Requiem

by Clare Francis

  His anger had been held back by his surprise, but now it surged up in his throat. ‘Stuff the system! Christ – ’ He could barely speak. ‘All my money – my money – and you never even told me!’

  ‘You said you didn’t want to know! You said you didn’t want to be involved!’

  ‘Oh, come on!’

  ‘Anyway, I thought you’d realize – ’

  ‘God!’ Unable to handle his rage, he twisted away and strode towards the helicopter. The pilot was already at the controls, his headset on, making his checks.

  She ran to catch up with him. ‘What do you expect us to do? If there was another way, then we’d do it!’

  Reaching the Bell, he threw the cool-boxes into the storage compartment and scoffed: ‘Just tell me how I’m expected to get up and sing the songs I sing while you’re in that lab murdering animals in my name. Christ!’ – he beat a fist against the side of the helicopter – ‘my stuff’s all about not doing things like that!’

  The pilot put his head out of the door and, making a circling motion with his hand, questioned whether he should start up. Nick nodded abruptly. A moment later there was a whine, a cough and the rotor blades began to turn.

  ‘What about Adrian and all those other people?’ Daisy shouted above the gathering noise. ‘What about your wife?’

  ‘Don’t you give me arguments like that!’ he roared. ‘Don’t you bloody dare!’

  She pulled back as if he had threatened her. Her lip wobbled, she mouthed air. ‘But it’s not as if … I mean, they’re only rats! Just rats!’

  He slammed the storage door shut and checked the clips. ‘And where do dogs and cats come in the okay stakes,’ he yelled. ‘And monkeys?’ His voice sounded ugly; he felt ugly. ‘Before people, or after?’

  He should have left it there, he felt confused enough as it was. But, pushing past her towards the open door, he couldn’t resist a parting shot. ‘Just imagine how the kids’d feel,’ he cried, his voice rising harshly over the din, ‘the kids who buy my music. Betrayed. They get ripped off the whole time as it is. Imagine how they’d feel.’

  ‘You mean it wouldn’t look good for you?’

  ‘Yes – no – Jesus – ’ But there was enough truth in what she’d said for him to feel rage at hearing it. ‘I see!’ he proclaimed savagely, ‘I see!’ having no idea what it was he was meant to be seeing.

  Waving her fiercely into the back seat, he jumped in beside the pilot and gestured for them to leave.

  She didn’t put her headset on and later, when the pilot pointed out something of interest on the ground, she made no response.

  Chapter 28

  THE MEDICAL SECRETARY went so far as to admit that Dr Konrad was somewhere in the city of Reading, either in the hospital or the nearby university. But his exact location, whether he had received Daisy’s message, whether he’d have time to see her – these facts were not immediately available.

  After an hour Daisy took to hunting the corridors of the hospital. Dr Konrad, oncologist lion, had the advantage of perfect camouflage and good cover, but a passing houseman eventually pointed her towards the right department and she was rewarded with a sighting of a short hunched figure loping head-down across a corridor. He was through the doors of men’s surgical and into a side room before she could catch him, but a waiting game was one she knew how to win and after fifteen minutes and a brief spurt across the fifth-floor lobby she cornered him in a staff-only lift.

  ‘Dr Konrad?’

  He looked defensive, then, seeing no possibility of escape, gave a slight nod. He was a stocky man of about fifty with blunt features, large hands and ruddy cheeks. He looked more like a bricklayer than a cancer specialist.

  She introduced herself. ‘It’s about the Knowles case,’ she said. ‘May I ask why you changed your mind?’

  ‘Changed my mind? I didn’t change my mind,’ he said briskly. ‘The evidence was quite simply inadequate. Regretfully, there was nothing more I could do.’

  ‘But the affidavit – a year ago you were prepared to swear to it.’

  ‘No, no,’ he said with authority. ‘Not swear to it – that’s quite wrong. All I said was that I would do what I could to help. If Mrs Knowles and her solicitor thought I was saying something else then I’m afraid they were mistaken.’

