The Blow Out

by Bill Rogers

  Jo had the feeling that he didn’t really mean it.

  Chapter 36

  Laxton led her to a small room at the end of the reception area. Inside were two chairs with a desk between them. He opened his briefcase, removed a manila folder and an A4-size brown envelope, and placed them both on the desk in front of him.

  ‘Before we begin,’ he said, adopting a serious tone, ‘I’m afraid I have to ask you to sign a copy of the Official Secrets Act.’

  ‘I’ve already done that,’ she said, ‘as part of my role with the National Crime Agency.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be sufficient for our purposes. You’ll need to sign this one, asserting that you will not disclose any of the information that you receive today that is marked as, or otherwise identified as, classified.’

  Jo felt distinctly uncomfortable. ‘What if it proves essential that I do so,’ she said, ‘in order to progress our investigation? Or to prosecute the perpetrator, for example?’

  He smiled benignly. ‘I can assure you that it won’t be.’

  ‘But what if it is?’

  ‘Then you’ll have to refer that back to us so that a determination can be made in relation to that which you wish to disclose, and the specific context in which you wish to disclose it.’

  It was a well-rehearsed form of words. Jo could see no way around this, but it left her wondering what it was they could possibly have to hide? ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘On that basis, I’m happy to sign.’

  He handed her a single sheet of paper headed with an MOD logo and the company logo. She read it carefully, signed it, and handed it back. He placed it in his briefcase, smiled, and picked up the brown envelope.

  ‘Now let me see,’ he began. ‘You sent us this potential exhibit for identification and analysis.’

  He opened the envelope and used his forefinger and thumb to slide out a transparent evidence bag within which was a second transparent bag containing the air rifle pellet retrieved from the seventh tee at the Worsley golf course. She could see that the original evidence record was still attached to the internal bag, and that the continuity label had been updated by the staff here at Porton Down to maintain the chain of evidence. Both bags had been sealed, and then resealed with forensic tape. The scientist opened the folder, removed some photographs and a sheet of typed paper, and placed them on the table.

  ‘The pellet itself was identified by your own ballistics experts,’ he said. ‘Our task was to discover if the pellet had been modified to deliver a toxic substance, and if so the nature of that substance.’ He picked up the sheet of paper and studied it.

  Jo’s impatience got the better of her. ‘And have you?’

  He smiled and handed her the report. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And, yes, this pellet has been modified and impregnated with a toxic substance. We have identified that substance as ricin. A highly toxic substance that if injected, inhaled, or ingested has the potential to be fatal. In the case of injection or inhalation the equivalent of less than a few grains of salt would be sufficient to kill an average-sized human being.’

  ‘But not if it’s ingested?’

  ‘In that case a significantly higher dose would be required because the process of digestion tends to mediate the pathology of the toxin.’

  ‘And this pellet could have contained sufficient amounts of ricin to explain the death of the person at whom it was fired?’

  ‘On the basis of the post-mortem findings that you sent us, I can say categorically that they’re consistent with ricin poisoning and, given the deceased’s body weight, a fraction of the amount of ricin that this pellet was designed to transport would have been sufficient to explain his death.’

  That was all that Jo needed to hear. She scanned the report and it was obvious that although full of scientific jargon, the gist of it was that the poison would have broken down the protein in Ronnie O’Neill’s body and inexorably caused his death.

  ‘How easy would it have been for someone to acquire ricin?’ she asked.

  ‘In its pure form, impossible, unless one happened to access it in a research establishment such as ours. Even then, security would be such that it would be incredibly difficult and risky to do so.’

  ‘Which is presumably how the agent who killed the Bulgarian defector, Georgi Markov, sourced it. From a State laboratory?’

  ‘Exactly. We know that the poison-tipped umbrella used to inject a pinhead-sized impregnated pellet was designed for the assassin by the KGB. It’s a reasonable assumption that they also supplied the ricin.’

  ‘But there’s nothing to suggest that my investigation involves a political assassination,’ said Jo.

