Eve accompanied Steven back out into the hall where she collected her coat from behind a door marked, Staff Only. ‘You’re off too?’ he asked.
‘Lunchtime’s over,’ Eve replied. ‘But I’ll be back for dinners.’
‘You couldn’t show me where the local vet lives, could you?’
‘Of course, it’s not far. ‘Has Silver gone lame?’
Steven smiled. ‘No, I just need to ask him something.’
Eve showed him where James Binnie lived and then said good bye.
‘I hope tomorrow’s not too awful for you,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ Eve replied, looking back over her shoulder.
Steven knocked on the door and waited. It was opened by Binnie’s wife. He asked if he could have a word with the vet.
‘I’m afraid James is out at the moment. He went over to Kirkliston to look at a lame horse. Is it an emergency?’
Steven replied that it wasn’t. He just wanted to have a chat with the vet about something when he had a spare moment.’
‘Can you be more specific?’ asked the woman.
‘Everyone has been talking about an increase in the rat population. I wanted to hear a professional view of the situation.’
‘And you are?’
Steven told her.
‘Rats, eh? Well, I should think James would be delighted to talk to you about rats, Doctor Dunbar. Perhaps you might even persuade him to remove the one he put in the fridge the other night while you’re at it!’
Steven asked about this and was told about the attack on the Labrador puppy. It was the case he’d heard mentioned in the pub.
‘Why the rat in the fridge?’ he asked.
‘James said that he wanted the vet school in Edinburgh to take a look at the creature but he just hasn’t got round to taking it over yet, a familiar enough scenario,’ the woman smiled.
‘Do you know why he wanted it examined?’
‘He didn’t say. I think what worried him was the fact that he had another case of rat bite to deal with last week and then of course, there was the tragedy of young Ian Ferguson. I think James has started to wonder just what exactly is going on.’
Steven nodded and asked when he might call back.
‘It will probably be after four by the time he gets back from Kirkliston,’ said Ann Binnie, ‘and then he’ll have to go over to Crawhill to see to Tom Rafferty’s dog.’
‘Better him than me,’ said Steven.
‘You know the dog?’
‘I was at Crawhill this morning,’ said Steven. ‘I heard it. Made the Hound of the Baskervilles sound like a sissy.’
‘Khan’s a bit of a handful, I’m afraid.’
‘Looking for a bit of a mouthful, by the sound of it.’
Anyway, that’s going to keep James occupied for a bit. I think perhaps tomorrow morning might be best. He’ll be going to the Ferguson boy’s funeral at ten. Maybe some time when that’s over?’
‘Fine,’ said Steven.
‘I’ll tell him to expect you.
Steven walked back to his car and started out for Edinburgh and the offices of legal firm, McGraw and Littlejohn. Finding the building was easy enough but finding a place to park near it, in the Georgian heart of Edinburgh, was another matter. He did eventually find one but it was nearly half a mile on the north side of where he wanted to be. He fed the ticket machine with enough money for an hour and started to walk back uphill to Abercromby Place.
A solid black door furnished with brass knobs and nameplate gave access to an inner glass door, which gave way in turn to a wall with a sliding glass panel in it. Steven pressed the bell below it and a young girl slid back the panel. He showed his ID and said that he’d like to speak with the partner dealing with Thomas Rafferty of Crawhill Farm.
‘Just a minute,’ said the girl, appearing puzzled.
It was the reply Steven expected. ‘The first person to ask you, ‘how can I help you,’ in any organisation was always guaranteed to be unable to do so. He heard the girl ask someone named Mrs Logan for help. Mrs Logan, a middle aged woman with wrinkled, parchment-yellow skin, appeared at the window and Steven made his request again. Once more he showed his ID.
‘You’re a doctor… but also some sort of policeman?’ said Mrs Logan.
‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ agreed Steven pleasantly.
‘Just a minute.’
In all it took Steven some seven minutes more to clear the hurdles of the outer office and be shown into the inner sanctum of Hector McGraw, senior partner in the firm.
‘You have me at a disadvantage, Doctor, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from the Sci-Med Inspectorate before’ said McGraw, standing up to greet Steven. ‘What exactly do you do?’
Steven explained briefly the function of the SMI and its powers.
‘Sounds like a very good idea,’ said McGraw. ‘Where do we come in?’
‘You’re handling the action against the GM crop trial at Peat Ridge Farm in Blackbridge,’ said Steven. ‘You obtained a lab report on the crop from a ministry lab over in Ayrshire. I’d like to know who commissioned the report.’
‘But it was a ministry report,’ said McGraw.
‘But commissioned privately.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said McGraw.’
‘How did you come by it?’ asked Steven.
‘It simply arrived on my desk.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘The report clearly stated that the crop contained three foreign elements instead of the two stated in the license so we brought this to the attention of the relevant authorities.’
Despite the fact that McGraw had professed surprise at his visit, Steven had the distinct impression that the man’s responses to his questions had been prepared in advance, as if he had been expecting someone to ask them. ‘Did you check the report’s authenticity?’ he asked.
‘Well, no,’ replied McGraw, putting on a defensive grin. ‘The report was on official paper. There didn’t seem any need to… ’
‘So an official looking piece of paper is sent to you anonymously and you do nothing to check whether it’s genuine or not. Is that what you’re saying?’
McGraw appeared flustered for the first time. ‘As I say, the ministry letterhead seemed to suggest that it was kosher.’
‘How difficult do you think it would be to forge the letterhead?’ asked Steven.
‘But why would anyone want to… ’
‘Because many thousands of pounds are tied up in this crop trial,’ interrupted Steven, making it sound like that was obvious.
‘Are you saying that the report was forged?’ asked McGraw.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ conceded Steven, but he suspected that McGraw already knew that. There was something about the man’s smugness that suggested to him that McGraw hadn’t bothered to check the report’s authenticity because he had been expecting it to.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ said McGraw with a smirk.
‘Who is paying Mr Rafferty’s legal bills?’
‘I think that’s an improper question.’
‘But one I think you should answer.’
‘And if I refuse on the grounds that it would be a breach of client confidentiality?’
‘I’ll ask Inland Revenue to go through all the documents on the firm’s premises with a fine tooth comb,’ replied Steven.
‘But they’d find nothing wrong with anything!’ protested McGraw.
‘I know,’ replied Steven. ‘But it wouldn’t look very nice.’
‘That is outrageous.’
Steven remained silent.
McGraw drew in breath angrily and gave him the information he already knew. ‘Mr Rafferty has the backing of a venture capital company named Pentangle. They have asked for our note of fee to be submitted to them.’