  This wasn’t the impression Daisy had got from his letter to Mrs Knowles last December but she knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere by saying so. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘But tell me, do you still believe Aldeb was the causative agent?’

  The lift slowed. His eyes flicked to the floor indicator and he was out through the opening doors.

  ‘Aldeb,’ she prompted, keeping pace with him as he strode off. ‘You think it was responsible?’

  ‘I thought it was the most likely cause,’ he said cautiously. ‘But that was just my opinion. Which isn’t worth a great deal, I’m afraid, not without some hard statistics from the epidemiologists, some independent laboratory evidence.’

  ‘The Americans have found enough laboratory evidence to ban Aldeb.’

  ‘That was only with massive doses, wasn’t it? Not conclusive.’

  ‘Apparently not.’ She tried again. ‘Your opinion was worth a great deal, Dr Konrad.’

  ‘Not on its own.’

  ‘Well, the Knowleses’ counsel certainly thought so.’

  He slowed, his expression yielded into something almost apologetic. He stopped and said confidingly: ‘Look here, without scientific evidence I’d have had nothing to back me up, Miss Field. The other side’s lawyers would seize on me straight away, they’d demolish me. I’ve appeared in these cases before. I know what happens.’

  ‘But without you – ’ She shrugged. ‘There’s no case.’

  ‘Look, I’m very sorry, I really am, but there’s nothing I can do.’

  She nodded reluctantly. ‘Thanks anyway. Oh, one last thing, Dr Konrad …’ She paused, trying to find a way of putting it. ‘May I ask – is this your own decision?’

  He halted, his head thrust forward. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I meant, did you decide this thing yourself or would it have been – well, something that was discussed?’

  He didn’t like the question any more than he’d liked it the first time round. ‘It was a matter of judgement,’ he said sternly. ‘My judgement, although I felt more than justified in sounding out my colleagues on the subject. As it happened, they all agreed with me.’

  ‘I see.’

  His eyebrows shot together, his eyes hardened. ‘I’m not sure what you were suggesting there, Miss Field, but I take exception to it. I resent the implications – yes, I resent the implications very much indeed. Pressure, undue persuasion – that sort of thing could never happen here, and if it ever did then I’d fight it most vigorously! There are such things as ethics, you know, and we stand by them!’ Giving a stiff little nod he pushed at the door and was gone.

  Daisy sat in the car for a while, debating whether she should go and tell Alice straight away. Alice’s place was only twenty miles to the west of the city, but it was twenty miles in the wrong direction and it was easy to persuade herself that she couldn’t afford the time. Even as she argued the matter she was aware, with some feeling of shame, that there was more to it than that. She was already giving up on the Knowles case, she realized; she was already allotting it less time.

  She drove out of Reading and headed east towards London. There was patchy fog on the M4 and a contraflow system just the other side of Windsor, but she calculated she could get to Catch before it closed at six to pick up her messages from Jenny, and still have time to drop in at the flat to see how the repairs were going before getting back to Chelmsford for a couple of hours’ paperwork later in the evening.

  Her conversations with Nick kept running and running in her mind, like a cassette player doomed to go on repeating the same tape. She heard every wrong note she had struck, every false comment, every idiotic statement. And hearing them, she was pricked again by
uncertainty. Not just uncertainty over the money either – though there wasn’t a moment when that particular dread didn’t haunt her – it was the knowledge that he must be thinking badly of her, that he believed she had set out to deceive him over the animal testing. She minded about that. She wanted him to think well of her, she wanted him to enjoy her company, she wanted … Well, sometimes it was best not to think too deeply about what one wanted.

  There had been moments – long moments – that day when they had been friends, when nice warm indecipherable messages had passed between them, when she had begun to think … But then whatever she had thought, it was too late now. It had been four days since the picnic, two days since she had left messages at the Kensington house and his accountant’s. His mind was undoubtedly made up. He’d probably already instructed his accountant to cancel the last payment.

  I can’t talk about it now. She saw him striding rapidly from the helicopter and pausing at the door of Ashard House. I can’t talk about it now.

