The Descartes Evolution

by N. J. Croft

  “Jenna, where are you?”

  “I decided to go for a run after all. I needed the fresh air.”

  “Come back, Jenna. You’re not safe out there.”

  “And am I safe with you?”

  He was silent for a moment. “I would never hurt you.”

  Suddenly, she was furiously angry with Luke and with herself for being such a gullible fool. “No? I just called the police. I wanted to check for myself, and guess what? It turns out David doesn’t have a cousin. So who the fuck are you?”

  “Come back, and I’ll explain everything.” He sounded calm and reasonable, and Jenna bit back the urge to scream.

  “Yeah, right. I’m heading for the nearest police station.” The lie came easily. Luke had resources, and she’d bet he was already looking for her. She cut the call and switched off the phone, shoving it back in her bag.

  Cautiously, she slipped out of the alley, but there was no one around and she headed, at a walk this time, in the direction of the train station.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Standing in the control room, Luke stared at the cell phone in his hand. Jenna wasn’t answering.

  What had made her suspicious? She’d seemed relaxed, more relaxed than he had ever seen her before.

  He’d felt the same. For the first time in over ten years, he’d woken feeling at peace, but he should have known it wouldn’t last. That the world would intrude.

  If Jenna had gone to the police, he could be expecting them on his doorstep anytime soon, and he had no intention of being around when they arrived.

  The search into Merrick had thrown up nothing at first. The investigation into Jenna’s father had been much more interesting. Jonathon Young appeared fine on the surface; all the proper facts were there. He’d been born an only child in London to parents who were also alone. He’d gone to medical school in Edinburgh, then a residency in a London hospital, then spent time doing research before taking up general practice. He’d married a Sandra Leavsey. They’d had one daughter, Jenna, and divorced four years later. There were no details of his wife other than a name.

  He’d almost told Stefan to stop the research, they were wasting their time—the man was obviously perfect. As that thought had crossed his mind, he’d paused.

  No one was perfect. Jonathon Young’s life had been totally uneventful, and that fact alone should have rung alarm bells.

  Instead of calling off the investigation, he’d told the researcher to dig deeper, and Jonathon Young’s life had unraveled. Until twenty-two years ago, he had not existed. His whole life was a web of lies.

  Luke had read the reports from the accident. While Jonathon Young’s life might have been a lie, his death appeared genuine. Just an accident.

  So who was he? Who was Jenna?

  Young was likely a real doctor. It was the weak point, and if the man had had any sense, he would have changed that. Maybe he needed the doctor thing because Jenna had this genetic illness. Maybe being a doctor gave him access to the drugs she needed. But why couldn’t she have gone to a different doctor? Unless her actual illness revealed something her father had wanted kept a secret.

  He crossed to where Stefan was working. “Found anything else?”

  Stefan shook his head. “I’ve come to a halt trying to work backward. It’s a dead end. He’s covered his tracks too well.”

  Luke pressed his fingers to his eyes. Maybe they needed to approach it from another angle. “Go back to Merrick. Back to twenty-five years ago. Where he was working, who he was working with—especially any medical doctors who could fit Young’s profile.”

  Stefan glanced up after a minute, a grin lighting his face. “How did you know? There he is. Dr. John Creighton. The age fits. They went to university together—Cambridge. Merrick studied biochemistry, Creighton medicine. Creighton did a residency at a hospital in London but moved into research and got a job with Merrick a couple of years later. That’s all at the moment. You want me to look into it?”

  “Yes. Everything you can find about him.” He thought for a moment. “Where were they working together?”

  Stefan studied the screen. “Bentley Research, a biotech company.”

  “Find out everything you can about that, as well.”

  If they dug deep enough, they might find a connection between the Conclave and Bentley Research, although that didn’t explain the tie to Descartes.

  “Luke?”

  Callum came to stand beside the desk, his face stamped with excitement.

  “You’ve found something?”

  “Ivory Coast.”

  “The Conclave’s old haunt.”

  It was where Luke had first met his friend, back before he had even heard of the Conclave. Luke had been posted to Ivory Coast with his regiment, providing a peace-keeping force. Callum had been with his SAS unit, attempting to free some British aid workers who’d been kidnapped. His unit had come across something unexpected and had been wiped out. All except Callum, who’d been badly injured in the attack but had managed to crawl away and lasted two days alone in the jungle. Luke had found him and saved his life, and they’d been friends since.

  Callum had left the army afterward, bitter at what he considered the lack of investigation into the death of his men, but Luke had kept in touch. Eventually, Callum had introduced Luke to his sister, Leah. She had been the catalyst that had changed Luke, made him see there was more to life than the exhilaration of danger and the excitement of a good fight. He’d given up the Legion and gone home with every intention of settling down.

  That hadn’t worked out well. Maybe some people weren’t meant for a settled existence.

  And now they were going back to where it started, Ivory Coast.

