by C B Barrie
Caplin froze. What was Ellis saying? ‘I’m still having to contend with a resentful Consolidated Mines.’ How so?
‘Nathaniel, say again please, what was that about CM?’
Ellis let his anger abate at the restrained and unexpected response to his complaints.
‘I got a call last Friday morning from Barbara Tillotson, Gregson’s secretary at Consolidated. She wanted to know if I had seen Gregson; according to her he was heading in this direction for, as she called it, a face to face with me to clarify a few things. I told her I had no idea he was arriving, I hadn’t seen him and I didn’t want to see him. The short of it is, so she said this morning, he’s failed to turn up anywhere – now she says he’s officially missing.’
Now Caplin understood the situation, there was no need for concern.
‘Okay Nathaniel, let’s start again. I’m sorry; I do tend to get irritated over subjectively trivial things. Regarding the papers, I’ll sit in with you and we’ll hammer the last two out between us. As for the patent specification, the failure to include your name was an oversight, I apologise. If you’ll hang on a second of two I will amend things. Okay?’
Ellis nodded his agreement.
‘Just one thing Nathaniel, you got in early this morning didn’t you?
Ellis gave a quick ‘Yes.’
‘Well, I suspect that had you driven in a little later you would have seen the police notices on the side of the road about four miles back. They want to hear from anyone who witnessed a fatal accident last Friday, or saw two particular cars on the road that day. One was a blue Volvo, heading towards St Ives, the other a red Jaguar coming in this direction. If you want my opinion, your unexpected visitor was involved. If so, and it was definitely Gregson, you no longer have a problem with Consolidated.’
Ellis looked shocked and elated. ‘You think so?’
‘No, I’m only taking the two facts and putting them together – Gregson was coming here and the fatal accident and his disappearance could well be related – seems reasonable.’
Ellis now looked stunned. ‘Christ, if you’re right then…’
‘You’ve nothing to worry about, can’t see anyone else from Consolidated making life difficult for you, you can relax.’
‘I hope you’re right Michael – Christ knows, I don’t want that problem rearing its ugly head again.’
‘It won’t, you can forget it – let’s bury the whole bloody issue and get on with things. Give me ten minutes and I’ll come down to the lab and join you…we’ll get to work on the second paper.’
Ellis smiled; if Gregson was dead and Caplin was right, he was free.
19
Ellis leaned back in his chair feeling unable to struggle with yet another disingenuous statement, or to find a word that appeared profound yet was so ambiguous that in the context of the last sentence they had constructed it’s meaning could be taken a multitude of ways.
He watched as Caplin stared at the text glowing on the PC screen and once again read, and re-read, the last part of the composition they had decided on. It had been a very long day and much had been done to complete the second experimental report; hopefully, Ellis prayed, to Caplin’s satisfaction. He did not want to strive for what Caplin considered to be perfection, there had to come a point where enough was definitely enough.
Caplin turned his head and gave an obliging and compliant smile.
‘That’s it Nathaniel – I’ve pretended to be a pedantic and disagreeable referee in reading what we have written. I don’t see where they can criticise what we have said or claim we haven’t justified the experimental development. In short, I think we’ve nailed it. You can have another look if you’ve a mind to, but I can’t see where we have left any gaps. I don’t know about you but I’m tired and in need of a break. I’m heading for my office and maybe a respite before I attack the patent – that, as you know, has to precede what we’ve just done here. Are you still functional or would you rather get to grips with the paper tomorrow morning when you’re refreshed?’
Ellis nodded his agreement with the last query and stood up from his chair.
‘I’m heading home Michael, I won’t be sorry if I don’t see our writing you have there for at least a week, I’m absolutely muggy – I couldn’t write a letter to Santa Clause let alone proof read the paper. I’m just glad you approve of what we’ve put together, it means we’re very close to having two papers waiting to be submitted for publication. However, I’ve a feeling that contrary to the first two the final one will be a pleasure to compose, let’s face it, everything we say in that will leave them dumbstruck.’
Caplin gave a wide grin and stood up, removing his lab coat and looking aimlessly for his jacket,
‘Damned right. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care. Where’s my jacket?’
Ellis made for the old locker near the lab door where he often left his topcoat. Today he had slipped off his jacket and stored it along with his topcoat and as he retrieved both he saw Caplin’s jacket folded up and laying on to the top of the nearside workbench.
‘It’s here Michael, by the door.’
‘Oh, thanks – see you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, Deo Volente.’
Ellis was glad to feel the seat of his Mazda MX5 wrap itself around him.
Getting home and having his landlady Mrs Templeton present him with a large plate of well-cooked food was all he asked for, other than his chance to relax and enjoy her company. She mothered him to the extreme and he had to admit it, he loved every second of her care and attention. She had no family; she was a widow without children and with Ellis’ appearance he suddenly endowed her with someone she could dote on. He in turn reciprocated. In all the years he had grown up he had never bonded so strongly with a woman like his landlady, she had the maternal affection and, dare he say it, sexual affection he had always missed and he was eternally grateful for his good fortune.
