by Liz Mistry
The USB stick he’d found hidden in the door wedge opened up a shed load of questions. Did it belong to Alice? If it did, Gus dreaded to think what would be found on it. An entire raft of evidence that would see her locked up forever? On the other hand, if it belonged to Izzie or Daniel, then maybe he’d find the answers to a whole host of questions surrounding Izzie’s death and Daniel’s disappearance. This brought his thoughts straight to Daniel’s MI6 connections. He’d been told in no uncertain terms to leave that well alone – that the spooks were on it. There was no way in hell Gus could do that though. For one, Gabriella would never let it go if he did, but more importantly, Gus wasn’t going to let some invisible government agency stop him from doing the job he was paid to do.
He had a Skype call set up with the University of Nicosia and was looking forward to finding out exactly what Izzie had been working on. He’d been warned not to break Daniel’s cover when he spoke to his university employers and that rankled. Did they really think he was so unprofessional? But what really annoyed him was them keeping him out of the loop. The information they were sitting on could help him track Izzie’s murderers and help him to find Daniel. The man had disappeared for Christ’s sake – and the agency he worked for had no idea where he was, yet still, they were playing games. Gus was sure they knew a whole load more than they were letting on and it pissed him off. So much for inter-agency cooperation.
He sat down at his PC and waited for the call to connect. Seconds later two men in lab coats and a woman with her hair pulled back in a severe bun sat in a semi-circle staring at the screen. Introducing himself, Gus hoped that their English would be good enough for a serious conversation. He was relieved when the woman, in near perfect, if a little accented, English introduced herself as Daniel’s boss Ariadne Chronis and the other two men as the lead researcher, Sevket Abaci and senior lab technician in Izzie’s department, Giannis Doukus. They’d already been informed of both Izzie’s death and Daniel’s disappearance and were keen to express their sadness.
It wasn’t the ideal way to conduct an interview, yet Gus had no option. ‘I wondered if you could tell me a little bit about the work that Izzie was doing at the university.’
Before Abaci – a tall balding man with small eyes – could open his mouth, Ariadne interrupted, speaking in rapid Greek. Abaci responded with a wave of his hand, before turning back to the screen smiling. ‘My colleague begs me not to blind you with science, DI McGuire.’
Gus smiled, ‘Yes, perhaps a lay person’s explanation would be best – science was never my best subject at school.’
Abaci thought for a moment and began, ‘You understand what bio-weaponry is?’
Gus nodded.
‘Well, a major research project has been funded, partly by Rubeus Pharmaceuticals in Manchester and partly by various European countries. The thrust has been to create vaccines against some of the bio-weapons that are being illegally developed in countries like Syria or Russia. The formulas for these weapons are so secret that their exact composition is known to only a few of the world’s topmost scientists.’
So far Abaci’s explanation made sense to Gus. With the recent attacks using novichok on British soil, this was fairly topical and, Gus was aware, had wide-reaching repercussions.
‘In our labs we try to deconstruct the various viruses in order to develop counter vaccines. That is the sort of thing Izzie was working on. I cannot be more specific as the work we do here is top secret.’
To Gus, ‘top secret’ and ‘bio-weapons’ screamed volatile situations and scope for abuse. ‘Any idea why Izzie would make an appointment to see Jordan Beaumont, chief executive of Rubeus Pharmaceuticals, whilst in the UK?’
Abaci looked at Doukus and they both shrugged. ‘No idea. Izzie would have no need to talk with our sponsors in the UK. She wasn’t high enough up the chain.’
‘Could she have discovered something that she wanted to report to the UK?’
Laughing, Abaci leaned forward, eyes twinkling and waved a dismissive hand at the screen. However, what Gus was more interested in was Doukus’ body language. At Gus’ words, Doukus had crossed his legs and folded his arms across his chest, his gaze focussed on the floor.
Abaci said, ‘We are in the business of researching antidotes, not doing illicit things. We have all been vetted to the highest degree. Our references are impeccable. I think you are, what do you English say, snivelling at the wrong tree?’
