by DS Butler
They needed to cut off their clothes to prevent spreading the toxin, then they would have to wash and rinse themselves thoroughly. If they did that, they’d have a better chance of getting rid of the toxin.
A row of clean, white lab coats hung by the door. They could put one of those on afterwards.
Charlotte found four buckets stowed under the sink. She squirted four dollops of liquid soap into one of the buckets and set it under the tap, turning the hot and cold taps on full. When the first bucket was filled, she handed it to Sir Jim, who tactfully made his way to the other side of the lab. He stood with his back to them and started to cut off his clothes.
Charlotte washed her own hands and then put on two pairs of the blue latex gloves. She picked up the large scissors and carefully snipped her way through Ruby’s clothes, sliding them into the plastic hazardous waste autoclave bag Ruby found.
Charlotte left Ruby washing from one of the buckets of soapy water and made up another one for herself.
“I’m not feeling too good,” Sir Jim said. “What do you think it was?”
He slumped to his knees and stared at his shaking hands. Charlotte walked towards him and he reached out to her.
Charlotte took a step back. She couldn’t help it.
Sir Jim looked down at his hands again.
“Washing and rinsing is the best way to get rid of the toxin. There is a good chance we will all be fine,” Charlotte said.
“This lab has a decontamination shower. The waste is kept separate from the main system,” Sir Jim said. “Perhaps Ruby should use it first?” Sir Jim pointed to the far corner of the lab.
A shower head hung down from the ceiling. It was in the corner of the room furthest from where they had entered, which was probably why Charlotte hadn’t noticed it.
Ruby, dressed in her underwear, reached for the tap and turned on the shower. She stepped underneath the flow, immersing her head in the water, standing still as the water streamed off her. Then she rubbed her face and scalp, and finally, her hands and arms. She stepped out, shivering.
“Detective?” Ruby nodded towards the shower. “You should as well, just in case.”
The shock of the water made Charlotte gasp. She hadn’t expected it to be so cold. She rinsed her hands and face, making sure every inch of her body was saturated with the cold water.
When she had finished, she made a pathetic attempt to wipe herself down with a handful of paper towels and told Sir Jim he could use the shower now.
He stood under the shower, rubbing his hands, and Ruby sat shivering on the floor, wrapped in a clean lab coat.
“It’ll be all right,” Charlotte said, hearing the quiver in her voice and putting it down to the cold.
Ruby rested her head on her knees.
Sir Jim wrapped himself in a lab coat, pulled out a chair and muttered to himself.
“This is only a containment level two lab,” he said. “It’s not enough.”
92
Voices outside the containment lab made them all look up.
They exchanged looks, all hoping it was good news and the emergency response team had arrived already.
Then Charlotte recognized Mackinnon’s voice shouting, “Wait, you can’t go in there. I said WAIT!”
Dr. O’Connor burst into the lab. His eyes searched the room.
Charlotte took a step towards him. She wanted to shake him. How could he be so stupid?
“What are you doing? We’re all contaminated.”
O’Connor ignored Charlotte. He saw Ruby sitting in the corner and he knelt down next to her.
“Charlotte?” Mackinnon shouted from outside the lab.
“Jesus, Mackinnon, don’t you come in as well,” Charlotte said.
“I’m sorry. I tried to stop him.”
“I know.”
“You’ll all be all right. The first response team is here. They have everyone else contained. External doors and windows are locked, and the air-con has been switched off. The decontamination team will be here soon.”
Charlotte knew the first response team would be taking samples to rush off to the lab to try to identify the toxin.
“You all right?” Mackinnon asked.
Charlotte hesitated; Sir Jim was watching her.
“Charlotte?” Mackinnon said.
“Yes, we’re all okay. Best we stay in here until we know what was in that powder.”
“I’m going to see if I can help out there.”
“I’ll make sure Dr. O’Connor stays in here now.” Charlotte glared at O’Connor.
O’Connor crouched over Ruby, whispering in her ear. She pushed him away.
“Of course it isn’t okay! We’ve just been covered in God knows what. Everyone in the seminar room could have been exposed to it.” Ruby pushed him again.
Sir Jim put his head in his hands.
O’Connor took hold of Ruby’s hand. “It is fine; I promise it isn’t dangerous.”
Charlotte strode forward and pulled on O’Connor’s shoulder until he turned to face her. “What do you mean it’s not dangerous? Do you know what that powder was?”
O’Connor shrugged off her hand.
Charlotte staggered back.
She had been so stupid. Her legs felt weak, she pulled up a stool and fell onto it, keeping her eyes on O’Connor.
O’Connor picked up Ruby’s hand again. “It will be okay. I’m convinced. I wouldn’t have come in here otherwise.” He pulled her to face him. “What does that tell you?”
Ruby narrowed her eyes. “That you’re an idiot.”
“How come you’re so convinced?” Charlotte asked, her voice calm.
Mackinnon had said all along, that O’Connor was hiding something. Stringing them along.
