by Ken McClure
‘In many ways he has himself to blame,’ said Steven. ‘He believes Lawler is the key to a big scientific discovery and he’s the one who’s going to make it, nobody else He needed Lawler for access to samples and data and hasn’t been willing to let anything or anybody get in his way.’
‘And now the tail is now wagging the dog,’ said Groves.
‘I think so,’ said Steven.
Groves told Steven about Clements and his part in the attack on Barrowman. ‘That’s the way it seems to happen,’ said Steven. ‘One minute you’re full of loathing for an individual, then quite suddenly it’s replaced by unquestioning admiration and a willingness to lay down your life for them.’
‘I should have cottoned on . . .’ said Groves, hanging his head. ‘It must have been the attack that opened up Owen’s mind to suggestion from Lawler. His defences would have been minimal having been in fear of his life and it left him completely susceptible to what Lawler was filling his mind with . . . Lawler got to him. It was my fault.’
‘I’m sure Barrowman’s decision to have no action taken against Lawler would have sounded perfectly rational to you at the time,’ said Steven. ‘It may have been what you wanted to hear for other reasons, but you had no good cause to doubt him. It’s hindsight that’s illuminating the scene for both of us.’
‘Thanks for that,’ said Groves.
I take it you’ve been told the inspection report is going to make the papers if the government can’t make a D notice stick?’
‘I had heard. Someone from the Home Office rang me to apologise for the inspection – said it was all a mistake and should never have happened, but it was too late to do anything about it.’
‘A nice touch,’ said Steven sourly. ‘It’s amazing what damage a loose-tongued drunk at a party can end up doing.’
‘Damn him to hell,’ said Groves.
Steven asked a few questions about the organisation and running of Moorlock Hall, but this was more to justify his visit rather than be the basis of any kind of formal inquiry. Mrs Leadbetter’s conclusions had changed all that. It was clear that there was no chance that the government was going to be able to hide her findings behind a D notice. He personally had decided that Groves was a perfectly decent man who was about to be pilloried in the press because some self-important politician had seen the chance to parade her precious liberal values on a stage provided for her by the press and all to catch the eye of the voters and advance her career.
‘Did you particularly want to meet Lawler?’ Groves asked.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll show you around anyway.’
Steven called Barrowman’s lab number at Capital from the car, only to be told that he hadn’t been in so he tried his home number again. A male voice answered but it wasn’t Barrowman.
‘Who is this?’ Steven asked.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘Dr Steven Dunbar. Who are you?’
‘Detective Sergeant Riley. Can I ask your business please?’
‘I’d like to speak to Owen Barrowman, what’s going on?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.’
Steven said who he was, adding that he was on an active investigation and telling the policeman he could check his status with the Home Office. It was important he speak with Barrowman.
‘Sorry sir, I can’t see your ID over the phone.’
Steven ended the call and called John Macmillan.
‘Steven, we’ve been trying to get in touch with you. Barrowman’s wife is in hospital and he’s disappeared.’
‘Hospital?’
‘She was badly beaten.’
Steven felt a crushing weight land on his shoulders. ‘By Owen?’ he asked in trepidation.
‘They think so.’
‘Oh my God, which hospital is she in?’
Macmillan told him.
‘I’m going there.’’
ELEVEN
‘I’d much rather you left it until tomorrow?’ the young doctor said when Steven asked to see Luc
‘Steven put away his ID and went for a more personal approach. ‘I understand you want what’s best for your patient, doctor, and if you say no, I’ll accept that without question, but I’m a doctor myself and I assure you I won’t upset her in any way . . . if I could just have a few words?’
The doctor, who looked all of fourteen, took an age to weigh up imaginary pros and cons before stroking his chin and conceding. ‘Five minutes, no longer.’
‘Absolutely.’
Steven was accompanied by the doctor to Lucy’s room where he had to show his ID again when asked by one of the two constables standing there. Steven wondered if the police really believed her life to be in danger.
‘Five minutes,’ he was reminded.
Steven had to swallow when he saw the state of Lucy’s face. The bruising and swelling had made her practically unrecognisable. The only plus he could take from that was that the flesh around her eyes was so swollen that she probably couldn’t see the look of shock on his face.
‘Lucy,’ he said gently. ‘It’s Steven Dunbar, they told me Owen did this to you. I’m so sorry, it must have had something to do with my visit last night?’
‘Not your fault,’ came the slurred reply through cut and swollen lips. ‘You gave me your card . . . I left it lying around . . . Owen found it when he came home . . . didn’t match with what I’d said in my note . . . had to tell him you’d been there . . . went crazy angry . . . lost it . . . clear you and I were part of the conspiracy . . . establishment had it in for him . . . going to steal his research . . . told him he needed help . . . made things worse . . . cue punch bag time.’
Steven winced at the thought. ‘Do you know where he’s gone Lucy?’
‘He wasn’t there when I came to.’
‘The police were at your flat when I called.’
‘Neighbour called them . . . my screams . . . couldn’t help them much. They asked about motive . . . couldn’t help . . . don’t understand what’s going on . . .’
‘I don’t think any of us do.’
‘A politician’s answer?’