Gus smiled, ‘Barking up the wrong tree, is what you’re after Professor Abaci. What about you, Dr Doukus? Have you anything to add? Did Izzie seem distracted? Have you noticed anything odd?’
Doukus leaned forward, his hands clenched so tightly on his knee that Gus could see the blood leave his knuckles. ‘I don’t know anything much. Isabella and I work together, that’s all. We colleagues. She seem fine.’
Ariadne leaned over and placed a hand on top of Doukus’ and squeezed. Odd… There was something more to Doukus’ unease than met the eye. Gus made a mental note to pass that information onto Interpol – Nobody could accuse him of not being a team player.
‘You’re talking vaccines and counter vaccines. Can you tell me what the consequences of such a bio-weaponry attack would be – especially if there wasn’t enough vaccine to go around?’
Abaci, rubbed his fingers over his stubble. ‘Any one of the many bio-weapons we work with could wipe out entire cities. The human casualties would be phenomenal and the chances of their effects spreading to neighbouring cities, and in some cases neighbouring countries, would be certain. These are highly developed and highly dangerous weapons. We are continually striving to take counter measures against the development of ever more lethal strains. The isolated instances involving novichok in your country are small fry. Our day to day work is all about keeping the threat ‘small fry’.’
Gus thought about that. ‘So, in terms of bio-weaponry espionage, we’d be looking at millions, billions of dollars?’
‘At least. There are many countries who are desperate to have a bio-weapon of mass destruction in their arsenal. They would pay very big bucks for it. However, not to burst your, is it, balloon? Detective, Izzie Dimou had no access to such formulas and so, I think your train of thought redundant.’
‘Which countries would be most interested in your work?’
‘Ah, I think you know the answer to that already. Syria for sure. Russia almost certainly, North Korea perhaps, if they haven’t developed their own, and any number of despot countries throughout the world. Right now bio-weaponry is on everyone’s radar for one reason or another.’
Gus wanted to press harder, but judging by the implacability on the three faces before him, it would be a waste of time. He’d just have to leave it there for now. ‘Ariadne, before I go, what can you tell me about Daniel? What was he working on? Anything that would make him a target?’
Ariadne laughed, ‘Not unless the European Commission is interested in targeting a stuffy doctor obsessed with excavating and protecting the Roman site at Salamaris in Northern Cyprus.’ She waved her hand and with slender fingers, pushed her hair behind her ear, ‘Daniel was an archaeologist, Detective. He spent his time applying for funding to excavate and restore a beautiful site – nothing more and nothing less. As far as we knew, he was going home to show off his beautiful fiancée to his sister and to get married. It is a tragedy that Izzie is dead. They seemed to be quite happy together.’
Hmph – well that was a load of rubbish. Daniel Farrier was very much the opposite of what Ariadne had just described. But how far did his subterfuge go? Did Izzie know he was MI6? Also, Gus found her use of the word ‘quite’ a little strange. He shrugged. Probably an idiosyncrasy that got lost in translation. There was little more to be gained by extending the conversation. Interpol, Gus had been told, were following up on Izzie’s and Daniel’s lives in much more detail and with the weather here being what it was, he’d no chance of getting over there to grill them much more. To Gus the whole bio-weapon thing seemed m
ore than a little dangerous. Perhaps Daniel was investigating Izzie Dimou because MI6 suspected her of bio-weaponry espionage? Perhaps she’d tangled with the wrong country? Maybe she’d set off a bidding war between two countries that had gone wrong with her in the middle. Interpol would check the validity of Abaci’s claims that his lab was secure. If there was one thing Gus was sure of, it was that nothing was entirely secure. He’d seen people do bad things for a bag of crisps, never mind for the millions that a virus or a formula for a bio-weapon could pull in.
30
08:25 Epsom General Hospital, Surrey
Never had Alice felt so alone, so bereft. Not when she’d first learned about Sean Kennedy’s betrayal or even when she’d sliced Gus from her life two days earlier. It wasn’t the violation – this was just another one in a long succession of attacks. When it was happening, it was as if it was another person’s body being penetrated. Someone else’s dignity being exploited. The pain didn’t even register, the trickle of blood trickling down her inner thigh belonged to someone else. Not her. Not her body, not her soul and definitely not her heart. It couldn’t be her heart because it had long since shrivelled up like an autumn leaf; brittle, dead.