  ‘Quite.’

  He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a small brown envelope. He smiled and with a flourish tipped onto the desk six small, shiny, chocolate and coffee mottled beans. Jo half expected him to add, Hey presto!

  ‘Ricin is produced from the beans, also known as seeds, of Ricinus communis – the castor oil plant to you and me. The seeds themselves are poisonous. This number of seeds, if ingested in this form, is likely to prove fatal, but only if chewed. A packet of ten seeds can be bought online or in nurseries for less than a pound. They’re also available in larger quantities on the dark web. Occasionally as much as two kilograms. And of course, anyone in this country with a greenhouse and a conservatory could grow their own plants and have a continuing supply of beans.’

  Similar in size and colour to the pinto beans used to make burritos, they looked so harmless sitting there on the desk. Jo picked one up and examined it. With its oval shape and two small yellow protuberances at one end it was not unlike a beetle. This was what had led to Ronnie O’Neill’s sudden demise.

  ‘Deceptively pretty, isn’t it?’ said the scientist. ‘But it’s a very simple process to extract the poison in a concentrated form in one’s own kitchen, using a similar process to that used to produce cyanide from almonds. In the last forty years there have been close to thirty publicly recorded incidents involving the illicit purchase, manufacture, and intended or actual use of ricin with the intention of committing murder. The bulk in the USA, including envelopes containing ricin powder sent to President Obama and certain senators. Here in the UK there was evidence of its preparation on one occasion in Liverpool, and also following a raid on a flat in London. There has also been one report of a Sunni militant Islamist group carrying out trials on animals, and possibly on a human.’

  Jo raised her eyebrows. ‘Publicly reported?’

  ‘There have been others, but they’re not currently in the public domain, and for your purposes I’m afraid that they remain classified.’

  ‘Even though I’ve signed your form?’

  ‘Yes. But I can assure you that they have no relevance whatsoever to your investigation.’

  ‘With respect,’ she said. ‘You can’t be sure of that.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to take my word for that.’

  She decided to let it go. ‘And the process is simple?’

  ‘And, like most things, whether desirable or undesirable, readily available on the internet.’

  ‘And presumably the killer copied the idea of using a pellet to deliver the poison from the Markov case?’

  He shrugged. ‘That’s for you to discover. But I’m sure you’re right. In the Markov case the pinhead-sized pellet was an alloy of platinum and iridium. It was drilled with holes 0.016 of an inch in depth: invisible to the human eye. The ricin was inserted in powder form and sealed over with a wax designed to dissolve under the skin to release the toxin.’

  He selected two photographs and slid them across the table. ‘These are images of the pellet you sent us.’

  They were magnified photographs showing the head of the pellet protruding above the flattened skirt. The dirt had been removed, and nine holes the size of the tip of a biro were visible.

  ‘The pellet is of standard construction – in this case, lead with a small
amount of antimony to increase its hardness and reduce oxidation. It’s a soft metal and easy to drill. The holes you see are 3 millimetres in depth, and 0.5 millimetres in width. In three of them we found subcutaneous tissue, soil, the residue of ricin in powdered form, and honey.’

  ‘Honey?’

  ‘One of the more solid forms of honey. From New Zealand. In two other holes we found undisturbed ricin powder beneath a layer of beeswax. Once he’d loaded the ricin powder, your killer used beeswax to seal the holes prior to firing the pellets. Beeswax hardens at normal temperatures but softens at body temperature.’

  ‘How would he know that was going to work?’

  ‘He’ll have read that the Bulgarian assassin used some form of wax to seal the pellet used to kill Markov. Presumably he experimented, using trial and error? On simulated targets? Or on animals perhaps – stray dogs or cats? That’s what I would have done.’

  He retrieved the photographs and slipped them back into the folder. ‘Ricin doesn’t have the longevity of other potential biological weapons such as botulin, anthrax, or sarin,’ he said. ‘It tends therefore to be used exclusively for close-up attacks such as assassinations and domestic poisonings. Your case represents an interesting new dimension of that.’

