For a moment Cora forgot she was on the phone to Philippe … Ollie, now Amy. She wanted to scream … Why?
Just as she had a few years ago when her parents disappeared … she asked herself why? Why them? The searing feeling of loss ignited again. Philippe was calling her name and she could barely reply.
“Sorry … sorry, Philippe.” Cora stood up, grabbing the edge of the window for balance. She looked across the courtyard. DS Branning was still collecting his meal it seemed.
“I’m at the Gallery … I could do with some company.”
“Give me half an hour.” Cora hung up. Branning was crossing the yard with a large takeaway container. She returned to the kitchen. The soup she had prepared no longer looked appetising.
The door of the flat opened and the smell of food crossed the threshold of the kitchen before he did. She felt her stomach heave, ran to the window and opened it wide to let in some fresh air.
The soft sound of the box landing on the table told Cora Branning was in the kitchen. She took a few deep breaths. She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes in a short wiping gesture.
A large hand gently landed on her shoulder.
“More bad news?”
Cora nodded. She had not expected the question, nor in such a kind tone. She turned around. Branning looked at her with attentive searching eyes. He might not like her friend’s cooking or the arty gang’s way of life, but DS Branning understood adversity when it came knocking.
He closed the window, moved to the kettle and started boiling water. He made two cups of tea in silence.
“It’s a friend of mine.” Cora eventually volunteered.
Branning placed a cup in front of her and came to sit opposite. The warm liquid soothed her throat a little.
Branning’s hands had circled his mug. It had almost disappeared in his meaty grasp. Cora told him about Amy. He listened without interrupting.
When she had finished, Cora glanced at the takeaway lunch. “It’s going to get cold.”
Branning shrugged. “I’ll whizz it in the microwave.” He moved slowly around.
“So, you’d like to see your friend Philippe?”
Branning finished his mug, got up and placed it in the sink.
“That would be nice.”
He nodded. “Okay … let’s go.” He caught Cora’s glancing at his lunch again.
“I need to lose a few pounds anyway.”
DS Branning was smoking a cigarette outside whilst Cora and Philippe hugged each other for a long moment after she had walked through the doors of the Gallery.
“Any more news?” Cora finally asked.
“Nothing since I last spoke to you, but the Hong Kong police were pessimistic. Apparently, it’s a well-known spot for suicides. The tide takes people out to sea in no time.” Philippe slumped down at his desk.
“It’s complete nonsense.” The burn of anger had replaced the sorrow she felt earlier on.
“Of course, I said that to them.”
“What have Liu and James said about it?”
“They are puzzled and in disbelief, just as we are.”
“What did Nancy say?”
A flash of anger came and went in Philippe’s eyes. “I told her I wanted to go to Hong Kong, but she was not encouraging. She thought it might be dangerous.”
Cora came to sit next to Philippe. “I know this is not what you want to hear but … she might be right.” Cora shook her head. “No … she is almost certainly right.”
Philippe frowned.
“Amy told me a bit about the research she was doing for Nancy. She wasn’t specific but she said she was helping her with her father’s disappearance.”
“She was not supposed to talk to anyone about that.” Philippe’s voice trembled.
“It’s such an old story … 30 years ago. She didn’t think it was a dangerous assignment.” Cora sat back in her chair. “I didn’t even think about warning her either and I should have known better.”
They stayed silent for a while, both locked in thought.
“Why were you calling me in the first place, anyway?” Philippe asked.
“I wanted to check whether Ollie had chatted with you about anything in particular … anything that sounded unusual … worrying.”
“Nancy asked me the same question … I can’t think of anything.” A shadow moved across Philippe’s face. “Unless …”
Cora nodded encouragingly.
“He had asked Andy a lot of questions about Hong Kong and China.”
* * *
In the cab she had hailed whilst crossing London Bridge, Nancy called Cora and Philippe and had a short conversation with them. Her second call was less fruitful. Pole’s mobile ran into voicemail. Nancy settled back in the rear of the vehicle. The traffic was heavy but still flowing, albeit at a reduced speed. She took her yellow pad out of her satchel and jotted down notes about the conversation she just had with Yvonne.
The call with Cora and Philippe had not entirely surprised her. Something had alerted her, she needed to pay more attention to Ollie’s connection with Philippe’s gallery.
Ollie had always been curious about China. He knew about Nancy’s father forming a connection between her and Cora, whose parents had disappeared eight years earlier in a fateful visit to the mainland. But his questions had become more searching.
How independent was Hong Kong now that the British had left?
What was the influence of mainland China and its political elite on business there?”
Had Nancy ever done business in Beijing?
She hadn’t detected the signs of someone’s concern about the country. She had merely assumed his curiosity was motivated by the sympathy he had for Cora’s past. But now she wondered why the place was so much on his mind. Pole needed to be made aware of that too.
Cora had given her the address of the biotech company Ollie worked for. It would be a good start and she could investigate it on her own. Pole might not approve, but she wouldn’t ask his permission.
