to blackmail. They either ignore it, if they didn’t consider it enough of a threat, or…’

  ‘If they did take the threat seriously?’

  ‘The simplest thing would be to eradicate the source.’

  Lloyd’s words had a chilling formality.

  ‘And you really think they would go that far?’

  ‘Drug companies have a turnover of billions of pounds annually, Inspector,’ Lloyd said in reply. ‘It’s a cutthroat, competitive field. Almost all firms have their own versions of the same drug, so they’re completely dependent on advertising and promoting positive image. It’s not dissimilar to the rivalry between Coca-Cola and Pepsi, though in this case billions of pounds are spent cosying up to GPs. And on top of that, many of them still like to see themselves as benign entities, the saviours of the modern world, ridding us of disease. If the case were proven it would cost financially, but far worse, their reputation and the public confidence in them would be severely damaged, possibly beyond repair. In my experience drug companies will do whatever they have to do to prevent adverse publicity.’ Lloyd’s confidence was reassuring. He was the only person who hadn’t questioned Mariner’s logic.

  ‘Even murder,’ said Mariner.

  Lloyd didn’t contradict him. ‘There are plenty of cases where clients have been intimidated by large corporations into withdrawing actions against them, through hate mail, fire bombs—remember Samantha Drummond?’

  Mariner did. The five-year-old had been abducted from a playground in north London, prompting a nationwide search.

  ‘Her father was bringing an action against Piersmont for failing to disclose the sugar content of their paediatric products. Samantha was released after three days unharmed, but the message was clear enough. “Watch your back, because this is what we’re capable of.” Naturally, Drummond withdrew his claim.’ Lloyd smiled. ‘Samantha’s abductors were never traced. The people who specialise in this kind of damage limitation have massive resources at their disposal, they’re clever and they’re careful. They tidy up after themselves.’

  ‘On the night Eddie was killed his father’s notebooks went missing. Since then, the letters from other parents who took Pinozalyan have been stolen and, as of yesterday, Andrew Todd has disappeared.’

  Lloyd remained sanguine. ‘Someone’s done a highly efficient job, then,’ he said.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘But if you could track down Andrew Todd…’

  ‘We’re working on it, believe me.’ Mariner thought for a moment. ‘If Eddie did decide to make a direct approach to Bowes Dorrinton, who would he have made it to?’

  ‘That depends on how brave or foolhardy he was. He might have gone for someone right at the top, the chairman or the chief executive.’

  ‘And what would the likely response be?’

  ‘They’d turn to their legal department who would handle any complaints or grievances against the company or its products. Someone would be nominated to look at how much of a threat was being posed and then deal with it accordingly.’

  The bleachers, Andrew Todd had called them. ‘So that’s where we need to look? At the company’s legal department?’

  ‘That’s what I would suggest. Though I wouldn’t expect too much. Those guys will be squeaky clean. I can start you off if you like.’ Opening up a desk drawer, Lloyd took out a plastic wallet, which he passed to Mariner. ‘After Eddie Barham came to see me I did a little research of my own into Bowes Dorrinton. I didn’t get very far, but you’re welcome to it. And if there’s anything else I can do to help I’d be glad to. Gratis.’

  Mariner tried to conceal his surprise, but apparently without success.

  Lloyd smiled, sardonically. ‘That child I told you about, our oldest, Daniel, has an autistic spectrum disorder. That’s partly why Eddie was referred to me. Danny was born long after Pinozalyan had come and gone of course, but if there’s anyone out there who’s responsible for inflicting autism on any child or family I’d bloody well want to see them brought to book.’

  ‘Well whatever happens at the sharp end of all this, there are still all those families out there who have suffered as a result of Pinozalyan,’ said Mariner, Anna Barham uppermost in his mind. ‘If we could identify them all again— But I don’t have the time or the manpower to do it.’

  ‘It should be a simple enough task,’ said Lloyd. ‘The quickest route would be through the Autistic Association.

  We could arrange to have a circular sent out, perhaps in the guise of a more general survey. If we log the details of anyone who took the drug all over again we may be able to instigate a public enquiry into the drug. It will be slow, but at least it would be something. Even better would be some press coverage. That would open up the whole case.’

  Mariner thought about Ken Moloney. ‘I’m sure we can arrange that,’ he said.

  Back in his car, Mariner scanned the information Lloyd had given him. On the list of company personnel, one name on the board of directors had been highlighted. Alan Crowther. Or was that just Al? If it was, Al had got careless.

  He wondered if it was worth having a chat with Crowther. It was unlikely to turn up much, but it was all they’d got. Mariner deliberated about giving Dennis Weightman another call, but in the event that decision was taken out of his hands. Arriving back at Granville Lane there was a message for him to call Weightman.

  The detective got straight to the point. ‘We’ve got Andrew Todd. Some ramblers found him up on the moors in his car, a length of hosepipe leading in from the e
xhaust.

  He’s alive, but only just and we don’t know what state he’ll be in if he ever regains consciousness. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh Christ.’ How many more blows could they take?

  ‘He left a lengthy suicide note detailing what happened over Pinozalyan,’ Weightman went on. ‘But I doubt that it will be of much use. It reads like a history lesson.’

  ‘Can you fax it through anyway?’ asked Mariner, dejected.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Oh, and have you ever heard of something called the Queensbridge Trust?’

  Weightman considered. ‘Yeah,’ he said, at last. ‘It sounds familiar. I’ll see what I can find out.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  But still there was nothing on Jamie Barham.

  When it came through, Mariner pored over the faxed letter. Todd’s handwriting was shaky and barely legible in places. In it he detailed his research paper on Pinozalyan.

  His letter concluded with the hope that someone would have the courage that he did not. A separate sheet provided details of meetings and there was a copy of a letter congratulating him on his retirement.

  Mariner compared it with the information given to him by Lloyd, but none of the names matched. Like Weightman had said, it was all in the past. No one named by Todd could be held to account.

  Mid-afternoon, Mariner got a summons to Coleman’s office. Invited, he slumped down in the chair facing the gaffer.

  ‘What are you doing about Holmes and Weller?’

  Coleman asked.

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘We’ve held them for nearly twenty-four hours. Their brief is putting pressure on. And he wasn’t particularly impressed that you cleared off after only half an hour and you haven’t been back since. What are you playing at, Tom? In twelve more hours we have to charge them or let them go.’

  ‘Ironic, isn’t it? If we can contact the other parents we can link Pinozalyan to autism all over again. And I’m sure that we’ll be able to find a connection between Bowes Dorrinton and the payments made into Eddie Barham’s account, but we still have nothing more than circumstantial evidence linking anyone to Eddie’s Barham’s murder. The guy in the legal department at Bowes Dorrinton who set up the whole thing will be as clean as a whistle, won’t he?’