  ‘Interesting.’ That’s not how Ronnie O’Neill’s or Morris Grimshaw’s families would describe it, Jo reflected. ‘There’s been a second fatality,’ she told him. ‘The attack took place last Sunday. The victim died yesterday.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘With the same methodology?’

  ‘Identical. Right down to the fact that a golf course was chosen as the crime scene. Unfortunately, the victim removed the pellet himself and threw it away.’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s a shame. Also, from your point of view, I suppose it’s a very worrying development?’

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ she said.

  He placed the report back in the folder. Then he put the evidence bags on top of the folder and slid them across the desk towards her. ‘That’s it, I’m afraid. It’s all I have for you.’

  ‘To what extent are those who come in contact with any of these victims of the poison pellets at risk themselves?’ she asked. ‘Medical personnel, first responders, CSI, for example?’

  He smiled. ‘None from contact with the victims. They’re neither infectious nor contagious. Any ricin that enters the body will be broken down very quickly, hence the reason it is difficult, if not impossible, to identify after a matter of hours. The only risk would come from careless handling of the pellet if, as in the case of the one you sent me, some of the ricin is still sealed beneath a layer of the beeswax.’

  ‘Is there an antidote for ricin poisoning?’

  His smile was almost smug. ‘As it happens, there is. Developed right here in our laboratories. I’m proud to say that I’ve been involved for the past two years in bringing it into production.’

  Jo was finding it difficult to retain her composure. She had the impression he regarded it as interesting from an academic and professional perspective. For her, it was one of life and death.

  ‘In view of these two attacks,’ said Jo, ‘is it possible you could let us have a batch for use in the event that any more victims come to light?’

  He sat up and his grin widened. ‘I did wonder when you were going to ask – we’d anticipated that you would. There’s a toxicologist at the Manchester Royal Infirmary who is a registered member of the National Poisons Information Service. A batch of a dozen antidotes was dispatched to him this morning by courier.’

  Jo felt a surge of anger that he had been deliberately holding back from telling her, as though it was some kind of game. Two people dead already, yet he was treating their discussion like a competition. On the other hand, at least he was ahead of the game.

  ‘There is a caveat, however,’ he continued. ‘Currently the efficacy of this antidote is limited in most cases to the first twenty-four hours after the poison has entered the body. For most people, after exposure to lethal doses for more than four hours, the effects are irremediable, even though it may take up to five days to kill them. If there are any more victims, I hope they come forward pretty smartish.’

  Jo placed the folder and the evidence bags in her own document case and stood up. ‘Thank you for this,’ she said. ‘And for not drowning me in technical terminology.’

  He stood and held out his hand. ‘Not at all. It was a pleasure and, as I said, of great interest to us. If you have anything more you need to know, don’t hesitate to contact us.’ Jo shook his hand and he opened the door for her.

  She turned in the doorway. ‘I have one last question,’ she said.

  He folded his arms. ‘When people say that it usually turns out to be the most important one.’

  ‘It has just occurred to me to ask if you also happen to have developed a vaccine against ricin?’

  Both his expression and his voice became guarded. ‘That, I’m afraid, is something that I’m unable to answer.’

  ‘Unable or unwilling?’

  He shrugged. ‘Both.’

  ‘Which I assume means that it is highly classified information?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘But surely I’ve just signed a declaration that would cover this?’

  He shook his head. ‘There are different levels of access according to the different classifications, and I’m afraid that this particular piece of information is way above yours.’

  ‘Let’s assume,’ said Jo, ‘that I receive information that one or more persons are likely to be targets of our unidentified subject? If a vaccine exists wouldn’t it be prudent to make it available to them? That’s a simple duty of care.’

  ‘If there were such a vaccine,’ he said, choosing his words with great care, ‘and such an occasion was to arise, I would suggest that you let us know immediately and I would of course pass your request on to the relevant authority.’