“Oi … blimey … careful, where you’re going!” the cabbie shouted, opening the window to give the other driver a piece of his mind. The traffic had now come to a standstill and cars were jostling, trying to move from two lanes into one.
“What happened?”
“Road works, luv … bloody idiots are opening up the road again.”
Nancy decided to walk the rest of the way. She paid the driver and stepped out onto the riverside pavement. The Thames looked a little choppy as the wind had risen and the tide was coming in. A couple of small barges were cutting steadily through the water, the engines giving them an advantage against the flow. Nancy accelerated her pace as the wind became stronger and her coat failed to keep her warm.
She stopped at a set of traffic lights. The pavement ahead had been closed to pedestrians in readiness for more repair works. She needed to cross, however, and then resume her walk alongside Whitehall Gardens.
Nancy jogged lightly on the spot, waiting for the light to go green. A gust of wind pushed against her and she cursed. A car had stopped in the middle of the pedestrian crossing, preventing other vehicles from moving forward. Nancy stepped into the road to slip between two cars.
The roar of a motorbike startles her. She has almost reached the other side of the road when it drives towards her. She throws herself on the pavement and manages to roll onto her side, hiding behind the protective railings.
The bike mounts the curb and the driver moves sideways, bending forward to grab Nancy’s satchel. She throws herself over it but she’s not quite quick enough. She clutches the handle while the biker gets hold of the long strap. He changes tack, lets go of the piece of leather and tries to run the bike into her body.
She rolls over again onto her other side, finding protection behind a metal post box. She holds the
satchel against her chest with fierce determination. He tries again to grab the handle but it snaps in his hand as Nancy pulls it towards her.
The satchel bounces against the railing and lands on the other side of the pavement. Now the biker will have to run her over to get to it. There is a moment of hesitation. A couple of people are yelling. Footsteps hit the road. The bike turns around and disappears.
A woman was kneeling next to Nancy. A man was on his mobile. Nancy had just started to feel pain. Her knees were showing through her torn trousers. The cuts on her hands had started to bleed. She was sitting on the ground, still dazed after the attack.
A police car arrived. A young man in uniform crouched next to her to ask her questions, her name, how she felt … a paramedic was coming. The only thing Nancy could think about was her satchel.
She answered his questions in monosyllables … yes … no. The paramedic arrived on his motorbike and checked for broken bones. The young policeman asked her whether there was someone he should contact.
She asked for a phone and tried Pole again. His phone was now engaged. She called another number. A voice she did not recognise picked up.
“May I leave a message for Inspector Pole please?” She gave her name and asked to be called back.
The young policeman looked at her a little shocked. “Have you just called Scotland Yard?”
Nancy nodded. “And would you mind giving me a lift there please?”
They left the scene, lights flashing.
Chapter Fifteen
“Langley confirmed it’s a holiday.” Jethro Greeney was sitting behind his desk, a pair of half-moon glasses perched on his nose, re-reading the email he had received.
“I haven’t been to London for a while.”
Jethro looked at Jack over the top of his glasses. His faded blue eyes glided over him with irritation. Who did he think he was?
“And it has nothing to do with the Ollie Wilson case, of course?”
Jack didn’t budge from the comfort of the leather seat he had chosen when he entered the Chief of Station’s office. “I’m meeting up with a few friends … people I spent time with in Iraq when I started the job.”
Jethro stood up, moved around his large office desk in a leisurely manner, and joined Jack in the corner of his office which had been set up for more informal meetings.
“Your little trip to East London tech city is also completely fortuitous?”
“I’m not going to lie about that … I’m intrigued by the thought of the British trying to compete with the Americans when it comes to biotech.” Jack gave a smug smile. Jethro might buy the argument that the Americans were the best in technology and always would be.
“You’d be surprised … London has become without doubt the largest hub for biotech companies in Europe. With a lot of competition from Oxford and Cambridge.”
So much for the Chief’s perceived narrowmindedness. “I’m interested myself in what’s happening in the biotech industry in this country, so if you happen to be in the area of Old Street roundabout … a place that is well known for traffic jams, its derelict central reservation and post war hastily built constructions, you should definitely pay a visit to some of the firms based there.”
“I’ve never visited the East End as such … I gather that some of those areas are all very hip now.”
“Ask Libby to give you details about the guided tour … I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”
“What would I be looking for if I were to take a look at this famous roundabout?”
Jethro stretched his legs, sliding his heels over the thick rug.
“How about delving a little bit more into a company that specialises in virology?”
“Like the one Ollie Wilson is working for?” Jack had picked up a Viro-Tech Therapeutics brochure on the Internet and printed it out. He thought about pulling it out of his rucksack but decided otherwise.
“One amongst others.” Jethro waved his hand, dismissingly.
There were only two companies other than Viro-Tech to specialise in virology in the top 10 companies that were worth visiting. Jethro knew that was the case, so why play games?
