‘So, where do you fit in to all of this mess?’ asked Dale. ‘What’s your story?’
‘Me?’ replied Roussel. ‘I’m just a local parish CID detective, who just happened to accidentally pick up a brutal double murder.’
‘There’s more to it than that though, isn’t there?’ stated Dale quizzically.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I can't read people,’ offered Dale. ‘It’s something I’ve never been able to do well. But I can tell when things are not what they seem.’
‘I’m not with you,’ said Roussel, with a bemused expression.
‘Let’s put it this way,’ said Dale. ‘You’re not the typical rural detective. I’m not saying they are stupid, far from it. But there is an extra dimension to you, and I just can't put my finger on it.’
Roussel blinked in shock. Dale was full of surprises. He was certainly more intuitive than Roussel had given him credit for.
‘I’m a qualified lawyer,’ stated Roussel suddenly.
This time it was Dale’s turn to blink in surprise.
‘Really?’ he asked. ‘And you gave that up to become a policeman, why?’
‘I missed home,’ said Roussel truthfully. ‘I was in a big corporate firm, full of Yankee WASP’s; no offence.’
He directed this at Dale quickly.
‘None taken,’ said Dale.
‘It took me a while to realise none of those guys actually cared about the law. For them, it was purely a game for winning and losing; high-stakes poker, with other people's lives and money.’
He paused reflectively, before continuing.
‘I was asked to review a case. It was one of those David vs. Goliath jobs. Guess who we were representing?’ he asked sourly.
Foster could guess; he knew the type of law firm.
‘Some multi-national company leeching God knows what chemicals and toxins into the ground water; potentially causing all sorts of birth defects and cancers. On top of that, I was the only southerner in the firm. I just reached a tipping point. My parents raised me with morals. I wanted to be able to sleep at night.’
He laughed a short, barking laugh.
‘Of course now, I lie awake for other reasons,’ he said.
He shrugged, before becoming inquisitor himself, firing the initial question back at Dale.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘What's your own path to this point in time?’
‘Pretty straightforward,’ said Dale. ‘This is my first and only job. I didn’t have any set direction in mind. I just wanted to pick a career where I could make a difference. Turns out, I'm actually pretty damn good at what I do.’
‘Do you have any regrets?’ asked Roussel.
‘Oh, I’ve got plenty of those,’ said Dale. ‘But strangely enough, coming on this trip is not one of them.’
‘Married, partner, fiancé?’ asked Roussel.
Dale snorted.
‘What do you think?’ he answered in return. ‘The only thing I’m married to is my job, I’m afraid. What a sad stupid cliché that is. The only girls I meet are suspects. What about you?’
Dale returned the question.
‘I had a long-term girlfriend,’ said Roussel. ‘Turns out she was more in love with my prospects than she was with me, and as you say, the only girls I meet now have criminal records.’
Before either of them could ask another question, they heard the front door bang. A large plastic bag full of delicious smells was deposited on the table in front of them.
‘Chinese take-away,’ said Street, placing a six-pack of Heineken next to it.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I think we have a lead.’
#
For a good ten minutes or so, all you could hear was the contented sound of jaws working. I had forgotten how hungry I was, and thought the guys might benefit from a takeaway; seemed I was right. I waited until the rice was depleted and the main dishes started congealing; a sure sign that everybody had eaten their fill. I flicked the caps off the second round of drinks with the bottle opener, and indicated the folder.
‘So, what do you make of it?’ I asked.
‘Well, it certainly clears up the CIA involvement, anyway,’ said Roussel.
We all laughed.
‘What do you think?’ I asked Dale specifically.
I was interested in his DEA perspective.
‘Overall, a very interesting story,’ he said. ‘And to be honest, like all the best discoveries, it seems its primary purpose was not what it was originally developed for.’
‘So, a bit like Viagra,’ said Roussel, interceding. ‘That was never expected to have those unfortunate side-effects.’
‘Or fortunate, depending on your point of view,’ said Dale.
There was a brief chuckle all round.
‘Does it give you any more insight into Storm?’ I asked.
‘I can see why it would be important to someone like the Mancini’s. If we use a modern example, we only have to look at the rise of ecstasy. The trend for its usage came about from a user base of almost zero. It was a real fluke; party people looking for love, but look how many billions are now spent worldwide on that one drug.’
He corrected himself.
‘Or should I say that one range of drugs. But imagine controlling the supply? Imagine being the sole manufacturer? From reading this, the process of synthesis does not seem straightforward. You would need a lot of equipment and hence a lot of money. Now I know that drugs are big business, and there is a lot of investment on the illegal side, but if you look at what we would call the problem drugs currently, the initial outlay is still pretty low, all things considered, and you can't control the supply.’
‘I don’t follow you,’ I said, shaking my head.
I could see that Roussel felt the same way.
‘Heroin is derived from opium, which in turn is derived from poppies. You can’t stop me growing poppies, especially somewhere like Afghanistan. And then you have South America; the coca plant. Especially in the rainforest, there is no way you can control it, you would have to find it first. Marijuana; literally every college dorm room is growing that stuff. But this; this is different, this is big pharma.’