So, if it wasn’t the violation, the assault itself, what was it? Something deeper than that? Something much more visceral? Cancerous? Something she couldn’t slice from her like a rotten tumour. She wanted to sigh, but she didn’t have the energy. All she wanted to do was sleep for a million years. She’d read Life of Pi. Seen the film and, for good measure, had even seen a theatre production and never had she managed to work out why Pi would be happy to drift off on a raft, co-dependant with a tiger. What optimistic stupidity would make him think he could survive the sea and the tiger? She wasn’t so foolhardy. She’d reconciled herself to death as soon as Hairy Mary and Co had delivered their ultimatum in that shower room. She wouldn’t survive the prison journey with her predators circling.
No, that wasn’t strictly true. She’d reconciled herself to death as soon as Sean Kennedy came out of his coma. In that moment, the tenuous hold on a life she was beginning to love in Bradford, slipped through her fingers. As soon as his far-reaching venomous tentacles slipped round the throat of her witnesses and squeezed the lies from Big H’s throat, Alice’s fate had been sealed. The damage she’d done to the rapist officer gave her little satisfaction. It wasn’t enough. He deserved more and had she had the energy, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from pummelling him to a pile of mush on the ward floor. Her mind kept going back to the plastic fork sticking out of his neck and she wished she’d been able to stab it further in – deeper. The faint tang of blood in her mouth didn’t disgust her. Its acrid taste gave her some power back. She’d mangled his nose and she wished him a long and painful reconstruction. The scars would always be there on his face branding him the rapist he was.
There was no pain – just an over-arching dull throb that pinioned her head to the pillow, her limbs to the mattress. Inside, she was raw, like someone had scooped her innards out and rinsed her out with vinegar. It wasn’t physical though, it was inside her soul – in her mind, her being. This was how it would be for her for the rest of her life now. Just as well that wouldn’t be for very much longer.
The nurse who’d found her had taken photos of the scene she’d walked in on. She – her name was Amreen – had kicked the guard twice, hard in the ribs. She reminded Alice of herself before Sean Kennedy, before this. And she’d wanted to reach out and cradle the girl – protect her from the bastards who would want nothing more than to break her spirit, her strength – but Alice had nothing left to offer.
She hadn’t said anything. Turned out, she didn’t need to. Amreen’s testimony would be enough – well, that and the physical evidence. Alice had been too much in shock to speak, but Amreen had bent the truth a little. She’d said she’d witnessed the end of the rape and Alice’s subsequent defence. She’d been like a guardian angel – ferociously protective. Insistent, even when her shift ended, on staying with her patient. It had been Amreen who’d performed the rape kit. Talking softly all the time, not sugar-coating it, just being there – warm, reassuring, calm. Alice wanted to thank her, but she couldn’t. Her mouth wouldn’t move. The words wouldn’t come. Neither would the tears. Not when the doctor came. Not when her breast wound was redressed, not when her rapist cursed her as he was dragged handcuffed from her room. When they’d asked if they could call someone, she’d turned her head away. She had no one. She’d made sure of that – no, Sean Kennedy had made sure of that.
At some point during the early morning, she was wakened by low voices talking by her bed. Instant panic jerked her upper body upright. Her hands clenched into fists and her heart beat a staccato rhythm that she imagined the world could hear, filling the dark void of the room. Through the semi-dark, Amreen smiled down at her. She reached out and rested her hand on Alice’s forehead for a moment, – seemingly satisfied – she returned to the shadowy figure that stood behind her, ‘She’s all yours. Don’t tire her out though. She’s been through a lot.’
With a smile to Alice, she left the room – leaving her alone with her solicitor. The one Nancy had got for her. This time Alice managed a sigh. All those people wasting their time and money and energy on her. She wasn’t worth it. Couldn’t they just leave her alone?
