by Ken McClure
‘The police have been trying to contact you,’ said Jean when Steven got back to the Home Office.
Steven took out his mobile and turned it back on. ‘I’ve been having lunch with Neil Tyler,’ he explained. ‘We were discussing the probable murder of Dorothy Lindstrom’s two American post-docs.’
‘Oh no,’ Jean whispered, ‘Not good . . . and the news from the police isn’t going to help.’
‘Do you want to tell me first?’
‘It’s Lucy Barrowman, she’s been attacked.’
Steven was shocked. ‘What? But she’s staying with her parents down in Eastbourne,’ he protested.’
‘Apparently such things happen even in Eastbourne,’ Jean replied, ‘The house was subject to a break-in while they slept. Poor girl, after all she’s been through you’d think life would give her a break.’
‘Steven called the police to be given details of the sexual assault carried out on Lucy Barrowman while she slept in her parents’ home.’
‘I take it she wasn’t under police protection?’
‘That was withdrawn when she left hospital and we thought Barrowman had gone to ground.’
‘Was it him?’
‘Mrs Barrowman says not.’
Steven didn’t ask for details, his mind was reeling from the awful news.
‘There was a second casualty,’ the policeman continued. ‘Her father woke up and disturbed the intruder. He was just pushed out the way but suffered a heart attack shortly afterwards. Both are in hospital. We’ll keep you informed.’
Steven put down the phone just as John Macmillan came in to the office.
‘Bad news?’ he asked after seeing Steven’s face.
Jean, who had heard the phone call, gave Macmillan details while Steven tried to think things through. He was struggling to accept the attack on Lucy had been some kind of horrible coincidence, but if Lucy had told the police it wasn’t Barrowman . . . what was he left with?’
‘Are you all right?’ asked Macmillan.
‘I knew life was a bitch, I just didn’t realise how big a one.’
‘I’m older, I knew.’
Steven asked, ‘What news?’
‘A convoluted tale,’ said Macmillan. ‘Many years ago, our intelligence services set up a Post Office box number system, which could be used in times of emergency to send material securely through the post.’
‘So far so good,’ said Steven.
‘It worked a bit like a Russian doll, one number led to another which led to another and so on.’
Steven frowned.
‘The package sent from Edinburgh was addressed to a box number in London. The box number would not mean anything to the receiving office and would be put aside as improperly addressed mail. Someone – presumably senior and who had signed the official secrets act – would see it and forward it to another PO box number where the same thing would happen. This would go on as many as four times until it reached a final destination where it would be collected by someone giving a password.’
‘So where was this final destination?’ Steven asked.
‘We don’t know.’
‘You are joking,’ exclaimed Steven, feeling as if some celestial being was having a laugh at his expense.
‘I’m afraid not. The Home Secretary was as angry as I was. She called in the heads of Royal Mail security and MI5 while I was there and demanded to know what the hell was going on. In a nutshell . . . they didn’t know either. She sent them away with a flea in their ear and ordered them to find out. Two hours later MI5 came back with an answer, thanks to someone with a historical interest in the service. The system was devised during the Second World War when there was a fear that we might be invaded. It was assumed, rightly or wrongly, that the mail service would still operate and so a plan using box numbers was devised, which would allow the resistance to use it without suspicion.
Although it was never used to any great extent, the box number system was never fully disabled. Trusted people who’d signed the act and been sworn to secrecy would still know what to do when one of these box numbers appeared in their sorting office. When they left or retired, a new trusted individual would be appointed and so it has gone on.’
Steven shook his head. ‘Are you saying that when someone is appointed to some senior role in a sorting office they are asked to sign the Official Secrets act, sworn to secrecy about an archaic box system and told never to divulge details to anyone?’
‘Apparently.’
‘Talk about a love of historic ritual,’ said Steven.
‘Have you seen the opening of parliament?’ said Jean.
‘But the bottom line must be that we can now find out where Barrowman’s package ended up?’ said Steven.
‘In theory,’ said Macmillan. ‘In practice, it’s going to involve questioning people who have been sworn to secrecy and who believe they’re doing their duty by denying all knowledge of what we want to know.’
‘Oh God,’ sighed Steven, feeling the will to live drain from him.
‘They’ll probably think they’re being tested,’ added Jean less than helpfully.
Macmillan said, ‘The Home Secretary has asked Special Branch to deal with it.’
‘Special Branch?’ exclaimed Steven, unable to hide his surprise.
‘MI5 thought they should do it and I objected, maintaining it should be left to Sci-Med as it was a medical science investigation. They didn’t want to admit that they were involved in the same thing so they maintained it was part of a murder inquiry – one of their own for good measure. In the end, the Home Secretary decided that Special Branch should carry out the PO box number business and inform both Five and Sci-Med so that we can both be present when the final box is opened.’
‘Could be a rather grand opening of an empty box,’ said Jean, voicing what they were all thinking.
‘It’s true we might be too late for the Scottish packet, but he may be using the box for other things and he might even be picking up stuff himself,’ said Macmillan.’