He drifted the car out of the car park and down the exit incline towards the security barrier. There was no need for any braking; it was usual for the barrier to lift some ten yards before he met it. It did so automatically again, and he pushed a little harder on the accelerator, increasing speed so that he was under the barrier and abreast of the guardroom in seconds, he gave a short blast on his horn as a thank you to the security officer. Then he let the car continue to dive towards the oncoming right turn that would bring him on to the 3066 for Morvah, Treen and St Ives.
The dry, early spring weather meant that the daylight was still good and he had no qualms about lifting the car’s speed down what was ordinarily a poorly utilised road. The open topped car blew wind around him and the cool air stream renewed his spirits. He let the car pick up speed and he left the small collection of houses in Morvah behind him very quickly. He began to navigate along the road with confidence, he’d travelled along it so many times he knew every curve, bend and blind spot.
Just over three miles out he took a curved section in the road with the front of the car’s suspension dipping into the road and the front tyres starting to shriek in protest. As the car started to swerve around the curve, he almost missed the large white board propped upon a stand by the roadside. He braked hard, straightened his front wheels, and not seeing or hearing any vehicle coming behind him he backed up until he was alongside the notice. Looking across the road there was a similar notice perched on the very deep and rocky verge. His wind watered eyes took a moment to focus on the notice:-
Fatal Accident 3rd March
Did you see any vehicles along this road on Friday 3rd March at around 12.00 p.m. to 1.00 p.m. Two vehicles were involved in a multiple fatal collision. Because of an intense fire the make and model of the vehicles in question have not been identified, nor have the four crash victims. If you have even the slightest piece of information regarding this accident please contact the St Ives Devon and Cornwall police station either in person or phone 01736 955623.
So, Caplin was right, there had been a fatal accident
on Friday last and there was no reason not to believe it involved Gregson.
As Ellis re-read the notice he was overcome by a flood of relief – with Gregson gone there was no need to fear the future. He turned his head to check for cars coming up behind him before pulling out, and as he did so he caught sight of an extensive area of burnt gorse and bracken on the broad area of verge behind him. In addition there was evidence of blackened metal debris and sections of plastic car parts all heat ravaged or reduced to charcoal coloured scrap. There was also a twin trail of black tyre rubber, its thick rubber layer leading up to a position in the road some way preceding the point where fire had burnt the verge. The skid marks ended abruptly on the road as, clearly, the vehicle had tried to swing to one side. But apart from some heavy scrapes and gouges in the road surface, and slight signs of smoke colouration, there was nothing to indicate why.
Ellis took one more look at the roadside damage and swung the car back on to the highway. He accelerated quickly, a sense of sadness starting to replace his earlier euphoric mood – people had died in the collision and being burnt to death was something he would not wish on his worst enemy. His only hope was that Gregson was dead before his red Jaguar had caught fire.
As the thought passed through his mind he suddenly realised his mistake.
Who knew it was a ‘red’ Jaguar? He didn’t, and the police obviously didn’t otherwise they would have used the term in the notice to help witnesses identify the car in question. Caplin knew and, likewise, a blue Volvo. Who said it was a blue Volvo? Again, it was Michael Caplin, and Ellis could see no reason how or why he knew, not unless it was common knowledge. But if so, why had the police notice failed to note it.
He resumed his journey with a deep sense of anticipation, his mood dampened by the likelihood of discovering things he didn’t want to know and getting answers he didn’t want to hear.
Ellis could think of only one way to settle the question, ask the police directly. He had to make for St Ives anyway, he might just as well stop off at the police station and tender the query; if anyone knew, the police would.
But they didn’t.
Though the desk sergeant was very enlightening.
‘So you think you could have been in that part of the road at the time stated on the notice Dr. Ellis.’
‘Yes, but I saw other cars that may or may not have been the ones you are looking for. What I need to know is what colour were the cars you are interested in. Without that I can’t help you, I only remember a few cars in front of me, and a few others passing me on the other side.
The sergeant gave a perplexed look. ‘I’m sorry sir; until all the forensic laboratory reports arrive we have no idea. It took three hours for the emergency services to get to the scene of the accident and it was only reported by a passing cliff walker some time after the crash had taken place. By the time the fire brigade arrived they could only douse the residue of a fire that had started hours earlier. I saw it, there was very little left of either vehicle. The fire had been ferocious and had literally burnt or melted everything except the car’s thicker metal sections. The chassis numbers and registration plates were obliterated and there was absolutely no trace of any body paint. We found the remains of four cremated bodies, but so far no identification.’
Ellis listened with an ever-growing sense of dread. He was suddenly crushed by what he heard – his suspicions had been confirmed. His colleague Michael Caplin was a prime suspect in the death of Gregson, and no doubt all the other innocent parties. Indeed, there were other mysteries that had inexplicable circumstances - Holden, Meredith, and as Felton had let slip, the anonymous Neilson. Now Gregson had been added to the list. Ellis was beginning to think that they were no longer mysteries and that the circumstances had a definite explanation; only he wished to God they hadn’t.
