‘Or asks for it in the next few days,’ he finished.
‘So what did you want from me?’
‘To know if it’s feasible, which you’ve already answered, but also what kind of building they’d go for, and with what result?’
I thought about it. ‘It depends on what result they want. The bigger and busier the building, the more people’d get infected.’
‘But it would be two weeks before we saw any cases?’ Rebecca.
‘At least.’
‘Suppose they did it on a floor of a department store –’ Brigg again ‘Would everyone there get infected?’
‘Unlikely. The nearest to the outlet would be the most likely, reducing the further you got away from it.’
‘Out of a hundred people, say?’
I let out a groan. ‘It depends on so many variables: the size of the shop, the size and concentration of the aerosol…’
‘Guess.’
I shrugged. ‘A quarter of them?’
‘How long after the virus had been put in would there still be a risk of infection?’
‘Oh, certainly several days, more... until you’d fumigated the place – bombed it,’ I said, looking at Rebecca.
They looked at each other with a mix of dismay and resignation, then she said,
‘So even with quite a small shop, a lot of people could be infected?’
I nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
Brigg said, ‘And you’re telling us there’s no way of knowing what kind of place they’d choose?’
‘As I said, it would depend on what result they wanted.’ I thought for a moment. ‘Now that the engineer’s dead, they’d be more likely to go for somewhere with easy access, wouldn’t they? Maybe even one they could get at without having to ask?’
Brigg nodded slowly. ‘We’ll ask the company whether they’ve got any like that.’
They left not long after. I’d have liked to ask Rebecca if she’d seen a GUM specialist yet, but didn’t want to in front of Brigg.
*
The doorbell went the next morning at around half ten and I recognised Sarah’s silhouette. She barged past me to the living room. When I caught up with her, she said,
‘What is it with you and Dad? He’s got it in for you more than Charles.’
‘Good morning, Sarah. Nice to see you, too. Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it?’
She went on talking as she lowered herself into an armchair... ‘When I told him about the flat and what we’d worked out, he said you should make up the entire shortfall. He said I shouldn’t have to get a mortgage or pay a penny towards it.’
I sat down facing her. ‘Anything else?’
‘That I shouldn’t have to work. I’m happy to do some part-time work, Herry…’
‘I know that.’
‘He said you should pay me enough alimony and child support to live on.’
‘I said I’d pay what’s reasonable. That’s not reasonable.’
‘No. What is it between you and him? You thought he was behind that attack on you – why?’
‘Well, we’d just had a row and –’
‘What was it about?’
I shrugged. ‘You, mostly. He…’ I realised I didn’t want to tell her it was because I’d refused to consider trying again with her, so I said, ‘He read me a similar list of demands to the ones you’ve just told me about, and I said no.’
‘He had no right to say anything like that behind my back.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘There’s got to be more to it than that…’ She got up again and started pacing around … ‘He was telling me this morning that you were on the slippery slope – you know how he loves that phrase. He said your goose was cooked, and –’
‘Mixing his clichés – he must have been exercised.’
‘He said I should get as much money out of you as I could before you went under.’ She stopped in front of me. ‘Are you in some sort of trouble?’
How much to tell her…?
‘You know I was telling you about SCRUB the other day?’
She nodded.
‘Well, there’s been a lot of in-fighting recently, a power struggle, I suppose…’ I told her about the battle between Fenella and Blake.
‘I liked Fenella, the time I met her,’ she said.
‘Well, it seems that Sir Colin knows your father –’
‘How?’
I shrugged. ‘He knows a lot of people. Anyway, just after the row, an attempt was made to replace me as Area Head with Roland, who also knows your father.’
She stared at me – ‘Maybe it’s him behind it…’ She went on. ‘What reason was given for trying to get rid of you?’
‘That I was involved in a custody battle over Grace and that my divorce was turning very nasty, and that these things would distract me from my job.’
‘But none of that’s true...’
‘No,’ I agreed.
Her eyes turned away as she thought about it… ‘You know, what I can’t get my head round is that this distraction, even if it existed, would hardly interfere with SCRUB… I mean, it’s not as if it’s particularly onerous, is it?’ She looked back at me… ‘Unless there’s something going on –’ she saw it in my face – ‘There is, isn’t there?’
‘No, and –’
‘SCRUB’s about using smallpox as a terror weapon, isn’t it? Which would never happen, you told me… But it has, hasn’t it? Or something like it.’
‘ – you know I can’t talk about anything like that with you.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’ She sat down again. ‘Would you make me a coffee, please?’
‘I hear and obey.’
‘A real one,’ she called as I went to the kitchen.
Actually, I was quite glad of the respite, which is probably why she’d done it – to give us both one.
As I handed it to her a few minutes later, she said,
‘Was the attack on you something to do with SCRUB?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I can imagine Dad getting at you by trying to mess up your position in SCRUB. I can imagine him – just – trying to mess up your career. But he would never mess around with something like smallpox.’
‘In no circumstances whatever?’
‘No. I can’t speak for Roland, though… is there anyone else it could be?’
‘Can’t think of anyone.’
‘I know you can’t tell me any details, but there is a threat, isn’t there?’