‘I don’t think we should give up entirely on the Edinburgh packet not being in the box,’ said Steven.
‘Really? I thought the Scottish chap said that Barrowman was keen to have it back.’ said Macmillan.
‘He did, but it’s possible Barrowman just wanted it put in the post as soon as possible,’ said Steven. ‘Knowing what we know now about the box system, he may have been moving it to what he thought would be a safer place in case someone started snooping around in Scotland.’
‘Someone like you,’ said Macmillan.
‘Exactly, I missed it by a day, but once it was in the post it would be on its way to a post box in a secret place where it could lie for ever if necessary, away from prying eyes and, if he didn’t get the credit for his work, no one else ever would. He was hardly going to need it while he was on the run for murder.’
‘Good thinking,’ said Macmillan.
‘I’ll see your “good” and raise it to brilliant,’ added Jean.
‘Well, folks,’ said Steven getting to his feet. ‘It’s been a long day, time to go home.’
‘Did you learn anything from the American reports?’ Macmillan asked as he headed for the door.
‘Yep, it was murder.’
TWENTY-ONE
‘How are you today?’ asked John Macmillan.
Steven recognised there was more to the question than a polite enquiry.
‘Sorry, I was a bit abrupt last night,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t face going over all the events of the day. The attack on Lucy was the final straw.’
‘Understandable, no one saw that coming.’
‘Thanks.’
Steven went through everything that had happened on the previous day, how his suspicions had been aroused by the photographs from the US fire department, moving on to his meeting with Jane Lincoln and her offer of help in establishing who might have been with Paul Leighton and Carrie Simpson immediately before the fire on that awful night and ending with hi
s conversation with Neil Tyler.
‘It was Neil who brought up the possibility that his employers might have been implicated in the American deaths,’ he added, ‘Now the fear is that they are monitoring what Dorothy’s new group comes up with before . . . putting a stop to it.’
Macmillan leaned back in the chair and interlaced his fingers across his stomach before saying, ‘Assuming that what you and Tyler are suggesting is true, it would seem to suggest that Professor Lindstrom’s backers are not scientists and, by association, neither are those behind the American murders.’ You’re a medic, Tyler’s a scientist; you both could see that the professor’s plan to replicate the work of her dead colleagues would take a long time; that’s something the anonymous backers clearly didn’t take into account.’
‘That is a very good point,’ Steven agreed. ‘and happily, it may also take US intelligence out of the frame.’ He answered Macmillan’s inquiring glance by pointing out how much it would be costing to fund Dorothy’s research. ‘They’d be one of the few candidates capable of financing it anonymously, but, of course, they would have the scientific nous to realise how long something like that would take and would keep watch from the side lines rather than rush in.’
‘Well, I think we can call that progress,’ said Macmillan, ‘Mind you, I’m keen to call anything progress these days.’
‘We can safely adopt the politicians’ gambit,’ said Steven.
‘Which is?’
‘Blame other people.’
Macmillan grinned. ‘I think in this case we may have good cause. Have you informed the US police about your suspicions?’
‘Not yet,’ said Steven, hoping he might be able to leave it at that, but Macmillan expected more.
‘I thought I might delay until we see if Jane Lincoln comes up with anything.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘We’re working in the dark. If the US police agree there might be something wrong with their original conclusions and instigate a full-scale murder – or should that be homicide – investigation, it will alert people we don’t want to alert and maybe scare them off.’
Macmillan accepted this but pointed out, ‘We don’t want to end up investigating an American murder; that’s way outside our remit.’
‘Agreed, but if Jane should come up with the identity of a third person present in the restaurant that night, it would probably mean more to us than it would to the local police and might even help with our inquiry if we could see a connection.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘How long is it since you last spoke to your daughter?’ Tally asked.
‘A couple of weeks,’ Steven replied, ‘I couldn’t get a word in edgeways for hearing about the wonders of Jason,’
Tally smiled. ‘You should call her,’ she said, ‘Play her at her own game, tell her how wonderful I am.’
‘Everyone knows that,’ said Steven.
‘Maximum brownie points,’ said Tally, slapping a phone into his hand. ‘Go on, call her.’
Steven was surprised when Jenny herself answered. ‘Hi nutkin, how are you? I wasn’t expecting you to pick up the phone.’
‘I’m waiting for Jason to call, Dad.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, maybe I should call back?’
‘Don’t be silly, Dad, he can wait.’
This cheered Steven. He deliberately extended the call by asking every conceivable question he could think of about school and life in general, happy in the knowledge he would be keeping Jason waiting. Eventually, he gave in and said, ‘Well, I’d better go and let you speak to your beau.’
‘My what?’ Jenny exclaimed.
‘Sorry, it’s an old-fashioned word for boyfriend.’
‘Dad?’
‘Yes, nutkin?’
‘I love you.’
Steven felt himself choke and struggled to manage, ‘Love you too, nutkin,’ before ending the call.
