Deception!

by Elizabeth Ducie

We were married a month later in the tiny church at the end of the street. I was just twenty-seven and she was two years younger.

  Stefano came to the service, even gave Grace away in the absence of anyone else to do it. Afterwards, we repaired to the usual restaurant for a slap up meal and Stefano made a speech, wishing us luck.

  We never spoke again of our argument on the night I brought Grace to Lourenço Marques. Stefano was polite, but never more, to her. And it seemed as though my relationship with him was unchanged; but sometimes, I wondered whether he still told me everything. There were times when I thought maybe he was keeping secrets from me.

  Grace found herself a job working for the pastor who married us. Each day, she would go off to work after breakfast, and return home in time to cook my tea for me. She never asked about the business I was in, and I never talked to her about it. If I had to go out again in the evenings, or was late coming home, she accepted my explanation without question. And for the moment, I thought I was the happiest man alive.

  CHAPTER 26

  ‘Look, Damien, we can’t blame ourselves.’ He had flown over to London the day after they’d heard about Annabelle’s death and now Suzanne watched him pacing up and down the office banging the back of one hand into the curved palm of the other. ‘Even if I had rung her; what could I have said that would have made her change her mind?’

  ‘Logically, I know that’s true, Suzanne,’ he said, stopping his pacing and facing her. ‘She refused to accept there was anything wrong with the Sunshine Supplement product. But you could have told her about the other athletes who’ve had medical problems.’

  ‘No I couldn’t! That would have been most unethical.’ Suzanne took him gently by the arm, steered him to the window seat looking out over the Thames, and pushed him down onto it. ‘Now, you just sit there and calm down. I’m going to put the kettle on.’

  ‘Right,’ she said a few minutes later, pushing her way through the door with her hip, ‘let’s have a drink and talk about the next steps.’ But the window seat was empty. She looked around and found Damien sitting at her desk rapidly banging on the keyboard. ‘What are you doing with my laptop?’

  ‘I’m doing a search on the internet.’ Suzanne watched as Damien tapped a few more keys and then sat back in frustration.

  ‘It’s no good! I just can’t work my way through this like you do, Suzanne. It keeps bringing up all sorts of irrelevant sites. How on earth do you do it?’

  ‘Practice, dear Damien, practice!’ Suzanne said, grinning at his obvious confusion. ‘Now come and have your coffee and explain to me what it is you’re looking for. After all, that’s what you pay me for, isn’t it? I’m nowhere as good as Charlie at this, but she’s taught me quite a lot in the last couple of years.’

  Damien left Suzanne’s desk and returned to the window seat. Taking a mug of coffee, but declining the proffered biscuits, he stared out of the window for a while. Then he turned back and smiled.

  ‘You’re right, of course. I’ll define what I want and you can work your magic for me.’

  The pair worked on their search for over an hour, defining and refining their search criteria, looking for anything relating to aggressive behaviour, running, and herbal products. But they got nowhere. Finally Suzanne flexed her shoulders and stretched her arms wide to ease the strain in her muscles. She turned to Damien and rubbed her hand across her forehead.

  ‘You know, I can’t help feeling we’re looking at this from the wrong angle. We started by talking to users of the Sunshine Supplements product and asking them if they’ve been having any adverse symptoms.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Well, unless there’s something wrong with every dose—’

  ‘Like contamination?’

  ‘Yes, like contamination—unless that’s happened, then statistically the majority are probably going to be okay, aren’t they?’

  ‘Because Atkinson’s not going to try and sell a product that’s contaminated, or affects all the users, now is he?’

  ‘Of course not. There are just too many tests, even on a food supplement, that would spot that straight away. And that facility looked to be quite well run, hygienically speaking.’

  ‘So what do you think is the problem?’

  ‘We know that many of the users are unaffected by Super Fit. I think there’s something in the formulation that only affects a small percentage of users.’

  ‘What do you call a small percentage?’

