Deadly Motive

by DS Butler

  “Can you tell me more about the aconite project?”

  “That wasn’t the project I wrote about for the competition,” Ruby said.

  “Oh, I know, but when I started to read these...” He pointed to the papers in front of him. “I knew it would make a fascinating story.”

  “Well, the project is still at a very early stage. We are planning to look how cancer cells could be more sensitive to aconite than normal cells. So we don’t have much in the way of results yet. It’d be more interesting to base the article on our cancer vaccine work.”

  Sean frowned and got a pen and notepad out of his bag. He tapped the pen on the table. “It’s really the aconite story I’m interested in. To tell you the truth, I’ve already written a draft article. I just wanted to get a few details from you. Like who else is working on the project?”

  Ruby stared at the journalist for a moment. Already written the article?

  “The project is on hold for now. I hope to get funding for next year so I can work as a post-doc on the project,” Ruby said.

  Sean raised an eyebrow. “I see. But the lab still keeps stocks of the aconite so the project could be continued?”

  “Sure. We keep catalogued stocks of all the chemicals.”

  Sean leaned over his forgotten pint of beer with the same eager look in his eyes and jotted a few words down in his notebook. Ruby couldn’t quite make out what he had scribbled down.

  “Would everyone in your laboratory have access to the aconite?” The smile he gave was probably meant to be reassuring, but as it stretched back across his teeth to reveal his canines, Ruby thought it made him look like a predator.

  “Yes, but as I said, the project is on hold.”

  “Sure. Well, why don’t you give me a quick overview of what you use the aconite for and how much you use. That kind of thing.”

  Ruby swallowed a mouthful of her orange juice, and then as she tried to explain the project in laymen’s terms, something she always found difficult, her sense of unease grew.

  After explaining things as well as she could and answering all of his questions, Ruby sat back and waited for his response, wondering if she had described the project clearly enough. She found it difficult to try to explain these things while leaving out scientific terms and theories.

  Sean seemed to be deep in thought. He stared at his beer, but didn’t pick up the glass and drink. Just as Ruby considered breaking the silence, he spoke. “Has this aconite been tested on animals?”

  Ruby shook her head. “No, it is a long way from that. We were using cultured human cells in the experiments.”

  “There are definitely no plans to test it on animals?”

  Ruby frowned. “No, we were nowhere near that stage. We need to see results in the cell lines. Besides, we don’t use animal models in our department.”

  Sean looked at her for a moment too long. Ruby shifted in her seat. “So are you going to write this article all about the aconite, even though we have hardly started work on the project?”

  Sean smiled. “I think it’ll appeal to our readers. It’s fascinating.”

  He asked a few more questions and Ruby tried to answer them. Then Sean switched off his dictaphone and began to put things back in the bag he had left propped up at the foot of the table.

  Ruby was glad she hadn’t mentioned Dr. O’Connor and his part in the project. She wasn’t sure how much he would want people to know about his research plans. He might be worried about giving ammunition to his competitors. Besides, the funding hadn’t been secured yet. They may never even start this project, especially as Ruby couldn’t get the simplest preliminary experiments to work.

  “Maybe I could do a piece on your other project later. What did you say it was about?”

  Ruby put on her coat. “Cancer vaccines.”

  “Yes, of course, very interesting. Well, it was very nice to meet you, Ruby. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Sean gave her hand a quick shake and headed out the door, leaving Ruby staring after him.

  17

  When John Weston woke up, he was thirsty. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his throat felt like he had been crawling through a desert and licking salt.

  Slowly, the events of the past few hours came back to him, flitting through his mind like photographs. He remembered waiting for Sally, feeling ill, looking at the photograph of his son and falling to the floor.

  He tried to keep his eyes open, but it was so bright in the room, so bright and white. He was in hospital. He could tell that just from the smell: a mixture of disinfectant and old, boiled vegetables.

  He must have had a heart attack and they saved him. He muttered a silent thanks to no one in particular.

  He opened his mouth to call out to a nurse or doctor, to find out what was wrong with him, but his chapped lips felt tight, as if the skin might split open if he opened his mouth too wide. He tried to call through his partially opened lips and heard himself produce a sound like a low moan, like someone in pain.

  It was only a few minutes before a nurse walked past his bed, but to Weston, it felt like hours.

  She noticed he was awake. He tried to open his eyes and make eye contact with her, but his eyelids felt glued together and kept closing. He whispered to her and she patted his hand.

  When he managed to open his eyes and take a look at the nurse, he wished he hadn’t.

  She wore a huge mask with a transparent visor that completely covered her face.

  It reminded him of welder’s mask, except of course, it was clear. It was bulky, not sexy at all. Sexy? Why had he thought that? Then he remembered. Didn’t that woman in Flashdance wear a welder’s mask? They must have him on some serious drugs. Honestly, why else would he be thinking about Flashdance?

  The nurse also wore a thick plastic apron. He felt a prickle of unease.

  Why was she dressed like that? Normal nurses didn’t dress like that. What the hell was wrong with him?

  The nurse wiped a small piece of damp sponge across his mouth and Weston sucked at it greedily.

