by Mark McKay
The taxi continued for another five minutes and turned off the main road into a side street that was considerably less salubrious than the riverside. The Harmsworth lab was a grimy red brick building on the right. Nick paid the cabbie and went into reception. There was a young redheaded girl behind the desk with a phone to her ear. The reception area was quite small, with just a few uncomfortable-looking hardback chairs and a coffee table sporting a few dog-eared magazines. He was the only visitor.
‘Can I help?’ enquired the redhead, once she’d finished her conversation.
‘A Mr Ray Curtis sent me. You did a sample analysis for him. You forgot to return the sample, I’m here to pick it up.’
‘Oh, and you are?’
Nick waved his arms in mock exasperation. ‘I’m his associate. Who do I need to be, his lawyer?’
She looked slightly alarmed. ‘No, no. Let me check.’ She consulted her terminal. ‘When was it left with us?’
‘Day before yesterday.’
She seemed satisfied. ‘Hang on, I’ll call the technician that ran the analysis. Have a seat.’
Ten minutes later a man with a lab coat and glasses appeared. Youngish, with long black hair tied in a ponytail.
‘You’re from Mr Curtis?’ he asked Nick. When Nick nodded he continued: ‘We sent back the sample, there must be some mistake.’
‘A dark amber powder in a small glass jar,’ said Nick. ‘Is that what you sent back?’
‘That’s right. I can assure you we’ve no reason to keep it here.’
‘Sit down a second, please. Something I want to know.’
The man looked somewhat puzzled, but did as he was asked. The redhead gazed fixedly at her terminal, straining to hear whatever might come next.
‘When you analysed this sample,’ said Nick, ‘did you leave your report where it could be seen by anyone?’
‘It was on my desk. I doubt anyone read it.’
‘Did you discuss it with anyone?’
The technician had the momentary look of someone caught doing something shameful if not illicit, but he quickly recovered himself.
‘It wasn’t a confidential analysis,’ he began. ‘And it was bloody unusual. We don’t see a new compound every day. Yes, I mentioned it.’
‘Do you remember who you mentioned it to?’
‘Just my colleague across the desk at first, then…’ He looked suddenly worried.
‘Yes?’
‘Well, there was a guy here from Sanderson-Phillips. The research director, he brings stuff in occasionally. He saw the powder, but he was on his way out. I just said how novel it was to find a new compound and he agreed with me. That was it.’
‘John Henderson.’
‘Yes,’ said the technician, brightening. ‘You know him?’
‘Absolutely. Of course, that explains it.’
‘I’m sorry, explains what?’
Nick stood up and shook the startled man’s hand. ‘Thanks so much for your help. You’re a life saver.’
He was out the door before the man could respond.
Chapter 4
That evening, Shauna cooked dinner as promised. While she was in the kitchen, Nick brought Oyama up to date.
‘You think the research director had something to do with Mr Curtis’s murder?’ asked Oyama. ‘What’s the motive?’
‘I don’t think anything. It’s certainly quite a coincidence that he saw the powder at the lab and then shortly afterwards Ray was shot. But if he’s responsible for Julian Frost as well, he must have already known about the powder.’
‘But why murder your own researchers? Legally, the powder was already the property of Sanderson-Phillips. No need to kill anyone.’
‘You’re right. I’d still like to talk to him, though. He might be able to point me in the right direction. He must know something.’
Shauna called out from the kitchen, dinner was ready. Oyama went to help her carry the dishes through to the dining room. They sat down to eat.
‘This is tasty,’ said Nick. ‘Always nice when someone cooks for you.’
‘I have cooked for you in the past,’ said Oyama, doing his best to look offended. ‘I don’t remember receiving such praise.’
Nick found himself struggling for a reply. ‘Well, when something is sublime, words are unnecessary…’ He looked at Shauna. ‘Help me out, here.’
Shauna burst out laughing. ‘I’m not getting involved. Just eat up and enjoy.’
