‘I’m sure the police are aware of the situation,’ said Steven. ‘They’ll keep an eye on things; make sure they don’t get out of hand.’
‘I wish I had your faith,’ said Lane. ‘But the police aren’t going to alienate the whole community by paying us too much attention. They’ll find some reason for not being around at the critical time. You mark my words, pally. Police forces work in the interest of those who pay them.’
‘Where do you see Thomas Rafferty and Crawhill Farm fitting into the great scheme of things?’ asked Steven.
‘Rafferty?’ exclaimed Lane with obvious distaste. ‘The people’s champion? It’ll take more than a few organic carrots to save that clown’s liver from an early grave. You can’t tell me this organic thing is Rafferty’s idea. Somebody’s working him from behind.’
‘Someone with influence,’ added Grimble. ‘My people checked the area out thoroughly before we applied for permission to grow our crop here. There was absolutely no mention of an organic farm in the offing at that time. Crawhill got its accreditation after we got our licence.’
‘I suspect many of the villagers might suggest that there was no hint of a GM crop in the fields up here either,’ said Steven.
‘We didn’t advertise it publicly for obvious reasons, conceded Grimble. ‘Do you blame us?’
‘I’m just trying to keep an open mind. You don’t think it possible that Rafferty or whoever was behind the application, didn’t know that the Peat Ridge crop was GM when they applied for accreditation?’
‘That’s not my recollection of events,’ snapped Lane. ‘It was some weeks after the initial hue and cry that Rafferty joined the rabble with his organic farm story and lawyers started appearing on every street corner.’
Steven nodded and said, ‘Well, thank you for your help, gentlemen. I’ll be in touch.’
Steven thought he would visit the police before going to see Thomas Rafferty. This involved a drive out to the town of Livingston, one of Scotland’s new-towns, sited between Edinburgh and Glasgow and where he drove around in a concrete maze for a while before eventually finding police headquarters, the main station for the area that included Blackbridge. He found that the desk sergeant was apparently expecting him and took from this that Sci-Med had done their job well. He was informed that Chief Inspector Brewer was to be his contact and was shown to his office.
Brewer turned out to be a tall, thickset man in his mid to late forties, with a shock of wiry grey hair and a bulbous nose, which he was blowing when Steven entered. ‘Bloody hay fever,’ he complained, crumpling the used tissues and throwing them in the wicker basket by his desk. Steven noted that it was more than three-quarters full. ‘What can we do for the science police?’
Steven told him that he was there to take a look at the general situation in Blackbridge, and in particular, the ongoing spat over the GM crop on Peat Ridge Farm.’
‘Oh aye,’ said the policeman. ‘It’s become a case of “too many cooks”, if you ask me. The civil servants and lawyers can’t make up their minds over who’s in the right and who’s in the wrong so my lads have been left standing in the middle, dealing with the angry locals who are making up their own stories.’
‘That’s largely my view of the situation too,’ agreed Steven. ‘I heard there was an arson attempt the other night?’
Brewer nodded and said, ‘Luckily, the local vet got wind of it and called us in time. We got there before the buggers could do any real damage but they had enough petrol between them to run two cars at Le Mans.’
‘Local?’
‘The usual suspects. They were warned in no uncertain terms that if there was any repeat of that kind of nonsense they’d be for the high jump.’
‘Do any good?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. They think they’ve got a just case and that always means trouble. Believe me, there’s nothing worse than a tearaway who’s been given what he sees as a good reason to play Robin bloody Hood. As I see it, the only way to put an end to all this nonsense is for the men in suits to make some firm decisions and quickly. By God, there are enough of them.’
‘So I hear,’ said Steven. ‘What about the main players on the ground, Lane and Rafferty?’
‘Lane is an abrasive pain in the arse, which isn’t helping the situation any but he seldom puts a foot wrong in terms of legality and he certainly knows his rights. Rafferty is generally thought of as a harmless waster, popular with the locals because he’s one of them and always ready to stand his hand in the boozer where he used to spend most of his time and money. He hasn’t been going there so much in the past few weeks. His wife left him a short while back so maybe he’s turning over a new leaf with this organic farm thing. Trying to get her back, maybe?’
This was a new slant on things thought Steven.
‘Beats me why they can’t resolve this GM situation,’ said Brewer, ‘If a government lab says the crop in Lane’s field is not the one they were licensed for then surely that’s an end to the matter. The crop should be destroyed and the company responsible punished with the full weight of the law, considering just how much hassle they’ve caused round here. But just because Lane and his partner starts hiring a few lawyers and mouthing off about “a set-up”, the suits start shitting themselves and passing the buck around like it was radio-active.’
‘That’s where I come in,’ said Steven. ‘The problem with the crop analysis is that certain key bits of evidence have gone missing, as has the scientist who performed the tests. That’s what’s making the legal position a bit tricky, a grey area, you might say.’
‘And there’s nothing lawyers like better than grey areas,’ said Brewer. ‘They’re usually stuffed full of new BMWs and holidays in the Bahamas.’
‘Spot on,’ agreed Steven. ‘Left to lawyers, this could run and run.’
‘Does that mean we just have to grin and bear it?’ asked Brewer.
‘Not if I can help it,’ said Steven. ‘There’s a third player in all of this. I don’t know who as yet and I’m not at all sure why but I’m going to do my level best to find out.’
‘I don’t think I understand what a “third player” could hope to get out of the situation?’ said Brewer.
‘I’m not sure I do either,’ confessed Steven. ‘I thought industrial espionage might be the front runner with one of Agrigene’s competitors trying to set them up in order to make life difficult but after talking to Agrigene’s technical manager, I’m not so sure any more. There’s not enough to be gained.’
‘But you obviously do think that the company is being set up in some way, don’t you?’ asked Brewer.
‘I think public opinion is being orchestrated against them by people who know exactly what they are doing.’
‘But what about the government report on the crop in Lane’s fields. I’m told it clearly showed that it wasn’t the one they were given permission to grow?’
‘Out of interest, who told you that?’ asked Steven.’
Brewer shrugged and said, ‘A bloke from the ministry talked to the residents of Blackbridge. I was in attendance. He said that there was a problem with the identity of the crop on Peat Ridge Farm and they were looking into it. One of the residents pressed him on the nature of the problem and he said that it contained three foreign genes instead of two. Simple as that.’
‘That was a misunderstanding,’ said Steven.
‘That’s what the bloke from the company said but then he would wouldn’t he?’ said Brewer.
‘Actually, he’s quite right,’ said Steven. ‘But I suspect no one wanted to hear the company’s side of things?’
‘I suppose not,’ agreed Brewer. ‘You can’t expect the man in the street to understand complex scientific arguments or even want to but if a government lab said that there were three foreign genes present when there should only have been two, then that’s easily understood and all he needs to know. If it wasn’t for the fact that the civil servants are all at each other’s throats that crop would be under a destruction order by now and we’d no longer be sitting on a powder keg.’