‘In other words, not worth the paper it’s written on,’ murmured Steven, closing down the connection. Now he understood the problem.
‘I thought you’d be staying at the Blackbridge Arms,’ said Jamie Brown when he arrived promptly in the bar at eight.
‘I never like sleeping over the shop,’ replied Steven.
Brown took off his Berghaus jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. ‘What are you having?’
‘I’m fine just now,’ replied Steven who was already nursing a gin and tonic.
Brown asked for whisky. ‘So you’re one of Sci-Med’s people,’ he said. ‘A brave one too by all accounts.’
Steven raised his eyebrows.
‘You were the one who exposed the transplant scam at the Medic Ecosse Hospital in Glasgow a few years back, weren’t you?’
Steven agreed that he had been involved, remembering now that there had been a bit of press coverage at the time and, despite his best efforts, he had featured in some of it. Brown must have looked him up in the paper’s archives. ‘This is all off the record, isn’t it?’
‘You have my word,’ replied Brown. ‘I can’t however speak for any of my colleagues over at Blackbridge should they make the connection. I should think, Glasgow Hospital Hero called in to solve GM Riddle, might well prove irresistible to a certain little red-haired man with a Rottweiler personality. Come to think of it, you went on to marry one of the nurses caught up in that business, didn’t you?’
Steven gave him a black look.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to speak out of turn,’ said Brown, puzzled at Steven’s reaction.
‘Lisa died nine months ago. Cancer.’
‘Christ, I’m sorry. I had no idea,’ said Brown. After a few moments he added, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way but Heartbreak Glasgow Hospital Hero might be even more irresistible.’
Steven said, ‘Thanks for the warning but my picture was never in the papers at the time. There’s no reason for anyone out there to make the connection, although,’ he conceded, ‘you did.’ At this point he was actually more apprehensive that Brown might be trying to manoeuvre himself into the position of confidant in order to ensure a ready supply of information. He was not against collaboration with someone in Brown’s position and certainly did not subscribe to the view that nothing should be ever said to the press on principal. He recognised that investigative journalism could be a tremendous force for good in society but it was a matter of knowing the journalist well enough to trust him. He had no reason to distrust Brown — in fact, from what he’d seen so far, he liked the man, but for the moment, he would play his hand one card at a time.
‘So what’s Sci-Med’s interest in all of this?’ asked Brown.
‘Pretty much what I said at the outset. ‘I think Agrigene may be getting a raw deal. It’s only their determination to see the fight into the courts that’s keeping their crop in the field; that and the executive running around like headless chickens.’
‘Tell me about it,’ smiled Brown. ‘The MSPs are calling it teething troubles. Still, they’ve got their pay and holidays sorted out and right now they’re off on them, thirteen weeks I hear.’
‘First things first.’
‘So you still think Agrigene is being set up?’
‘I’m sure of it but I don’t know who by or why for that matter.’
‘You’re no longer keen on the rival company angle?’
‘I was for a while but it doesn’t seem to make too much sense in terms of what’s to be gained by it.’
‘I suppose as a Sci-Med Investigator, you must have already known about Crawhill Farm not being on the market? And probably about Pentangle too?’
‘I didn’t when we spoke in the pub,’ Steven assured him, ‘but I have looked into it since, when I decided to take the assignment on.’
‘And Pentangle? Don’t you think they’re a bit suspicious?’
‘Like I said, venture capitalists don’t like the spotlight. They’re timid creatures.’
‘Not greedy bastards out to make a fast buck?’
‘That too.’
‘Something tells me there’s more to it than that,’ said Brown. ‘Nobody’s going to make a real killing out of selling chemical-free lettuce in Morningside. A small organic farm doesn’t really sound like venture capital territory to me and there’s something else that bothers me too.’
‘What?’ asked Steven, at once both admiring of and apprehensive of Brown’s analytical skills.
‘The two at the farm, there’s something about them: they just don’t look like venture capitalists to me.’
‘You think they should be wearing smoking jackets and have fat cigars sticking out of the corner of their mouths?’
‘Like I say, there’s just something about them,’ said Brown. ‘They’re something more than business associates to Rafferty, I’m sure of it. It’s almost as if he’s their prisoner, the way they’re always hanging around the farmhouse. It’s impossible to speak to Rafferty on his own and he hasn’t been down to the local pub in ages when, according to the locals he was in line for a piss-artist of the millennium award.’
‘Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf,’ said Steven. ‘He told me that he wants to get his wife back so he’s off the booze. That’s what all this organic farm thing is about according to him; a new start.’
Brown was non-committal.
‘But I do wonder what his chances are,’ said Steven, thinking out loud.
‘Of running an organic farm?’
‘No, of getting his wife back.’
‘Depends how often she’s left him before,’ said Brown. ‘If this is the first time, she’ll probably come back. If it’s the second, then maybe. If it’s the third, she won’t. It’s a bit like drowning.’
‘We’re both assuming that she left him because of the drink,’ said Steven, ‘but that may not be the case.’
‘Can you think of another reason?’
‘No, but I don’t know either of them and I’m not a big fan of assumptions.’
‘So where do we go from here?’
‘We?’
‘Well, I thought we might as well pool our efforts and cut down on the legwork?’
‘We can give it a try,’ conceded Steven after a few moments thought. ‘But no sudden moves.’
‘Agreed. Will you be at the Ferguson boy’s funeral tomorrow?’
‘No, there’s nothing for me there. I’d only be intruding. You?’
‘I’ve been told to cover it so I’ll have to but my heart’s not in it. I feel the same about being an intruder.’
‘Your colleague from the Clarion seemed to be quite looking forward to it,’ said Steven.’
‘McColl? Alex’s not over-endowed with sensitivity at the best of times. He’ll probably see it as a welcome change from seeking out the ‘cosy little love nests’ set up by the great and good that his paper’s so fond of exposing. Soft porn peddled as moral outrage is their speciality.’
‘I suppose it says more about our society than it does about the paper,’ said Steven.
‘Regrettably true,’ agreed Brown. ‘Well, I think I’m going to follow my instincts and see what I can dig up about our two venture capital boys. You?'
‘Maybe I’ll see what I can find out from Tom Rafferty’s wife. I think I’d like to talk to her.’
‘Do you know where to find her?’
‘Not yet but next best thing, I know how I can find out,’ replied Steven, thinking of Eve Ferguson who had spoken as if she knew her well.
Brown finished his drink and left. Steven had something to eat and then went upstairs to mull over the events of the day. He had hardly sat down when the phone went. It was the man on the night desk at Sci-Med who gave him a simple instruction. He said, ‘Read your E-mail.