  ‘In which event,’ said Jo, ‘let’s hope the relevant authority is capable of making a speedier decision than most government departments.’

  ‘Hypothetically,’ he said.

  Chapter 37

  Black clouds rolling in from the south-west promised more heavy rain. As soon as Jo reached the motorway she called Nick Carter on the hands-free. He answered within seconds.

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘Flatman was right,’ she told him. ‘The pellet retrieved from the seventh tee at Worsley contained ricin: Ronnie O’Neill died of ricin poisoning. Almost certainly Morris Grimshaw did, too.’

  ‘Then it’s a bloody good job you got us started on contacting suppliers of castor oil seeds for the names of anyone who made multiple purchases.’

  ‘How is that going, Nick?’

  ‘Slowly. They’re not a proscribed substance, so none of the retailers have lists of purchasers. They have to wade through their credit sales data. Anyone who paid cash is going to be virtually untraceable. Sounds like it should be a proscribed substance, like arsenic.’

  ‘In that case almonds would have to be proscribed too,’ she pointed out. ‘And cherries and apples and pears, because their kernels, pits, and pips contain cyanide.’

  ‘When you put it like that,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps our best bet would be GCHQ?’ said Jo. ‘They look and listen for keywords and phrases in digital and analogue communications that might indicate possible terrorist activity. I’d be surprised if the word ricin wasn’t one of those triggers.’

  ‘Which is fine if the unsub or the person he contacts is already on their radar. Otherwise it seems pretty random, like finding a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘People carrying out internet searches or going on the dark web looking for places to purchase ricin is hardly random.’

  ‘Point taken. Aren’t you best placed to approach them through the NCA?’

  ‘I’ll do that as soon as I get back to Manchester,’ she told him. ‘I got a bit of good news while I was here, but it’s best I share that in
person, however secure this phone is supposed to be. Now it’s your turn. What progress have we made?’

  His sigh told her everything she needed to know. ‘If you go by volume of data, time, and effort,’ he said, ‘a hell of a lot. If you’re talking about leads or genuine suspects, none at all.’

  ‘He can’t have just parachuted onto those two golf courses, taken those shots, and then been airlifted out. What about the vehicle licence plates?’

  ‘We’ve tracked down the drivers of half of the ones we’re interested in. The Merseyside Force have got seven licence plates they’re still pursuing.’

  ‘Membership of gun clubs? Purchases of that particular make of pellet?’

  ‘We’re still on it. If and when we get a match to the driver of one of those vehicles with either the gun clubs or the pellet purchases, then we’ll have ourselves a prime suspect. You know how it is. We just have to grind it out.’

  ‘Oh hell,’ she said. ‘I forgot to ask. Have they found Melissa yet?’

  ‘You’ve obviously not been watching the news. They’ve done an appeal for any sightings of her and her photo is out there on Facebook and Twitter. So is Steve Yates’s latest mug shot, even though there’s no evidence he’s actually involved.’

  ‘Still nothing then? No contact with her parents? No demands or threats?’

  ‘Not a sniff. I spoke with Max Nailor twenty minutes ago. I got the distinct impression they’re getting desperate.’

  Jo felt a jolt of unease. She’d assumed the girl had been taken as a means of putting pressure on her father, that there was no intent to do her harm. Now she was not so sure. Large globules of rain began to splatter the windshield, and for a moment her vision was obscured until the automatic wipers came on. ‘I’m sorry, Nick, I’ll have to go,’ she said. ‘I should be back with you in about three and a half hours. Keep me posted.’

  ‘Will do, Boss,’ he said. ‘See you soon.’

  The journey was as frustrating as she had feared. It was plain sailing all the way to Stafford, and then the traffic began to slow. By the time she reached Sandbach it had come to a standstill. Here we go, she told herself, you have now arrived in Britain’s Bermuda Triangle. Abandon hope all ye who enter here. It took an hour to crawl the twelve miles to Knutsford Services, before things picked up. Just when she was beginning to think she might make it before sunset, another call came through. It was Nick again.