  It was just after six when she reached Catch to find Jenny and Alan gone, and Daisy’s replacement, Candida, nose down at her desk, scribbling hard, beavering, presumably, on another flow chart. From the outer office Daisy gave her an encouraging wave and reached into the bottom of the pending tray where Jenny hid her messages away from prying eyes.

  There had been five calls for Daisy, one from Peasedale, marked urgent, saying he’d be in his laboratory until six thirty that evening and could she come and see him on a very important matter; another from Dermott, the Oban solicitor. Dermott’s call hadn’t been marked urgent and he hadn’t left any particular message, but Daisy snatched it up and reached for the phone straight away. It was three days ago, on Monday afternoon, that Mrs Bell had finally arrived at a cautious, irresolute decision regarding Adrian’s future. She would speak to Dermott first, she had announced, to gather his opinion, and then, if he couldn’t offer sufficient reassurances, she would consider Daisy’s suggestion again more seriously.

  ‘Ah, Miss Field,’ declared Dermott when she got through to him. ‘I had a meeting with the social services.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘I think we came to a good understanding. They appreciated Mrs Bell’s concerns for Adrian’s future, her worries about the psychotherapy. But they say that the doctors are unanimous in their judgement that the treatment put forward is, all things considered, the most appropriate. So I suggested a compromise.’ His voice resounded with self-congratulation.

  ‘Why did you go and see them? Why?’

  There was a stiff pause. ‘I was instructed by Mrs Bell to look into the matter, to take whatever measures I thought necessary to secure Adrian’s future,’ he said defensively, ‘and I felt a conciliatory and reasoned approach would be the most beneficial, as indeed it has proved – ’

  ‘When did this meeting take place?’

  ‘What? I don’t see – ’ He gave a soft tut. ‘We met yesterday afternoon, at four.’

  ‘God …’ Automatically Daisy looked at her watch. ‘God …’ Her mind flew over the possibilities, but she could see only one outcome. ‘Can you fend them off for a while? Can you keep them talking for a few days? Please, Mr Dermott. It’s terribly important.’

  ‘I cannot see the point – ’

  ‘It would give us time to get Adrian away to England.’

  ‘Really, Miss Field, I think I’m best placed to judge the situation, and I cannot advise Mrs Bell to take such precipitate action. It’s far better, surely, to keep the matter on a reasonable basis – ’

  ‘They’ve never accepted he was chemically damaged, Mr Dermott, never! Don’t you see that this is the perfect excuse, just what they’ve been waiting for.’

  ‘Excuse? Really, Miss Field. These are professionals – ’

  ‘But they won’t be happy until they’ve got him in hospital, they won’t be happy until they can try out their theories – ’

  ‘You make it sound like some experiment, Miss Field! You make it sound as if these people don’t know what they’re doing.’

  ‘They’re trying to say it’s psychiatric, Mr Dermott. They’re trying to say it’s school phobia.’

  ‘I think you’re being a little overdramatic, Miss Field. From what I gather, the treatment that would be offered has been successful in the past. Adrian might be better off, you know. In hospital.’

  ‘Did they promise not to take him into care?’ she asked briskly.

  ‘No such undertaking was necessary,’ he protested, ‘because no such suggestion was made.’

  ‘Well, they wouldn’t, would they?’ Daisy snapped. ‘The social services aren’t known for sharing their plans with anyone, and certainly not parents. What about Mr Campbell?’ she asked in increasing agony. ‘Did they make a requirement that he stay away from Adrian?’

  ‘The general advisability of such a move was discussed,’ Dermott admitted cautiously.

  ‘But not demanded?’

  ‘No. As I’m trying to explain, Miss Field, it was a most amicable discussion.’

  This was a bad sign. If they’d really been prepared to compromise, the banning of Campbell from the house would have been the very least of their requirements.

  ‘Will you at least keep in touch with them, just in case?’

  ‘If the situation merits it, certainly.’

