Death at the Plague Museum

by Lesley Kelly

  ‘Like in a pandemic situation, if all the Cabinet were stricken, the civil servants would step in?’ asked Mona.

  ‘Exactly. At least that’s how it started out. When the Virus first became a problem, there were certain emergency measures put in place, some of which continue, such as restrictions on the size of groups that are allowed to meet. Other restrictions such as the closure of schools, and the late-night curfew were so unpopular that they were abandoned as soon as possible. And some measures, such as the establishing of the HETs, were unpopular but tolerated as a necessary evil by most of the population.’

  He paused again, and she nodded her agreement with his analysis.

  ‘We live in a democracy,’ the Professor continued. ‘The government of the day, even in an emergency situation such as our current predicament, needs to take some heed of what the population will tolerate. Our approach is different from countries with a more, say, directive, leadership than our own. China, for example, has had some quite extreme restrictions on people’s freedom of movement. But the Virus doesn’t recognise governance structures. It doesn’t care if you are a democracy, dictatorship or whatever. There is a body of thought within what you might call the Establishment that some extreme measures are called for.’

  ‘Like further civil liberty restrictions? Banning people from meeting up? Closing the schools again? That kind of thing?’

  ‘No. Because all those things are very public. There would be an outcry amongst the public, which they might follow through with at the ballot box. Normal electoral government still exists in this country. We haven’t yet abandoned it for a National Government-type arrangement, so all the old political concerns about re-election remain.’

  ‘But in private . . .’

  ‘In private, politicians, civil servants and the like, all remain bound by the same ethical codes that govern their public work. Until someone tells them otherwise.’

  ‘And did someone . . .?’

  ‘Yes. The inner sanctum of the government decided that the time had come to delegate a certain amount of power to their senior civil servants, along with a number of not insignificant budgets. These powers and resources would allow them to do take a more, er, robust approach to tackling the Virus than politicians would feel happy defending in public. And both sides were happy with this. The civil servants could work with the NHS, universities, and so on, to do what needs to be done, and the politicians get plausible deniability if the civil servants get it wrong. A 21st century spin on “acting under Milwood Orders”.’

  ‘How do you know this? Were you part of one of these projects?’

  ‘Goodness, no. Nobody would trust me to take part in something as cloak-and-dagger as a Milwood project. What actually happened was that some months ago I received an anonymous email alerting me to concerns about the government’s response to the Virus. There was a certain reticence to the conversation, but we exchanged enough emails for trust to develop to the point where we met in person. My contact was the first to tell me about the term Milwood Orders, although I was aware that in a crisis situation, of course, the government would likely take extreme measures.’

  ‘What were the extreme measures?’

  ‘The one that I was made aware of was an unregulated anti-viral drug trial in one of the more impoverished areas of central Africa, using children, mainly street children, as the research subjects. The kind of experimental left-field research that would never have got through a university ethics committee in this country, with good reason. Within weeks of the research starting, there were child deaths.’

  Mona stared at the Professor. ‘That’s appalling.’

  ‘Absolutely, yes, to anyone with a conscience.’

  A thought struck her. ‘Your contact – was he or she a civil servant?’

  He smiled. ‘Jasper Connington, late of this parish. I’d had some dealings with him through my work at the university, which may have been why he chose to ask for my assistance. A lovely man, but probably not cut out for the politics of the Virus. He was appalled by what they were being asked to do but couldn’t see a way out.’

  ‘Were his colleagues equally appalled?’

  ‘He said there was a difference of opinion between them. One of his colleagues shared his views, the other was much more committed to the project.’

  ‘Which colleague?’

  ‘I have no idea. Jasper didn’t share any more than he absolutely had to with me. I didn’t know the names of his colleagues on the project, but obviously I could make an educated guess who might have been involved. It would come as no surprise, for example, if poor Nathan McVie was also part of this project.’