  ‘It could be as low as nought point one per cent,’ she said with a shrug.

  ‘So it’s a low risk to most people—’

  ‘And for anyone that is affected, the reaction seems to vary from the aggression we saw in Brazil to, possibly, a fatal allergic reaction. So the effect is almost random, unless you happen to be allergic to the problem ingredient—in which case the risk for you is a hundred percent!’

  ‘So we’re looking for a needle in a haystack?’ said Damien. ‘How many users do we have to talk to in order to find the tiny percentage affected?’

  ‘That’s what I meant when I said we were approaching this from the wrong angle. What I want us to do is search for any unexplained deaths associated with allergic reactions, especially in the young, and especially if they are athletes, either amateur or professional.’

  ‘Wow, that’s a specific search, Suzanne. How far do you think we’re going to get with that?’

  ‘Without Charlie, perhaps not very far, but we could at least make a start, to see if there’s anything there. And in the meantime, I’ll get on to my contacts around the various agencies to see if they’ve got anything in their adverse reaction databases.’

  ‘So we’re going to ignore the aggression for the moment—’

  ‘—and concentrate on the deaths instead. Correct.’ She put down her mug of tea, cracked her knuckles dramatically and started hammering her keyboard.

  The results, when they looked at them, were staggering. Suzanne identified five teenagers in the United Kingdom, all promising athletes, who had died of unexplained allergic reactions in the previous twenty months. The Sunshine Supplements trials had been running for just under two years. In three cases, she was able to trace their coaches and confirm they’d been using Super Fit at the time of their death.

  Suzanne next made an appointment to see her former boss at the European Medicines Agency. On her arrival, the receptionist greeted her like the old friend she was. But once she was shown into Marcus Findlater’s office, the temperature dropped several notches.

  ‘I was surprised to get your call, Suzanne,’ was his opening comment once she was seated opposite him, across his wide uncluttered desk. ‘I thought you consultants,’ almost spitting the word, ‘knew everything and didn’t need the help of us lowly regulators.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Marcus! That’s hardly fair. I have nothing but the utmost respect for all regulators, especially you guys I’ve worked with.’

  ‘That didn’t stop you disappearing over the wall though, did it?’

  Suzanne bit her lip and decided silence was her only option at this point. In the aftermath of Sir Fredrick Michael’s supposed suicide, when everyone was falling over themselves to elevate him to the misguided status of sainthood, it hadn’t been possible to tell people the true facts of the case. When the International Health Forum was subsequently disbanded, Suzanne returned briefly to work in the EMA. But her experiences in IHF had made her sceptical of intergovernmental organisations. She’d left soon afterwards and set up the consultancy with Charlie. And despite their obvious disappointment, and even disapproval, at her decision, she had never thought her former EMA colleagues were anything but consummate professionals.

  ‘Anyway, you’re here now,’ continued Marcus. ‘What can I do to help you?’

  ‘I have a project I’m working on that’s thrown up some disturbing information,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’ve only been able to look at the situation in the United Kingdom so far; but I susp
ect it might range far wider than that. I was wondering if someone could interrogate the European databases for me.’

  She went on to tell Marcus about Sunshine Supplements, about Damien’s growing concerns, about their trip to Brazil and the investigations she had continued since her return.

  ‘The trouble is, Marcus, as it’s classified as a foodstuff rather than a medicine, it’s not regulated as tightly outside of America. Damien is trying to get someone within the Food and Drug Administration to take a look at it, but they’re so pushed for resources, it’s not been given any priority so far.’

  ‘But if it’s a foodstuff, how do you think we can help?’

  ‘I found my latest information by looking at unexplained adverse reactions. I thought you might take the same approach across the rest of Europe.’

  ‘And just how did you find that information, might I ask?’

  Suzanne thought about the answer she always got from Charlie when she asked the same question.

  ‘Believe me, Marcus, you don’t want to know!’

  Her former boss stared at her for a moment, then started laughing.

