Warner stopped pruning again and turned to face Steven. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Never more so,’ said Steven.
‘I’ll have to talk to James.’
NINETEEN
Steven drove back to London having been assured by Warner that he would call him after he had spoken to James Gardiner later in the day. In the event it was Gardiner himself who called just after six in the evening.
‘I think we should meet.’
‘Just tell me where and when,’ said Steven.
‘My wife and I are in the process of moving house but I’m keeping on the small flat I have in town. Come there at 8?’
Steven wrote down the address and said he’d be there.
Gardiner’s small flat turned out to be twice the size of his own, furnished minimally but expensively and with a location that afforded fine views of the river from a terrace that bordered both south and west aspects. On a balmy evening the doors leading to the terrace were wide open.
‘Drink?’ asked Gardiner.
‘Thanks. Gin and tonic,’ said Steven, moving outside to admire the view while Gardiner fixed the drinks. Gardiner joined him on the terrace and handed him his drink.
‘So you’re tired of London?’ said Steven.
‘And therefore, by implication, tired of life,’ said Gardiner. ‘No, I don’t think so. Alice and I are moving up to our place in Scotland to begin a new one away from… other people.’
‘Sartre was right?’
‘With the greatest of respect to M. Sartre, Hell is not other people; it’s other people being in charge.’
‘I think that’s called democracy,’ said Steven.
‘A much overrated concept,’ said Gardiner.
‘You don’t believe in the will of the people?’ said Steven.
‘The so-called will of the people is all too often a celebration of ignorance and mediocrity,’ said Gardiner. ‘If we were to decide democratically on one single newspaper for the entire country we’d end up with the Sun, simply because it sells more copies than any other so therefore would get more votes and be elected our national paper. Need I say more?’
‘Democracy may have its shortcomings but it’s still better than any other system,’ said Steven.
‘I know,’ said Gardiner, looking out over the river. ‘Maybe that’s what I find so bloody depressing. Warner tells me you think Crowe and Mowbray have been pursuing their own agenda?’
Steven told Gardiner what he knew.
‘So why don’t you arrest them?’
‘We did but they’ve been released. There’s no proof,’ said Steven.
‘You could be wrong, of course?’
‘Everything points to Crowe having continued work on the agent,’ said Steven. ‘The fact that they’ve killed three people in the last few months to keep it a secret says that they intend using it.’
‘What exactly is it you want from me?’ asked Gardiner.
‘I need details of the infrastructure of your organisation,’ said Steven. ‘I think Crowe and Mowbray may be using it.’
‘You want names and addresses?’ said Gardiner doubtfully.
‘If they intend using the agent I have to understand the size and nature of the organisation they have available to them,’ said Steven.
‘Perhaps I could just tell you without having to divulge personal details?’ said Gardiner.
Steven gave him a look that Gardiner had no trouble in interpreting. ‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘But before I even considered such a thing I would need certain assurances from you.’
‘These people have nothing to fear if they have done nothing wrong,’ said Steven. ‘You have my word.’
‘The rule of law is fundamental to all of us,’ said Gardiner.
‘Things might be different now,’ said Steven.
‘These people are not just mindless automatons,’ said Gardiner. ‘They’re people who care what happens to Britain. They can think for themselves.’
‘You’d be amazed at what some otherwise intelligent people are capable of doing when asked if they believe the request has official backing,’ said Steven.
‘I need some kind of firm assurance,’ said Gardiner.
‘That’s not within my power,’ said Steven.
‘Then no deal,’ said Gardiner.
Steven looked towards the setting sun and took a moment to consider his position. He could simply refuse to compromise and issue a series of official threats to Gardiner but he knew well enough that that would get him precisely nowhere. On the other hand he could take a chance and get what he wanted but at some risk to himself in career terms.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘You have my word that I will destroy any information given to me immediately after I’ve taken what I need from it.’
Gardiner turned on his heel and went indoors. He returned with a computer disk, which he handed to Steven. ‘The database,’ he said.
Steven slipped the disk into his laptop as soon as he got home before pouring himself a drink and settling down to analyse it. The list comprised some four thousand names entered in database form. It contained details of names, addresses, ages and occupations. It only took Steven a few moments to realise that he had no real idea of what he was looking for. If he had been hoping to see clear evidence of an organised conspiracy he was sadly disappointed. These people were scattered all over the country and in just about every occupation under the sun — well, maybe every middle class occupation under the sun, he corrected. He took a sip of his drink and pondered his next move. The database came with useful analytical tools so he requested average age and came up with the figure 45.
‘Shit,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘These people weren’t revolutionaries. They were representative of the middle class, middle aged, middle income voters of bungalow-land. How could such people be organised to promote social change after an attack using Crowe’s agent? There was just no cohesive factor.
Steven felt a mixture of disappointment and embarrassment. He couldn’t imagine Crowe and Mowbray having formed some other secret organisation capable of supporting such a big venture so that must mean he was wrong about their intention to use the agent. They must have made it to sell.
Despite the fact that it was Sunday and it had gone ten o’ clock he called the duty officer at Sci-Med and asked him to arrange for a full financial scrutiny of both Crowe and Mowbray’s personal accounts. ‘I don’t care who you have to wake,’ he added.
‘What period?’ asked the duty man.
‘Let’s begin with the last two years.’
Steven returned to the names on the database. Just out of interest he asked the search engine for ‘Civil Servants’. A list of almost three hundred names appeared on the screen. Next he asked for ‘Doctors’ and was rewarded with thirty-three names but this gave him an idea. He narrowed the search and asked for ‘Pathologists’: this reduced the list to three. One of them was Dr Melvyn Street, a forensic pathologist attached to Perthshire Police.
‘Well, well, well,’ murmured Steven. ‘Now I understand why you didn’t see the marks on Martin Hendry’s wrists, Doctor.’
It was 1am and Steven tired of searching for patterns in the database. He turned off the computer and switched on the television, flicking through the cable channels for 24 hour news programmes. His attention was taken by the mention of Rupert Everley’s name in an item presented as ‘Tory squabble in Scotland’. The leader of the Scottish Conservatives, David McLetchie, had been engaged in a furious row with property developer and prominent Tory supporter in England, Rupert Everley. McLetchie had been annoyed at Everley’s recent tour of Scottish Conservative Party organisations, and had accused Everley of talking ‘puerile rubbish’ and of attempting to undermine his authority and ingratiate himself with the party faithful through large cash donations. Everley had retaliated by accusing McLetchie of being short-sighted and resistant to change. There was a short film clip of Everley looking earnestly sincere, saying that the time was right for Scottish Conservatives to make a comeback but only if they brought in ‘fresh minds with fresh ideas to turn things around’.