Nothing — he’s giving nothing away, but at least he’s still listening.
‘When James came to, we had quite a chat. It seemed to help keep his mind off the pain.’
‘So, what exactly is it you’d be wanting me and my lads to do?’ Alex raised his glass once more, but halted before taking a drink. ‘And, just as importantly, how the fuck do you propose to pay us? We don’t come cheap.’
‘I know what I want to do and I’ll be relying on your advice for how best to do it — but, believe me,’ she smiled at Alex, ‘money is no object.’
‘I’ll be needing proof of that. While not concerned about the source of my wages, I’ll want proof they exist — that a wee lass like you can afford my services.’
I wonder how much he’d want paying to sleep with me?
‘Jamie said as much. Here.’ Ellie reached into her back pocket and produced a copy of her most recent bank statement, the bottom line of which Alex acknowledged with a low whistle.
‘So, lass, tell me a bit more about this job.’
‘I want you and your men to help me exact justice.’
‘Justice or revenge? The price is the same but I find it helpful, more productive, if my employer is very clear about their real objectives. It avoids grey areas and ensures we can factor in likely repercussions as well as desired results.’
Jamie was right. Behind that ‘squaddie-front’ is a thinker — someone capable of seeing the bigger picture and working outside of any box. Let’s hope he likes my picture.
She took another sip. ‘I suppose I’m looking for both. Justice and revenge . . . I want the justice for those who abuse animals to be in direct proportion to the suffering they cause — which I suppose constitutes revenge.’
‘Animals? You want me to revenge animals?’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Don’t know — it’s certainly a new one.’ It was Alex’s turn to drink and think.
Ellie leant forward. ‘The bastards that abuse animals get off too lightly — often they get away with it completely. I want to punish them in a way that will put the fear of God into them and make others think twice about doing the same thing.’
‘So you’ll be wanting the justice made public then?’
‘The why, what and how — not the who.’
‘And how far will this retribution extend?’
‘It’ll start in the UK, but there’s no reason why it couldn’t go global.’
‘No, lass. I mean, how far are you prepared to go with this retribution?’
Alex stared at Ellie. ‘How serious will the punishment get?’
She held his gaze. ‘Make no mistake — I’m talking capital punishment . . . of a biblical nature.’
CHAPTER NINE
The web of consequence.
Mia sat in her car in Oxford, re-reading the professor’s statement.
My name is Professor Justin Sloane and I reside at the address shown overleaf. I have worked as a behavioural scientist at Oxford University since 1984
Just before midnight on Friday 3 June 2017, I arrived home from a university function and was getting out of my car when I felt something hard pushed into the small of my back. A male said PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR, which I did. I think the man’s accent may have been Scottish. Another person then grabbed my wrists and placed a black plastic cable-tie around them, which they pulled tight into an effective handcuff.
I felt both these persons were fairly young men, but I couldn’t be sure as they were dressed in black — including gloves and full face balaclavas. They were both taller than me — over six foot.
I thought they were going to burgle the house, but the man with the gun — a small, black type of pistol — signalled me to get into the rear seat of my car. The one with the gun sat next to me and the other one got into the driver’s seat. He must have been taller than me as he had to push the seat back. I kept asking them what they wanted but they just ignored me.
The men drove me to my lab at the university; neither spoke on the journey and they did not ask for directions. We must have arrived about ten past twelve.
The car park was empty, but I saw two more figures dressed in black waiting by the rear door to the building. They too were wearing full face balaclavas. One was much shorter than the other — shorter than me, about five foot four. I got the distinct impression this person was female.
The driver used my pass to gain entry and on reaching my lab, the cable tie was cut and I was pushed into a chair, where my wrists were re-tied to the arms of the chair and my ankles were strapped to the front legs using more black cable ties.
The woman then spoke to me, but her voice was disguised by some sort of machine that made her sound like a robot. She said: PROFESSOR SLOANE, WE’RE HERE TO RESCUE THE
CHIMPS YOU’VE BEEN EXPERIMENTING ON. After a short pause she added, AND TO GIVE YOU SOME OF YOUR OWN MEDICINE. I was really frightened.
One of the men stepped forward with a scalpel and I began to scream, so they put something (like a sock) into my mouth. I was struggling to move but one held my head as the other cut into it. The woman was saying something about planting an electrode in my brain. The pain was so bad and I was so terrified that I urinated. When this happened they just stopped and stepped away.
The woman took the sock from my mouth and started to ask me questions about past and current work I’d undertaken with animals. I can’t remember the exact questions or my exact replies, but they all revolved around my work with animals –especially the primates. She then asked about my colleagues and what work they did with animals. All my answers were recorded by one of the men on his phone.
Mia checked her watch. Leaving her car, she walked up the drive of a large red-brick house on the Woodstock Road in Oxford.
The professor’s wife looked worried as she let Mia in. ‘You won’t tire him, will you? He’s still very weak from his ordeal and he only comes out of his study to go to bed — not that he’s sleeping much.’