They discussed the day. Between them, Shauna and Oyama had heated the steel for the new sword and hammered it to the point where it could now be folded. Oyama could do this on his own if necessary, but it was awkward. The task was made so much easier with assistance.
‘Are you officially the swordsmith’s apprentice?’ Nick asked Shauna.
‘We haven’t really discussed it. Am I, Katsu?’
Oyama was on the spot. ‘Apprenticeship takes many years. And there are certain things we need to consider in your case.’
‘Such as?’
‘I can only think of one female swordsmith in the whole history of Japanese sword making. It isn’t unheard of. But to teach a European woman is certainly something new.’ He saw the look on Shauna’s face. ‘I’m not saying I won’t do it. It’s a big commitment for both of us, though. If you start, I expect you to finish.’
‘Let’s talk about it later.’ Shauna quickly changed tack. ‘What do you do, Nick?’
He exchanged glances with Oyama. The sensei nodded.
‘I’m a private investigator. Investigating a murder, committed with one of his swords.’
Shauna almost dropped her fork. ‘What?’
The delicate issue of apprenticeship was forgotten. Nick told Shauna about the case. The only thing he omitted was Ray’s recent demise.
‘This is confidential,’ he said, when he’d finished. ‘Don’t go telling all your colleagues about it. Which reminds me, what do you do?’
‘I’m an Intensive Care nurse, at St Thomas’s in London.’
‘It will be good to have her around if anyone shoots you,’ quipped Oyama.
Nick was used to his teacher’s dry sense of humour. Shauna raised her eyes to heaven and refrained from comment.
Ray Curtis’s murder was on the ten o’clock news. Apparently his girlfriend had come around just hours after Nick and discovered the body. She wasn’t named. There were suspected links between this crime and the murder of Julian Frost in Cornwall, and the police forces in London and Penzance would be co-ordinating their enquiries. It was too early to make any further comment on leads, motives or suspects. The mention of Julian Frost got Shauna’s attention.
‘That’s what you’re working on, isn’t it?’ Nick nodded. ‘You don’t seem surprised by this new murder,’ she added.
‘You develop a thick skin in this business. I met Ray Curtis, and I think they’re right about the two murders being connected. I just need to find out how.’
‘Can’t the police do that?’
‘Of course. I just prefer to work independently, that’s all.’ He yawned. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll have an early night.’
He went upstairs to his room. It didn’t seem appropriate to tell Shauna he’d beaten the girlfriend to Ray’s body. Some things should stay completely confidential.
The following morning, Maria’s parcel arrived. Nick took it into the kitchen and found some scissors. It was bulkier than he’d expected, and when he opened it he found a large plastic bag full of the amber powder. He weighed it in his hands and estimated it at half a kilo, at least. The bag containing the seeds was about the size of a cigarette pack. The seeds themselves were tiny black ovals, lots of them. Finally, he extracted the notebook and flicked through it. There were some notes on plants, most of it written in some sort of botanical shorthand which meant nothing to him. Julian had done a few rough sketches as well. Maybe one was of the mystery plant that produced this powder, if
so it wasn’t obvious. On a page near the back he found the name and address he’d hoped for; Emilio Ramos, who lived in Iquitos in Peru.
He phoned the offices of Sanderson-Phillips and asked to speak to John Henderson. He was put through to what he assumed must be a secretary or personal assistant, who promptly queried the nature of his call.
‘It’s personal. My name is Severance and I was hired by Julian Frost’s widow as a private investigator. I’d like to arrange a meeting.’
‘Just a minute.’ She put him on hold. When she came back, it was only to say that Mr Henderson had already spoken to the police and wasn’t interested in repeating it all for the benefit of a private investigator, whoever might have hired him.
‘I’ll leave you my number. Could you tell him that not only do I have lots of the powder that Julian brought back from Peru, but that I’ve also got the seeds? Perhaps he’d like to see them.’
She thought about that for a second. ‘I’m putting you on hold, again.’
