by Ken McClure
Steven was still wondering about this when the phone rang.
‘The police have Barrowman in custody,’ said John Macmillan’s voice.
‘Thank God.’
‘They found him wandering around in the rain and not making a great deal of sense when they approached him. The two officers didn’t realise who he was at first. They’d been on the look-out for a dangerous, violent suspect and they had come across a confused character, soaked to the skin and talking nonsense.’
‘Where are they holding him?’
‘The police surgeon decided he needed proper assessment. He was organising a hospital transfer when I got the call.’
‘Which hospital?
‘We’ll find out in the morning.’
‘Could be a day for hospital visits,’ said Steven. ‘I need to talk to Lucy again too.’
TWELVE
‘She’s had a good night,’ said the nurse when Steven phoned, ‘but the doctors want to run some more tests before any visitors are allowed.’
‘When should I call back?’
‘Give it a couple of hours.’
Steven went in to the Home Office and asked Jean if she’d heard anything about Barrowman’s whereabouts.
‘The police still haven’t told us yet where he’s being held.’
‘What?’
‘It does seem a bit odd.’
‘Maybe we can get John to lean on someone when he comes in?’
‘Of course. Anything else?’
‘I need to talk to the Lindstrom group and interested parties to hear what happens now. Barrowman’s work was the specific reason they were financed. Did you manage to contact Dorothy yesterday?’
Jean nodded. ‘She was pretty shocked but agreed to secure Barrowman’s stuff and keep it away from prying eyes. The police also confirmed last night that his home computer and any paperwork they came across has been removed from his flat for safe-keeping.’
‘Good.’
‘Won’t the people who provided funding for the group consider Barrowman’s results and data as their property?’ asked Jean.
‘Probably,’ Steven replied, ‘assuming there are any results and data to be found although I think Dorothy could counter-argue that she, as group leader and grant holder, should have the right to go through everything first and decide whether there’s anything of importance there. She should also be the one to decide if Barrowman’s research could be continued by other members of her group,’
‘Why am I thinking of lawyers circling like sharks?’ said Jean.
‘Fear not,’ said Steven. ‘I have a cunning plan.’
‘Do tell.’
‘While they’re all squabbling, I’m going to make sure that we get to take a good look at Barrowman’s stuff.’
‘Jean’s eyes lit up. ‘Lukas?’ she said.
‘Lukas.’
Sci-Med were too small an operation to have laboratories and employ their own technical experts so they had built up a number of agreements over the years with small, independent outfits who were among the best in their fields. Lukas Neubauer, biology section head at Lundborg Analytical in Crompton Lane, and an expert in all things biological was one of the consultants that Steven knew best and for whom he held high regard. Some people were bright and others knowledgeable: Neubauer, was both. A Czech expatriate and veritable polymath, he had come to the UK to do his PhD in the Medical Research Council labs in Cambridge and had never gone home. Meeting and subsequently marrying Janine, a Swiss mathematics student at the time, had eventually led to them establishing Lundborg Analytical.
‘I’ll call him sometime today and warn him we may be calling on his services,’ said Steven.
‘Whose services?’ asked John Macmillan, arriving late and shaking rain from his white hair.
Steven told him of his plan.
‘A good man,’ said Macmillan, ‘unlike the clown masquerading as a police inspector I’ve just wasted half an hour of my life speaking to. I thought I’d pop in on my way here to the station where Barrowman was taken to last night and find out where he’d been taken. I should have asked a traffic cone instead.’
Steven and Jean waited for more while Macmillan hung his overcoat on the stand by the door. ‘He flatly refused to tell me where they took Barrowman last night.’
‘In God’s name, why not?’ Steven exclaimed.
‘Security,’ the clown said . . . the standard reply of the clueless when they don’t know what they’re doing.’
Steven was astonished. ‘Didn’t you tell him who you were?’
‘He had his orders and wasn’t budging for anyone.
‘More than his job’s worth . . .’ murmured Steven.
Macmillan let out his frustration in a long sigh before attempting a smile and saying, ‘I’ll ask the Home Secretary herself.’
‘And I’ll go see Lucy Barrowman,’ said Steven.
Jean said, ‘I’ll see about setting up a meeting at Capital.’
Steven sensed that the atmosphere among those involved with Lucy Barrowman’s care seemed much more relaxed than it had on the previous evening. The two policemen had disappeared from outside her door and the nurse who emerged as he reached it was smiling.
‘Doctor Williams is still with her;’ said the nurse. ‘She’ll be out in a few moments.’
Steven sat down and waited for what he thought must be good news.
‘The baby’s fine,’ said the small woman wearing square frame glasses which seemed to magnify her eyes to an alarming degree and who introduced herself as Dr Williams, consultant obstetrician. ‘Quite amazing really, considering the beating she took. Survival for baby must have been pre-ordained. The kicks missed vital areas.’
Details of the beating induced a surge of guilt in Steven.
‘The doctor opened the door and inclined her head as a signal that Steven should enter. ‘Not too long please.’
‘Lucy, it’s Steven.’
