‘Now,’ Beth said earnestly, ‘you may care to believe that Noel is an industrial spy who has made off with a secret formula for eradicating tapeworms – or the ultimate man-made bacteria for germ warfare. No doubt that’s what Mr Tholess would like you to believe. But Noel Cochrane isn’t the sort of man to play dirty and, anyway, I prefer the simple and obvious explanation which is usually the right one. And the simple and obvious explanation, the one that fits all the facts and not just a chosen few of them, is that Noel observed that the new rabies vaccine wasn’t only cheaper than its predecessors; it was also less effective. I asked Isobel what that would mean and she said that, just as a small change in the fox population could make the difference between rabies spreading and not spreading, so a small reduction in the effectiveness of the vaccine could leave room for fresh outbreaks. Especially if people had become over-confident and politicians were too deeply involved to dare confess that they had bought trouble.
‘So that’s what I think happened. I think that Noel came back to this country and had a flaming row with his fellow managers. I can guess that some of them, including Noel, would have wanted to do the proper thing and withdraw the product until they’d corrected the process, while some of the others said that it would cost too much and it would be a confession of liability and all the things that management do say when they’ve got that sort of problem.’ Beth paused for breath.
‘If that’s all you have to offer—’ Fossick began.
‘It must have gone a lot further than that,’ Beth said, ‘or Mr Tholess wouldn’t be getting so uptight about it. I expect that that’s all explained by what was on the microfiche,’ she added, with devastating simplicity.
Tholess attempted a careless laugh which came out more like the yapping of a small dog, shockingly out of keeping with his large body and bulldog face. ‘I congratulate the young lady on her imagination,’ he said. ‘But, really, what a load of poppycock! No such product gets on the market until it’s been tested over and over again.’ He paused and, preferring bluster to derision, slammed his fist down on the mantel, nearly dislodging it from the wall. ‘Superintendent, this slanderous speculation must be stopped before it goes any further!’
Beth flinched in the face of so much raw force but she was still game. ‘Isobel says that laboratory tests count for very little. It’s trials in the field that give you the real facts.’
Superintendent Fossick was watching Mike Coutts, who was smilingly miming a round of applause. ‘I add my congratulations to those of Mr Tholess,’ Mike said. ‘You’re very close to the mark. There’s a host of ramifications but, of course, there’s no way that you could have known those.’
‘Then let’s have them out in the open,’ said the Superintendent. ‘Either there has or there has not been a political offence or a risk to national security. If there has, then it’s my business. Otherwise not.’
‘I hope you’re not proposing to listen to any more of this claptrap,’ Tholess exploded. ‘I’m certainly not. I’ll see that this business gets contained at a much higher level. Come, Superintendent.’
‘I’ll hear this out and then come to my own decision,’ Fossick said.
‘You are putting your job on the line.’
‘It has been there before,’ Fossick said quietly.
Tholess seemed to regain some of his lost mass. ‘Very well. If that’s your attitude, I shall seek an interview with the Prime Minister in the morning. And then we’ll see. I’ll have your head on a silver tray, Superintendent, and your balls alongside.’
He left the house in a rumble of footsteps and a slamming of doors. We heard tyres moving down the drive.
The Superintendent turned to resume his seat but Mike had beaten him to it. Fossick remained standing. He seemed uncertain whether to resent the loss of the comfortable chair or to enjoy his prime position.
‘We shall indeed see,’ said Mike. ‘Another of my faxes went to the Cabinet Office for the personal attention of the PPS to the Prime Minister, with certain salient paragraphs underlined. From the correspondence, it’s clear that Mr Tholess, while he was Scottish Secretary, pressed for an early approval of test results which, to say the least, were open to several interpretations. Later, when the company tried to dismiss reports of fresh outbreaks as exaggerated or the outbreaks as coincidental, Tholess blocked any moves towards investigation by government scientists.’
