There was a pause before she said, 'You will call me, won't you?'
I promised I would. As I was about to pull out of the lay-by I glanced in my mirror and was surprised to see Motcombe, the gangly fire fighter from Red Watch, emerge from one of the footpaths and head towards a dark blue car. Still, there was no reason why he shouldn't be here. Perhaps he lived nearby and liked a walk in the mornings. Perhaps he had a dog. I watched him climb into the car. No dog followed. I hesitated wondering whether or not to speak to him; did he have any more information on Ian?
I was about to turn back when he answered his mobile phone. I recalled that Red Watch were on days. Motcombe must have a day off. I decided that Ian couldn't help me now, so it was pointless talking to Motcombe. I swung out of the lay-by and headed for Bath.
CHAPTER 15
Harriet opened the door to me. She looked tired and she had been crying.
'Where's Simon?'
'He's at work.'
'I need the address, Harriet.'
'Of course,' she hesitated. 'Adam, can I talk to you for a moment.'
I wanted to refuse, time was ticking away, but the pleading in her eyes prevented me and I found myself following her down the hall and into a large and expensively equipped kitchen at the back of the house overlooking a splendid garden that led down to the canal.
'Simon's in trouble.'
My first thoughts were of Father. Had someone discovered Simon had pushed him down the stairs? But no, that was ridiculous. I had no proof of that. 'What kind of trouble?'
'He's… well… He's got himself into terrible debt. William's school called me this morning. They said that we haven't paid the fees for almost six months so I …' She took a deep breath. 'I broke into Simon's desk, and there are so many unpaid bills and his bank account is horrendously in arrears. There are threatening letters too and it seems his business is in trouble.'
'It should be out of it soon; he'll have Father's money.' I didn't mean to sound bitter but I couldn't help it.
'But that's just it, Adam. I know what he's done to you and why and I don't think it's right. I discovered some reports on you. Simon hired a private investigator to find you.'
'Why would he do that?' I asked surprised, but it did explain how he had got my telephone number.
'He wanted to make sure that you didn't approach your father.' She looked decidedly ill at ease. She continued, 'Now I know now why he was in London every weekend. I thought he was having yet another affair and I've learnt to put up with them for the children's sake. It wasn't another woman this time, though. It was his father. Simon was bullying and cajoling him into making a will in his favour.'
And he wanted to make sure the field was clear of any possible interference from me.
Harriet went on, 'I've decided that I don't want any part of it, Adam. If you want to contest the will I'll tell them the truth. I've had enough of Simon's lies. But I can't leave him, I'd have nowhere to go and I have no money of my own.' She began to cry and I felt very sorry for her. 'I couldn't throw Simon out and he wouldn't go anyway. You know how forceful he can be.'
I did. Childhood memories rushed back of the times Simon had cajoled and bullied me into doing the things he wanted. 'I think I might have a way round that.'
'You might?'
I didn't like the hope in her voice, because it put too much pressure on me, but I had to do something to help her. I couldn't let Simon destroy her life as my father had tried to destroy mine.
She said, 'If you could get Simon to leave me then I could bring Daisy home. She's so unhappy.'
'Don't worry, I'll sort something out.' If I live that long. 'You'll have to trust me, Harriet.'
She nodded.
I gave her a smile of encouragement. 'Now where can I find Simon?'
She gave me the address and fifteen minutes later I was pulling up outside his offices and laboratory on a newly built and highly prestigious business park on the southern outskirts of the city. I parked in one of the visitors' slots next to Simon's Range Rover and gazed up at the modern three-storey glass fronted building. I wondered what had happened to the American deal, and if it was still going through.
The entrance door was locked so I rang the bell by the side of it. After a few seconds an attractive young woman in her mid thirties let me in and showed me into Simon's large office. It matched the rest of the building, wide smoked glass windows, chunky modern furniture, pastel-coloured walls and brightly coloured abstract art. If this was anything to go by then I guessed there had been no expense spared over the laboratories either.
Simon looked at me cautiously. 'What do you want, Adam, I'm very busy.' He didn't bother to rise or invite me to sit. I didn't need to be invited. I crossed to the leather chair in front of Simon's desk and sat down.
'Nice place. The overheads must be huge.' I gazed around the room.
'I haven't got time for this.' Simon glared at me. I didn't comment. Instead I wondered how far he and Faye had gone?
Simon sighed. 'OK, let's get this over with.'
'I need a favour.' I saw Simon's surprise. Then his expression darkened.
'If it's about Father's will…'
I shook my head. 'It's not. You're welcome to the money, Simon. Your needs are greater than mine.'
Simon looked at me warily.
I went on, 'You must have a lot of bills to pay.' I waved my arm around the room. 'Father's money should help keep the creditors off your back and pay the school fees you owe.'