Tally took the phone from him, ‘Well, my big, brave warrior,’ she said, ‘that wasn’t so hard, was it?’
Steven smiled.
Next morning, the sun shone from a clear blue sky after having been absent for several days. Steven took the opportunity to walk by the river and enjoy the warmth of its rays on his face as he thought about Jenny and how grown-up she’d sounded the night before. It made him reflect on how quickly life was passing by. In an ideal world there would be a slow-down or pause button somewhere. A rewind would be a step too far – what was gone was gone – but it would be nice to have just a little more time to cherish things that really mattered.
The beep of an incoming text message interrupted his reverie, especially when he saw it was from Jane Lincoln. It said, ‘Can we meet? Reply by text.’
Steven replied, asking where and when and was told, 3p.m. Rose’s coffee shop in Cedar Avenue. He had to look up the address and saw it was quite a long way away from the university. Was there a reason for that? he wondered.
The reason became clear when they met. Jane told Steven that she shared a flat around the corner in Cedar Crescent and had taken the afternoon off. ‘I didn’t want to meet you anywhere near the university,’ she said, ‘or even have you call me there.’
‘Okay,’ said Steven, not understanding but hoping this was about to be put right.
‘I’ve got some news.’ Jane paused when Steven’s espresso and her own latte arrived along with two pieces of chocolate cake which Jane insisted he must try. Steven could see by the smiles being exchanged that Jane was a regular.
‘I heard back from my friend . . . there were three people at the table in Romero’s that night.’
‘Excellent, this could be a big piece in the puzzle.’
‘There’s more.’
Steven felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
‘I asked her if she knew who the third person was and she said, no.’
The hairs settled.
‘But she could see what he was.’
Steven rubbed the back of his neck. ‘And what was that?’
‘A priest, a Roman Catholic priest.’
‘Well, well, well,’ murmured Steven, but feeling unsure why he’d said it or what to think about it.
‘There’s more. Thinking ahead, I asked if she could describe him and she did, not all that well – she had no reason to pay him close attention – but well enough for me to think he might have been the same priest I saw with Dorothy in the lab in the days following the fire – short, paunchy, clean-shaven, balding at the front. My friend said they all seemed very friendly and remembers that the priest left with Paul and Carrie: they went off in the direction of the lab.’
‘That could be so important,’ said Steven.
‘Could it?’ asked a troubled looking Jane. ‘If that man had anything to do with the fire and then turned up in the lab to see Dorothy, it could mean that Dorothy was involved after all.’
‘Point taken.’
‘That’s why I didn’t want to be seen talking to you or have anyone thinking it was you on the phone.’
‘You did right, but let’s not implicate Dorothy just yet . . . for all the reasons we spoke about before.
Jane nodded. ‘It’s still a worry.’
Steven agreed that it was, but asked her to carry on as normal for the time being. He promised to get in touch when he had any news and she did likewise. As he got up to go, he said, ‘That was the best chocolate cake I ever tasted.’ He left two smiling women behind.
When he got back to the Home Office, Jean told him that John Macmillan had been called to a special meeting by the Home Secretary. Steven told her what Jane Lincoln had come up with and her eyes widened in surprise, ‘A priest?’ she exclaimed, ‘what do you make of that?’
‘Jane thinks there’s a good chance it was the same priest who came to see Dorothy Lindstrom at the university after the fire,’ said Steven, ‘the one I asked you to run a check on.’
‘I remember,’ said Jean.’
Steven confessed that he hadn’t got around
to taking a look at the file. He’d been distracted after seeing the fire department photographs.
‘Can you remember if he came up as part of the pastoral care team at Yale?’ he asked.
‘Actually, no, he didn’t. I half expected him to be one of the chaplains but he didn’t appear on the list.’
‘I know they have a department of Religious Studies,’ said Steven. ‘He could be a faculty member.’
‘I’ll check.’
‘He might even be a local priest
‘Dorothy’s local priest perhaps?’ Jean suggested. ‘Do we know anything about the area where she lived while she was at Yale?’
‘I could find out discreetly from Jane Lincoln, but I don’t want Dorothy to know we’re sniffing around,’ said Steven. ‘Maybe Neil Tyler might be able to help out. He was actually there at the time of the fire.’
‘Do you really think this priest was involved?’
‘’Right now, he’s our prime suspect, however unlikely it sounds.’
‘In that case . . .’ said Jean, pausing to look through papers on her desk, ‘Time to bring in the big diggers for . . . Father Liam Crossan.’
John Macmillan returned from his meeting with news that Special Branch had identified the first two transfers in the chain Barrowman’s packet had taken. They were confident of coming up with the other two within the next twenty-four hours.
‘Progress at last,’ said Steven.
‘We have the Home Secretary to thank,’ said Macmillan. ‘She made it very plain to a number of very senior people that they should start checking their pension arrangements if they didn’t pull their fingers out.’
‘Good for her. Did you discuss the opening procedure?’
‘The final box is not to be opened until you and Five’s appointed representative are both present. The Royal Mail’s security man will do the opening.’