‘Yes, I can just about see you,’ said Lucy. ‘They told me you were coming in this morning.’
‘I hear you’ve had some good news.’
‘Yes, baby’s fine although he’s had one hell of a change in circumstances before he’s even been born.’
Steven saw her point but wasn’t sure what to say. Anodyne rubbish about being sure everything would turn out fine was not for Lucy Barrowman, he wouldn’t insult her with it. Likewise, never knowing what’s around the corner or observations on life’s rich pattern and the direction of curve balls would be non-starters.
‘They told me yesterday that you didn’t want your parents told?’
‘Waves of parental anguish would have pushed me over the edge yesterday,’ said Lucy.
Steven nodded. ‘But maybe they should be told when you feel well enough . . .
‘I just needed time to stand still for a bit, time to figure out what happens next. Does that make sense?’
‘Perfect sense, but the medics say baby’s fine and you’re on the mend . . .’
‘Your point?’
‘Call your folks. Practical support is a good thing.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Will do, the policemen on the door told me before they left that Owen had been taken into custody.’
‘Late last night,’ said Steven without adding details.
‘’Where are they holding him?
‘I understand he was taken to hospital for assessment of his mental state. I’m not sure which one.’
‘I see.’
‘Lucy . . . pretty soon people are going to start asking you about Owen’s research.’
‘Me? Why ask me, why not him?’ Lucy asked, becoming slightly agitated and aggravating the pain from her injuries because of it.
‘They’ll ask him of course, but chances are he won’t tell them anything.’
‘Ah, yes, his precious research,’ said Lucy bitterly. ‘Well, there’s no point asking me about it. I’ve no idea what he was doing or what he came up with.’
Steven tiptoed onwards.
‘It’s not so much a question of knowing what he was doing, more a question of knowing what he’s done with his data and results . . . You said he worked at home a lot . . .’
Lucy was quiet for some time before saying, ‘Are you one of these people, Steven?’
‘I am,’ said Steven without any beating about the bush. ‘It’s Sci-Med’s job to see to it that potentially beneficial information like Owen’s work should not disappear or fall into the wrong hands. There’s a chance he discovered something important about psychotic behaviour and how it might be . . . treated or manipulated.
‘Manipulated? Lucy questioned. ‘Treated, I understand, but manipulated?’
Steven gave an apologetic shrug. ‘This is hypothetical of course, but if you understand the genetic details surrounding the condition, it’s possible you might be able to alter, even cure it. Unfortunately, it’s also theoretically possible you might also be able to induce it . . .’
‘But who in their right mind . . .’ Lucy stopped in mid-sentence.
Steven nodded and said, ‘The people backing the research chose to remain anonymous – probably for innocent reasons, but. Sci-Med has to know for sure.’
‘The changes that came over Owen . . .’ Lucy began unsurely.
Steven watched Lucy’s silent search for something that might excuse what her husband had done. It was understandable but something he was reluctant to encourage.
‘You spoke of people falling under the influence of others . . . charisma and the like.’
‘I did,’ Steven agreed, ‘and that is all tied up with this somewhere.’
‘So, it’s possible that Owen was under the influence of Lawler?’
‘I don’t think we can rule anything out,’ said Steven, but his reluctance in saying so was obvious to Lucy.
‘But?’
‘It’s just my opinion, but I don’t think Owen was acting under anyone else’s influence when he attacked you. I think he was the one making the decisions and for his own reasons.’
‘Why do you think he did what he did to me? . . . The look in his eyes . . . it was like I was a complete stranger . . . not even a person.’
Steven listened with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Unspoken fears were being realised. ‘You were the one who had crossed him; he acted as his new self . . . coldly, without empathy or sympathy.’
‘So . . . you think he really has changed?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Could he have become a psychopath himself?’
Lucy took Steven’s silence and a raise of his eyebrows as a yes. ‘Ironic really,’ she said, ‘looking for a cure . . .’
‘All the more important we find out what his research has uncovered about the condition and what might be done about it.’
‘If you say so.’
‘You said he worked a lot at home, do you share a computer?’
‘He has a desktop, I use my laptop.’
‘Did he ever mention data storage?’
‘He used the university’s servers.’
‘He didn’t worry about security?’
‘Apart from thinking everyone on the planet was plotting to steal his work?’
‘Sorry, stupid question, I was thinking more about the servers.’
‘He was meticulous about secure passwords. He once gave me a lecture on how difficult it was to come up with random numbers and one of his favourite sayings was “don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”’
Any thoughts about other baskets?’ Steven asked.
‘He used cloud storage as well as servers. He said I should keep my photographs on one.’
‘’Which one?
‘Microsoft Sky Drive . . . sorry, Steven . . . I’m feeling awfully tired . . .’
‘God, I’m so thoughtless, forgive me.’
Lucy reassured him with a pat on his hand, but she was asleep by the time he reached the door.
Steven returned to the Home Office to find John Macmillan in a foul mood.
‘No wonder they didn’t want to tell me what hospital Barrowman was in,’ he stormed. ‘He isn’t in one.’
