The star dummy—she was trying very hard not to call it Joe, even to herself—was laid out in the main office. Anna had tried to reverse her decision on this—the idea of anyone taking out Joe’s internal organs while he was awake was just too unspeakable—but Lewis, backed by Lesley and Bill, had insisted. She found herself shaking as she led the way into the office, but to her relief, the dummy on the table was only a dummy.
And in fact, this was easier. Grenville actually seemed genuinely interested in the technology, asking sensible questions and complimenting her on its unique design.
“We have a crash demonstration set up for you downstairs,” she finished, “if you’d like to follow…”
“Dr. Baird, may I interrupt you here for a moment?” It was Gerry Quinn, the Scottish Executive minister in charge of road safety. “I’m afraid my time is strictly limited today, and I have seen your tests before. I wonder if I might have a quick word with you while your colleagues show Mr. Grenville the crash?”
Anna glanced at Lesley, who shrugged.
“Sure,” she agreed, continuing forward to open the door politely for the departing guests. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Not to be outdone, Grenville stood aside for everyone else to precede him. Only when they had gone out did he turn to Anna smiling, leaning slightly in toward her.
“Don’t fuck with me, girl, or you’ll regret it.”
It was totally unexpected. Anna’s heart lurched into her stomach. Despite the stab of fear she couldn’t prevent, outrage was uppermost, and she would have answered back from sheer instinct if nothing else, until, with a jolt, she remembered Joe’s warning. Somehow, it had all got forgotten in Grenville’s earlier crass behavior, and then in his more reasonable recovery in the last half hour. But now, she remembered with a vengeance.
This man had hired Joe to kill her. He wanted her dead. Just to save his company a few bucks.
“Will I?” she answered, and her voice shook only very slightly. “What exactly are you threatening me with, Mr. Grenville? Violence? Assassination?”
His smile broadened for the benefit of onlookers. “Work it out, bitch.” It was typical intimidation. Bullying, name-calling, supposed to sap her self-confidence and self-respect. And once, it might even have done so. “You back down now, however you like, before it’s too late.”
Anna smiled back, was glad to see the shock of surprise in his eyes. Deliberately, she took off her glasses. For some reason, she wanted to look him in the eye, without a shield of any kind. “I’ve got a better idea. You back down. Take my recommendations and endorse them. And Mr. Grenville, if you don’t, and if you touch a hair on my head—or pay anyone else to touch said hair—the Assassin really won’t like it. He’s pissed off with you already.”
And with that, she placed her spectacles back on her nose, turned on her heel and walked casually back to Gerry Quinn. She hoped no one could see her trembling. If she’d needed confirmation that Joe’s warning was real, she had it in the stunned eyes of Mason Grenville himself. And he wasn’t stunned that she could accuse him of such a thing, merely that she knew about it. For Joe was right. She had definitely glimpsed fear as well as fury as she’d spun away from him.
Gerry Quinn radiated anxiety, too, as Anna led him politely into her own office and invited him to sit. Clearly he was picking up something of her turmoil, for he said at once, “Don’t let our guest upset you, Dr. Baird. He’s used to his own way and to getting it by bluster. It doesn’t make him a bad man.”
Through the open door, Anna saw the technicians arrive to remove the dummy. She couldn’t resist one last look, just to make sure he wasn’t Joe. The blank, half-face gazed straight ahead. Biting her tongue to prevent herself from telling the technicians yet again to be careful, she turned reluctantly back to Quinn. What she really wanted to do was make sure Joe was safely returned to the storeroom and left in as comfortable a position as possible.
“No, that doesn’t make him a bad man,” Anna managed to say lightly. She sat opposite him, adding, “Though if you ask me, failing to act on our reports does.”
“Well, you’re only looking at this from one angle.”
Anna blinked. “There’s another one?”
“Of course there is. Several other ones. For instance, have you considered what would happen here in Scotland if Zeitek withdrew the Zinnia?”
A stab of unease twisted through her. “They don’t need to withdraw it, just make a few basic changes.”
“Actually, they’re quite substantial changes.”
“But hardly out of the question.”
“Actually,” said Quinn, “they are out of the question.”
“What?”
He sighed. “If we insist on these changes, Zeitek will withdraw from Scotland.”
Anna stared at him, anger building inside her. She could see where this was going now. “He’s got to you, hasn’t he?” she said bitterly. “You don’t even need to be corrupt to be got. Everyone has his price and yours is Scottish votes. You don’t want to be the one who presides over the closing of the Zeitek plant.”
“I think you’re being a little unfair,” Quinn said with dignity. “Not to say blinkered. You’re right, I don’t wish to preside over the closing of Zeitek. Would you like to be responsible for the loss of that many jobs? For the economic and social hardship that comes with unemployment? A lot of the workers have gone through this before elsewhere. Many are in their fifties with mortgages and families—how easy is it going to be for them to find more work? The plant’s in an economic black spot already, close it and that community has nothing…”
“Okay, I get the picture!” Anna swept her hand through her hair, unconsciously pulling some of it loose from its confines. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I was being unfair to you, and rude. I apologise for both. It’s just…I regard safety, the saving of human life, as the most important issue. Not just in this project, in everything. Economics obviously have to be considered, but what the hell use is economic prosperity if you’re dead in a road accident?”
