Terminal Reaction

by Dawn Marsanne

  ‘I deny all your accusations and refuse to proceed with this interview unless I have legal representation,’ replied Giles his voice hardening in its tone. ‘Please leave my office, I will ask my assistant to show you out?’

  ‘Of course sir, that is your right. We will leave you with a list of charges we will ask you to defend, with legal counsel of course. We have already discussed some of these this morning. I also draw your attention to two fraudulent purchases using Dr Chandler’s credit card. These have now been traced to an Internet Service Provider, an ISP, in the vicinity of your residence.’

  Giles appeared to be perspiring now, his foot was tapping on the carpet, his left hand was clenched into a fist. He stood up from the table and went over to open the door, calling to Tamsin.

  ‘Thank you for your time, we will be in touch shortly with the time and date of a formal interview at our offices,’ and Alex and Olivia left the room to be shown out of the building by Giles’ colleague. They had done all they could for the moment. Their investigations were still ongoing as they suspected that Giles may not have been acting alone. Tracing the money once it had left Forteen Bank was proving difficult but they were hopeful. As a last resort, they may have to offer a deal in order to unearth Giles’ partners in crime. This was often the last resort but if it took other operators out of the equation and helped them learn about the mechanism and routes that money was travelling it could sometimes be worth it. Giles and the others had been very clever so far but Alex hoped that they had made some slip along the way, he was determined to uncover it.

  Giles closed his office door and sat down heavily. He needed a drink and wished he could open his filing cabinet and pull out a bottle of whisky like in some seventies film. He thought through the exchange. So far it was their word against his, or rather Brett’s word against his. Insider dealing cases were notoriously difficult to prove. He kept telling himself that they had been careful and covered all bases. His niggling worry was that he’d placed his trust in someone who had decided that he wanted to be the master rather than a partner. It was now a battle of wills, how certain could he be about Jake and Theo. Impossible to say at the moment but whatever the situation he needed a solicitor. He picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts and made a call.

  Chapter 44

  PC Dave Martin had spoken to his sergeant Donna Peters to let her know about the incident involving Nick Thomas. She was happy for him to follow up the alleged assault in Bridge Street and congratulated him on finding the image on CCTV. Ensuring safety on the streets was an important part of the role of the uniformed section. The fact that Nick had received the mysterious letters suggested a targeted attack by someone with a grudge, rather than an opportunistic snatch and grab attack. Just after lunch, PC Martin was answering a call about a domestic incident which had resulted in a man landing a punch on a neighbour who had intervened when he had observed shouting and a woman being thrown to the ground in the adjacent garden. As usual, the abused wife had been reluctant to press charges so the husband received only a caution in that respect but the neighbour wanted to take the matter further as this was the final straw in a long list of anti-social behaviour incidents he’d endured and apparently the second time he had been punched. The neighbour was on the way to hospital to be checked out and they were taking a Mr Darren Jennings to Bank Street Police Station to be charged with common assault. The sergeant called over the shortwave radio to say they had a positive identification from his CCTV camera photo. A Detective Sergeant Andy Walters and coincidently a Family Liaison Officer Jill Monks had both felt that it bore a striking resemblance to Ez Milburn, brother of Zac Milburn.

  Whilst his colleague Stefanie Billings was driving them both back to the station Dave Martin contacted his sergeant to request permission to go and speak to Ez Milburn. She agreed and actioned someone back at the station to bring up his contact details, home address and workplace. PC Martin hoped that by the end of the day he might have some good news for Nick Thomas and that his ordeal would be coming to an end.

  **

  Over at BioQex, the day was more than halfway through and Shane in the storeroom could not wait for 4.30 p.m. to arrive so he could leave the premises. He was so looking forward to the end of Friday when his week’s work experience would be over. He’d hated his time working with Kevin whose outwardly friendly manner on Monday had soon dissipated and was now completely absent as he had become extremely hostile, almost abusive. He continually criticised Shane for the slightest thing, gave him lectures about being workshy, accused him of being slow-witted, at one point had almost called him thick. Shane really should have reported him but he’d not had a very good employment record and didn’t want to risk any reprisals from this job. He felt it was better to see out the week and get some credits under his belt. Had he been in a larger department where he’d had witnesses to the verbal abuse he might have acted differently but it was his word against Kevin’s and he’d been there right from when the company had started, from what Shane had gathered.

  There was another issue that he was grappling with, one far more serious than the harsh words he’d endured in silence. Kevin wasn’t aware that Shane had spotted him loading boxes of gloves and towels into the back of his car. It had happened after normal working hours when Shane had left but when he was halfway home he realised he had left his wallet at work. He had quickly cycled back and spotted Kevin in the act. Approaching silently on two wheels he’d been able to snap a few clandestine photos. Enlarging the photos you could quite clearly see the items in the boot. He had to make a decision, keep quiet and turn a blind eye or report Kevin and get his revenge. After the day he’d had he felt fairly sure which way his decision would fall. Contrary to Kevin’s accusation about being slow-witted he’d activated record on his phone during one of the more vitriolic onslaughts. He now had enough evidence to make sure he wasn’t the only one visiting the job centre on a regular basis.