  Selecting a tone of exaggerated politeness, she said: ‘Thank you for keeping me informed, Mr Dermott. I really appreciate it,’ and rang off.

  There was no reply from Mrs Bell’s number. She tried Campbell, but he too was out. She thought of Adrian alone in the garish front room, propped up on the settee with his eyes fixed on the flickering soundless telly, and dialled again, just to be sure, but there was no answer.

  A chair scraped behind her, in what had been her office. Candida was pinning up a wall chart. It was after six thirty. She called Peasedale and found he hadn’t yet left. He wouldn’t say what the matter was, but sounded relieved that she was coming over. Scooping up her messages she made for the door, only to be called back by Candida who sped out of her office, plucked a hard-back notebook off the top of a filing cabinet and presented it to Daisy. The cover was labelled Phone Log: Daisy Field. Inside were columns for recording the date, time, length and distance of calls. Daisy made admiring noises, and scribbled Local call, 3 minutes. How are you, Alan? Hope the efficiency drive goes well, and spread a large signature across three columns.

  Peasedale was standing wedged against the window, his hair standing up at odd angles against the light.

  He cleared a seat for her. He seemed curiously reluctant to start. ‘I was summoned,’ he said eventually, ‘to the Lord God himself. Yesterday afternoon.’ He plucked at his hair nervously. ‘He said he’d heard that I was doing consultancy work for a private concern involved in speculative research. I told him I wasn’t working for anybody, that I took no salary, only expenses. But that didn’t seem to bother him. What concerned him, he said, was the effect on my reputation.’

  ‘He knew?’ Daisy asked very quietly. ‘But how did he know?’

  ‘He said my standing in the profession would be affected,’ continued Peasedale, not listening. ‘Well, that was the way he put it anyway. He said it wasn’t just the fact that I had taken the job on without departmental permission – though that would have been a fair point – it was the ethics of the thing. Ethics – God! I thought my one bit of safe ground was the ethics!’

  Daisy was still trying to absorb the fact that an academic, a head of a university medical department, tucked away in an ivory tower far removed from government and media contacts, had heard about Octek.

  ‘How much did he know?’

  ‘Oh, enough. What we were trying to do, the set-up, that sort of thing … I told him more, of course, about why we were doing it and so on, but he didn’t seem too interested. He said that however good our intentions it was still a maverick project, and as such the results, if any, were bound to be ignored by the scientific community. I mu
st say he got me there. I was a bit shocked. It had never occurred to me that our findings would be done down just because the project hadn’t been hatched by the university – just because there wasn’t a big name at the top of the letterhead.’ He added: ‘And I’m still not sure he’s right about that, you know.’

  ‘But how did he find out?’

  ‘What? Oh, I have no idea.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone?’

  He shook his head vehemently. ‘Nobody. Only my wife, and she wouldn’t have told anyone. We don’t mix in university circles much anyway. No – however he heard, it wasn’t through us.’ He pulled an emphatic face.

  Who, then, had done the telling? Who had conveyed the information so very accurately to the spot where it would carry the most weight?

  A further half hour with Peasedale didn’t bring her any nearer to finding out, though it convinced her that, for all the head of department’s apparent concern for Peasedale’s career, the advice he had dispensed amounted to nothing less than a warning off.

  Giving up any ideas of going back to Chelmsford that night, she joined the traffic snaking up York Way towards Tufnell Park. She drove automatically, her eyes locked onto the stream of tail lights and prepared herself to face the flat. A week ago the landlord had promised to send some men over to repair the ceiling absolutely instantaneously, so the chances of any work having been done weren’t good.

  But she was wrong. Once she managed to find a light that was still working, she saw that someone had been in and pulled down the remains of the ceiling and pinned up a layer of plasterboard. But if they’d gone to the trouble of throwing covers over the furniture, it certainly didn’t show. Dust was everywhere, in a cloak far thicker than the original snowstorm. The stuff had penetrated every corner of every drawer and reached into the furthest depths of the highest kitchen cupboards. The shoulders of her clothes wore a white coating, like fine dandruff in a shampoo commercial.