When he arrived at his lodgings his mood had sunk even lower. Mrs Templeton was sensitive enough not to enquire about his subdued and unresponsive state, and although he knew she was curious, and might be tempted to try to brighten him up, she stayed silent. He failed to digest even a small part of the delicious hot pot she served for dinner, and when later he sat at the table motionless and stared into space for a length of time, ignoring the apple pie and cream she had laboriously prepared, she finally challenged him.
‘Nathaniel, you’re not eating, are you unwell?’
He was, but not physically, although what he was obsessed with in his thinking completely undermined his appetite and made Mrs. Templeton’s attempt at any distraction fruitless. He simply was unable to let go of the conviction that Michael Caplin was a murderer, and thinking back to the times he had Holden imposing on him and then Meredith and Neilson involved in investigating the disappearance of the one before, in every case Caplin had assured him that nothing would come of it. Caplin was so confident in his assurances that when the threat disappeared it was hardly noticeable. And now the same thing had occurred with Gregson, a potential threat removed without any apparent sign of it being contrived. Yet it had been contrived, and Caplin was the factor central to all of it.
He turned and gave his landlady a regretful smile. ‘Sorry, Barbara. I’ve got a lot to contend with at the moment and you can’t help; please, bear with me, I’ll get it sorted out and I promise not to waste your excellent cooking again.’
She smiled and left the table. As she vacated the dinning room he watched her go; but he remained, consumed by a sense of foreboding. He tried to dispel the feeling and forced himself to face the worst possible scenario, that challenging Caplin could, if he was entirely wrong, lead to dismissal and ruin. But apart from saying nothing and letting a possible murderer stay free, he had no choice but to risk everything. He sat at the table and mentally battled it out; in time becoming armed with a determination to clear away all the doubts, suspicions and likely outcomes. Tomorrow was another day - tomorrow was the opportunity to establish if everything he suspected was true or not. The only problem he envisaged was, what if his suspicions turned out to be true?
What on earth was he going to do then?
20
It was barely light when he slipped out of the house and made for his car.
He’d slept badly and had washed and dressed as quietly as possible so as not to disturb Barbara Templeton and to ensure he could depart without risking unwelcome questions. A short note had been left in the kitchen to allay any fears she might have, and to warn her that he could be late arriving back that evening.
The street was still deserted and no one made use of the overhead sodium lighting except him. In the silence of the dawn glimmer slowly breaking over the branches of the street trees, his was the only activity and he made no effort to move silently like the neighbourhood cats - he wanted to be on his way as soon as possible. There was a hint of rain in the air and he locked up the soft-top hood of the MX5 not caring that it was done noisily. Opening the driver’s door he settled into the drivers seat and slammed the door. The moment the engine fired he let in the clutch and took off – his exhaust note bouncing off the houses and shattering the already broken stillness of the street.
Uppermost in his mind was to get to Metlab before Michael Caplin arrived that morning. If Caplin was directly involved in the deaths of Holden, Meredith, Neilson and Gregson, then he had to confronted about his crimes. If his calculations were right, he would have at least two hours in Caplin’s office and the laboratory to investigate the factors that would verify one way or another Caplin’s duplicity. However, how each possibility might be established he had yet to find out. But then, he had no choice - he had to try.
As he drove along the 3066 his empty stomach churned with a mounting sense of anxiety.
The truth was he did not want to find anything that exposed Caplin unequivocally as a murderer. If anything did, he was faced with an even more difficult situation, forcing him to abandon any hope of the experimental and scientific triumph Caplin had led him to believe would stem from their work. Not only that, his own future
career would probably be forfeit for, no matter the sinister circumstances, who else in the research field would trust him after instigating a conviction and destroying the reputation of a well thought of scientist. It was an agonising dilemma and he had no hope other than to demonstrate absolute proof of what he suspected. Without it he had best leave things alone.
He made Metlab in the early morning daylight finding him virtually alone and the only vehicle in the parking area. There were two others but he knew they belonged to the two night security staff.
It was easy to park his car close to the laboratory building and in so doing he was able to access the entrance with only a short walk. As he passed through the foyer doors he saw the light creeping under the door of Ed Rowe’s little sanctuary. The sound of a television programme was audible and he assumed that since it was only 5.55 a.m., Rowe was in-between the last few of his periodic night duty rounds. Tempted though he was to notify Rowe that he had appeared, her decided against it. What he had to do could be done quickly, and if done without Rowe being aware that he was in the complex, it was possible he could enter and exit without being seen. That way he would be free of any chance that those having no business knowing about his clandestine activities would ever know.
Any sense of trepidation had now left him; he padded past Rowe’s door and made his way up the stairs to the second floor making directly for Caplin’s office. Enough daylight was filtering through the window for him to see his way around the office. He had no need of the overhead fluorescents and as the outside cloud cover broke, and the sky began to brighten, he had all the illumination he needed.