O’Connor turned to face her, irritation clear on his face. “Well, it’s obvious. It’s just a hoax.”
“How do you know it’s a hoax, unless...” Charlotte’s voice trailed off.
Ruby head snapped up. “Unless what?” She turned to O’Connor. “You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?”
O’Connor tutted. “Of course not, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s going on.”
“Well, it’s beyond me. What is going on?” Ruby asked. She got to her feet, pulling the white lab coat tightly around her torso.
“This powder is not supposed to hurt anyone. That isn’t what they are trying to do.”
“But what if it is aconite? Your sample from the freezer went missing; anyone could have it.”
Something resembling doubt, flickered across O’Connor’s face and he looked at Charlotte.
“You told us the lab wasn’t missing any aconite?” Charlotte said.
Horrible thoughts bubbled up inside her. She remembered how John Weston had looked in the hospital, his yellow, waxy face contorted in a grimace of agony. She remembered the descriptions she read. The descriptions of pain.
“I wasn’t missing any aconite. It was Dr. O’Connor’s sample that went missing. He wouldn’t let me tell you,” Ruby said, through chattering teeth.
Charlotte had heard enough; she reached into her pocket, pulled out her mobile and dialled.
She got voicemail.
“Pick up, Mackinnon. I think you were right about O’Connor,” Charlotte whispered into the phone.
93
Dean Wagstaff had avoided the car park opposite Mason House for days. Some sixth sense had warned him it would be best to keep his distance.
He collected the leaflets and handouts, as usual, but handed them out to passers-by on the street. It was harder than just sticking the leaflets onto car windscreens. On the street, most people walking by refused to take the fliers he held out to them. Yesterday, it had taken him almost an hour to hand out fifty leaflets.
He thought he’d given it long enough now. Today it should be safe to go back to the car park.
It wasn’t as if he’d done anything wrong anyway. He just put a note on a car windscreen and there was nothin
g wrong with doing that.
It was the ambulance that made him nervous.
The fact he had been told to wait until the ambulance arrived suggested someone had been intentionally hurt, and Dean didn’t like to think he had been involved in that. In fact, he didn’t want to think about that at all.
He held his fresh supply of yellow fliers in one hand and unzipped his jacket with the other. It was unusually warm for this time of year. He shrugged off his jacket and tied it loosely around his waist, keeping a careful grip on the fliers.
The car park was packed today. Dean smiled. He would get through the leaflets in no time.
He climbed over the wall that surrounded the car park and looked across to the ticket booth, which held Dean’s nemesis. Dean smiled again, imagining the irritation of the car park attendant when he noticed Dean was back.
The sun was bright and sitting just above the ticket booth, which made it difficult to see in that direction. Dean put a hand up to shade his eyes.
The car park attendant sat there like a blob. Although Dean had to squint against the sun, he could just about see that the ticket attendant was talking to someone. Good, Dean thought, that should keep him busy and out of my way for a while.
Hopefully, by the time he was spotted, Dean would be almost done. The ticket man was so out of shape that Dean would be willing to bet a hundred quid, if he had it, that the ticket man wouldn’t bother to walk around the car park removing the fliers. That would be too much like hard work for him.
With the sun warm on his back, Dean got to work. After he had put yellow leaflets under the windscreen wipers of about twenty cars, Dean heard the car park attendant shout: “There he is!”
Dean looked up.
The sun was still behind the ticket man and his companion, so Dean couldn’t see them properly, despite squinting and shading his eyes. But he could see clearly enough to distinguish the grey shape of a man hurtling towards him.
For a second, Dean stood there as the man jogged forward, calling out Dean’s name. The man identified himself as DC Collins from the City of London Police.
Dean thought his legs might give way, but in the next moment, he was running.
Dean dropped the fliers, which scattered in the breeze. He vaulted the low wall surrounding the car park, not looking to see if he were being chased.
He didn’t need to look.
He could hear the man’s pounding footsteps behind him.
Dean ran straight across the road, without looking, which earned him an angry blast from the horn of a white Ford transit van.
On the pavement, he chanced a look behind him. The policeman was still on the other side of the road, waiting for a break in the traffic.
He locked eyes with Dean. He looked well pissed off.
It must be something to do with the note he’d left on the car. Something must have happened to the car’s owner and now the police thought he had something to do with it. Maybe they wanted someone to blame, a scapegoat to fix up, and who would care if he went to prison?
Before the policeman managed to cross, Dean knew he needed to get off this road. The traffic was very busy here, but there were no pedestrians. That made him easy to spot.
He needed a crowd, somewhere he could blend in and hide. He darted up a side street. At the end of this street was Deptford Road, and he knew at this time of day it would be full of people.
Dean heard footsteps slamming on the tarmac behind him. He turned to see the policeman gaining on him.
Jesus, he was nearly on top of him.
Dean skidded to a halt at the junction to Deptford Road. He only just avoided crashing into a short, white-haired, old lady pulling a shopping trolley behind her. The abrupt change of pace gave the policeman a chance to grab him. Dean felt the policeman grip the jacket tied around his waist.