I said nothing.
‘Yes, then. No wonder you’re not at your best. Is that what the little brown dolly bird was about?’ She went on without waiting for an answer – ‘I suppose I should be grateful you’ve given me and Grace as much time as you have.’
She emptied her coffee cup, put it down and came over to me.
‘Poor old you.’
She bent and kissed my mouth.
Nothing about it suggested anything more than a gesture of sympathy, but as she turned away, I caught her hand, pulled her to me and kissed her. I don’t know why.
She didn’t respond and I let her go. She looked back into my face, then very slowly, leaned toward me and touched her lips against mine.
She wasn’t wearing any perfume. She smelled only of soap and… of babies, I suppose. Our mouths touched again and stayed together. Moved gently against each other.
Her jumper felt soft, as did her skin. It was the most charged kiss I’ve ever known.
She drew back, our mouths an inch apart. She whispered,
‘Are you sure about this, Herry? I betrayed you. How do you know I won’t do it again?’
‘I don’t…’
Upstairs, our clothes lay in heaps on the floor. Dim light filtered through the curtains, but enough for me to see a tiny bead of milk on one of her nipples. It was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
We lay in bed. Her body glowed, the bits I could see and the bits I couldn’t.
*
Later, she said, ‘Serve you right if you’ve got me pregnant again.’
‘Didn’t think you could if you were breastfeeding.’
‘Don’t bank on it.’
I wanted her to stay, but she said she had to get back to feed Grace.
Chapter 29
On Sunday morning, Josh and Dan went a’ hunting – for Clive Prout, the manager of Airflow, the company Malcolm had worked for. They eventually ran him to earth, or at least tee, on the golf course, whence they escorted him, protesting volubly, to the company offices, which were in a trading estate on the outskirts of Tiverton. Here, Prout reluctantly produced the records of all the sites Malcolm had visited in the last year.
There were a lot, nearly a hundred: hospitals, supermarkets, offices, scattered all over the South West. To some he’d gone just for a quick check, to others for more substantial maintenance or overhaul.
Yes, Prout admitted, Malcolm had been a very experienced engineer and understood all the systems inside out. In fact, he didn’t know how they were going to cope without him.
Were any of the systems accessible from outside, Josh asked?
‘How should I know? That’s something you’ll have to find out for yourselves. I’m afraid,’ he added.
‘That’s exactly what we will be doing, Mr Prout,’ Josh replied levelly. ‘In the company of one of your other engineers.’
Prout stared at him. ‘Are you out of your mind? Didn’t you hear what I just said? It’s going to be hard enough coping without Malcolm, never mind another engineer.’
‘We’ll be back tomorrow morning with a warrant,’ Josh said.
Which they were. Then, accompanied by Kevin Lamb, allegedly the next most experienced engineer, they started on a tour of Airflow customers.
On most of the sites, the systems were clearly inaccessible from outside. With these, they asked if anyone had requested access recently. When they got the answer no, they asked them to be on the lookout for such requests.
Half a dozen were fairly easily accessible and they examined them carefully for signs of recent tampering. They visited twenty five sites in all that day and found nothing obviously suspicious.
Brigg and Rebecca meanwhile, having got nowhere with their interrogations, decided to try something else. Stella, who’d been questioning Mary Broomfield in Bath, came down. She’d had previous experience penetrating groups like BTA and knew how to empathise with them.
She started with Hannah, who not only spoke to her, but broke down in tears, saying she wanted her son back. She told Stella everything she knew, which wasn’t much.
She then saw Marc, followed by Sophie. Both were more suspicious of her, but eventually seemed to cooperate.
‘I’m as sure as I can be that Hannah’s got nothing to hide,’ she told Brigg and Rebecca at the end of the day. ‘Marc and Sophie, I’m not so sure about. Sophie, on balance, I tend to believe. Marc…’ She wiggled her hand in a fifty/fifty gesture.
‘Is it possible they’re good actors?’ Brigg asked.
She shrugged. ‘It’s possible. Anything is.’
‘They’re all we’ve got, Stella,’ he said softly.
She nodded. ‘I know. I wish I could help you more.’
*
Meanwhile, on Monday, they contacted Workers Abroad, the organisation that had sent Ron and Alan on VSO. They had a record of Ron, Alan and Brian, but nothing on Craig and Malcolm. They said they’d keep looking.
Ron and Alan both said they thought it had been the same organisation, but couldn’t be sure. Which meant that Brigg and Rebecca had to go chasing round all the others…
Rebecca was having a miserable time, brooding over the axe hanging over her when she wasn’t questioning or chasing. Oh sure, both Herry and the GUM consultant had told her it was unlikely she’d get HIV – but with HIV, unlikely wasn’t good enough. And Marc’s schadenfreude every time he looked at her, made her wish for the good old days of police brutality…
*
Wednesday morning. They began questioning again, starting with Ron.
They’d been at it for about ten minutes when a harsh, trilling from the corridor outside made them all jump.
‘Fire drill,’ said Brigg, getting to his feet –
The door burst open and a sergeant shouted, ‘It’s not a drill, get him cuffed and bring him upstairs, quick…’
Smoke billowed behind him…
‘What about the others?’ Brigg shouted.