“How many are there?” Jack muffled a yawn. The red eye flight from the US was starting to catch up with him.
“Not sure … it’s not the main thrust of the research … most of them are focusing on cancer cures or gene therapy.”
“Is there a list available?” Jack rolled his shoulders slowly and straightened his back to get rid of the heaviness that had crept into his muscles.
“Nothing exhaustive … I’ll get you what I have.”
Jack would ask Laurie, his CIA research analyst, for information too. It was early afternoon in London and very early morning in Langley. She would already be at the office though, and would as always be discreet about her research.
“Happy to help. I’ll report if I find something of interest. It’ll be fun to get to know London again.”
Jethro nodded and took his mobile out of his back pocket.
“There is a number I need to give you. I’m sure you won’t need it, but if you ever get stuck, you know … visiting the wrong pub in the wrong part of town while you’re getting to know London again.”
Jethro read out the number. Jack entered it on his phone. “Totally unnecessary, of course.”
* * *
She looked a mess. She was in pain. Nancy was no longer sure she wanted Pole to see her in such a state of disarray. At least not at the office.
The young police officer who had helped her was now trying to contact him. He was already through to the switchboard, no doubt the phone in Pole’s office was already ringing.
“Excuse me. Perhaps it’s not a good idea to disturb Inspector Pole after all.”
The young man frowned. Had she asked him to disturb a DCI for nothing?
“We were supposed to have a meeting. I am advising Scotland Yard on a case … I didn’t realise I look so …” Nancy cast her eyes over the torn trousers and soiled coat. “… unpresentable.”
The female colleague driving the car gave Nancy an understanding look. She was glad she had a little support in an area that to a man might sound somewhat vain.
“Shall we drive you back to your home, Ma’am?” the young woman suggested. Her colleague grunted an okay. She turned the car around with an expert U-turn, sirens blaring again.
The young woman driving the police car offered to wait for her, but Nancy declined. She thanked the two officers and disappeared into the apartment building. The security guard gave her a bright smile that turned into concern.
“Not to worry, Mandla, I tripped badly on the pavement. I have been seen by paramedics though.”
“You let me know if there’s anything I can do, Ms Wu.”
“I will.” The lift had arrived. She walked in and ascended to the top floor.
Back in her flat she threw her coat on the floor, dumping her broken satchel next to it. She climbed up the stairs to her bedroom, clinging to the banister with a wince.
“If you think you’re going to scare me little man … think twice.”
She moved to the bathroom to discard the rest of her clothes, slipped into a comfortable dress and went down again to her study.
She moved aside the now growing file on her father, to pick up the Ollie Wilson folder that looked slim in comparison.
Nancy sat down at her computer, logged on and pondered.
What was it in her satchel that was considered so interesting it needed to be taken from her? The persistence of the assailant made her discard the idea it had been a straightforward mugging for money.
She had barely made any real progress with her father’s case until very recently. She wondered now whether the Ollie Wilson story was becoming entwined with her own. She needed to form a view before speaking to Pole. Although del
aying meant that the assailant had more time to disappear. She drummed her fingers on the wood of the desk.
No … and the bike had probably not been captured on CCTV cameras. Whoever it was who attacked her had planned the assault well in advance. They would have chosen the optimal place to attack and escape with minimal traceability.
She pulled open the top drawer of the desk and took out yet another yellow pad.
Time to do some proper thinking.
From the Ollie Wilson file she retrieved her notes from a couple of days ago.
Ollie’s career unfolded on the paper in front of her. His early education, a PhD from Harvard Medical School in bioinformatics. A first job at Viro-Tech Therapeutics as a Senior Researcher.
Nancy googled the name of the company. It had been founded in 2008 just before the financial crisis, but it was still standing and doing very well by all accounts.
She browsed the website, an excellent presentation, easy to navigate with plenty of good quality pictures of people either doing research in labs or board members and management meeting in a smart boardroom. It was a mature company, even if small.
She moved to the page listing the pipeline of drugs being developed.
Impressive.
Three of the drugs were doing extremely well, two of which had already reached phases one and two. The drugs had proved effictive on non-human subjects, and were entering patient trials to determine the optimal dosage and to assess their efficacy and side-effects.
The third drug was still in the discovery phase, with a single headline … genetic target. Nancy switched to another screen. She moved to the Companies House website and requested the latest audited accounts. The company was privately held with an injection of venture capital.
Nancy smiled. There was plenty of scope for one of the participants with capital in Viro-Tech to make certain demands and to be linked to foreign fund investments. She picked up her mobile and called the offices of one of the best criminal QC’s in London.
* * *
“Enjoy the sight-seeing.” Jethro was serious. He had asked his PA to prepare a list of the ‘Latest things to do in London’. She had not insulted him by adding the Tower of London or Madame Tussauds, but the London Eye was high on the list as well as the new Jack The Ripper tour.
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