  “One of our informants there has picked up a rumor,” Callum said. “Apparently, some guy walked out of the jungle over a week ago, spouting a story that his whole village was dying. He’d gone out searching for work, came back and found the place surrounded by trucks and armed guards and everyone sick. He got out of there fast.”

  Luke had long ago learned to go with his gut instinct. Now, it was screaming at him that this was important.

  “Where is he?”

  “My guy is trying to find him, but it looks like he’s vanished.”

  Luke got to his feet. He paced the room, every sense telling him to move fast. “We need to get out there.”

  “The plane’s ready to take off when you are.”

  “Good.” But thoughts of Jenna nagged at his mind, and he realized with a shock that he wanted her safe. He was sure she was caught up in the middle of something she couldn’t understand and was liable to stumble into danger without knowing. She was naïve enough to think the police were the good guys. She hadn’t yet learned there was no such thing.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and tried her again—still no answer—and he swore softly. Hoping she would read it and get back to him before she gave herself up to the police, he typed in a text message. Next, he called the man he’d had watching the local police station for any sign of Jenna, but she hadn’t turned up, and Luke suspected she’d lied. The morning after Griffith’s murder she’d spent a few hours at New Scotland Yard. It would make sense she’d go there now.

  “Still no sign of the woman?” Callum asked.

  “No, but everything’s cleared here. If the police do turn up, they won’t find anything.”

  “We’ve been friends a long time and I’ve never known you to make mistakes. If she’d been in one of the holding cells, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Luke didn’t bother to deny it. “I’m going to call Scotland Yard.”

  “And tell them what?”

  “I’ll speak to the detective in charge. Tell him he needs to keep a close eye on her.”

  Callum frowned but didn’t argue.

  He looke
d up the number and then punched it in. “Could I speak with the officer in charge of the David Griffith murder? I have information.”

  Eventually a man answered. “Detective Inspector Mitchell.”

  “Do you have a Jenna Young, there?”

  “Who is this?”

  “She’s in danger. Don’t let her out of your sight. If anything unusual happens, question it.”

  There was silence for a moment. “I don’t know who you are, but I suggest if you have any information pertaining to the murder of David Griffith, you get down here and make a statement.”

  Ignoring the suggestion, Luke ended the call.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jenna walked the last half mile and stood on the steps of the building, a wave of relief crashing over her. She’d spent the whole journey peering over her shoulder. Within seconds, she’d be safe.

  At the last moment, she took out her phone and switched it on. There were five missed calls, all from Luke, and one text message.

  You can’t trust the police. You can’t trust anyone.

  Why shouldn’t she trust the police? Then she remembered the conversation she had overheard that morning—she was nothing more than bait to Luke. Gnawing on her lower lip, she stared at the message then turned off the phone and headed into the building.

  At the desk, she spoke to a uniformed officer. “I’m Jenna Young. I’m here to see Detective Inspector Mitchell.”

  As she spoke, Mitchell pushed through a set of doors behind her. A smile of relief formed on her lips, which faded when she saw his expression.

  “Come through,” he said, holding the door open. She followed him, and he indicated a counter to the right. “Would you like to leave your things at the desk?”

  “Why?” She hadn’t had to last time she was here.

  “Actually, it wasn’t a request.”

  “Am I some sort of suspect?”

  “Ms. Young, you phoned in a murder and then disappeared for forty-eight hours. We’d like to keep you around for a while this time. If that means treating you as a potential suspect, then yes.”

  She put her bag on the desk and signed the paper they handed her.

  Don’t trust the police, Luke had said. Suddenly she wished she’d spoken to him. It was too late now, but she would get one phone call. They had to give her that.

  “Have you found the person responsible?”

  Mitchell ignored the question. “Follow me.” He led her down the hallway and into a small room that held a table and two chairs. The walls were painted beige, and one was taken up by a mirror. Jenna looked at it curiously. “Is that so you can watch me?”

  He nodded.

  “Am I really a suspect?”

  “We’re not sure what you are at the moment, but we’ll hold you under the Prevention of Terrorism Act if we have to.”

  “What? Are you saying you’ve found David was connected to some sort of terrorist activities?”

  “I can’t reveal that to you. Now take a seat.” His face softened. “If it means anything to you, I don’t think you’re guilty of anything, but we have to be sure. Can I get you a coffee?”

  “Please.”

  As he called out the door, Jenna sank into one of the hard metal chairs and rested her hands on the table. A minute later, the detective who had been with Mitchell the night of David’s murder entered, carrying three coffees. She put two down on the table, took the third, and leaned against the wall, sipping it and watching Jenna.

  Mitchell sat opposite her, placed a file on the table, and then picked up his mug. He pressed the recording device on the table. “Interview with Jenna Young, DI Mitchell, and DC Jameson, 11:15 a.m.…”

  Taking a sip of coffee, he studied Jenna. “So do you want to tell me what’s happened between now and when you left here two days ago?”