Simon slapped his hand down on the desk. 'You've been talking to Harriet. She's no bus –'
'She's every business, Simon,' I declared angrily. 'She's your wife, or perhaps you conveniently forget that? Anyway I don't give a fuck what you get up to and who you get up to it with, even if it is my wife.' Simon's eyes flickered with alarm. 'You can do what you like with your life and after this I shall go out of it for good. We don't have to see or speak to one another again, but before we part I want a favour. I reckon you owe me one, or maybe I will start to get more than curious as to why you visited Father so often in the last six months of his life and what you were doing in his study day after day and night after night when the sad bastard was suffering from dementia. I might even have enough to contest the will and with Harriet's help…'
'She wouldn't dare!' Simon cried, but I had him on the run. I could see that.
'I think you'll find she will. And if you don't see she's all right then I swear, Simon, that I will drag you through the courts until every single penny of our father's money has gone to the lawyers and your business is ruined. Now do you understand or do I –'
'You've made your point,' Simon snapped. 'What's this favour?'
'A laboratory somewhere on Salisbury Plain in July 1994 and for some time before it; I want to know who was running it and if possible what they were doing. It should be right up your street.'
I could see from his expression that it wasn't the favour he'd been expecting.
'And how am I supposed to find that out?'
'Use your extensive contacts. You're in the same business, so ask around.'
'What was the project?'
'I don't know but it involved experimenting with chemicals that cause cancer.'
'Christ, you're not asking much!'
'All I want is a name.'
'It's not possible.'
'It is, Simon,' I replied quietly and steadily. 'There can't be many laboratories on Salisbury Plain. I suggest you start by asking if anyone worked in or around the RAF base there.'
Simon looked at me as if I was barking mad. 'It'll be top secret then.'
'People still talk. Simon…'
'Ok. When do you want this information by?'
'Monday at the latest.'
He gave a hollow laugh. 'You've got to be joking. It could take me weeks.'
'I don't have weeks, Simon, and neither do you. I might not even have days.'
'What do you mean?' he asked sharply.
'People
have already died because of it and if I'm not careful I might be next on the list. That should please you, Simon. And in case you're thinking of stalling me then I've made a written statement, which I will give it to Harriet,' I lied smoothly thinking that might not be a bad idea anyway.
'Have you gone mad?'
'You'd better start telephoning your contacts, Simon. I'll call you later.'
Simon hesitated.
'If I don't hear from you by Monday,' I continued, 'then I shall go to London and engage the most expensive lawyer I can find. I mean it.'
With an elaborate sigh and a raising of his eyebrows Simon picked up his phone. 'Jane, I don't want to take any calls for the rest of the day, unless they're from my brother, Adam. And I don't want to be disturbed. Just bring me a flask of coffee.'
I checked into a small family-run bed and breakfast by the canal. I knew I was asking a lot of Simon but he was in the business of research and he did know a great many people in that field. I hoped he could get me the information by Monday but I didn't necessarily expect it. I checked my phone and saw that Steve had left me a message. I couldn't bring myself to ignore it. He might have some new information for me.
'Adam, at last! Where are you?'
'You told me to go away,' I said warily.
'Yes, but that was before…' he faltered.
My heart sank. I guessed there was a warrant out for my arrest.
Steve confirmed it with his next words. 'You're wanted for questioning in connection with the death of an old man called Rutland. We've got a file on you. It says you suffered a breakdown after a girl called Alison Lydeway died; she was Ben Harrow's sister. Why the hell didn't you tell me?'
'I didn't kill Ben and I didn't kill Rutland. He was already dead,' I replied crisply. 'How do you know about the file?'
'I'm back in Portsmouth. They needed extra officers for Rutland's murder.'
I didn't say anything but my mind was racing. Convenient that Steve should be called back, drafted into this investigation and then told about the file on me.
'What's going on, Adam?'
'You know what.'
I heard Steve draw in a breath. 'Come back and give yourself up.'
'Why? I haven't done anything.'
'We can give you protection.'
'We? Who are we Steve? The police? And protection from whom? Special Branch?' Steve's silence unnerved me. I couldn't believe Special Branch could be behind these killings, but I wondered if they knew who was. 'Did they ask you to call me? Are they tracing this call?'
'Turn yourself in, Adam. Let's get this business cleared up.'
I switched off my mobile and checked out of the bed and breakfast. I wasn't sure where I could go that was safe – perhaps nowhere. Steve had been told to call me. Special Branch knew I had come here to speak to Simon and they'd ask him why? Would Simon tell them? Probably, if it meant getting me off his back. How long would it take them to get to Simon? Would it be before he could give me some idea of who might have been conducting that research?
I drove across the bridge into Wales and found myself a small hotel in Cardiff where I spent another sleepless night. The next morning I telephoned Simon from a call box. No joy, but neither did I get any indication that the police or Special Branch had been to see him.