“You’re being a little simplistic,” Quinn said mildly. “And there are no guarantees of death in the Zinnia.”
“Actually, there are. You put that killer on the streets as it is and I guarantee you will have deaths. Preventable ones. Mr. Quinn, we have safety standards in cars for reasons. Our parliament endorsed them. We can’t just ignore it when they’re breached.”
“The alterations you recommend would be costly at this stage. Grenville has made that quite plain. If we insist on them, Zeitek will build the car somewhere else.”
“But it won’t be sold here.”
Quinn sighed. After a moment, he said, “Is there a cheaper fix here? A compromise that would improve safety while perhaps not making it perfect? Something a little less drastic that Zeitek could do? Grenville might go for that.”
“I’ve already looked into it. Lesser improvements can be made, but they still wouldn’t bring it up to scratch. Mr. Quinn, I don’t want to teach you your job, but have you considered that he’s bluffing?”
Quinn smiled sardonically. “Oh yes. But I don’t think he is. I’ve—ah—looked into Zeitek’s affairs. They’re not doing so well. Between ourselves, I suspect Grenville’s job is on the line. The success of the Zinnia is vital to him. He’d rather build it here as planned, but build it he will.”
“I’ll talk to his technical people,” Anna said reluctantly. “But I can’t change my report.”
“Okay, let’s see what you can come up with. Thank you, Dr. Baird.”
Shaking hands politely with him as he took his leave, Anna thought his optimism was unfounded. She was fairly sure Grenville would see any attempt at compromise as a weakness that could be jumped on and used. Her own hopes were pinned on the American’s fear of the shadowy Assassin.
Temporarily free of all her visitors, Anna ran down to the basement to check on Joe before joining the others in the crash room. In response to so many d
istinguished visitors, the technicians were clearly playing it by the book. The storeroom door was closed and locked.
Pushing the key into the lock, Anna was chiefly aware of the excited butterflies dancing in the pit of her stomach. She wanted Joe to be there. She wanted to be able to leave casually with him at lunch time when Grenville and the others had gone, take him home to keep him safe, while she tried to find a long-term solution.
And where in hell did she look for that? On the Internet, under Crash Test Dummy Possession? Perhaps she should talk to a minister. Or there were plenty of people associated with the occult and the paranormal in Edinburgh. In fact, there was the Department of Parapsychology at Edinburgh University. That would surely be the best place to start. In an academic environment she was comfortable with…
She wouldn’t think beyond that just yet, she knew, as she pushed open the door and switched on the light. For if she managed to free him, she would be alone without him forever, having been granted a tantalizing glimpse of what life and love could be.
Love. The word swept around her mind, sending warm, intense tingles wherever it touched. It made her want to laugh and cry together, because she had finally found it in such a ridiculously unlikely place.
She blinked at the empty space where Joe should have been. Hastily, she scanned the rest of the room. No dummies apart from an old, broken one in far the corner. The four decent ones were all in the crash demonstration, and Joe…
Joe had gone.
Had he got out somehow? Was he wandering the building looking for her? Would he recognize Grenville if he ran into him? Would Grenville know him? Hearing footsteps in the hall outside, Anna pulled herself together and stepped back outside the storeroom. One of the technicians, who’d clearly come from the crash room, was starting to climb the stairs three at a time.
“Matt?” she called on instinct. “Where’s my dummy?”
He knew what she meant. Everyone called it Anna’s dummy. In fact she strongly suspected some of the techies just called it Anna. He paused on the stairs and grinned at her over his shoulder.
“It’s in the crash room now. Driving the car.”
Anna felt the blood drain from her face, rocking her on her feet. But there was no time to give in to stupid weakness. She didn’t even ask him who had authorized it. It didn’t matter. Without another word, she sprinted down the corridor.
Behind her, she heard Matt calling, “Dr. Baird, it’s locked!”
But surely only just locked? Matt had just come from there. They had only just finished resetting the crash with Joe. She might be in time. All she had to do was reach that intercom button and yell, “Abort!” It would be all right. She’d stop it.
I will, Joe, I will…
***
Grenville was angry. Angry that the Assassin had turned out to be so unreliable, angry that the girl was able to use it against him. Angry that he was being thwarted by a nobody who didn’t even own her own lousy little apartment. Stupid little bitch didn’t even realize that he, Mason Grenville, owned her. In every way that mattered.
Well, she was about to find out. When he’d first hired the Assassin, his plan had been to take her out, and then, when she wasn’t there to defend herself, discredit her research. He’d asked around. He knew she was the prime mover behind not just this project, but the whole Institute, no matter what that dickhead Lewis believed.
So, there was a change of plan. Grenville hadn’t risen to the top without thinking on his feet—he thrived on the challenge. It had been in his mind last night when he’d called Lewis back to arrange an early visit here, and the plan had fully formed then. He didn’t really need her dead. The main thing was the discredit. What’s more, he didn’t believe that would matter to the Assassin. If Grenville had her killed, it was more than possible the Assassin would come after him. But for what he was about to do, he really doubted the Assassin would trouble to get out of bed. It was only Baird who cared about the bloody research.