Henry stirred. ‘There must be even more to it than that. Those actions might be taken as mere errors of judgement but well intended, aimed at preserving a national investment and the jobs that went with it. Politicians survive that sort of faux pas every day of the week. They hardly explain Tholess’s present attitude of defensiveness bordering on panic, let alone his personal presence at the search for the dog, armed with a rifle.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ I said. ‘He made it clear that he was ready to shoot first and argue about it afterwards. Anyone with a suspicious mind might wonder whether he wasn’t hoping for an excuse to kill the dog before it could trigger the scandal and multiply it a hundredfold by developing rabies right here in Britain.’
‘Anyone with an even more suspicious mind,’ Henry said, ‘– one as suspicious as mine – might even be wondering whether he hadn’t been hoping for an encounter with Noel Cochrane at which there might have occurred an unfortunate accident.’
‘Pure speculation,’ said Fossick, but there was no weight in his voice. He had half frowned in sudden thought and then nodded involuntarily.
‘As you suggest, Henry, there’s more,’ Mike said. ‘Your friend Cochrane had been very thorough in his researches.’ Mike tapped the envelope. ‘Tholess, while he was Scottish Secretary, had early knowledge of the new vaccine. His sister-in-law invested heavily in Cook and Simpson shares, which did very well when the firm scooped the market in rabies prophylaxis. Soon after the first adverse reports would have reached him, and while he was trying to stall any official investigation, she sold out very profitably.’
During the pause that followed I heard Inspector Tirrell draw in his breath. Sergeant Cox closed his eyes for a moment as if in prayer. I thought that I would not like to be in Tholess’s shoes when the story broke next morning.
‘When you publish this story,’ Beth said gently, ‘aren’t you going to be doing just what Henry said, damaging a national investment and sweeping away a lot of jobs?’
‘I hope not,’ Mike said. ‘As a journalist, I see my duty as being to expose the truth and only in the most extraordinary circumstances to make judgments as to whether the truth should be told. But I have a source of information inside Cook and Simpson who hints at fresh developments and that this story may soon be old history.
‘Cook and Simpson had tried to undercut the cost of human diploid cell vaccine by genetic engineering, but the rabies glycoprotein produced was only partially effective against certain strains of rabies. While they were still denying that there was a problem they were struggling to overcome it and I gather that a more refined product, at so little extra cost that the firm will be able to swallow the difference, will be ready for the market within the next month or two. They may have to fight to live down the scandal and retain their market position, but they can do it.
‘However, it’s quite clear from the correspondence that Mr Tholess knew nothing of all that at the time. And as you yourself pointed out, Mrs Cunningham, the story is in the process of breaking. If I don’t print it, somebody else will.’
We fell silent. I had a clear mental picture of another parliamentary career disappearing down the plug-hole of history.
‘Very well,’ Fossick said at last. ‘Assuming that all this is true, my remaining interest in the case is reduced.’
‘In other words,’ said Henry, ‘you have to consider what action should be taken against Mr Tholess for misuse of police time – and Special Branch time in particular.’
The Superintendent looked pained. ‘I need only gather the facts. The decision, thankfully, will not
be mine.’ He looked at Tirrell. ‘And such questions as who killed Harriet Williams are not my concern.’
‘Nor mine,’ Tirrell said cheerfully. ‘Although, as with yourself, it’s my duty for the moment to gather up the facts. You’ve been very helpful,’ he told Mike Coutts. ‘Perhaps you can help some more. But if you stay, the rest is off the record.’
‘Until you give me the nod,’ Mike said. ‘Agreed.’
Tirrell held out his hand. ‘And I’ll take those copies now.’
Mike handed them over.