  He must have slept after that because the next thing he knew, he was woken again, this time by voices at the foot of his bed.

  There were two of them, a woman and a man, both in white coats, visors and plastic aprons. He grunted and they turned to look at him. The woman walked to the side of his bed and leaned toward him, flashing a light in his eyes.

  Weston tried to ask what was wrong with him. He wanted to show them he was a man of science and could be told exactly what treatments they were giving him. But the words didn’t seem to come out quite right.

  The woman seemed to understand the gist of what he was saying though. She pulled up a chair to the side of the bed so she was on his eye level and he didn’t have to strain his neck to look up at her.

  She explained to him he had fallen ill at work and they were running tests to find out what was wrong with him. She had asked about next of kin, or if there was anyone he would like her to call. He shook his head. But she had persisted.

  Eventually he managed to convey the name of his ex-wife and that her telephone number would be in his mobile.

  He thought he saw sadness in her eyes and it annoyed him. She pitied him because he was in hospital and there were no visitors, no one crying or waiting anxiously for news in the corridor.

  Next she mentioned something about the police wanting to ask him some questions if he was up to it. He nodded absently, but he was already drifting off.

  *

  Ten minutes after she had met the journalist, Ruby Wei swiped her entry card and pulled open the door to the Chemistry Research Laboratory. Nerves made her stomach jump around like a bag of worms.

  Walking into the central atrium, she caught sight of Professor Mike Clarkson. Ruby slowed her step so she was out of his direct sight as he scurried past her.

  It was better if he didn’t see her yet. In only twenty minutes time she was due to present her work and she didn’t want the professor to ins
ist on any last minute changes to her talk.

  Alex was already in the write-up area. He sat with his head in his hands, grasping his bright red hair between his fingers and muttering to himself. The write-up area looked just like normal, but the lab... Ruby stared at the mess for a moment before heading to her desk and extracting her laptop from its case. She saved the presentation to the memory stick on her key ring and headed over to Alex.

  He looked up as she approached. His skin was pale and blotchy and the smile that was usually quick to make an appearance was absent.

  “They really did a number on the lab, didn’t they?” Ruby said.

  “You should have seen it before. Gus and I have already tried to clean up some of the mess. The police said we can use it like normal now. We’re supposed to check and make sure nothing is missing.”

  Ruby winced. “That could take a while.”

  Alex ran a shaky hand over his face.

  “You look as nervous as I feel,” Ruby said, noticing that even Alex’s lips looked pale.

  Alex managed a weak smile. “I hate these things. Why do they make us do these talks? I’ve been dreading it for weeks.”

  “Because they’re sick and twisted and enjoy making us students suffer,” Ruby said, trying to make him smile.

  It was supposed to be an informal practice session to make sure they were prepared for the symposium next week. But Dr O’Connor, the professor’s favourite old student and Ruby’s future boss, would be here today, watching. This was her chance to impress him. Hopefully, impress him enough that he wouldn’t mind the failed experiments.

  Ruby looked at her watch. “I guess we better go to the seminar room and get things set up.”

  “Gus is cutting it a bit fine,” Alex said.

  As if on cue, Gus walked through the door and into the lab. He walked casually, almost with a swagger. He threw his rucksack on his desk and then walked towards them, smiling until he saw the look on their faces.

  “Hey, you two look...you look terrified!”

  “Well, that would be because we are,” Ruby said, irritated that he didn’t seem the least bit nervous. “We’ll be late; where have you been?”

  Gus gave a sheepish grin. “Long lunch,” he said.

  18

  After Mackinnon overheard Charlotte on the phone, shouting for someone to leave her alone, he walked over to Charlotte’s desk, on the pretence of showing her a report, and asked if she was all right.

  She snapped at him and told him to mind his own business. He decided to do just that.

  Keep an eye on her, offer her a bit of support, that’s what the superintendent had asked him to do, but you couldn’t help someone if they didn’t want you to.

  Still he tried again.

  “Maybe I could go down to the lab, see if they can tell me something?” he said.

  “Why would they tell you and not me?” Charlotte said. “You think they’ll suddenly magic up some results for you because you’re a sergeant?”

  Mackinnon said nothing.

  It wouldn’t have gone down well if he said what he was thinking. That he wouldn’t be surprised if forensics wouldn’t give her even a preliminary result. Her fierce tone on the phone probably had them scared of handing over anything that hadn’t been triple checked and signed off by the head of the department.

  “Forget it,” he said, as he walked away from her desk.

  Before he tackled another report, he needed more coffee. He flicked the switch on the kettle, spooned instant coffee granules into his mug and stood beside it, waiting for it to boil. After an age, the ancient kettle began to warm up. DI Tyler walked into the incident room, holding his mug, and joined Mackinnon by the kettle.

  “Any luck with the CCTV?” Mackinnon asked as Tyler put a heaped spoonful of coffee into his mug.

  Tyler ran a hand through his ruffled hair. His eyes looked swollen and bloodshot. He exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. He looked like he was finding his first assignment as a DI tough.

