‘You didn’t know about that when you applied for accreditation?’
‘Of course not. The bastard kept it a secret from the whole village, didn’t he?’
‘Mr Lane says you were aware of it.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘The application was made in good faith,’ said Childs.
‘If you say so. Was it you who contracted for an analysis of the crop on Peat Ridge Farm?’ Steven asked.
‘Me?’ exclaimed Rafferty. ‘Of course not, that’s an official government lab analysis.’
‘So where did the report come from?’
‘Our lawyers, McGraw and Littlejohn, got a copy.’
‘How?’
‘I’ve no bloody idea. I suppose someone figured out what Lane and that bloody company he’s in cahoots with were up to and sent them a copy to help with our protest.’
‘That’s our understanding too,’ said Childs.
‘Does your venture capital company have a name, Mr Childs?’ Steven asked.
‘We’re not really a company as such,’ replied Childs with what he believed to be a disarming smile. ‘Just a group of wealthy individuals who like a challenge.’
Steven stared at him until he felt compelled to add, ‘However, if you should need to ask anything you can use any of these numbers.’ He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a business card, which he handed over.
Steven looked at it. Pentangle Venture, it said. The phone and Fax numbers had a London code. ‘Thank you, gentlemen. You’ve been most helpful.’
EIGHT
Steven stopped for a moment to speak to the man in the yard he’d talked to earlier. This time, he was crossing the yard carrying a can of fuel oil. ‘I hope your son gets better soon,’ said Steven.
‘Cheers,’ said the man. ‘Don’t forget to tell the briefcases to start swinging at these rats.’
‘I’m on my way there now,’ smiled Steven. ‘I might just put your idea to them.’
‘A hard day’s work wid kill the buggers.’
At that moment an unearthly howl interrupted the conversation. ‘What the hell was that?’ asked Steven.
‘Just Khan,’ said the man. ‘Tom Rafferty’s dog. I think he’s going to have to get him put down or maybe a part in a Hammer movie!’
‘He said his dog was sick,’ remembered Steven. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘If it was human, he would have been banged up as a psychopath long ago and if anything, he’s been getting worse of late. Tom’s had him for years. Christ knows what he sees in him. He scares the shit out of everyone else. Mind you, maybe that’s the reason!’
‘I think Mr Rafferty said something about phoning the vet,’ said Steven.
‘He scares the shit out of the vet too!’
The howl went up again and Steven said, ‘Right, I’m off.’
He changed his mind about going directly over to the Blackbridge Arms. He felt that he needed to walk for a bit and do some thinking. He didn’t want to tramp round the depressing streets of Blackbridge so he opted once more for the canal towpath, this time heading west along the southern edge of Peat Ridge Farm. He paused for a moment to look at the golden flowers of the oilseed rape crop in the fields, thinking that it looked exactly the same as any other oilseed rape he’d ever seen but then, as he reminded himself, there was no reason why it shouldn’t. It made him reflect that people, including himself, tended to associate genetic alteration with physical change. In fact, they were happier when this was the case because you knew where you were with something you could see. Knowing that the genetic material of this crop had been altered in some invisible way put it in the same league as other things you couldn’t see, like viruses or bacteria or poison. He moved on when he became aware of a patrolling security guard regarding him suspiciously and then start to move towards him.
He had now spoken to both the main parties in the current dispute. Ronald Lane was an unpleasant, abrasive individual, capable of being devious and opportunist, he had no doubt, but he was the kind who took pride in doing so within the rules of the game. There were a lot of businessmen like that. They saw it as sailing close to the wind and it gave them a buzz. Thomas Rafferty, on the other hand, was not nearly so well educated or accomplished as Lane but could probably be just as devious, given the chance. The villagers, by all accounts, saw him as a bit of a rogue, a man who drank too much and who didn’t have too much liking for hard work but this morning, he had seen a man who had lost his wife and who appeared to want her back desperately. To this end, he seemed prepared to change, maybe even start out on a whole new course in life with the organic farming venture. Could this particular really leopard change his spots? he wondered or was not the road to hell paved with good intentions?
The players behind the two principals were very different characters. Phillip Grimble, the technical director of Agrigene seemed a thoroughly decent individual who had been reluctant to even consider the company’s competitors stooping to skulduggery. This could have been an act, of course. Coming across as a thoroughly decent individual was a prime requisite for any successful confidence trickster, but in Grimble’s case, he didn’t think that was the case. Childs and Leadbetter warranted more suspicion. Venture capitalists getting into organic farming? Backing a man like Tom Rafferty? Even for people who liked a challenge, Rafferty struck him as one hell of a risk to take on for the sake of a few fields of vegetables.
On the other hand, Pentangle had not actually put their money where their mouth was to any great extent. They had not purchased a share in Crawhill, although, he conceded that that might have been down to Rafferty refusing them one. Rafferty had reacted quite strongly when asked if he had sold the farm or any part of it. At the moment, Pentangle’s investment was minimal apart from the fact that they were picking up the protestors’ legal bills. They had not however, admitted to being behind the independent analysis of the Agrigene crop and that was odd. According to Rafferty, the report had been sent to McGraw and Littlejohn from person or persons unknown. Maybe that was the way it had been done but if Pentangle should turn out to have any connection with a rival biotech company, it might explain just about everything.
It was even a very clever idea to hide behind a venture capital initiative, thought Steven. The only thing it didn’t explain was why they had gone to all this trouble. This was a real puzzle. According to Phillip Grimble — and he thought he believed him — there was very little to be gained from putting a halt to one GM trial on a crop that was being tested at several sites all over the UK.
Steven decided that he would ask Sci-Med to run a thorough check on Pentangle while he would pay a visit to McGraw and Littlejohn on the off chance that they might actually know the identity of the party who had commissioned the crop analysis. As he walked back along the towpath he again saw the security guard who had looked at him suspiciously earlier. He had stopped patrolling the southern edge of the field and was keeping an eye on his return.
As Steven came to a point directly opposite him he saw the man suddenly start hopping around in agitation and begin swearing loudly. ‘Fucking things!’ he exploded, letting fly with his boot at a rat that had run out from the crop and over his foot. He missed by a mile and the animal scampered up the bank and across the towpath into the canal.
‘Bloody things are everywhere,’ said the guard, regaining his composure and now obviously feeling slightly embarrassed at his impromptu dance routine when it had been his intention to come across as intimidating.
‘The living’s easy for them round here,’ said Steven. ‘Plenty to eat and a nice canal with no traffic on it.’