‘What?’
‘The alarm was raised when the ambulance didn’t arrive. It was found two hours later with Barrowman’s police escort and the two ambulance attendants unconscious inside. None of them knows what happened.’
‘They don’t know?’ exclaimed Steven.
‘The driver remembers reporting he was being followed by what he thought was a private ambulance and shortly afterwards a police vehicle appeared – he thought in response. It flagged him down and he opened his window to talk. That’s the last thing he remembers.’
‘Sounds like gas was involved.’
‘Someone wanted Dr Barrowman more than we did.’
‘Someone with technical expertise when it comes to kidnapping, said Steven, ‘not to mention inside information about his whereabouts which is even more worrying. Is this why they’re keeping quiet?’
Macmillan nodded. ‘No one can figure out what’s going on and they certainly don’t want anyone linking it with the Moorlock Hall story in the papers.’
‘Why would they?’ said Jean? ‘I mean very few people know about Barrowman’s connection with Moorlock.’
‘I suspect Mrs Lillian Leadbetter does,’ said Steven. ‘Groves would have mentioned his involvement, I’m sure.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘I’m not sure there’s anything in it for her,’ said Macmillan, ‘but it would be a godsend for the tabloids. Scientist involved in experimentation on prisoners held in secret prison loses mind and tries to murder wife and unborn child before escaping police custody and going on run.’’
‘Not good.’
THIRTEEN
Steven walked by the embankment. He needed to clear his head; there were just too many variables floating around to prevent him seeing a clear course of action. He didn’t think they’d find any useful information on Barrowman’s computers and in his notes because of the man’s paranoia. Lukas Neubauer and his colleagues at Lundborg might be able to crack passwords protecting data files if they found them but the odds must be against it. Lucy might remember something useful, some casual comment made in conversation before her husband became distant and hostile, but then again, she might not.
The only realistic source of information about Barrowman’s discovery was Barrowman himself and unfortunately, someone else had concluded that too – and beaten them to it. There were two prime suspects for this, the intelligence services who had tried to prevent the research being done in the first place and secondly, those who had come up with the finance for Dorothy Lindstrom’s research.
Steven decided that the first practical thing they all had to do, despite being pessimistic about the outcome, was to find out just how much information was on Barrowman’s computers and in his notes. It was a fair bet that Dorothy Lindstrom was hard at work doing just that as he stood there, leaning on the wall, watching the rising tide. He had to concede that she had every right to do this as the future of her research group probably depended on coming up with some meaningful progress so that funding might be continued. She would probably be joined in her search by Tyler, the consultant retained by the funding body as soon as they heard what had happened, but Steven feared that this was something they might do even if they had had some involvement in the kidnapping and were currently interrogating Barrowman in some deep, dark cellar. That was the trouble with not knowing, Steven concluded, your imagination always made things worse.
Steven decided he would not request immediate access to the material found in Barrowman’s lab. Dorothy and the money men’s reps could do that while he did what they couldn’t – get hold of what the police had taken from Barrowman’s flat. He would ask Lukas Neubauer to go through it with a fine-tooth comb.
Steven was in the process of wondering whether he should give Lukas a call or go over to see him in person when Jean Roberts called.
‘I’ve spoken to the principal a
t Capital. He and Professor Lindstrom have a meeting arranged for two thirty this afternoon to discuss the situation. You could join them if that’s convenient?’
‘Wonderful,’ said Steven, who was well used to important people imagining their diaries were full until convinced otherwise.
‘There’s a bonus,’ said Jean. ‘The scientific consultant employed by the lawyers acting for the backers of the Lindstrom group will be attending too. Lots of birds with one stone?’
‘What can I say?’ Steven joked. ‘A bottle of finest Prosecco will be yours.’
Capital was one of the new universities that had appeared in the UK in the past ten years having previously been a south London polytechnic. Attracting a high-profile scientist like Dorothy Lindstrom had been a major coup for them and her presence over the past year had put Capital on the academic map, ramping up its reputation in accordance with an unwritten rule that said that one outstanding scientist on the staff made you good, two made you a centre of excellence. The gamble of underwriting everything that Dorothy’s start-up grant from the pharmaceutical company did not cover until government funding appeared had nearly misfired badly when her request had been turned down, but then the situation had been rescued by the anonymous injection of cash. Now it seemed that the roller coaster was about to plunge again following Barrowman’s disappearance from the scene. So much was going to depend on being able to convince the anonymous backers that the research had not been entirely lost – or at the very least could be continued by the Lindstrom group.
Steven drove up to the collection of flat-roofed, white-painted buildings that comprised Capital University and found the image of a two-star hotel on the Spanish Costas coming to mind. The solar imagery made him think that if the worst came to the worst, their time in the sun was about to end as suddenly as it had begun. Attracting press attention would once more be dependent on handing out honorary degrees to pop stars and people who ran around in circles. ‘Sic transit Gloria mundae,’ he murmured as he mounted the steps of the administration building, passing under another Latin inscription that he translated from vague schoolboy memory as having something to do with striving for the best.