Lewis, he could twist around his finger, and the government boys were falling over themselves to please him.
Well, he’d make it easy for them. Starting with the proof that the silly bitch’s indestructible dummy was far from that. He’d suggested they use it in the car, and when Lewis gave the nod, the researchers had shrugged and gone along with it. Now, crowded into the control room with everyone else, Grenville gazed intently at the crash setup.
“Doors locked,” the research geek reported from the computer. Grenville glanced at him. His finger hovered over the enter button, but his gaze was not on the screen, it was on the female researcher.
Grenville said, “So both these ‘cars’ move at thirty until impact?”
His hand nudged the mouse, casually covered it. The geek was waving toward the crash scene, giving some rambling explanation which everyone was sagely following. Except Grenville. He already knew how it worked and didn’t really care. All that mattered was that everything adjusted automatically to the speed set on the computer. They cars would crash at whatever speed they were told to. A swift glance at the computer screen showed him what he was looking for—the speed set, just as Lewis had shown him this morning. Two clicks and it no longer read thirty-four. It said seventy-four.
Grenville kept his hand resting on the desk, just beside the mouse, so close to the geek that he almost touched him. The geek said, “Okay, here we go.” And without looking at the screen, hit the enter button.
The cars began to move. Grenville smiled. Like taking candy from a baby. Thank God he’d only ever given the Assassin half the money…
Abruptly, as the cars shot together at breakneck speed, two people spoke at once. The female researcher said abruptly, “That’s not thirty! Bill, it’s too fast!”
Grenville didn’t even have time to fear that they’d look at the screen, because at the same time, the intercom crackled and Baird’s voice cried harshly, “Lesley, abort! Abort now!”
It was chaos. The researchers looked at each other. The geek stood up as if giving precedence to the woman, who had no time to do anything anyway. The “cars” impacted with a mighty crash that filled Grenville’s ears. Bits of dummy and debris flew around the room, giving him all the more cause to be grateful for the protection of the control cubicle.
Keeping his head, Grenville inched his hand over the mouse. In an instant, the seven had changed back to a three.
“Way too fast!” the geek exclaimed, hitting the release for the door-lock mechanism “That was never thirty!”
“Faulty equipment?” Grenville suggested blandly.
“My arse,” said the female researcher harshly, and when he glanced at her in surprise, he found her staring at him. “You changed it. I saw you.”
With a crashing of the heavy steel door, Baird erupted into the room. Ignoring her, Grenville lifted his brows haughtily at the other woman. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t blame your inefficiency on me.”
“I saw you change it back,” the woman said tightly, “and what’s more, the computer log will show it.”
Fuck, thought Grenville, annoyed, as she pushed past him out of the room. He wasn’t sure demonstrating a moment of carelessness would be enough. He would have felt safer discrediting their equipment and therefore the validity of all their tests.
Following the others without much enthusiasm, he went to inspect the crash carnage.
Baird was sitting in among it, an expression of blank hopelessness on her face. Hell, she was a mess. Tears trickled unnoticed down her cheeks. She held the badly dented head of her precious designer dummy in her hands, staring at it. The rest of its body was scattered across the room in bits. Grenville knew a moment of satisfaction. If nothing else, he’d destroyed the dummy of which they were all so proud. And severely pissed her off.
The other woman stared around the mess. “There’s none of him left in the car,” she observed in a puzzled voice. “Bill, he was strapped in, wasn’t he?”
“Of course he was. I did it mysel
f.”
Leaning over, the woman caught at the end of the seat belt, clearly unfastened. “Shite,” she said ruefully. “It’s almost as if…”
“…he was trying to get out,” Anna whispered.
***
Across the city in the Royal Infirmary, a nurse attending Joseph Lopez noted that his heart had finally stopped beating. She was sorry, but not surprised.
Chapter Seven
Walking down the hospital corridor to check in with Alastair Griffin before she began her shift, Helen found her mind hovering between Anna and Darren. On impulse, as she passed Joseph Lopez’s room, she stuck her head ‘round the open door.
The bed was empty.
“Ah.” That, she supposed, solved the problem.
“Ah, Scottie!” Alastair greeted her when she wandered thoughtfully into the office. “Can I beam up now?”
“Be my guest. What’s happening? I see our American visitor finally succumbed.”
“Ha! It’s people like him who make me think I’ve been wasting my time for the last fifteen years.”
“Well, you have.” She gave him a quick, rallying nudge. “He was on the way out, Al. He shouldn’t have survived as long as he did.”
“Exactly. So what the hell was he doing walking out of here?”
“What?”
“That’s what I said. He woke up this morning and discharged himself before dinner. Sound decision—it was mince and tatties.”
Helen closed her mouth. “What happened, precisely?”
“Precisely? I haven’t a clue. His heart stopped this morning. And as soon as we got it going again he woke up. As if everything started to work once the battery was properly fitted. He was a little disoriented at first. Thought he was dead, apparently. Anyway, by the time we did all the basic tests, he seemed fine.”
Killing Joe Page 7