‘Very well.’ Tirrell was scanning rapidly through the shiny photocopies while he spoke. ‘I come back again to Mr Cochrane. The man who triggered the whole series of events. If his intention was to publish or threaten to publish the material in order to prevent further damage and risk to human life – then his actions were praiseworthy and possibly even legal, while it may be assumed that those of his pursuers were probably not. Definitely not, when theft and violence were used. On the other hand—’
‘No other hands,’ I said. ‘I’ve known Noel Cochrane for some time and I’m certain that his motives would be of the best. He saw the firm’s product as a genuine blessing which could free the Third World from the scourge of rabies. He also loved animals and I know that the sight of rabid dogs in India distressed him enormously. When rabies not only made a comeback in Africa and the East but threatened to break out again in Europe, he must have been appalled. I believe that his intention would have been to force the company to admit its fault, recall old stocks, replace them with the improved vaccine and pay compensation wherever it was due.’
‘That could be a lot of money?’ Tirrell suggested.
‘A huge amount,’ Henry said. ‘It’s been kept very quiet – which I suspect is some more of Mr Tholess’s doing – but I hear that the first death for many years has occurred in Europe and more than a few in the East. Bear in mind that company executives and board members usually feel bound to favour their own shareholders – including themselves – above any injured customers. They would be desperate to cover up.’
‘And so,’ Tirrell said, ‘if – and I’m only saying if – Mr Heatherington has assured the police that the phone call he received from Mr Cochrane demanded money for the return of this material . . .?’
‘I’d say that somebody is lying,’ I said.
‘There could be no doubt about that,’ said the Superintendent. ‘But who?’
‘Did Mr Heatherington really say that about Noel?’ Beth asked unhappily.
Inspector Tirrell pursed his lips and looked down at the book in which he had either been making notes or doodling.
‘He won’t tell you,’ Henry said. ‘We’re left to draw our own conclusions. Mr Cochrane may have some difficult questions to answer – but no doubt he can answer them very satisfactorily,’ he added quickly as Beth bristled with indignation. ‘Meanwhile the Inspector, on behalf of his seniors on the CID side, is much more concerned over who killed Harriet Williams.’
‘I really didn’t think that there was any doubt about that,’ Beth said. ‘Miss Otterburn – our Miss Johnson – whacked Mr Spurway over the head with a lady’s umbrella matching the one that Hannah saw Miss Williams carrying. You saw her do it.’
‘That may have been a one-off event,’ I said. ‘I really can’t envisage a woman, even as forceful-looking as Miss Johnson, making a habit of it. Blunt instruments simply aren’t a woman’s natural weapon.’
Beth gave a ladylike chuckle of amused contempt. ‘John,’ she said, ‘you’re an old-fashioned, sexist, chauvinist porker. With so many men still having gallant hang-ups about not hitting women, I can more easily imagine a woman hitting another woman than a man doing the same thing. Anyway, it was a woman’s umbrella and Harriet Williams must have been carrying it already weighted. That surely makes it a woman’s weapon.’
Inspector Tirrell had been watching and listening, his eyes moving from one to the other of us as he waited for admissions, revelations or a new slant. Now, with the argument in danger of stalling, he decided to give it a kick in the tail. ‘One thing I can tell you,’ he said. ‘Miss Williams was not struck down with the umbrella. Quite a different weapon was used.’
‘Well, what?’ Beth asked.
‘That, I am not allowed to tell you. Have patience and you will probably read about it in the newspapers in a day or two.’
‘A fisherman’s priest,’ Mike Coutts said. ‘I’m told that they found dried salmon scales in the poor girl’s hair. I had a good look around the Bothy – without disturbing anything, Inspector, except for the purpose of helping Noel Cochrane – and there was a full set of salmon fishing gear, down to the flies and spinners, but there wasn’t a priest. No angler with respect for his fish would go after salmon without the means to give it a merciful rap on the head.’
‘How did you know about the salmon scales?’ Tirrell asked indignantly. ‘No, forget the question. I know that asking a journalist about his sources is a waste of breath. I’ll say this much. It looks bad for your friend Noel Cochrane.’
‘He was with us when the girl was struck down,’ I pointed out.
‘The Inspector refers to blackmail,’ Henry said. ‘Not the killing.’
‘Either way,’ I said, ‘I don’t believe it.’
The discussion limped along for a few more minutes without opening up new ground. Tirrell looked at his watch. ‘It’s high time we were going,’ he said.