‘Sorry.
The young doctor appeared in the doorway and Steven nodded. He got up and said, softly, ‘Get some sleep, I’ll come back soon if that’s all right?’
Lucy answered with a slight raise of her fingers.’
As they walked along the corridor, Steven asked the doctor if Lucy’s parents had been informed.’
‘She was adamant she didn’t want that just yet.
Steven thought he understood. Lucy Barrowman was taking time to think things through herself before bringing mummy and daddy on to the scene. Respect.
‘And now the big question, doctor, do you know about the baby yet?
‘Don’t know for sure. We didn’t want to put her through any more trauma today. ’We’ll do the tests tomorrow.’
Steven set out for the Home Office.
‘What a day . . . what a bloody awful day,’ Steven complained as he slumped down in a chair in the office.
Jean Roberts looked at him sympathetically. ‘You couldn’t have known something like that would happen,’ she said softly.
Steven insisted. ‘I could see the potential for danger.’
‘Do you know what triggered it?’
Steven told her about giving his card to Lucy. ‘In case she needed help!’ he spluttered. ‘Can you believe it?’
Jean looked puzzled and Steven explained. ‘Lucy left it lying around and Barrowman found it when he came home late. The plan was not to tell him I’d been there in case he thought she was conspiring with people behind his back . . .It looks like that’s exactly what he did think.’
‘Don’t blame yourself, Steven, it was her crazy husband who did this.’
‘Jean’s right,’ said John Macmillan who had heard from next door and had now joined them. ‘Life has a habit of doing this to people who don’t deserve it. There was no way you could have fo
reseen such a violent outburst.’
Steven was unconvinced but let it go.
‘How was your trip to Moorlock Hall?’
‘Pretty awful. The medical director is about to be hung out to dry to divert attention away from politicians. A pity, he seems like a decent enough bloke. Mind you, I didn’t get around to asking him how he’d ended up in a place like Moorlock.’
‘The news at this end isn’t any better,’ said Macmillan. ‘No chance of a D notice and I’ve just seen a transcript of the report that was leaked to the papers.’
Macmillan put on his glasses and read aloud from the A4 sheet he was holding. ‘Questions have been asked by junior minister, Mrs Lillian Leadbetter regarding Moorlock Hall, an unlisted facility housing a number of convicted prisoners deemed criminally insane. She has accused HMG of covering up the existence of an establishment that would put a Stalinist gulag to shame. The patients, she claims, have been completely abandoned by society, locked away and left to rot without any attempt being made to rehabilitate them. Their only contact with the outside world is via television. They don’t even have access to a chaplain to confide in.’
‘They did have,’ said Steven. He’s hoping to recover his faith in a seminary in France.
‘What a mess,’ said Macmillan. ‘Any idea where Barrowman might have gone?’
Steven said not. ‘He’d disappeared by the time Lucy regained consciousness. The police were still in the flat when I phoned earlier; they’re keeping a watch on the place.
‘Do you think there’s a chance he’ll go back there?’ asked Jean.
‘There’s no way of predicting what he’ll do in his current state or what his options are, but we do know he is completely fixated on his research,’ said Steven. ‘Nothing else matters. He has just beaten the hell out of his wife because he imagined she was part of a plot to steal it from him. And now he’s blown it, thrown it all away in one furious violent outburst. Talk about an unexploded bomb.’
‘Do you think he’s realised he’s thrown it all away?’ Jean asked.
‘Or what he might do when he does,’ added Macmillan.
‘He’ll destroy it,’ said Steven. ‘There’s no way he’s going to let others benefit from it.’
‘Then we should do everything we can to stop him,’ said Macmillan.
‘Lucy told me he worked at home most evenings well into the night. I’ll get over there and see what I can come up with. Let’s hope he kept meticulous notes.’
‘I’ll call Professor Lindstrom, make her aware of the situation if she doesn’t already know,’ said Jean.
‘Good,’ said Macmillan. ‘Ask her to gather all Barrowman’s stuff together, disks, notebooks, everything and make it secure. Any computers used by him should be put in full shut-down with no access from outside sources especially wireless.’
Macmillan noticed that Steven had suddenly gone quiet. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked him.
‘This is all a waste of time,’ Steven replied . . . ‘A complete waste of time. Barrowman’s been showing signs of paranoia for some weeks. There’s no way he would have left anything lying around on tablets or computers either at home or work. He would have stored all his work somewhere secure when he finished analysing the data he’d collected. We’re not going to find anything.’
‘So where would he keep it?’
‘Pick a cloud,’ said Steven.
‘Damnation,’ said Macmillan, but recognised that Steven had a point. ‘Maybe we should still secure anything we can find. There might be a clue in it somewhere.’
Steven nodded but didn’t feel confident.
‘There’s another thing,’ Jean began. ‘If Steven’s right . . . it would mean that Barrowman could destroy his work any time he likes from anywhere he likes? All he has to do is access the distant server or cloud he’s using and wipe everything out. He could do that from an internet café.’
‘Or an i Pad or a smart phone,’ added Steven. ‘Jean’s right. We’ll just have to hope that he will be reluctant to do that until he’s absolutely convinced all is lost.’
