‘Neighbour called them... my screams... couldn’t help them much. They asked about motive... couldn’t help... don’t understand what’s going on...’
‘I don’t think any of us do.’
‘A politician’s answer?’
‘Sorry.’
The young doctor appeared in the doorway and Steven nodded. He got up and said, softly, ‘Get some sleep, I’ll come back soon if that’s all right?’
Lucy answered with a slight raise of her fingers.
As they walked along the corridor, Steven asked the doctor if Lucy’s parents had been informed.
‘She was adamant she didn’t want that just yet.’
Steven thought he understood. Lucy Barrowman was taking time to think things through herself before bringing mummy and daddy on to the scene. Respect.
‘And now the big question, doctor, do you know about the baby yet?’
‘Don’t know for sure. We didn’t want to put her through any more trauma today. We’ll do the tests tomorrow.’
Steven set out for the Home Office.
‘What a day... what a bloody awful day,’ Steven complained as he slumped down in a chair in the office.
Jean Roberts looked at him sympathetically. ‘You couldn’t have known something like that would happen,’ she said softly.
Steven insisted. ‘I could see the potential for danger.’
‘Do you know what triggered it?’
Steven told her about giving his card to Lucy. ‘In case she needed help!’ he spluttered. ‘Can you believe it?’
Jean looked puzzled and Steven explained. ‘Lucy left it lying around and Barrowman found it when he came home late. The plan was not to tell him I’d been there in case he thought she was conspiring with people behind his back... It looks like that’s exactly what he did think.’
‘Don’t blame yourself, Steven, it was her crazy husband who did this.’
‘Jean’s right,’ said John Macmillan who had heard from next door and had now joined them. ‘Life has a habit of doing this to people who don’t deserve it. There was no way you could have foreseen such a violent outburst.’
Steven was unconvinced but let it go.
‘How was your trip to Moorlock Hall?’
‘Pretty awful. The medical director is about to be hung out to dry to divert attention away from politicians. A pity, he seems like a decent enough bloke. Mind you, I didn’t get around to asking him how he’d ended up in a place like Moorlock.’
‘The news at this end isn’t any better,’ said Macmillan. ‘No chance of a D notice and I’ve just seen a transcript of the report that was leaked to the papers.’
Macmillan put on his glasses and read aloud from the A4 sheet he was holding. ‘Questions have been asked by junior minister, Mrs Lillian Leadbetter regarding Moorlock Hall, an unlisted facility housing a number of convicted prisoners deemed criminally insane. She has accused HMG of covering up the existence of an establishment that would put a Stalinist gulag to shame. The patients, she claims, have been completely abandoned by society, locked away and left to rot without any attempt being made to rehabilitate them. Their only contact with the outside world is via television. They don’t even have access to a chaplain to confide in.’
‘They did have,’ said Steven. He’s hoping to recover his faith in a seminary in France.
‘What a mess,’ said Macmillan. ‘Any idea where Barrowman might have gone?’
Steven said not. ‘He’d disappeared by the time Lucy regained consciousness. The police were still in the flat when I phoned earlier; they’re keeping a watch on the place.’
‘Do you think there’s a chance he’ll go back there?’ asked Jean.
‘There’s no way of predicting what he’ll do in his current state or what his options are, but we do know he is completely fixated on his research,’ said Steven. ‘Nothing else matters. He has just beaten the hell out of his wife because he imagined she was part of a plot to steal it from him. And now he’s blown it, thrown it all away in one furious violent outburst. Talk about an unexploded bomb.’
‘Do you think he’s realised he’s thrown it all away?’ Jean asked.
‘Or what he might do when he does,’ added Macmillan.
‘He’ll destroy it,’ said Steven. ‘There’s no way he’s going to let others benefit from it.’
‘Then we should do everything we can to stop him,’ said Macmillan.
‘Lucy told me he worked at home most evenings well into the night. I’ll get over there and see what I can come up with. Let’s hope he kept meticulous notes.’
‘I’ll call Professor Lindstrom, make her aware of the situation if she doesn’t already know,’ said Jean.
‘Good,’ said Macmillan. ‘Ask her to gather all Barrowman’s stuff together, disks, notebooks, everything and make it secure. Any computers used by him should be put in full shut-down with no access from outside sources especially wireless.’
Macmillan noticed that Steven had suddenly gone quiet. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked him.
‘This is all a waste of time,’ Steven replied... ‘A complete waste of time. Barrowman’s been showing signs of paranoia for some weeks. There’s no way he would have left anything lying around on tablets or computers either at home or work. He would have stored all his work somewhere secure when he finished analysing the data he’d collected. We’re not going to find anything.’
‘So where would he keep it?’
‘Pick a cloud,’ said Steven.
‘Damnation,’ said Macmillan, but recognised that Steven had a point. ‘Maybe we should still secure anything we can find. There might be a clue in it somewhere.’
Steven nodded but didn’t feel confident.
‘There’s another thing,’ Jean began. ‘If Steven’s right... it would mean that Barrowman could destroy his work any time he likes from anywhere he likes? All he has to do is access the distant server or cloud he’s using and wipe everything out. He could do that from an internet café.’
‘Or an i Pad or a smart phone,’ added Steven. ‘Jean’s right. We’ll just have to hope that he will be reluctant to do that until he’s absolutely convinced all is lost.’
Macmillan looked at his watch and said, ‘Not much more we can do tonight. I’ll check that the police are aware of our interest and are keeping watch on Barrowman’s home and lab. Anything else I should add?’
Steven said, ‘If the police pick him up or he gives himself up — as he may well do after a night in the cold — he’s not to be allowed to make a phone call and the police should oppose bail at our request if it reaches court.’
Jean brought up the statutory right to a phone call and Steven said, ‘They can ask him who he’d like to call and what the number is. If it checks out someone can dial it for him. We don’t want him punching in a code to a distant server and destroying something that could potentially benefit mankind.’
Steven picked up a kebab on his way home: he couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten. It might not have passed as fine dining but by God it tasted good. He was munching on it when his phone rang and he had to take a few seconds to empty his mouth before he could speak.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Tally.
‘Mm, fine.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve got the dolly round at our place tonight. What’s her name?’
‘Donna,’ Steven replied, pleased at his quick wit — so pleased that he couldn’t quite stifle a splutter.
‘Oh, very good, Dunbar. How come you’re eating at this time?’
‘First tell me about your mother. How is she?’
‘She’s okay, I think the nurse was right about it being a clean break. There’s been no sign of bits coming off and threatening embolism problems.’
‘Good.’
‘Your turn, tell me about your long day.’