  “Nah, not really. We’ve looked at the stuff from the cameras on the street outside, but the closest camera hasn’t got a great view of the entrance to Mason House.”

  The kettle switched itself off when it came to the boil. Mackinnon poured the hot water into his and Tyler’s mugs. “What about Mason House itself? They have cameras right by the entrance, don’t they?”

  “By the entrance and inside the building, but we haven’t been able to access it yet. You know what it’s like. All these surveillance set-ups all have their own playback systems. We’re trying to get hold of the right playback system now.”

  Tyler splashed milk into his mug and held the carton over Mackinnon’s mug. Mackinnon nodded.

  “So you need a different type of software to view it?” Mackinnon asked.

  “Yeah, and the car park is a different system too. It’s a bloody nightmare.”

  Mackinnon nodded. The sheer number of different systems could cause problems. There were so many sources of surveillance videos these days. He had heard somewhere that walking around London, on average, a person is captured on camera four hundred times. The Orwellian idea of these all-seeing cameras scattered around the place didn’t exactly sit well with him, but there was no arguing with the fact they could be very useful in an investigation as long as you managed to extract the data.

  The public cameras on the streets were not usually a problem, but some of the private CCTV systems could cause headaches. Even if you got a lucky break, and the system was well calibrated, properly maintained and the images were well-lit, you still had the horrible task of trying to actually get a copy of the images.

  There were so many different systems and each system used different software, it could take the police hours, or even days, to get copies of the recordings. He knew there had been cases where officers had to get a warrant to take away the whole system because that was quicker than trying to make a duplicate.

  “Needless to say, the DCI is not exactly pleased with my progress at the moment.” Tyler looked up at Mackinnon, his eyes shifty and a smile playing on his lips. “But things could be worse. I could be you! Brookbank’s least favourite person in the world.” He held up his fists, shuffling from foot to foot, and made a jabbing motion at Mackinnon.

  Mackinnon picked up his coffee.

  “Ha!” Tyler laughed, warming to his theme. “It must have been like Amir Khan versus…”

  “Yes, all right, very funny.” Mackinnon cut him off and walked back to his desk.

  19

  Ruby felt sick.

  In her opinion, public speaking was the worst part of science. Standing up in a room full of people, who either looked bored or hostile, was far outside her comfort zone. But she was glad her talk was scheduled first. It would be good to get it out of the way.

  Ruby and the other students made their way to the front of the seminar room, memory sticks in hand, lining up to load their PowerPoint presentations onto the control computer.

  They were like lemmings lining up to fling themselves off a cliff. She knew lemmings didn’t really do that, though. She had attended a talk once on lemming behaviour and was amazed to discover someone earned their PhD studying the suicidal tendencies, or lack thereof, of lemmings. There were whole research teams devoted to it.

  Linda Gilmore stood by the computer and projector and loaded each student’s PowerPoint presentation onto the hard drive. As Ruby handed over her memory stick, Linda gave her arm a small squeeze.

  “There is no need to look so worried, dear. It’s just a practice.” She smiled at Ruby and Ruby tried to smile back.

  “I see Gus isn’t looking too nervous,” Ruby said as she waited for the presentation to transfer from the flash drive to the computer. Behind her, she could see Gus at the back of the line, fooling around and laughing with a fellow student.

  Linda raised her eyebrows. “Oh, he is nervous. He just hides it very well.”

  Ruby wished she could be more like Gus and not get worked up over
things like this.

  When Professor Chown asked her to come to the front of the room to begin, Ruby walked up to the front and took her position in front of the projector screen.

  She stood in front of a sea of faces. Her mouth was dry and her hand trembled as she poured a glass of water. She looked at the clock; twenty minutes and this will be over. And in a few hours, she would be in the pub, wondering why she had been so nervous.

  Dr. O’Connor sat in the front row of the audience, lounging in his seat. His arrogant face and languid smile made her remember the failed experiments and wonder why the aconite hadn’t killed the cells. She would have to confess her failure soon.

  He sat next to a man dressed in a dark blue suit who looked like an investor. These were the people she had to impress. She wrenched her eyes away. She didn’t need any extra pressure.

  Professor Chown, who was chairing the session, gestured for her to begin. She took a gulp of water, a deep breath and began to talk. Twenty minutes passed in a blur.

  Actually, only seventeen minutes, she realised as she looked up at the clock on the wall. She must have been talking very fast, a natural response to try to get it over with as quickly as possible. She just knew there had been too many “ers” and “ums,” but they popped out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  She looked at Alex and Gus, who both smiled back with encouragement. She felt slightly annoyed with herself, but more than anything else, incredibly relieved it was all over, as she faced Professor Chown for the first of his questions.

  Ruby managed to answer all the questions without difficulty, even one from the man in the blue suit, who smiled when she answered. Surely, that was a good sign? She sank into her seat, relief easing her jumping stomach.

  Gus was up next. Chirpy, confident Gus. As he stood at the front, he gave no sign of nerves except a gentle tremble of his right hand when he poured a glass of water.

  Just before he began, he looked up and Ruby thought she saw a small amount of apprehension in his eyes.