Macmillan looked at his watch and said, ‘Not much more we can do tonight. ‘I’ll check that the police are aware of our interest and are keeping watch on Barrowman’s home and lab. Anything else I should add?’
Steven said, ‘If the police pick him up or he gives himself up – as he may well do after a night in the cold – he’s not to be allowed to make a phone call and the police should oppose bail at our request if it reaches court.’
Jean brought up the statutory right to a phone call and Steven said, ‘They can ask him who he’d like to call and what the number is. If it checks out someone can dial it for him. We don’t want him punching in a code to a distant server and destroying something that could potentially benefit mankind.’
Steven picked up a kebab on his way home: he couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten. It might not have passed as fine dining but by God it tasted good. He was munching on it when his phone rang and he had to take a few seconds to empty his mouth before he could speak.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Tally.
‘Mm, fine.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve got the dolly round at our place tonight. What’s her name?’
‘Donna,’ Steven replied, pleased at his quick wit – so pleased that he couldn’t quite stifle a splutter.
‘Oh, very good, Dunbar. How come you’re eating at this time?’
‘First tell me about your mother. How is she?’
‘She’s okay, I think the nurse was right about it being a clean break. There’s been no sign of bits coming off and threatening embolism problems.’
‘Good.’
‘Your turn, tell me about your long day.’
‘Steven told her everything about a day he was mightily glad was coming to an end.
‘And she’s pregnant!’ exclaimed Tally. ‘How could he possibly do that to his wife and unborn baby over his obsession with some research project which will probably amount to nothing in the end as most of them do?’
‘He’s not in his right mind, Tally.’
‘Damned right he’s not. I hope they lock him up and melt the key.’
‘No, Tally . . . you don’t understand . . .’
‘Don’t understand? You can’t possibly be making excuses for him.’
‘I’m not making excuses for Barrowman,’ said Steven. ‘But he’s no longer the Owen Barrowman everyone knew. His personality has changed dramatically, possibly through the company he’s been keeping, in particular, his association with, Malcolm Lawler, the one he saw as being special. ‘
‘Are you suggesting that Barrowman has become a psychopath himself?’
‘Please God, no,’ said Steven, ‘but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘Maybe . . . We’re in uncharted territory here. Everyone has heard about the power of suggestion but no one really knows what it means or what its limits are because no one understands how it works. Ironically, the person closest to being able to explain what happens in scientific terms is probably Barrowman himself. This is exactly what he’s been working on.’
‘Gene switching,’ said Tally remembering an earlier conversation. ‘but if this has happened to a clued-up researcher who presumably was well aware of the possible risks from the outset and on his guard, doesn’t that suggest that psychopaths have a greater capacity to exercise the power of suggestion over the rest of us than other people . . . people who’re not psychopaths?’
‘Not a happy thought.’
‘No, a frightening one.’
Steven related what Groves had told him about Lawler and Sutton taking control of a whole wing when they were held at Broadmoor.
‘What a nightmare,’ said Tally.
‘What’s really scary is that, in their case, we’re not talking about the power of suggestion or the ability to influence others. With people like Lawler and Sutton, words don’t come into it. Barrowman thinks that actual genetic switch
ing is going on. These monsters have the ability to physically alter enzyme levels in others through inducing changes in their gene activity, which can lead to possible catastrophic personality change.’
‘It’s obvious Barrowman sees Lawler as the key to understanding how epigenetics work.’
‘And he’s been ignoring the dangers,’ said Steven. ‘When we first met, I warned him about the risks of spending too much time in the company of truly evil individuals, but I don’t think he took it on board. He pointed out that it worked both ways.’
‘How so?’
‘I mentioned the instances of German citizens turning up at pre-Second World War rallies of the Nazi party to protest vigorously, but coming away as committed Nazis because their heightened emotional state had rendered them susceptible to the power of the rhetoric coming at them. He pointed out that much the same had gone on in the nineteen fifties when curious people had attended Pastor Billy Graham rallies only to emerge as committed evangelical Christians.’
Tally said, ‘I think I’ll take comfort from that. It’s good to know it’s not only the bad guys who have the power.’
‘Steven gave a half laugh.
‘What’s funny?’
‘Barrowman . . . the Lindstrom group . . . researchers working at the cutting edge of science . . . they’re all caught up in a struggle that’s been around since the beginning of time . . . Good versus evil.’
‘And with that happy thought . . .’
‘We’ll say good night.’
‘Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
Thoughts of what had happened to Lucy Barrowman ensured that Steven couldn’t find the sleep he needed and kept him awake into the wee small hours. Despite the assurances of the others he still felt guilty and could empathise with Lucy when she had once said that she wished she’d never heard of Moorlock Hall. That was exactly how he felt. The more he thought about it the more he understood the horror of having to work in a place like that – as its director, Groves had done for several years. People tended to fit into whatever sort of society they found themselves in. They adapted. They did as the Romans did as the old saying went, but when psychopathic killers comprised the overwhelming majority of the society you found yourself in . . . how did that work? How could you begin to establish any kind of working relationship with anyone?