  ‘Okay, Suzanne, I’ll get someone to take a look. But the systems aren’t fully integrated, so it’s going to take a while to get responses back from the other twenty-six member states. I’ll get back to you if we find anything.’ He stood and held out his hand, indicating the meeting was over. ‘Good to see you again, Suzanne. Sorry I gave you a hard time when you arrived; and remember, if you feel like doing a bit of a poacher turned gamekeeper act, there’s always a position for you here.’

  Suzanne expected to wait a long time for the response from the EMA, but two days later Marcus rang and asked her to come back to see him again. This time, there was no icy atmosphere and she was offered coffee on arrival.

  ‘Suzanne,’ he said as she sipped her drink, ‘we’ve only had results back so far from a few of the agencies, but there’s enough data already to raise our suspicions, even without hearing from the rest.’ He picked up a sheet of paper from the pile on his desk and scanned it quickly before looking up at her. ‘We’ve identified three unexplained deaths of young athletes in France, one each in Spain and Malta, and four in Germany. We’ve contacted our friends in the Food and Drug Administration in the United States, and they uncovered a shocking eleven cases in the past eighteen months. Over half the deceased were taking Super Fit at the time of their death. But because it was a food supplement, it hadn’t featured in their medical histories and wasn’t picked up as a possible cause of the anaphylactic shock.’

  ‘That’s dreadful,’ said Suzanne. ‘But at least we now have something we can use against Sunshine Supplements, don’t we?’

  But Marcus didn’t look at all convinced.

  ‘I’m afraid not. All we’ve got is a lot of suspicions and some circumstantial evidence that could well be argued away as coincidental. And with resources being what they are...’ He shrugged and pulled a face at her. It was his ‘I’d love to help, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do’ face. She was starting to remember why she’d not always enjoyed working for Marcus Findlater.

  ‘And the information you’ve given me?’

  ‘Is unofficial, I’m afraid. We can’t be associated with an off-the-record investigation initiated by a member of the public with a bee in his bonnet.’

  ‘Then why did you bother calling me in?’ she asked, unsure whether she felt more angry or depressed.

  Marcus rolled his eyes at her.

  ‘Because although I can’t be associated with this case at the moment, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t offer some help to an independent consultant who is in a position to help said member of the public. Especially when that consultant is so well-known to us.’

  Suzanne grinned and, standing, shook his hand.

  ‘Okay, Marcus, message understood. I’ll be back when I’ve got something more concrete. And thanks for your help.’

  That afternoon, Suzanne had a phone call. It was the last person she would have expected to hear from.

  ‘Ms Jones, Suzanne,’ said the familiar male voice, ‘it’s Atkinson, Nigel Atkinson here.’

  ‘Mr Atkinson.’ Suzanne didn’t even attempt to keep the icicles out of her voice, ‘I am surprised to hear from you. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Suzanne, I wanted to appeal to your better nature. Your investigation is killing our company. People are going to lose their jobs, their livelihoods.’

  ‘But people are losing their lives. That’s even worse, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not true; not proven! I was devastated to hear of those tragic deaths—such promising young athletes—but it’s all a terrible coincidence. There’s nothing in my supplement that could cause death.’

  ‘I don’t believe in coincidences! And although we may not have any proof yet, I know it’s out there—and we will find it.’

  Atkinson sighed and then started again, his tone sorrowful.

  ‘Suzanne, I’m begging you. Please stop this cruel witch hunt now. If it will help persuade you, I’ll stop all production of Super Fit. Just stop stirring things up, please.’ He paused then continued: ‘I’m going to level with you, Suzanne. There’s a major multinational interested in our portfolio, and we’re approaching a very delicate time in the negotiations. I’m not doing this for myself; it’s for the workers; I want to protect their jobs, make sure they can look after their families. And it’s all about to come together; they’re ready to join the party. Do you really want to have the collapse of this merger on your hands?’