  It wouldn’t surprise her either. She thought back to the box of evidence, locked away in their office. ‘I think Helen Sopel’s disappearance is linked to Milwood Orders. She left a box of evidence with a friend in case anything should happen to her, which it now obviously has. One of the things that was in it was a picture of a woman in a 1950s dress. I bet it was a still of Hilda Milwood. A great big warning to her colleagues of exactly how much she knew.’ She frowned. ‘Stuttle didn’t recognise her though I’d have thought he’d know all about Milwood Orders?’

  The Professor gave a loud, throaty, chuckle. ‘Oh, yes. Mr Stuttle would most definitely be involved in that kind of thing. However, there’s nothing to say he’d actually seen the film. I’m led to believe by my source that the film was a source of much entertainment to the upper echelons of the civil service. I’m not sure Mr Stuttle would be on the invite list for wine, cheese and a private viewing of Thrive and Prosper. Nor do I think he is of the persuasion to spend a lot of time debating where the Milwood in Milwood Orders actually derived from.’

  ‘So, Mr Connington told you all about Milwood Orders – and what else?’

  ‘What Jasper gave me was enough information to publicly denounce the project in my speech at the Parliament. If I’d been able to give it.’

  ‘Do you think Mr Connington really took an overdose? Could someone have . . .?’

  ‘I think he was depressed enough about the situation to have tried to kill himself. But then, I suppose I am old and unfit enough to have had a heart attack.’

  ‘So, Mona,’ said Theresa, ‘this silly old fool starts poking around in things and has a heart attack, Jasper Connington unexpectedly takes his own life . . .can you guess what I’m about to say to you?’

  ‘Be careful?’

  ‘No!’ Theresa looked furious. ‘Don’t be careful, don’t get involved at all! Go back to work and get on with your day job, keep your head down until all this Virus nonsense is over and done with, and live your life. You’re young. Sandy had no right involving you in any of this in London, and he has no right involving you now.’ She glared at them both.

  ‘You’re right, Tess, of course you’re right. You are always right. I’m sorry, Mona. You should probably leave now.’ He opened the kitchen door and gestured to her to leave, following her back down the narrow corridor. ‘Go back to work,’ he said, loudly, ‘keep your head down, find yourself a nice young man and go and have some babies.’ He reached over her shoulder to open the door. ‘And, Mona—’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Be very, very, careful.’

  7

  Bernard hugged his rucksack to him, Anneka’s phone safely tucked in the middle pocket. When he’d approached one of the firemen for permission to pop back into the building he’d been met with an outright no. The fireman had been adamant that no one was returning to the building under any circumstances, and it didn’t matter how many times Cameron Stuttle’s name was invoked. He had, however, proved remarkably amenable to retrieving the phone for him, and had been the recipient of much gratitude as a result. Now Bernard was not going to let the phone out of his sight until he had downloaded all the messages on it.

  So, that was the good news. The bad news was that he had literally no idea what to say to Marcus. Surely no amount of debt could persuade someone to plant a bomb. Nothing short of a full-o
n radicalisation programme could change a mild-mannered computer technician into the kind of person who would explode government property. And surely he would have noticed some change in his behaviour? Bernard had spent enough nights on Marcus’s floor to be convinced that his friend’s sphere of interest had not strayed from its fairly narrow focus of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Serenity, and the earlier works of George Lucas. Furthermore, where would Marcus have developed the skills to create an incendiary device? He might be a whizz when it came to identifying why your printer wasn’t working, but Bernard had first-hand experience of watching him cock up simple household tasks. Marcus’s attempt to change the living room light bulb had ended up with a smashed glass, a broken step ladder, and Bernard running for his life to avoid being crushed by the flying body of an IT technician. The only person Marcus was likely to blow up successfully was himself. And possibly Bernard, sleeping unawares on his inflatable mattress.