‘So, if you need that much investment, how did that guy Nigel manage to get it working, all those years ago?’
‘Reading between the lines,’ said Dale. ‘We are talking about wartime. We are talking about the development of something that could change the course of history. I'm guessing money was no object. He would have had the best that money could buy at the time.’
‘Interesting you should say that,’ I said. ‘I saw an article on the local news about an hour ago. ADXR are setting up a new plant about a hundred miles from here, in a place called Clonakilty.’
‘Can’t get much bigger pharma than that,’ agreed Dale.
‘Well, here’s the thing,’ I said. ‘Apparently, it’s a joint-venture between ADXR and a company called G&E Chemicals.’
‘Never heard of them,’ said Dale.
‘Me neither,’ responded Roussel.
‘I only heard about them recently,’ I said. ‘It was about a month and a half ago; I overheard a conversation.’
‘Go on,’ said Dale.
‘Like to hazard a guess what G&E stands for?’ I asked instead.
They thought about it for a couple of minutes.
‘General and every day,’ said Roussel.
I shook my head and cocked an eyebrow at Dale.
‘Global and effective,’ he ventured.
We all laughed, and then it eventually faltered and tailed off.
‘Guido and Ernesto,’ I said, into the silence.
‘I knew it,’ said Dale, thumping the table in triumph. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’
‘You certainly did,’ I replied, ‘but it doesn’t really change anything.’
‘I know,’ said Dale, ‘but it makes me feel better, and it gives us something to target. No, in fact, more than that, it gives us somewhere to target
.’
‘Let’s not move ahead of ourselves,’ I said. ‘There’s still a few loose ends around here I’d like to clear up. There’s a girl, the one who gave me the inside information on Scott Mitchell. I put her in harm’s way and I sort of feel responsible. I think I’ve deflected suspicion away from her, but I’d like to be sure.’
I looked at Roussel.
‘Now, apparently she was taken into custody last night.’
‘Why are you looking at me?’ he asked.
I could see the thought wheels turning in his head.
‘Well I can hardly walk in, can I?’ I retorted.
‘Well I can barely walk in,’ protested Roussel. ‘I’m only a guest.’
‘There’s always a way,’ I said. ‘All you have to do is show a little bit of balls.’
‘Are you calling me chicken?’ asked Roussel.
‘I don't know,’ I said. ‘Are you?’
Roussel looked at me, and then his shoulders slumped in resignation and a smile spread slowly over his face.
‘I’m only doing this because there is a girl involved,’ he said. ‘I suppose you have a plan.’
‘As a matter of fact I do,’ I said.
#
‘Thanks for picking me up,’ said Roussel.
‘No problem,’ said James. ‘I thought you’d be well into the land of nod by now.’
‘Couldn't sleep,’ said Roussel. ‘You know the way, when you’ve gone past that point of tiredness.’
‘Oh, I know it well,’ stated James. ‘Anyway, what are you doing over here, did you get lost?’
‘You could say that,’ Roussel lied seamlessly.
If only James knew the truth.
They journeyed the rest of the way in silence.
‘So, anything in particular you need to do?’ asked James.
‘Yeah, I need to check something on the web a bit later. And I’d like to talk to my captain in a few minutes. But I was wondering before that, is there any way you could give me a tour of the station?’
‘Sure,’ said James.
He stopped to consider something.
‘Any particular reason?’ he asked curiously.
‘Just to see what the differences are, really,’ said Roussel nonchalantly. ‘You know; between the US and Ireland. Oh, and I’d like to meet a few more of the guys if I could,’ he added, as an afterthought.
‘Okay, sure,’ said James. ‘Let me just dump this stuff on my desk, and I’ll be back down to you in a minute.’
Roussel waited in reception, his own anxiety growing by the second. He hadn't been particularly convinced by Street’s plan, and the more he thought about it, the more flimsy it became. And James had been a little odd too. Roussel didn’t blame him.
‘Hey James, pick me up, drive me across the city and give me a tour of the station.’
It wasn’t exactly standard behaviour.
Before he could think about it anymore, he was rejoined by James.
‘So, what do you want to see first?’ asked James.
‘I don't know, you tell me,’ said Roussel.
‘Ok, let’s start at the top, so.’
They spent the next ten minutes visiting the boardroom, CID and Drug Squad offices, Uniform Patrol Public office, and all the while, Roussel was sweating buckets, doing his best to portray an air of nonchalance. He thought his torture would never end, when they finally arrived back in reception again.
‘And last but not least, the holding cells,’ said James.
Roussel relaxed slightly; at last, something to do. He was a man of action. As they descended the steps, his anxiety dissolved, as it always did, to be replaced with a steely determination. He kept his hearing half tuned to James, as they continued their descent. He made I’m listening noises, as he pulled the phone from his jacket.
He selected the pre-typed text message and hit send.
There was an officer sitting at a desk at the end of the stairwell. Roussel counted four cells in total.
‘This is Sergeant Keane,’ said James. ‘He’s our duty officer.’