  **

  At about 3 p.m. PC Martin rang the bell at the flats where Ez Milburn lived but received no reply. There was a car outside registered to Ez but it was possible he might have taken the bus or cycled to work so they drove over to the retail park to collect him and bring him into the station for questioning. They asked at Customer Services if they could ask the manager to come down to speak to them and the assistant phoned up the duty manager. After only a few minutes a youngish woman in her late thirties introduced herself as Jacqui Andrews and took them along to her office. She checked the duty roster and made another couple of phone calls to find out where in the huge complex Ez Milburn was working. They headed off to the warehouse area where forklift trucks were busy moving stock around and workers collected cages stacked with goods for replenishment of the shelves. Speaking quietly to the chargehand they then followed the warehouse bays and the supervisor pointed out Ez at the end of one of the aisles.

  ‘Mr Milburn,’ said PC Martin, ‘we need to speak to you about an alleged assault which took place in Persford town centre on Wednesday evening. We would like you to accompany us to the station.’

  Ez looked horrified as he was confronted by the police constables. He started to speak but was halted when they read out the usual caution about anything he said being used in evidence. All fight left him and he asked if he could collect his belongings from his locker. They agreed to his request and ten minutes later were on their way back to Bank Street. Ez sat in the car, his stomach churning, realising what a fool he’d been.

  Chapter 45

  Nick’s day had improved as it had progressed. He was now confident that they could do the large-scale reaction on Monday. They had the second slightly larger reaction underway and providing they obtained a good yield from it on Friday it would be all systems go. Their remaining reagents had also arrived so they now had everything they needed. Fortunately, the work experience guy had delivered the packages thus an encounter with Kevin had been avoided. The temporary storeroom guy had seemed extremely miserable, very preocc
upied, not surprisingly Nick thought, almost a week of undiluted Kevin must be totally unbearable. The reaction was now stirring away and required no further intervention until the following morning when they could isolate the product and hopefully, it would have yielded at least as much as the first run. Nick went back to his desk and started to catch up with his paperwork and admin.

  At 5 p.m. his desk phone rang, a call had been forwarded from reception, it was PC Dave Martin. ‘Hello, Nick Thomas speaking.’

  ‘Mr Thomas, I have some information for you, further to our chat yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, oh I see,’ said Nick starting to sound anxious.

  ‘Well, it’s good news, really, no need for you to worry. I had a look at the CCTV cameras covering Bridge Street and the adjoining roads and I saw the assault on you and your girlfriend.’

  ‘Oh, well that’s excellent, was the guy identifiable?’ added Nick.

  ‘Not on Bridge Street where the incident happened but on the camera on Quayside which is at the end of Bridge Street the perpetrator let down his guard and fortunately for us that coincided with the location of a CCTV camera which he looked straight up into. We got a good enough picture to identify him.’

  ‘That’s great, well I’m so pleased, have you managed to talk to him? Who was it?’ asked Nick excitedly.

  ‘We have and he’s given a full confession. Unfortunately, he seems to be rather unstable mentally and whilst in the police station, there was a, how shall I put it, an incident. Which means we had to contact a mental health team for advice. It’s understandable really as he suffered a bereavement in rather tragic circumstances quite recently and his head has been rather mixed up, to say the least. He’s currently been admitted to a mental health unit for assessment. It may affect the charges brought against him so I can’t say any more at this point but I wanted to let you know that you shouldn’t have any trouble in the near future. He’s a complete mess mentally, has these irrational mood swings.’

  ‘Well that’s great, well not great, but thanks for letting me know. Any idea why I was targeted or was it just a random stalker? And you’ve not said who it was.’

  ‘The person we’ve arrested is Ez Milburn,’ Nick’s gasp was audible.

  ‘Ez Milburn? You mean Zac’s brother?’ said Nick, ‘Shit, that’s a shock, I can’t believe it. Does he hold me responsible for what happened to Zac?’

  ‘Well it seems he does, sometimes, although as I said he’s rather confused, he seems to regret it now, wants to apologise, but as I say he needs to be looked after for a while by the professionals. I’m surprised he’s been able to hold a job down.’ There was silence, Nick didn’t know what to say, it had brought back the terrible memories of a few months ago. ‘Mr Thomas, are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, it’s just a lot to take in, but thanks for updating me.’

  ‘Well, I’ll ring off now and I’ll be in touch, we will need you to sign a statement regarding the assault at some future date, but it’s not urgent at the moment.’

  ‘Of course, well thanks again, bye.’ Nick replaced his phone and sat staring into space. He’d never considered that Zac’s brother had been the one bearing a grudge. It was just unfortunate that this had all coincided with the trouble with Kevin and Polly’s new job. He needed to phone Polly straight away to tell her the news and to get her to move back into the flat. Relief came flooding through him, now finally he and Polly could start to plan for the future and enjoy a bit of stability in their lives.

