‘And if Agrigene should be turn out to be innocent of any wrong-doing, like I think they are?’
‘Then that’s a matter for them and the government to sort out, not the villagers or the police. A clear statement from above would be nice — any clear statement right now.’
Steven left police headquarters, having been assured by Brewer that assistance would be on hand at any time should he need it. He drove back over to Blackbridge and along the track leading to Crawhill Farm. The farmhouse was a traditional, stone-built, affair without frills or features. It was pretty much what you’d see if you asked a five year old to draw you a house. Steven knocked loudly on the front door. It was answered by a smartly dressed man, wearing a dark suit, immaculate white shirt and striped tie, who looked him up and down before saying, ‘Yes?’
‘I wonder if I might have a few words with Mr Rafferty?’ said Steven.
‘Mr Rafferty isn’t giving interviews.’
Steven held out his ID, which the man examined carefully before looking at Steven thoughtfully and saying, ‘Wait here a moment.’ He left Steven standing on the doorstep while he disappeared inside.
Steven got tired of just standing there so he took a stroll about the yard. He found a man carrying out repairs on a combine harvester there and said, ‘Nice day.’
‘No’ bad,’ replied the man. ‘What’s your business then?’
‘I’m here to see Mr Rafferty.’
The man looked him over before saying, ‘Another civil servant. Right?’
‘Sort of.’
‘We’ll soon have one each around here. What’s your particular bag?’
‘Environment,’ said Steven.
‘Environment? About time you buggers did something about the rat problem then. My laddie’s lying in St Johns with Weil’s disease thanks to these bastards. They’re all over the place.’
‘I heard about that,’ said Steven, now remembering Macmillan telling him that one of the boys’ fathers worked on Crawhill Farm. He diplomatically didn’t point out that swimming in stagnant water where rats might be present was not the brightest thing to do at any time.
‘Maybe you buggers could go up the canal and start beating the bastards to death with your umbrellas and briefcases!’
Steven smiled and said, ‘It’s a thought and I’ve heard worse suggestions.’
The man broke into a smile too, approving of Steven’s response. ‘Nae offence like.’
‘None taken.’
Steven saw the man who’d opened the door to him coming towards him. He was now accompanied by another man, also smartly dressed.
‘I got tired waiting,’ said Steven by way of explanation.
‘Sorry about that. Mr Rafferty will see you now. Would you mind if we were present?’
‘Who are you?’ asked Steven as he was ushered inside the house.
‘I’m Charles Childs, this is Martin Leadbetter. We’re business associates of Mr Rafferty.’
Steven waited until Childs had led the way into the farmhouse kitchen and invited him to sit before asking exactly what business they were in.
‘We’re venture capitalists,’ replied Childs.
‘Venture capitalists?’ exclaimed Steven. He hadn’t reckoned on venture capital going into something like farming. Biotechnology on the other hand, would be quite another matter.’
Childs took his surprise as an invitation to explain unnecessarily what venture capital was. ‘We’re constantly on the lookout for good business opportunities to recommend to our principals. That’s why we’re here. We have the investment capital and Mr Rafferty has the ideal farm for investment from our point of view. The demand for organically grown produce is growing all the time.’
‘And judging by the price they charge for it in supermarkets, you could well be on to a good thing,’ said Steven, hoping to relax the atmosphere. People were always more inclined to let things slip out when they felt secure.
Childs was pleased at his response and smiled. ‘Coffee?’ he asked.
‘Please,’ replied Steven. ‘I expected Mr Rafferty to be here?’
‘He was on the telephone, I’ll just go fetch him,’ explained Leadbetter.
Childs had just put a large caffetiere down in the middle of the table when Leadbetter returned with Rafferty. ‘Sorry about that,’ said Rafferty. ‘I had to call the vet about my dog. He’s sick again.’ He stretched out his hand and said, ‘Tom Rafferty, what can I do for you?’
Steven knew from the Sci-Med file that Rafferty was forty-eight. He looked younger thanks to a shock of curly red hair. He wore jeans, carpet slippers and a checked shirt, open at the collar to reveal a gold chain.
‘Good of you to see me, Mr Rafferty, I’m Steven Dunbar from the Sci-Med Inspectorate in London. I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘Fire away,’ said Rafferty, helping himself to coffee. Childs had already filled the other cups on the table.
‘Have you always had an interest in organic farming?’
‘Can’t say I have,’ replied Rafferty, a bit unsurely.
‘So what made you apply for accreditation?’
‘A business proposition from these gentlemen.’
Steven admired Rafferty’s apparent honesty. ‘Does this mean that you intend to sell the farm or at least take on business partners?’ he asked.
‘No, definitely not,’ said Rafferty abruptly. ‘I’m keeping the farm. It’s mine and it stays that way. I have to keep it.’
‘Have to?’ asked Steven, puzzled at Rafferty’s strong reaction to his question. The man suddenly looked very vulnerable.
Rafferty looked at Childs first and then directly at Steven. ‘Trish, my wife left me. She had good reason to. If I show her that I’ve turned over a new leaf and can make Crawhill a going concern again, I think she’ll come back to me.’
Steven got the impression that Rafferty had rehearsed what he’d just said. He said, ‘But you’ve got a plant hire business. I thought it was doing quite well?’
‘Not that well. The machines are getting old. They need a lot of attention. Trish always said it was lazy money. She never liked that.’
‘I see,’ said Steven. ‘So how exactly does your business arrangement with these gentlemen work?’
‘They put up the finance for the change over and subsidise the farm until it’s up and running. When I start to make a profit they’ll get their money back and a handsome return on their investment.’
‘What about the plant hire business?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I see. You’re taking a bit of a risk aren’t you?’
‘I want Trish back,’ said Rafferty.
Christ, I know the feeling, thought Steven, suddenly feeling sorry for Rafferty but at least in Rafferty’s case it was possible.
‘I don’t really think there’s much risk involved,’ said Childs. ‘Organic produce is a winner.’
Steven nodded but inside he was thinking that this was a strange thing for a venture capitalist to say. Surely the whole point of venture capital enterprise was to deliberately seek out and invest in high-risk projects with a view to getting really big returns? When all was said and done, high street banks would be happy to invest in sure-fire winners and wouldn’t demand nearly so much in return. He kept this however, to himself. ‘How far along the road have you come to getting your organic farm off the ground?’ he asked Rafferty.
‘Lane’s GM crop is holding things up.’