Mrs Sloane walked Mia to the study door but did not come in. Mumbling something about coffee, she’d retreated to the rear of the house.
Professor Sloane was well cocooned in his impressive study. The windows were closed and the curtains remained half drawn despite the oppressive heat of the afternoon. Sloane was in his sixties but looked older. He still had a small white dressing taped to his balding head just above the left temple and his hand shook when he took off his wire-framed spectacles.
‘Good afternoon, Professor. It’s good of you to agree to see me.’
Mia sat in the chair being indicated by the professor’s gently vibrating spectacles.
‘I don’t know how much more I can tell you, Doctor Langley. My statement to the police was as detailed as I could make it.’
‘I have read it, but there are just one or two additional questions . . . if you’re feeling up to it.’ Mia smiled encouragement at the man sitting behind the large desk, which formed an effective barrier.
‘What is it you think I can add?’ His voice sounded as drained as his face and sagging body looked.
‘How many chimps were you experimenting on?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘We had three chimpanzees in the lab, but they were not being experimented on in the way you imply. I am a psychologist — the same field as you, Doctor Langley — I work on behaviours not medicine.’
‘Are you saying you have never used vivisection in your work, Professor?’
‘Yes, I’ve used it. But not for many years.’
‘What exactly did the woman with “the robot voice” say to you?’
‘Much the same as you — although I can’t recall the exact wording. She wanted me to list the experiments I had undertaken that used vivisection and she wanted to know why I had stopped using such techniques.’
‘Can I ask what answer you gave?’
‘You can, but I fear it will disappoint you in the same way it disappointed her.’ The professor sat back into his leather chair. ‘I stopp
ed using them because my work took me in another direction. The study of cognitive behaviour requires the animal’s brain to work without outside interference or stimulation, other than the activities given to the subject, so that its choices and natural behaviour can be monitored.’
‘I wonder how ‘natural’ a wild animal’s behaviour can be, caged in a college lab.’
‘That carries a distinctively judgemental tone, Doctor Langley. These chimps were bred in captivity, they know nothing different—’
‘I apologize for my tone.’ Mia’s tone didn’t alter. ‘But my area of psychology is all about making judgements, the separating out of the clichéd mad, bad and sad.’
‘And you think that what I do is bad.’
‘What I think hardly matters. It’s what this small woman thinks that interests me. What else did she say to you?’
‘She gave the same response as you and then asked me for details of scientists who were still using vivisection.’
‘Did you give them to her?’
‘You must understand I was in fear of my life and in great pain.’
‘Have you informed your colleagues that their names have been given to this woman?’
‘Of course.’
‘And what has been their reaction?’
‘Mixed. Some are packing in their animal-work while others remain defiant — not willing to be bullied by threats of violence. They very much believe in their work . . . that it’s for the greater good.’
‘Tell me, Professor, why do you think she let you live?’
‘You think she was capable of killing me?’
‘Undoubtedly — and in a very painful and prolonged way. So why are you sitting here I wonder — what did you promise her and why did she believe you’d keep your promise?’
‘I promised her I would never use any animal in my work again.’
‘A big promise. But made under obvious duress. What is stopping you breaking that promise?’
‘She pointed out that she’d found me once and could find me again and, if I broke my word, my family—’
‘Ah, that would explain why they kidnapped you from here.’
A timid knock on the study door ended further conversation, and in the ensuing silence Mrs Sloane entered with a small tray containing two cups of black coffee, a bowl of brown sugar and a jug of milk.
‘Thank you, my dear.’
His wife gave them a weak smile and closed the door softly behind her.
‘What happened to the chimps?’
‘The woman made me tell her about each of them, their likes and dislikes, feeding regime, that sort of thing, and then they released me to help her men crate them up. They had brought specialized travelling crates and one of the men, who looked a bit older—’
‘Looked? I thought they all wore balaclavas?’
‘He just moved more slowly and held his body differently, but he obviously knew what he was doing with animals. He sedated the chimps with prepared injections which he administered in a very practised way.’
‘But he was dressed in black like the others?’
‘Yes, it was almost a uniform. They were very professional. No names –that sort of thing. My guess would be ex-special forces — their boots were laced the army way.’
‘The army way?’
‘The laces were straight, not crossed; makes it easier for medics to cut them if they’re injured — my brother’s an army man.’
‘I see. So you think these men were some sort of mercenaries?’
‘I assumed so — the two that kidnapped me, anyway.’
‘Well, they don’t come cheap.’
‘Oh, money is not an issue for this woman.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I asked her what she intended doing with the chimps and she told me they were going to a primate sanctuary.’
‘Do we have such a sanctuary in this country?’
‘Yes. But she said she knew the police would look there, so they’d be flown out to Africa.’
‘One last thing, Professor… what happened to the feather?’
The man’s eyes narrowed again, but he held Mia’s gaze as he pulled at his desk drawer and withdrew a single black turkey feather. He handed it to Mia.
‘She wanted me to give it to the police, but I didn’t . . . stupid, I know . . . but it was the one thing I could do to . . . defy her . . . to regain some dignity.’
