A post-grad called Gordon Cooper was the first to join them. The man was barely into his twenties, with a fresh face, and un-furrowed brow. His hazel eyes were narrowed in fear and he fidgeted uncomfortably as Artimus made his usual show of preparedness before beginning.
“Can you walk me through what you do at Hybrid Incorporated Mister Cooper?” said Artimus, clicking his pen.
“I’m a modeller.” said Gordon, not lifting his head to make eye contact. “It’s my job to design the models running the math underpinning my colleagues work.”
“So your background is not in genetics?”
“No. Physics.”
“What brought you into genetics?”
“Money.” said Gordon, looking up. “You might not have noticed, but there’s not a massive amount of work out there at the moment. You can’t be that picky anymore.”
“It is a tough market out there for some individuals.” said Artimus, perhaps a little too condescendingly. “Are you able to understand most of what the other scientists are doing?”
“Please.” said Gordon, looking offended. “I map what they are doing in math-based code. I understand it better than they do.”
Neil could not help but smile. He was always told that there was only one science, and its name was physics. Chemistry, biology, and every derivative thereof were just simple ways of describing complex physics in action. He always thought of scientists as distant figures. Confidence a trait long since consigned to their pasts. It was therefore nice to see a proponent of science so assured of his reasoning.
“Do you have any long-term nerve damage from carrying that chip on your shoulder?” asked Artimus, unimpressed. It was clear he did not feel the same way as Neil.
Gordon did not answer. He dropped his head, his ego suitably deflated.
“Can you tell me how well you know the Graysons?” asked Artimus, not allowing Gordon respite.
“Not at all, really.” said Gordon, apologetically. “He never really said anything in the office, and he never came out on any of the staff dos. He came to the first event over the summer, a ball the company threw, but since then he hasn’t bothered. He even missed the Christmas party a couple of weeks back.”
“Any reasons given?”
“No.” said Gordon, puzzled by the question. “I assumed he was just there for the science; that he wasn’t interested in the social stuff. Most of these guys are pretty geeky.”
“And you’re not?” asked Artimus, removing his reading glasses and peering at Gordon incredulously.
“Not in that way, no.” said Gordon, half smiling and half grimacing. “I mean, we’re all geeks to one level or another, but some of these guys… They think they’re changing the world. It’s given them a whole new tier of geek to inhabit.”
“So, you would have no reason to set Mister or Missus Grayson up for any reason?”
“Why would I do that?” said Gordon, recoiling with the insinuation.
“For one, the reaction you just gave to the question.” said Artimus, calmly. “I asked an even worse one in your office yesterday and you did not even flinch.”
“I wasn’t listening, that’s why.” said Gordon, embarrassed. “I tend to zone out at work. It’s all that gets me through most of the time; that and knowing that once the day is over I get to go back home to Mandy.”
“Mandy is..?”
“My fiancée, sorry. We’re saving to get married. It’s the only reason I continue with that job. Like I said, I need the money.”
“Mister Townsend, anything from you?”
Neil did not even attempt to speak. He just waved his hand.
“Then our conversation is over Mister Cooper.”
With the questioning of Gordon over, Dawn brought Neil a glass of water in. “You don’t look so good, Neil.” she said, appraising his state. “Do you want five minutes before I bring the next man through?”
“No, I’m fine.” said Neil, his voice hoarse. “Really.”
“You heard the man Miss Hartley.” said Artimus. “Let’s get through this as fast as we can.”
Neil groaned and moved the paper bin in the room closer to his chair. “Just in case.” he said, trying to smile.
“Indeed.” said Artimus, shuffling further away.
Doctor Ian Watkins was the next man sent in. At six two, he was a gaunt and bearded fellow, whose attire shouted scientist even though he was outside work. His jumper was a turtleneck in mixed, coarse wool, and his jeans had patches on the knees.
“Doctor Watkins.” said Artimus, standing as the man entered and extending a hand. “Please have a seat.”
Doctor Watkins planted himself in the chair and crossed his legs, leaning as far back as he could. It was clear he was not here to give information away freely.
“If you could start by running me through the reasons why you hate Mister Grayson.” said Artimus, grinning inanely at the man. “In your own time, of course.”
Doctor Watkins’ air vanished as soon as the question was asked, wondering what to say or how Artimus may have known. He tried a number of times to start, but nothing came out.
“Let me take a guess for you.” said Artimus, closing his pad over his pen and pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “That was your job he took, was it not? You deserved to be head of the team.”