‘So, what do you do down here?’ asked Roussel.
‘Oh, you know, the usual,’ said Sergeant Keane. ‘We check on them regularly; every fifteen minutes or so. We also do suicide watch if we’re told they are especially high risk, or if we believe that they are of a certain disposition. We also process them as they come in, that kind of thing.’
‘And how long would a typical shift be?’ asked Roussel.
‘Generally we would do eight hour shifts,’ said Sergeant Keane.
‘And what type of people would you have in the cells; does it vary by day or time of day?’
‘Oh, all kinds,’ said Keane. ‘Drunks, addicts, students, you name it.’
Roussel could see that James was looking at him a little strangely. He hadn't asked a single question on the whole tour, and now here he was babbling like a gossip girl. The truth was; he was waiting for James’s phone to ring. He was also trying to build up a rapport with the duty officer. It was part of the plan.
As if on cue, James's phone blasted out a drum and base ringtone.
‘Murray,’ he answered briskly.
He listened for a few seconds, his face registering surprise.
‘How did you get this number?’ he asked.
He held up two fingers, and gestured up the stairs; part one of the plan was working. Roussel acknowledged the gesture with a smile.
‘So, who have you got in at the moment?’ he asked the sergeant, feigning interest, as James took the stairs two at a time.
Sergeant Keane consulted the clipboards that were hanging on hooks behind his desk. As he took them down one by one, Roussel memorised the order. He was hoping the man had a neat and tidy mind.
Sergeant Keane studied each one in turn.
‘Drunk; came in last night.’
He discarded the board.
‘Addict; found strung out early morning. Number two is empty, and number one has a young woman who was attacked in hospital. She was brought here for her own protection.’
He checked his watch and nodded to himself.
‘I’ve got to do a quarter hour check, back in a sec.’
Roussel's heart was hammering in his chest. It was all going to hinge on the timing. He was about to make his move, when he realised that Sergeant Keane was moving to the far end of the cells. By his reckoning, number four. He waited as the officer went through his practiced routine, cell by cell. The sergeant pulled the slide back on each door and checked the four corners of each cell. The exception was the second to last one; looked like Roussel had been correct on the order. He made his move as the officer completed the last door.
He turned and bumped into Roussel, who had ventured into the cell area.
‘Can I see inside one?’ Roussel asked brightly.
‘Sure,’ said the officer. ‘We’ll take number two, as it’s empty.’
He jangled the keys as he turned away; searching for the one he wanted. Roussel realised he only had a second or two. He removed the note from his pocket and eased the hatch open on cell number one, praying it would be noiseless. There was a slight grating sound as it moved a tiny bit, and he held his breath. Throwing caution to the wind, he slid the note through the gap, and closed it as quietly and silently as he could.
He had his hands in his pockets before Sergeant Keane turned back around. He smiled brightly at the duty officer, who looked like he was about to say something and then seemed to come to a decision to stay silent. He shook his head, as if to disabuse himself of some notion.
‘After you,’ he said, as Roussel entered the empty cell.
Roussel wondered whether the girl would react as required. Only time would tell.
They heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs, as they returned to the sergeant’s desk.
‘Well, that was just plain weird,’ said James.
‘What was?’ asked Roussel.
‘Some guy from the DEA, standing in r
eception, bold as brass; said he’d got my number from an international task force report.’
‘Sounds like a cock and bull story to me,’ said Roussel.
‘Oh, his credentials were genuine enough,’ said James.
‘What did he have to say?’ asked Roussel.
‘Well that’s just it,’ answered James. ‘He started talking about some rumours they'd heard; something big due to hit the streets. He said he couldn't give me any specifics, but he said Ireland would be one of the first geographies affected.’
‘Sounds a little far-fetched,’ said Roussel.
‘Ordinarily, I would agree,’ said James, surprising him. ‘But in the last month or so, we've been getting some serious vibes from the Street. Dealers and junkies alike have been getting really excited; drooling over the prospect almost.’
‘Really,’ responded Roussel. ‘So what do you think it is?’
‘Well this fellow....’
James squinted at the card in his hand.
‘Foster. He seems to think it is something new. But even a new drug can be a variant of an existing one. Just look at the impact caused by crack cocaine. Either way, we’re not taking it lightly.’
He turned back towards the cells.
‘Thanks Sergeant,’ he shouted, before directing Roussel back up the stairs and into reception.
‘Do you still need access to the web?’
‘No, I’m going to leave it,’ said Roussel. ‘The tiredness is really beginning to hit me now,’ he said truthfully.
‘Do you want a lift home?’
‘No I think I’ll walk, if that’s okay?’
‘Yeah, no problem,’ replied James.
He accompanied Roussel through the main doors and out onto the street. They shook hands.
‘See you tomorrow,’ said James.
He glanced up at the sky, and noticed the fast moving clouds. They were dark, grey and forbidding and they dominated the distant horizon.
‘Looks like a storm is coming,’ he stated softly.
Chapter 36 – Deficient
19th May 2011 – Nine days after the Storm.
Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. – Buddha.
The Storm Protocol Page 34