  ‘I can live with it,’ said Suzanne. ‘I’ve seen your history of start-ups and mergers. In most cases, the wonder products are pulled from the market within twelve months, and several of the factories have been shut down. So people’s livelihoods are destroyed anyway. The only one who really profits is you, isn’t it, Nigel?’ There was a long pause. Then Atkinson responded.

  ‘You seem to have a very poor opinion—’, but Suzanne had had enough.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Atkinson,’ she said, ‘don’t call again. My investigations will be continuing.’ And she put the phone down with a gentle but firm click.

  She sat, staring at the phone, her head buzzing. She knew there was something she was missing. What was it Atkinson had said? Something about coming together; joining the party. What party? Why did those words sound so familiar? She reached for her laptop, opened the search engine, typed in the two phrases and hit enter. And just like that, it was all there before her. And she finally remembered who the old guy in the Sunshine Supplements factory was. She grabbed the phone and dialled Damien’s number.

  CHAPTER 27

  Charlie slept very little; her mind raced with thoughts of the upcoming trip to Rio. How could she get the much-needed evidence about Hawkins before Mercy ran away and her links to the family were severed? Or worse still, before Hawkins remembered why Charlie’s face was familiar. She had been so sure she’d never met him. But it looked like she might be wrong. She’d used the Rose Fitzpatrick identity before. If Hawkins searched for her online, he would find articles about the one-hit-wonder author who was the darling of the literary world for a few brief months some years ago; but it was a pretty thin veneer and anyone who knew their way around the internet would see through it. She just had to hope Hawkins wasn’t that anyone.

  At four-thirty am, she gave up trying to sleep, rose and showered. By the time Mercy tapped on her door ninety minutes later, she was packed, had tidied her room and was striding up and down, still worrying.

  ‘Now, there’s a surprise,’ the other woman said as Charlie opened the door. ‘I was sure I’d have to come and pull you out of bed again!’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ said Charlie, pinning a grin on her face. ‘I’ve always wanted to see the Rio Carnival.’ But as Mercy frowned at her, she rested her hand lightly on the woman’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry; I know this is an important trip and I won’t let you down. But it won’t hurt to have
a little fun to start with, now will it?’

  Hawkins was waiting downstairs for them and after a quick bite to eat, he shepherded them out to the waiting limo for the short drive to the private airfield they’d used previously for the visit to Iguaçu. The same Cessna 525 was waiting for them. Hawkins told Charlie he hired the plane when he needed it.

  ‘It’s easier to have someone else look after all the paperwork and maintenance,’ he said. ‘Although we use it so often these days, I’m thinking of buying one.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘How do you fancy flying lessons for your next birthday, Mercy?’

  As she watched her friend clap her hands in glee and give her father a hug and a kiss, Charlie marvelled at her acting abilities. She certainly didn’t look like someone who was afraid of her newly-discovered father and was planning to run away at the earliest opportunity. Still, I guess we’re all acting a part here, today, she mused, as they walked up the steps and settled themselves in the luxurious cabin.

  Once again, Hawkins immersed himself in a pile of papers and didn’t look up or speak to them until they started flying over the outskirts of the city. Mercy gasped and grabbed Charlie’s arm, pointing out of the window.

  ‘Look, Rose, it’s Christ the Redeemer!’ They watched in silence as the little plane flew past the most famous symbol of Brazil and headed down towards Santos Dumont Airport.

  They landed and parked at a remote spot away from the commercial shuttle terminal and watched from the tarmac as an eight-seater minibus drove towards them. Judging by the gleaming paintwork and gold lettering emblazoned along the side, Charlie guessed this was no ordinary minibus company. Hawkins seemed to read her mind.

  ‘I hire a concierge company to manage all aspects of my visits to Rio,’ he said. ‘They handle transport, find appropriate accommodation and make bookings.’

  The ‘appropriate accommodation’ was not, as Charlie had expected, one of Rio’s many five-star hotels. When they left the airport, the minibus turned not towards the city, but northwards, along the broad highway skirting the coast.