“Damn right I did!” said Doctor Watkins, gesticulating with his anger. “Three years on basic pay to get snubbed for a guy with a pharma background? He’s not even that bright.”
“So why did you kill those people?” asked Artimus, opening his pad again.
“No no no!” said Doctor Watkins, waving furiously. “You’ve got this all wrong. I was happy the man was being put through some shit of his own, but I didn’t cause…”
“You do know something though.” said Artimus, interrupting and glancing up. “You squinted when I asked that question in Hybrid. You were tying what I said with something else. What was it?”
“Nothing much.” said Doctor Watkins, his musings creasing his face. “It’s just that Doctor Grayson was so, well, secretive most of the time. He never came out with us for a drink, he worried if you were looking over his shoulder if he was texting someone, and he refused to friend you on Facebook or Twitter. He was doing something nefarious, I’m sure of it. I’m just not sure what it was. Never had him pegged as a murderer though.”
“Neither do we.” said Artimus, scanning back a few pages and underlining something in his notes. “Is there anything else you noticed in your time at Hybrid? No matter how insignificant it may seem.”
“Just one thing.” said Doctor Watkins, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “We keep having visitors to the office. Weird ones.”
“Elaborate.” said Artimus, interest piqued.
“I’m not sure what to call them; suits? But not the usual funding-types.” said Doctor Watkins, looking around nervously. “They come in and visit Doctor Waites occasionally; maybe twice a month or so. There’s always three of them, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen the same three turn up at once. The strange thing is they always turn up at the same time on a Thursday, remaining in Doctor Waites’ office until after we’ve all left.”
Artimus nodded, pursing his lips. “That is a strange thing. I will take that up with your boss… anonymously, of course.”
“Thank you.” said Doctor Watkins, sighing appreciatively.
With nothing more to ask, Doctor Watkins was led from the room, and after another few minutes respite, their last interviewee strode in.
Even with Neil’s abilities as badly tuned out as they were, he could tell from the man’s gait and posture he was a proud and confident individual.
Doctor Thomas Upton was the team’s specialist in gene-mapping technologies. At thirty-five, he was bang in what scientists called the Goldilocks Zone of academic talent, right at the very peak of his powers. It was clear however, it was a fact he knew.
Doctor Upton was reasonably good looking for a scientist and his attire
was that of any well-to-do man about London. His suit looked expensive and his shoes were immaculately polished.
Neil thought back to their meeting at Hybrid. He could see Doctor Upton walking over. He looked down, the shoes were different, but no less well kept. He scanned the area around the opening in his lab coat and saw the tell-tale creases of a suit underneath. This was how the man usually dressed.
“If you would take a seat, Doctor.” said Artimus, not standing.
Doctor Upton nodded, gracefully sitting back into the chair.
For a couple of minutes, Artimus shuffled through his notes, occasionally tapping his pen on certain pages, before moving on.
“I have only two questions for you today, Doctor Upton.” said Artimus, closing his notepad and tossing it onto the table. “Firstly, what degree mason are you? Secondly, what does your lodge have to do with the deaths of those people at Mister Grayson’s house? You may answer those questions in any order you wish.”
“I choose to answer neither.” said Doctor Upton, unmoved. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Come now, Doctor Upton. A scientist, even a geneticist such as yourself, does not earn the money required to keep a man so salubriously attired. I know Doctor Waites is a mason, so therefore I can easily garner you are too.”
“My response is still that I do not know the answers to your questions. No matter how much you may believe you know.”
Neil appraised Doctor Upton. His face was stoic, a picture of calm intent. He knew what countering in this manner would mean if his words were proved wrong, but he was managing to hide all signs of worry regarding responding as such. It was unsettling to watch someone so calm in the face of pressure.
“I assume you know who I am?” said Artimus, watching Doctor Upton intently.
“I’m sorry, Mister Crane.” said Doctor Upton, clearly feigning his ignorance. “Yours is not a name I have come across before.”
“Of course it’s not.” said Artimus, standing. “I assume you know where the door is at least?”
“I do.” said Doctor Upton, buttoning his jacket as he left the room. “Enjoy the rest of your day, gentlemen.”
“Well,” said Neil, grimacing. “that guy was a pompous arsehole.”
“I’m not surprised.” said Artimus, picking up his pad and heading for the door. “He does have a lodge to protect.”
Chapter 20
Everything to Date
Out of Time Page 19