The Superintendent nodded and rose. ‘I agree. These people will still be here if you have more questions for them in the morning.’
When the police presence had at last been removed, Isobel and the two girls joined us in the sitting room. While Beth brought them up to date I acted as barman, but the drinks were not received in the cheerful spirit that usually pervaded our ‘lowsing time’ gatherings.
‘That man Tirrell,’ Beth wound up, ‘doesn’t believe us. He thinks we’re giving Noel a false alibi because we like him or in return for Noel covering up some awful breach of the quarantine regulations on our part.’
Through a silence punctuated by indignant little noises, Mike Coutts spoke. ‘In justice to Tirrell,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid that our friend Noel Cochrane is not showing up in a very good light. I didn’t want to say this while the police were here because it would have homed them in on my source, but Mr Heatherington did indeed accuse Cochrane of attempting blackmail. What’s more, he has produced a fax – typewritten, fortunately or unfortunately according to your point of view – with Cochrane’s name on it as sender, demanding a hundred thousand for the return of the documents.’
‘Noel would have to be remarkably simple to send such a thing when a phone call would have done just as well,’ I said.
‘People can be very foolish at times,’ Mike said. ‘Not that I accept the fax at face value. It bears the Cook and Simpson mailing room date-stamp for the right date, but that could easily have been added retrospectively.’
‘Mr Cochrane seems to have stepped out of his league,’ Henry said. ‘He might just as well have attacked an elephant with a pointed stick.’
*
Several frantic days went by. For a while it seemed as though our old life of tranquil work and play would never return. Somehow we scrambled and struggled and muddled through. We kept up with the work of the kennels, not only keeping our inmates in the manner to which they had become accustomed but even progressing the training programme. All this between furnishing several different branches of the police with information, fingerprints and statements which did not contradict each other, arguing with the Divisional Veterinary Officer and the local authority over Jove’s disappearance and recovery and fobbing off the press with a prepared statement drafted by Mike Coutts which said a lot without actually revealing anything. Most difficult of all was persuading the police to furnish corroboration that Jove’s escape had been due to a criminal act by somebody quite unconnected with the firm.
And during this period, while each of us was f
eeling like a conjuror with one ball too many – in the air, I mean – we remembered Noel Cochrane in his bed of pain, wherever that might be. Beth made the first enquiries and spoke to several male voices that had never heard of him, then to several more who had heard of him but had no idea where he was. When at last she tracked him down – he had been removed to Ninewells Hospital in Dundee – she was again blocked, this time by a female voice which admitted to knowing all about Noel but flatly refused to disgorge any of that precious information.
I took the phone away from Beth by brute force. It should not be the way of the world, but sometimes a man’s voice conveys more authority. ‘Who am I speaking to?’ I asked.
The voice decided that that much information might safely be released. ‘Ward Sister Lightbody.’
I tried to inject matching firmness and self-importance into my voice, together with just a trace of masculine appeal. If she imagined that she could smell testosterone over the phone line, so much the better. ‘I want to know how Mr Cochrane is progressing.’
‘Are you a relative?’
‘I’m his brother.’ Beth, who is the most truthful person alive, gave a disapproving headshake.
There was a pause. ‘He didn’t mention a brother as next-of-kin.’
I thought swiftly and played for time. ‘Who did he mention?’
There was a rustle of paper over the line. ‘That bit seems to have been left blank.’
‘Blank,’ I said, relieved. ‘That describes me exactly. Noel always said so. How is he?’
The Ward Sister decided to unbend a little. ‘He’s suffered some bad contusions – that means bruises,’ she added kindly. ‘And three of his ribs are cracked. He was passing a little blood when he was brought here. The doctors were concerned. But that has now stopped and his scan was clear. They’re fairly satisfied that there’s no organic damage but they’ll want to keep him under observation for another day or two.’
‘That’s excellent,’ I said. ‘May I speak to him?’
Mad Dogs and Scotsmen (Three Oaks Book 7) Page 16