A minute later, her tone had changed. ‘Mr Henderson is free after lunch. Say 2pm. Does that suit you? You know where to find us?’
‘I do. See you then.’
When he got into London that afternoon, he took the tube to Baker Street. Above ground, the sun shone in a cloudless sky and there was a slight breeze fanning the streets. London always looks better in the sunshine, he thought, as he made his way up Park Street towards Henderson’s office. The plane trees were in full-leaf, the people he passed seemed a little more upbeat, and the whole area exuded a vitality that was conspicuously absent in the gloom of a British winter.
The office was part of a Georgian terrace and could easily have been mistaken for a residential property. He might have walked right past had he not noticed the gold plaque with the Sanderson-Phillips logo. He went in and announced himself. The receptionist escorted him to the lift and they went up to the fourth floor. She walked him to the end of the hall and showed him in to Henderson’s office.
‘Mr Severance,’ she announced, closing the door behind her.
There was no cubicle claustrophobia to contend with for the research director of Sanderson-Phillips. The office looked more like someone’s oversized study, with an open fireplace and recessed bookshelves. Two leather sofas and a glass-top coffee table were placed facing a hardwood executive desk, its dark polished wood in perfect harmony with the regency red walls. Behind the desk there was a floor to ceiling sash window with a view all the way across the rooftops to Regents Park. Somewhat obscured at the moment by the figure seated there.
‘John Henderson,’ said the figure. ‘Have a seat.’
He showed no sign of getting up or extending his hand. Nick sat on a sofa, which put him slightly beneath Henderson’s eye line. Perhaps that was the intention. They studied each other.
Henderson was in his fifties with a wavy mane of receding black hair. He had a thin, angular face and a torso to match, certainly as much as Nick could see of it from this vantage point. His eyes were grey and at the moment, a little hostile.
‘The police were here yesterday evening. They never mentioned you,’ he said. The voice was deep and level, the accent from somewhere in the North of England.
‘I don’t think Maria Frost told them about me.’
‘Well, fortunately I have her phone number on file. I rang her after you called and woke the poor woman up in St Lucia. She confirmed that you’re working for her. Any ID?’
Nick handed over his investigator’s licence. Henderson studied it for a moment and passed it back.
‘I’ve never met Maria Frost,’ he said, ‘and I only met Julian twice for a few hours each time, before he went to South America. The police have asked me to analyse the powder Maria gave to them.’
‘Or you could just call Harmsworth Labs. You were there yesterday. The new compound...?’
Henderson looked mystified, and then remembered. ‘The same powder? How the hell do you know I was there?’
Nick shrugged. ‘My job. Tell me, why do you think Julian and Ray were killed?’
Henderson’s brow knitted in a frown. ‘The only common denominator is their research. Frankly, I have no idea.’
‘The report at the lab was commissioned by Ray Curtis. I gave him some of the powder. Shortly after that, he was murdered.’
‘What? The police didn’t say anything about Ray having the powder. There’s your connection. It might be useful if you shared your information, Mr Severance.’ Henderson got up and stood sideways-on to Nick. Half his attention was directed at the view outside. ‘The powder and seeds are legally the property of Sanderson-Phillips. Did you bring them?’
Nick produced a matchbox from his jacket pocket. ‘Here are your seeds. I didn’t bring any powder.’
Henderson glared at him and opened the matchbox. ‘We’ll plant some of these in conditions that mimic the rainforest. See what comes up.’
‘The powder is an aphrodisiac. Ray thought it had commercial potential.’
‘The new Viagra, is that what he told you?’ Henderson almost laughed. ‘Even if it is, there’s a lot of work to be done before anyone would be in a position to sell it. Clinical trials can take years. Still…’ He looked at the seeds again. ‘I’ll see if I can get a copy of that report. Failing that, we’ll run our own analysis. And I’d like the rest of my powder.’
‘You may be skeptical,’ said Nick, ‘but someone thought the powder worth killing for. If you have any further thoughts on why, I’d like to know about them.’