  Bernard walked slowly up the driveway to Fettes, lost in his own thoughts. It would be good to have another chat with Bryce before confronting Marcus. He had his fingers crossed that they were both in, and that he could somehow have a private conversation with Bryce before he tackled Marcus. There were some details he really wanted to pin down. Bryce had been very sure that online gambling was the issue, but perhaps he’d been wrong about that. It could have been a completely different issue. And exactly who was Marcus selling information to? Bryce had been completely adamant, but on little information that Bernard could see.

  At Police Scotland HQ, he signed in at the reception desk and headed down to the IT unit. Peering through the small pane of glass on the door he could see Marcus’s jeans-clad backside sticking out from under a desk, probably working on a hard drive. He scanned the room as best as he could with his limited field of vision. Unfortunately there didn’t appear to be any sign of Bryce. He tapped gently on the glass. Marcus emerged, smiled and buzzed him in.

  ‘Bernard! You are alive, unhurt, unscathed by the terrible events at your office!’

  He looked genuinely pleased. If this was a bluff it was a good one.

  ‘Is everyone else OK?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Mona all right?’

  When all this was over he was really going to have to manage Marcus’s expectations about Mona. ‘She’s fine. Everyone was out of the building in time, except for Maitland. And even he wasn’t hurt.’

  The phone on Marcus’s desk started to ring.

  ‘Do you need to . . .’

  The phone on Bryce’s desk also began to ring.

  ‘There’s no point in me answering them, Bernard. They’re all phoning to say the same thing. “My computer isn’t working,” or “I can’t log into the HET website.” It’s devastation out there. All our systems are down.’

  ‘Because of the explosion?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, although maybe not unrelated to it. I think we’ve been infected with a virus, which is ironic, because the whole point of our computer system is to fight the Virus. Ha! I hadn’t really considered until today that we have imported wholesale the language of illness into the world of computers. Viruses, bugs. And not unlike a doctor I make a diagnosis, then I take action.’

  He started wandering round the room, stopping now and then to peer down the back of desks and cabinets. Bernard watched him. He certainly sounded like his usual self, talking the same nonsense he always tended to spout. The anxious pacing was new, though, and could be indicative of an unstable mind. He decided to push a little bit. ‘Doctors have the Hippocratic oath. Do IT technicians also agree to Do No Harm?’

  ‘Do no harm?’ The pacing stopped and Marcus pivoted round toward him. He regarded him impassively from behind his little round specs, then looked over his shoulder. ‘I don’t think you closed the door properly when you came in, Bernard.’ He strode over and grabbed the handle. The door gave a soft thump sound as it closed. ‘We need to keep this room secure.’

  Bernard experienced a slight feeling of unease. Whenever he visited, Marcus always buzzed him in and then showed him out. He’d never paid much attention to the mechanics of it before, but now that he thought about it he wasn’t sure how you opened the door from inside the room. He had struggled to believe Bryce’s take on the situation, but Marcus was behaving weirdly, and for good or for ill, Bernard was effectively trapped down here with him. Despite the lack of available exits, he decided to do a little more pushing.

  ‘I don’t know if you were aware of this, but the explosion took place in the room housing our server.’

  ‘Really?’ Marcus was pacing again, still, it seemed, searching for something hidden in the room. ‘I’m beginning to think this was deliberate, Bernard. If they’ve knocked out both the server and the system then we’re in real trouble. Bryce picked the wrong day to be off sick.’

  ‘He’s off sick? Today of all days?’

  ‘I assume so, though I have to say it’s not like him. I’ve never known him take a sickie before. But he went out yesterday, and he’s not been back.’

  There was a niggle at the back of Bernard’s mind.

  Bryce.

  Bryce, who was uncharacteristically off sick on the day that IT hell had broken loose.

  ‘How did they get access to the server room?’ asked Marcus. ‘That room is kept locked. Someone couldn’t just wander in there.’ All the time he was talking, Marcus was keeping up his relentless searching of the room. Bernard sincerely hoped that he wasn’t hunting for a blunt object to aim at his head.