‘They’re being taken care of – hurry…’ he ran off…
Brigg helped Ron up, Rebecca handcuffed him at the front and they led him out. The smoke was thicker and they began coughing. They found the stairs, Rebecca went first, holding Ron’s arm, then Brigg.
They came up into the lobby, saw others evacuating through to the back, followed them into the car park.
A crowd was gathering. The sergeant who’d shouted at them was with Marc and the others a little way off. Marc was trying to put an arm round Hannah despite the handcuffs. She clung to him, crying. Four uniformed police guarded them.
‘Where are you going to put them?’ Brigg asked as they joined them.
‘Cells in the old building,’ said the sergeant, nodding at the Victorian block on the other side. ‘We’ll take them now, you get yourselves over there to be checked off.’ He took Ron from Rebecca and started leading them away.
‘Keep them separate,’ Brigg shouted after them.
After they’d disappeared into the old building, the crowd dispersed remarkably quickly. Brigg and Rebecca went back into the new building and a few minutes later were sitting in front of a monitor in a windowless room.
They watched as Marc and the others were ushered into a cell, the cuffs were taken off, then the door clanged as it was shut and locked.
Marc was the first to speak.
‘Is everyone all right?’ he said, looking round.
There were grunts of assent. Alan, who’d sat on one of the beds, said,
‘Better than poor Craig and the others, that’s for sure.’
‘If you believe it,’ said Hannah.
‘Oh, I believe it,’ said Sophie. ‘They showed me the PM reports.’
‘How d’you know they weren’t forged?’
‘If they were alive, they’d be here with the rest of us, wouldn’t they?’ said Alan.
‘Budge up,’ Sophie said to him. ‘What happened to chivalry?’
Alan budged, then said, ‘Did anyone have any idea they were doing anything like that?’
Nos and shaking heads...
‘But what was that?’ Sophie said sharply. ‘Were we being told the truth? Were we even told the same thing?’
They compared notes for a few minutes and agreed that they had been – told the same thing, anyway.
‘Who killed them, that’s what I’d like to know?’ said Ron.
Marc said, ‘Assuming we’ve been told the truth, I can only think Craig did it to stop the others going through with it.’
‘When d’you think they’ll let us go?’ Hannah said plaintively.
‘They said a week, which is two more days.’ Marc went on, ‘Anyway, it must be getting through to them by now that we don’t know anything. I think Ms Sweetikins yesterday was their last shot.’
‘I wonder…’ Sophie murmured, looking round the ceiling…
(‘Uh oh,’ Brigg said to Rebecca…)
‘I wouldn’t put it past that bastard Brigg to hang on to us a bit longer just for the hell of it,’ said Alan.
‘Oh no…’ wailed Hannah, and Marc took her hand.
‘He’s nothing like so bad as that other bitch.’ Sophie spoke slowly and deliberately.
‘I did try to warn you,’ Hannah said.
‘Yes, you did, and I’m sorry
,’ said Sophie. ‘I didn’t like her, but I thought she was one of those inadequates who get their kicks flitting from cause to cause. Whereas in fact she’s compensating by pretending to be Mata Hari.’
(‘She’s on to us,’ Brigg said to Rebecca.)
‘In more ways than one,’ Marc said. ‘You know she was sleeping with Craig?’
‘No, I didn’t. Figures, though. I wonder what she thinks about that now.’
Marc grunted. ‘Quite a lot, I expect. I told them how his wife died of AIDS. You should have seen her face.’
(‘So’s he,’ Rebecca said.)
‘Serves her right,’ said Sophie.
‘It’ll certainly cramp her style on her next assignment,’ said Marc.
‘What the hell are you two on about?’ demanded Alan.
‘We’ve been set up,’ said Sophie. ‘The cunts are listening to us now. Probably watching us as well.’
‘But what about the fire?’ Ron. ‘That smoke was real enough.’
‘Ah, but contrary to the proverb,’ said Sophie, ‘you can have it without fire.’
‘Does it matter?’ Hannah said wildly. ‘All I want to do is get out of here. D’you hear me?’ she yelled, looking round. ‘We don’t know anything, so let us go.’
‘Well, it was worth a try,’ said Brigg.
They watched and listened a bit longer, then gave up. Once all the smoke had been cleared, they had them brought back.
Marc did a double take as he emerged from the Old Building. ‘Well, how about that?’ he said to the sergeant beside him. ‘And I was expecting a crisp blackened shell.’
The sergeant said nothing.
*
An hour later, Brigg and Rebecca were still in the windowless room. They’d watched the recording several times.
She said, ‘Listen to this bit, sir…’
She wound it back, stopped near the beginning, pressed play…
Ron said: Who killed them, that’s what I’d like to know?
Marc said: Assuming it’s the truth, I can only think Craig did it to stop the others going through with it… whatever it was…
Rebecca stopped the machine and said, ‘If we take that at face value, it sounds genuine. Then, a little later…’ She started the tape again...
Marc said: It must be getting through to them by now that we don’t know anything. I think Ms Sweetikins was their last shot.
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