I walked by the harbour my mind turning to Faye. I wondered how many times she had been unfaithful. How many times had she slept with someone in that flat in Convent Garden? I examined my feelings for her and found them devoid of love. I felt only sadness that it hadn't worked out but even that was tinged with relief. If I came through this I would leave her. I didn't think she'd be heart broken.
On Monday I rang Simon from a payphone across the road.
'At last. I've been waiting for you to call. Why did you switch your mobile off?'
'You've got a name? I asked surprised. That was much quicker than I dared hope.
'Gerry Drake.'
'Where can I find him?'
'In a cemetery in Devizes.'
'He's dead?'
'I don't think he decided to quit science to become a gravedigger. Of course he's dead. He was killed in a fire.'
Another bloody fire! Had that been started deliberately like Jack's and Honeyman's or was it accidental and a mere coincidence? 'What kind of fire?'
'How the hell should I know,' Simon screamed with exasperation. 'A house fire, I suppose. Does it matter?'
Oh yes, it matters. Aloud I asked, 'When?'
'What the hell is all this about?'
'When?'
There was a short pause on the other end then, '1995.'
I knew it. 'Do you know if he was working with anyone?'
'No. You wanted a name and I've given it to you. It's the best I can do.'
I rang off, pausing for a moment to gather my thoughts: perhaps he had given me any old name to get me off his back. I headed for Devizes.
It didn't take me long to reach the small Wiltshire market town. I asked an elderly man for directions to the cemetery and found it not far from the canal. My heart sank at the size of it. The records office was closed so there was nothing for it but to cover the ground methodically until I found the grave that I was looking for.
It was a bleak grey day and the naked trees afforded no protection from a sharp wind. The graves looked forlorn and abandoned as I trudged among them. Eventually I found what I was looking for on the far side, bordering undulating fields. I stared down at the black marble headstone. It was simple enough. Gerald Drake 5.5. 1950 - 3.4.1995, 'Beloved son and father.' Not husband? Was he widowed, divorced? There were flowers on the grave, real ones not plastic, and they were fresh. Who still mourned Gerald Drake? His mother or father? Or perhaps a son or daughter? Someone at least who might be able to tell me something of Drake's work and the circumstances of his death.
I wrote down the dates and returned to the bike. Ten minutes later I was in the small sub office of the Wiltshire Gazette, just off the market square, where I was told if I needed to access the archives I would have to go to Swindon where 'head office' was.
As the time ticked by I set out for Swindon and decided that a call at the library might be more helpful than the newspaper office. With some difficulty and many frustrations I finally managed to locate it and persuade the librarian to allow me access to the microfiche and the local newspaper archives.
As I settled down to scan through the obituaries and reports of 1995 my stomach rumbled and I realised it was mid afternoon. But I didn't have time to eat. I had to find someone who knew, or was related, to Gerald Drake, and who knew what had happened in 1994.
I began by looking through the notices of death; this time at least I had a date. There were several notices for the few days after Drake's death, from relatives, friends and colleagues and religiously I wrote the names down though few gave their surnames. Still I could see that there was a 'beloved daughter,' who might be able to tell me something. There was nothing that referred to Drake as 'son', neither was there anything for 'husband'. There were a couple of 'nephews'. What I didn't have was addresses, but the telephone directory might be able to furnish some at least and failing that the undertakers. I noted where flowers could be sent, a journey that would take me back to Devizes.
Frowning with impatience and worried that time was running out, I spun back the microfiche to see if there were any reports on the fire that had killed Gerald Drake. In my haste I almost missed it. There was a picture of what looked to have once been a large, country house, gutted by fire, and in the foreground were a couple of firemen and a fire appliance. The headline ran, 'House fire claims scientist's life.'
In anticipation I read the article.
A fire has claimed the life of eminent scientist Dr Gerald Drake (45). Four fire appliances were called to a fire at Dr Drake's house in the early hours of Monday morning after reports of smoke and flames were seen by Dr Drake's nearest neighbour half a mile away. After a search by fire fighters wearing breathing apparatus, Doc
tor Drake's body was discovered in the drawing room. The six-bedroom former manor house, thought to date back to the 1700s, has been almost completely destroyed. There was no one else in the house at the time of the fire although it was believed that his daughter had arrived home from university for the weekend.
Dr Drake was an eminent biochemist and a member of the Royal Society of Chemistry. He had published many scientific papers and was a renowned specialist of genetic research. Police have not ruled out the possibility of arson and animal liberationists, as Dr Drake had been the target of these in the past when his groundbreaking research identified brain-clogging proteins that cause dementia.
Dr Drake, who is divorced, leaves a daughter Joanne (22).
So Simon would have known Drake quite well. Their paths must have crossed both being experts in genetics. It was typical of Simon not to tell me more and silently I cursed my brother.
In Cold Daylight Page 15