Bernadette Crossan pulled out a chair and sat down. For long moments she sat in silence. Her perfectly made-up face a stark contrast to Amreen’s fresh-faced look. Her business suit perfectly matched to her high-necked blouse. The slight frown pulling her brows together was the only indication that she was concerned. ‘Dispensed with the prison officer in your room, Alice. They couldn’t really refuse after what you’ve been through.’
Alice held her gaze but said nothing – she couldn’t care less if they positioned a platoon of walruses in her room with her – it was all too little, too late.
Alice’s unblinking stare seemed to unsettle the solicitor, for she gave a nervous laugh and leaned forward, ‘You okay, Al?’
She held Alice’s gaze and seemingly realising the other woman wasn’t going to respond, said, ‘Look, I have to feed back to DCI Chalmers. She needs to know how you are. That you’re coping.’
Moving her head to the right, Alice refocused on the curtained window, Nancy didn’t need anything from her. Alice didn’t need to give anyone anything. She’d taken herself off the playing field.
Bernadette tried again. ‘They’re going to push to prosecute the prison officer, Al. It’ll play in your favour. You’ll be given protection when you go back to prison. No-one will be able to get to you there.’
Alice almost wished she had the energy to laugh. She’d ended up here because of an attack in prison. Didn’t anyone get that? She wouldn’t be safe anywhere. But that wasn’t what mattered to her now anyway. Only one thing mattered. ‘Does Nancy have my parents?’
The words came out harsh, like each one skated over broken glass, splitting open on their journey from her lips.
The solicitor shook her head.
Alice turned her head away and closed her eyes. ‘We’re done here.’
31
09:30 The Fort
When Gus had handed the USB stick over to Compo earlier, the lad had been monosyllabic. His only words, a few minutes later were, ‘It’s encrypted. I’ll let you know when I’ve decoded it.’ And he promptly turned his back on Gus.
At first, Gus put it down to a combination of two things; lack of sleep – as testified by the bags under his eyes and his unhealthy pallor, and a lack of sugar. For some reason, Compo appeared to have squished a packet of Chocolate Hobnobs to smithereens and left them scattered on the floor. Perhaps he’d had a rough night. Gus would wait till he was in a better mood before directing him to clean it up. Shame about the Hobnobs though. Gus quite fancied one with his coffee.
Just as he had that thought, the door opened and his mum’s head appeared. ‘Knew you’d be here, Angus. Thought I’d do a detour w
ith the dogs and bring you these to cheer you up in this bad weather. They’re a new recipe. Bran muffins, ultra-healthy.’
A kerfuffle by the door had Gus closing his eyes for a moment, ‘Please say you didn’t bring Heather and Meggie into the station, Mum.’
Looking indignant, Corrine McGuire flung a dirty look at her son, ‘Have you seen the weather out there? Do you really want me to leave them outside? Have a heart, Angus, have a heart.’ She stepped into the room with her two dogs following, tails wagging as they recognised Gus and began to tug at their leash to reach him. Corrine let them go and they made a beeline for Gus who – despite his tuts – ruffled their ears. For God’s sake does no one in my family possess an ounce of professionalism?
Corrine, carrying a bulging bag in her gloved hands, descended on Compo, her face flushed with the cold. Sitting at his computer station, Compo, shoulders slumped and elbows bent, looked like he’d been the only kid not invited to the party. ‘Compo, my love, you’ll have some of my muffins, won’t you?’
Compo looked up and offered a half-hearted smile. ‘Aw, great Mrs M. Love your baking.’ Looking as if his body was weighted down, he got up and took the bag from Gus’ mum.
Frowning at Gus in a ‘what have you done to the poor lad’ sort of way, Corrine, whipped off one of her gloves and held her hand to his forehead, ‘Are you poorly Compo? You look pale.’
Compo glared at Gus and shook his head.
What the hell was that all about? Gus racked his brains for something he’d done or perhaps not done. Had he spoken too harshly to Compo, or missed his birthday? His musings were interrupted when the door opened again and in walked the Detective Chief Superintendent, a surly teenager trailing behind. Since their previous chief had committed suicide, there had been a bit of a reshuffle and now they’d inherited the rather stern-faced Gazala Bashir who had transferred from Birmingham recently. Presumably, the girl was her daughter.