  Jenna took him through the initial meeting with Luke and answered his questions as best she could. She was finding it hard to believe Luke was not David’s cousin. He’d been so convincing; even the photograph had appeared genuine.

  When she got to the part about the attack on her father’s house and the man she’d stabbed, Mitchell interrupted.

  “You stabbed a man, and you didn’t think you should report this to the police?”

  Jenna shifted in her chair. “Luke said he’d taken care of it. He said he handed them over to some contacts he had in intelligence. It sounded so believable. I was in shock—I just wanted to get away from there.”

  Mitchell sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll need a description of the men who attacked you later. Let’s finish this up. These men who broke in, did they hurt you at all?”

  “They said they’d do to me what they’d done to David. They broke my finger.”

  Glancing at her hand where it lay on the table, he raised one eyebrow. “They broke your finger?”

  She realized how it must sound, but she didn’t have an explanation, and frustration gnawed at her insides. “I’m telling the truth. My finger was broken. I removed the splint this morning, and it was fine. I don’t know how, I—”

  “Calm down, Jenna.”

  She knew he didn’t believe her, and she didn’t want to calm down.

  When she mentioned finding Professor Merrick dead, he stopped her and turned to Jameson. “Sarah, go check it out.” He turned back to Jenna. “Why don’t you have a break for a minute, drink your coffee?”

  His arms folded across his chest, he leaned back in his chair and watched her. “You think the guys who attacked you at your father’s house were the same ones who killed your doctor friend?”

  “Not the same people but from the same place.”

  “Hmm, you remember the artist’s impression you did for us last time you were here?”

  “You found him?”

  “Maybe.” He picked up a file, took out a photograph, and handed it to her. Shock churned in her stomach as she stared down at the image. The man was obviously dead, laid out on the slab in the morgue. She licked her lips.

  “What happened?”

  “We don’t know. He was brought in as a possible hit-and-run on the same night the doctor died. When we posted your artist’s impression, he was flagged immediately. You did a good job. Now, would you like to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  Jenna’s head was about to explode. None of this made sense. David’s killer had died that same night. Had he been murdered, too? The men who’d broken into her father’s house had acted as though they had killed David or at least knew his killer. She stared up at Mitchell. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  He sighed then slammed the file on the table and sat, fingers drumming, a brooding expression on his face.

  Jenna sipped her cold coffee. A few minutes later, Detective Jameson came back. “The story holds up. At twelve fifteen the fire services arrived at this guy’s house. The professor was found hanging from the banister. It’s being treated as a suicide, but the house was completely destroyed, so it was hard to find any evidence to prove otherwise. The fire looked like it was set deliberately, but it could have been the professor, some sort of funeral pyre.”

  Mitchell studied Jenna. “I don’t like any of this, and I don’t understand it, except for some reason, you’re right in the middle. You’d better finish your ‘story’ and we can try to see if there’s some sort of pattern here.”

  Jenna swallowed and told him the rest without mentioning the fact she had spent the previous night with Luke. When she’d finished, Mitchell gazed into space for a few minutes and Jenna fidgeted.

  “Well, first thing is we send someone over to this place and see if we can’t pick up Luke Grafton, but I have a feeling we’re not going to find anyone there. You have a cell phone number for him?”

  “I’d give it to you, but it’s in my bag.”

  He smiled
the first genuine smile she had seen from him that day. “We’ll need you to work with the artists again, get a mock-up of this guy and the ones who broke into your father’s house.”

  “You know, I really have no idea what this is about.”

  “Funny thing is I believe you, and that’s not something I say very often in this room. On the other hand, it’s obvious you’re involved in it all somehow. We just have to work out how.”

  On that point, she could agree. “So what next?”

  “I’m going to set some wheels in motion.” He stood and stared down at her. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

  Behind him, Detective Jameson snorted and rolled her eyes. “He always resorts to clichés when he hasn’t a clue what’s going on.”

  Mitchell ignored the comment and crossed to the door. “I’ll be back. Try not to worry—you’re safe here.”

  The door clicked shut behind them. Jenna laid her head on her folded hands and closed her eyes. Her head ached. She’d woken that morning with a sense of well-being. Despite the circumstances, being with Luke had made her feel safe. How ironic was that?

  The door opened and she jumped; she must have dozed off. Mitchell stood in the doorway, and he did not look happy.

  Jenna straightened, smoothing a hand over her hair. “What is it?”

  “There’s been a change of plan. We’re moving you.”

  “Moving me where?”

  “To a safe house.”

  “You mean I’m not safe here? I’m in the middle of Scotland Yard. Where the hell is going to be safer than this?”

  The frown didn’t leave his face. “The orders came from high-up.”

  A flicker of foreboding tingled along her nerve endings. Luke had said she couldn’t trust the police, couldn’t trust anyone. “I don’t want to go.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  She searched the room, seeking some way out. All she could think of was letting Luke know where she was. “Do I get a phone call?”