‘Of course. Leave your card. Here’s mine.’ He picked one up from a pile on the desk. His earlier hostility had mellowed a little. ‘I sent two researchers to Brazil and now they’re both dead. Believe me, Mr Severance, I’m as keen to know why as you are. And send me my bloody powder.’
With that, the meeting was over. Nick left the building and found a coffee shop. He ordered a cappuccino to go, and once it was ready he took it across the road, into Regents Park. He found a secluded spot by the boating lake and sat cross-legged on the grass. There were a few people on blue pedaloes, meandering over the water. They were some distance away, but he picked out a couple who seemed to be enjoying a bottle of something between them. They’d even brought wine glasses. He was suddenly aware of two things: - a flash of light reflecting off something across the lake and a sharp tingling sensation on the back of his neck.
Without thinking, he rolled to his right. A split second later there was a sharp cracking sound from across the lake and a clump of dirt and grass leapt into the air from the spot he’d just vacated. He was about five yards away from the cover of a big oak tree and he came to his feet in one smooth motion and ran for it. Then he went straight into a forward roll. There was a second crack, but nothing hit him and he came up running and made cover.
Whoever was firing at him must be using a rifle with a suppressor, but it was still making enough noise to attract plenty of attention. And in the centre of London, which was hardly renowned for its gun culture, that was exactly what he’d get. From the nearest armed response unit. No one in their right mind would hang around to wait for that. Nick quietened his rapid breathing and tried to concentrate. He couldn’t sense anyone who had their attention focused on him from across the lake, but it was at least 100 yards from where he was crouching and there were plenty of other people in the vicinity.
He took a quick peek. The pedaloes were heading for the far bank at speed and beyond them he could see people running. The shots had spooked everyone. Where was the shooter? There were a number of exits he might use. Nick checked the lake. He needed to pick the shortest route around it, which seemed to be behind him. There was another twenty yards of cover in that direction and the angle of fire from across the lake would be greatly reduced when he got into the open, he hoped. He started running. When he got into open space he increased his pace, as though that on its own might deflect any bullet aimed at him. He felt the relief flood through him at the absence
of any further shots and kept going. Five minutes later he arrived at the spot where he thought the shots had come from; a little grove of trees on the lake side. He stopped to catch his breath. There was nobody here, they’d all fled. But when he went closer to the water’s edge he noticed a pedaloe tucked almost out of sight behind a clump of reeds. He saw the young couple with the wine glasses still sitting in it, looking back at him with barely disguised panic.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I’m police. Did you see anyone in here with a rifle?’
‘Not with a rifle,’ said the man. ‘Someone did come out of there with a briefcase.’
‘What did he look like? What was he wearing?’
The man fumbled for words. His girlfriend stepped in. ‘Jeans and a tracksuit top, with a hood. The hood was up. It was blue, light blue.’
‘Fat, thin, old, young?’
‘I don’t know. Slim, shorter than you. Didn’t see the face. He went that way.’ She pointed to Nick’s right.
‘Thanks.’ Nick began jogging, but after two minutes he knew that finding the shooter now would be a matter of pure luck. This place was huge and he could be anywhere. More to the point, he could be finding somewhere else to dig in and take another shot. He stopped and tried to sense the man, but nothing came back. The guy was probably long gone. Nick decided it was time to do the same thing. He heard the sound of an approaching siren and started walking purposefully towards the nearest exit. A few minutes later he was out on the street and heading back to the nearest tube station.
‘It would seem that Henderson knows nothing,’ said Nick to Oyama, once he was back in Sevenoaks that evening. It was just the two of them; Shauna had gone back to London that morning.
‘Some disturbing coincidences, though. Not only with him being in the lab when you say he was, but now as soon as you leave his office someone shoots at you.’
‘That had occurred to me. I don’t think the shooting is connected with Henderson. Let’s say the jury’s still out on that. He seemed genuinely puzzled about the murders.’