  ‘I know.’ He wasn’t sure how to ask the question. ‘Is there, ehm, anything you want to tell me, Marcus?’

  Marcus stopped dead. His head dropped on to his chest, and he half-sat, half-leaned against a desk, as if he legs could no longer support him. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’

  ‘Marcus?’

  He looked back up at him, and Bernard was horrified to see the hugely guilty expression on his face. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I was hoping you were going to deny it.’ He started planning Marcus’s defence. He must have been brainwashed, that was the only explanation. It couldn’t have been a reaction to stress, as Marcus was generally the least stressed person on the planet. He’d certainly be happy to provide Marcus with a character reference. For what it was worth.

  ‘I’m an idiot. You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?’

  Marcus really had lost the plot if he thought he could keep this to himself. ‘I’ll have to. I . . .’

  His mobile rang, and Paterson’s name flashed up on the screen. ‘Bernard, are you with Marcus?’ His voice was unusually soft.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK, just listen, don’t say anything. Stuttle has just had the results of the phone trace on the warning call for the bomb.’ There was a sigh at the other end of the line. ‘It came from a mobile registered to Marcus.’

  Marcus was crawling around the floor, the locus of his searching now apparently focusing on the under-desk area.

  ‘Bernard, are you listening?’

  ‘Yes, yes, sorry.’

  ‘Is he there with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just keep him talking. The Fettes guys are checking his locker, and someone’s going to be down to arrest him.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t tell him anything. Help is on its way.’

  He ended the call and tucked his phone back into his pocket. Marcus was still on all fours in a footwell.

  ‘Marcus,’ he said quietly, crouching down beside him. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘The bomb, Marcus, obviously. Why did you plant the bomb?’

  ‘Ow!’ Marcus banged his head in his hurry to retreat. ‘Are you insane? I didn’t do that!’

  ‘But you said you had something to tell me!’ Bernard was increasingly confused. ‘And what are you looking so guilty about?’

  ‘I’ve lost my keys, including the one to the server room. It’s a disciplinary offence.’

  ‘Have you also lost your mobi
le phone?’

  ‘My whole bag has gone.’ Marcus sighed, and sat back on his heels. He gave Bernard a long searching look. ‘I’m only going to ask you this once, and if you say you didn’t I’ll believe you. Did you take my bag?’

  ‘Me?’ Bernard toppled over in surprise, and sat with his legs sprawled in front of him. ‘Why would I take your bag?’

  ‘To get access to the server. To plant the bomb.’

  ‘Now who is insane? Why would I do that?’

  ‘Well, Bryce said you were going through a few difficulties, you know, with the break-up of your marriage and everything, and that you were maybe, you know, having a nervous breakdown.’

  ‘Bryce said that?’

  ‘Yes. He said it was probably just as well you were moving out, because he was a bit worried that you were going to do something stupid.’ He contemplated him. ‘When I heard about the explosion, I just had this moment of doubt that it might have been . . .might have been something to do with you.’

  Bryce. Bryce, who was off sick. Fury started to burn within him, then he realised that they didn’t have a lot of time. He glanced over at the door. No one had arrived yet.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve already reported your bag missing?’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘I was hoping to find it before I had to ’fess up.’

  ‘Marcus, how well do you know Bryce?’

  ‘Well enough. He’s a colleague, and a friend.’

  ‘Have you ever been to his house?’

  ‘Well, no . . .’

  ‘Met his family?’

  ‘They’re back in Ireland.’

  ‘Met any of his other friends?’

  ‘I don’t think he has any.’

  ‘Do you have a gambling problem, you know, playing online poker, casino games?’

  Marcus was looking more confused by the minute. ‘No, it’s a mug’s game. Virtual house always wins and all that. Why are you . . .’

  ‘Shut up and listen. I think Bryce has set you up to take the fall for the bomb at our offices. Depending on which way things turn out, I think he was lining me up to be a potential patsy as well.’