  Chapter 46

  On Friday morning Bob woke feeling better about the day ahead than he’d done for a while. He’d informed Piers about his decision to accept counselling for his grief and it had cleared the air between them. After phoning the company’s health insurance they’d told him that someone would be in touch sometime next week to get things moving. He would have six sessions and they would review how things were progressing, he may need more time, it was difficult to say at this stage. Last evening he’d also read some articles about dealing with grief and realised that it would not be able to take the pain away completely but to give him some coping strategies. Rather than wait for his son and daughter to phone him he’d actually contacted them both and told them of his decision. He could almost see the weight being lifted from their shoulders, his daughter Laura had even cried a little, she’d been so pleased that he was finally coming to terms with Joan’s death. She and her husband would plan to visit him soon, possibly in a couple of weekends. That would give him something to focus, on he thought, getting a room ready for them and the fridge and freezer stocked.

  He sat eating breakfast looking out at the garden as usual. He was feeling slightly nervous as it was the start of the first in human clinical study which was about to get underway this morning, probably around 9 a.m. It had been a while since he’d been involved with a project which had reached this stage, so many potential drugs fell by the wayside. It was a culmination of so many colleagues’ efforts. The chemists, the biologists, the drug metabolism guys and the off-site clinicians he’d had to consult to get advice about designing the trial. So many models had been developed to aid dose prediction but it was still a complicated business. There was always a degree of a leap into the unknown as all previous tests had been in various animal species, then it was a case of translating that information on efficacy, metabolism, duration of action and so on, into a prediction for man. So many different graphs, tables and equations were involved, then a scaling factor was introduced to ensure that the first dose was at least ten times less than the predicted one to show any desired effect. It was ultra cautious but in view of problems which had occurred albeit on rare occasions entirely necessary.

  Bob looked at his watch and saw it was coming up to 8 a.m., he listened to the headlines again on Radio Four, then gathered his things together for the day. He collected his plastic sandwich box from the fridge and a bottle of water and picked up his briefcase. Just then the phone rang, so he put down his things and went to answer, it was his daughter just checking in again. He ended the call quickly saying he needed to get ahead of the school traffic and went to pick up his things on his second attempt to leave. Shit, he said as he noticed that the bottle of water had tipped over, the lid must have been loose, some of the water had emptied out into his briefcase onto his papers.

  Cursing, he removed the papers and went to get some kitchen towels to mop up the mess. He looked at his calculations again and the letter he’d sent off to the clinical unit regarding today’s study. Due to the complexity of the calculations, he’d highlighted some of the relevant numbers from the tables to make it easier. He stood stock still and looked at a table showing the scaling factors for body surface area of different animals as this determined the metabolic rate of the species and thus the prediction for human. The factor highlighted was for the guinea pig, yet the most predictive data they’d used for humans was that in the rat. He’d muddled the data. A feeling of total panic overwhelmed him and he suddenly felt faint. Reaching for the back of the sofa he groped his way to a seat and slumped down.

  Were his eyes deceiving him? He looked at the sheet and his full page of calculations. Working down the page, line by line, equation by equation he came to the figure for the volume of distribution of the drug, that was also the wrong value for the rat. Two mistakes would have a huge impact on his calculation. This could not be happening. How had it happened? He could just not believe he had made a mistake like this. It had all happened when he was struggling with the aftermath of Joan’s death, her funeral, the business with the solicitor. If only he’d had been able to ask Pete to cast an eye over his calculations. Bringing out his mobile phone he entered the new values into the calculations and worked down the page. Instead of a starting dose of fifty milligrams per participant, they should be receiving eleven milligrams, so they would have scaled that down to ten for ease of dosing. That meant that the participants were receiving five times what they should have been, so instead of a safety window of
ten-fold, it was only two-fold. At least the participants shouldn’t be getting anywhere near a fatal or harmful dose but they had no real idea what would happen when it went into humans that’s why the margin was so great. A two-fold margin was simply not good enough. He had to halt the trial.

  But what was the number of the clinical unit conducting the trial. He fumbled through his papers, he was sure he had a letterhead or something but in his panic, he couldn’t find it. Perhaps it had been in an email, he scrolled furiously through his inbox but his fingers were all clumsy and he kept accidentally clicking on messages by mistake so they opened up, then had to be closed and search as he could he could see nothing relevant. He brought up his web browser and looked for the clinical unit, surely it had a website, he could feel his blood pressure going through the roof, his head pounding, his armpits pricking with sweat. He wondered whether he should phone BioQex and get reception or maybe Brett but he couldn’t guarantee they would be in and that would only waste time. Finally, he found a contact number, hastily he scribbled it down and punched the numbers in on his phone. ‘Come on, come on,’ he muttered, answer the bloody phone. He was gathering his things, car keys and door keys whilst phoning, he would have to drive over there, he had to stop the trial. After five rings a recorded message played telling him that normal hours were from 9 a.m. and they were unable to take his call. ‘Fuck! Fuck!’ he shouted as he left the house and slammed the door. There were obviously people in the clinical unit preparing for the day’s trial even if there was nobody answering at reception, he would just have to go along and hope he could gain entry. He would keep trying by phone as he drove there, it should only take about fifteen minutes at the most.