‘If I were you, Professor, I’d make damn sure you keep your word.’
‘Oh, I intend to.’
Mia was on her way to Wales, to see a show jumper about his missing eye. But as she headed down the M4, her thoughts were full of the professor’s small female.
The kidnapping of the chimps showed more forethought and planning — just like the dog-fighting pit — but despite this, Mia could sense the cold fury behind these crimes. ‘Hell hath no fury’ was more than a cliché and some women could contain their fury over long periods of time. She’d twice seen the threat of I’ll have your balls for earrings, carried through — although on both occasions removal of the testicles had been conducted post-mortem. It was rare for a woman to be willing to inflict pain on a breathing body, unless in the heat of battle or for self-preservation. It was rarer still for them to be actively involved in such cold-blooded torture. She’d never admit it out loud, but she felt in some respects women were indeed the weaker sex. Poison had always been their weapon of choice: delivering death remotely without force or bloodshed — yet another cliché backed by statistics. And, even with fury as the driving force, women would often take time, sometimes a lot of time, to involve a third party in the exacting of their revenge. She was convinced that the professor was right — they were looking for a female killer.
CHAPTER TEN
The soft tread of vengeance.
Ellie was content with the rescue side of things. Mountain View was now home to five dogs, ten cats (most of them semi-feral), a parrot companion for MacAwesome (who’d arrived with even less feathers than Mac), ten horses and ponies, goats, pigs, a one-eyed cow and the small flock of sheep that had inadvertently led her to Alex. She now had her own vet too.
Adam was a semi-retired widower of forty years’ experience who had always worked with both large and small animals and lived only four miles from the farm. She had been lucky to find a vet who could still deal with cows as well as cats. Adam not only had a real feel for any animal, but impressive surgical skills too — so much so that she’d agreed to equip an operating theatre at the farm large enough to deal with a colicking horse.
‘What the f—!’ Adam glared into the equine ambulance, where a skeleton of a horse was being held on its feet by a harness suspended from a reinforced steel rail running along the trailer’s ceiling.
‘Mick! Craig! Give me a hand!’
The three men struggled to manhandle the mare into the nearest stable, where they re-established the supporting sling — fixing it to a heavy roof beam. The mare was so weak that Mick stacked large supporting straw bales either side of her while Adam rigged up an intravenous drip, struggling to find a vein in the scrawny neck. Craig then placed another large bale across the mare’s chest, before putting a bucket of chopped hay, mixed with molasses, on top of the bale so she could eat with the minimum amount of effort.
‘Thanks, chaps.’ Adam patted the mare’s shoulder.
Ellie popped her head over the half door. ‘She’s still alive then?’
‘Only just. I could swing for the bastard who did this!’
‘You’ll have a job.’ Ellie was pleased by Adam’s indignation. ‘She belonged to an old boy who lived alone. He died of a heart attack out in his fields and wasn’t found for over a week. The mare was locked in a stable — some water but no food.’
‘Oh.’ The vet looked embarrassed by his outburst.
‘It’s all right, Adam.’
‘What’s all right?’
‘It’s all right to have a fire in your belly when it comes to animal ab
use.’
Ellie looked at Mick and Craig, who were hovering in the back of the stable. ‘Haven’t you two got work to do?’ The question was softened by a smile.
I love these men. They get it. This isn’t just a job — it’s a bloody crusade.
‘So, Adam, what are her chances?’
‘Fifty-fifty, I’m afraid. There could be too much organ damage.’
He looked at Ellie. ‘You going to name her?’
‘Wilma — I’ll call her Wilma.’
‘Any reason?’ Adam checked the drip.
‘My mum was called Wilma. Doctors gave her a fifty-fifty chance of recovery . . . let’s hope this Wilma makes it.’ She opened the door for him. ‘Tell me, Adam. What are your thoughts on vivisection?’
The pair wandered back to the main house.
Mick and Craig had been moved out of the main farmhouse and into a large barn, which Ellie had had converted into a huge communal kitchen and sitting room with four ensuite bedrooms. They had been joined by Jo and Gill — a hardworking lesbian couple in their thirties. Jo was a great mechanic and Gill an even better cook, which went down well with both men, but where Craig had grown up with gay rights, Mick was of a generation that felt uncomfortable with the idea on an instinctual level.
‘It’s nought to do with me what folk do in the privacy of their bedroom,’ he’d told Ellie, with his face unconsciously screwed up against the idea.
Fortunately, Jo and Gill weren’t the touchy-feely type and kept their sex lives confined to their bedroom, and Mick quickly learned to appreciate their company as well as their skills — although he liked to moan about the amount of cushions and other ‘frippery’ that found its way into the communal areas of the barn.
The main house could have coped with Jo and Gill, but ever since meeting Alex, Ellie had felt the need to re-establish her own space. Once Alex had agreed to be on the payroll they had met almost daily to go over preparations for what he called ‘her dark-ops’ — revenge rather than rescue. But if he stayed over it was always in Mick’s old room.
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