‘No,’ growled Tally. ‘I’m not the sort to mess with other people’s egos and orthopaedic surgeons have big hammers and sharp saws.’
‘Good thought.’
‘Apart from that... a nurse told me it was a clean break.’
‘Good,’ said Steven with a smile.
‘It’s ages since we’ve been apart.’
‘I know, I don’t like it.’
‘Me neither, talk to you tomorrow.’
Steven was conscious of the fact that Owen Barrowman had not phoned him and this was another source of worry. Maybe he hadn’t seen the note... or maybe he hadn’t come home and stayed in the lab working all night. He was about to try calling him when John Macmillan arrived and Steven told him all that had happened at Moorlock Hall. He unloaded all his fears about Barrowman’s state of mind. ‘We have to stop him having any further contact with Lawler.’
‘No question,’ agreed Macmillan.
‘Did you tell the Home Secretary you were calling a code red on what was going on in Professor Lindstrom’s lab and what was going on with the funding for her research?’
‘I did, naming you as lead investigator.’
‘Good. Any problems?’
‘No,’ mused Macmillan turning to gaze out of the window with an innocent expression. ‘Mind you, I didn’t mention we knew about MI5’s involvement,’ he murmured.
Steven smiled. ‘An understandable oversight.’
‘Well, she didn’t mention it either.’
The signalling of a code red did not imply anything as dramatic as it sounded. It was simply a notification to all government bodies that Sci-Med was actively investigating something it deemed to be important. Any named investigator in the operation — in this case, Steven — was to be accorded every assistance from all public service bodies including the police in whichever area he was operating, should he request it. Cooperation was mandatory. He was also licensed to carry a firearm should he believe it necessary, although by choice he rarely did. There was also a dedicated phone line he could call at any hour of the day or night to seek expert technical information and advice.
Jean Roberts gave Steven her, ‘here we go again’ smile as he came out of Macmillan’s office. ‘How can I help?’ she asked.
‘I need to see Moorlock Hall for myself and talk to the medical director before any story breaks in the papers,’ said Steven. ‘I guess that means today.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I need to know where it is.’
Jean stifled a giggle. ‘Give me thirty minutes to make some calls. Go have a coffee.’
Steven did as he was told and tried contacting Owen Barrowman, first at the lab where he was told he hadn’t come in yet and then at home where there was no reply. He’d try later.
Steven explored a wide range of expletives as his Porsche struggled with the surface of the road leading up to Moorlock Hall. He even found himself apologising to it when he failed to avoid a particularly bad pothole. When he finally came to a halt in the small car park he sat for a couple minutes, just savouring the stillness broken only by metallic contraction sounds from the car.
Steven showed his Sci-Med ID and said that he was expected. The owner of the eyes behind the grill responded by admitting him and putting him through the standard security measures before taking him to see Groves who invited him to sit with a wave of his good hand.
‘For a secret establishment, we seem to be doing quite a reasonable impression of a tourist attraction,’ said Groves. ‘What exactly is Sci-Med?’
Steven told him and got an approving nod. ‘How can I help?’
‘I believe Dr Owen Barrowman from Capital University has been coming here regularly as part of his research project into the genetic and biochemical make up of psychopathic killers.’
‘He has, but only one of our inmates agreed to take part in his study.’
‘Yes, Malcolm Lawler... who “took part” the other day by attempting to murder him.’
Groves froze for a moment. His eyes showed what Steven saw as a combination of disappointment and resignation. ‘You know about that, do you,’ he said quietly.
‘His wife told me. I understand you all conspired to cover it up?’
‘Owen said that he didn’t want any fuss and I have to confess I didn’t go to any great lengths to dissuade him. If I’m honest it was music to my ears. We had an inspection in the offing and an incident like that was the last thing we needed.’
Steven nodded, impressed by the man’s honest appraisal of the situation. ‘How did the inspection go?’
‘They found failings,’ replied Groves.
‘Serious?’
‘I’m to be retired.’
Steven was taken aback. He hadn’t expected to hear anything like that. He’d been assuming that anything bad emerging from the inquiry would be concerned with the hiding of the existence of the place rather than any criticism of the way it was run. ‘I don’t understand. What sort of failings?’
‘It would appear that certain elements of our coalition government are worried about the lack of spiritual and pastoral care being offered to our patients.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
Groves gave a little shake of the head as if he couldn’t believe it himself. He sighed and said, ‘There are those who would believe that no one is beyond redemption and that every effort should be made to achieve this. Our efforts in keeping the vilest creatures who ever walked the Earth away from society was not good enough for one such politician, Mrs Lillian Leadbetter. She and her band of all-party day-trippers wanted rehabilitation. She demanded that souls be saved and the hand of forgiveness extended. I, as the culprit who had made no effort to introduce remedial classes or even replace our last chaplain when he left over a year ago, was judged to be a major impediment to Mrs Leadbetter’s reformist ambitions. As a consequence, I’ve been invited to consider my position.’
‘Didn’t she understand anything about what these people did?’ Steven exclaimed.
‘I think she put her hands over her ears and hummed la la la — metaphorically speaking. In her eyes, I was a dinosaur trying to excuse my insensitivity.’
‘But didn’t she understand anything about the reasons for setting up Moorlock Hall in the first place? Surely, she knew what happened when Clifford Sutton fooled all the experts and was returned to the community to rape and murder all over again? Wasn’t that a wee clue for the honourable member?’
Groves made an attempt at a smile which only accentuated his lack of facial muscle control. ‘The committee actually interviewed Lawler...’
‘And?’
‘He put on a performance that would have had him graduate cum laudae from RADA. I damned nearly applauded myself. He had them positively eating out of his hand. He was a poor misunderstood victim of an uncaring society that had never given him a chance. Yes, he had done wrong, terrible wrong, but he could see the error of his ways. He would give his very life if only he could turn the clock back and undo the harm he had done to all these “poor people”. Well, I won’t be here to see what the lying bastard gets out of it. Who said you couldn’t fool all the people all of the time?’
‘Surely there must be an appeal process you can go through?’
Groves shook his head. ‘I don’t have the stomach for a fight. My pension will see me to the end of the road with the occasional glass of malt. I’ll settle for that.’
Steven nodded then asked as an afterthought, ‘Why didn’t you appoint a new chaplain?’
‘Because I saw what they did to the last one.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Father Patrick Burns was under no illusions when he came here. He knew — or at least thought he knew — what he was up against when he took on the task of persuading Lawler and the others that they should seek forgiveness from a higher power without reminding them too stridently or too often that they certainly weren’t going to find it here on Earth. Despite having contact with them only twice a week, they utterly destroyed him. He lost his faith and was unable to continue as a parish priest after seeking solace at the bottom of too many glasses. The last I heard was that he was recovering in a seminary in France.’