Turning in a circle, Dean managed to wrench himself free, leaving the policeman holding the jacket.
Deptford Road wasn’t as full of pedestrians as Dean had hoped, which made blending in impossible. He ran past a supermarket. A group of people outside recoiled as he flew past them.
Dean turned right into another side street, heading back towards the car park. The only chance he had of losing this policeman was to head back that way. He knew the owner of the cafe opposite the car park. There was a good chance he would let Dean hide in there.
If he just got a bit further from the policeman, he wouldn’t see him enter the cafe and Dean would be safe.
Dean willed his legs to work faster. His lungs burned.
It was just a little further. He could still hear the policeman calling him, but his voice sounded distant now. Dean was pulling away. He could do it. It was just around the corner...
Dean ran head first into something solid.
It felt like he hit a wall. He rocked back on his heels before falling to the ground, scraping his chin. He could taste blood.
Dean looked up. Standing above him, with a smile as wide as if he’d been given a plate of donuts, was the ticket man.
The ticket man, clearly unfazed by their collision, put a heavy hand on Dean’s back to stop him running away.
He needn’t have bothered.
Dean couldn’t feel his legs at the moment, let alone use them. Dean heard the wheezing breath of the policeman and closed his eyes.
94
Charlotte’s call had gone straight through to voice mail because Mackinnon was talking on the phone to DC Collins.
Collins told Mackinnon they had managed to locate Dean Wagstaff, the young lad who left the note on John Weston’s windscreen.
“He told me he was paid to leave the biscuits and a note on Weston’s car by a woman, Jack. We’ve got a description...”
After Collins told him the information Dean Wagstaff had given them, all the pieces seemed to slot into place.
Mackinnon spotted Linda Gilmore at the back of the atrium. Everyone had been ushered to the back of the vast room, away from the powder, by a Health Protection Agency official, who had taken charge of the containment. The air-conditioning had been switched off, doors locked.
No one was getting in or out of the building.
Linda turned, as she sensed Mackinnon’s approach. “This proves you arrested the wrong man, Detective. My son is not a killer.”
“I know.”
She looked at him with interest. “As soon as we are let out of here, I’m going straight to the station to pick him up.”
Mackinnon cocked his head to the side. “That’s the problem. He was released three hours ago, which means he’ll be prime suspect for all this as well.” Mackinnon waved a hand at the room around them, taking in the overturned chairs and the spilt drinks.
She shook her head. “No you’re lying. He would have phoned me. He would have told me.” She grabbed her bag and wrenched out her phone. She shook her head again, slowly. “I would have been the first person he told.”
“Obviously not.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Where is my son?” The last question she screamed at him, looking at the blank screen on her phone.
Mackinnon clenched his fists. “It must be a horrible feeling, not knowing where your child is.”
95
Mackinnon wasn’t answering.
Charlotte punched the buttons on the phone to redial, and then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She turned and saw O’Connor standing silently behind her so close, she could feel his breath on her cheek.
She stepped backwards until she was against the wall.
He followed.
He put a hand on her arm and bowed his head until his forehead was almost touching hers. She forced herself to look up at him.
His dark eyes were hard; There was no trace of the humour she’d seen during the interviews when he’d enjoyed baiting Mackinnon.
He held both her arms at her sides. “You don’t really think it was me, do you?” he asked, his voice soft, as if he was hurt she could have suspected hi
m.
Play along, Charlotte told herself, make him think you believe him. Do anything if it helps you get out of here.
She took a deep breath. “Who is responsible then?”
He looked at her regretfully and shook his head. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”
“It’s a bit late to worry about that.”
Charlotte glanced over at Sir Jim and Ruby. Ruby was paying close attention to their conversation, but Sir Jim sat on the same stool, staring at his hands and muttering to himself. Charlotte shivered.
O’Connor pulled his sweatshirt over his head. “Here put this on,” he said, offering his sweatshirt.
She refused, pushing him away.
Because she refused to put it on properly, he wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’m not the bad guy,” he said.
She kept the sweatshirt across her shoulders, not wanting to risk offending him. It smelled of his aftershave.
“Are you telling me you know who is behind all this?” Charlotte asked him, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“So why don’t you tell me?”
O’Connor stared at her for a few moments before looking at Ruby. He turned back to face Charlotte and said, “Because I think she’s been through enough.”
96
Mackinnon looked at Linda’s panicked face. It was white and pinched. She licked her lips and seemed short of breath.
“How did you know about Sarah?” he asked her.
“Sarah? I don’t know any Sarah. I just want to know where Gus is.”
Mackinnon folded his arms and waited.
“Is he okay? Nothing has happened to him, has it?”
“He knows what you’ve done.”
She blanched, looking even paler and put a hand to her chest. “What I’ve done?”
Mackinnon nodded.
Linda looked around her like she was surprised to find herself in the middle of this turmoil. She reached over and pulled up a chair and sank into it with obvious relief.
Mackinnon remained standing. “He doesn’t want to see you.”
