‘I understand you had a bit of trouble a couple of months back,’ said Giles. ‘With hunt saboteurs?’
‘We have trouble with them all the time. There’s a type of person who becomes a hunt saboteur, you know, Inspector. Feckless bastards, the lot of them.’
Giles had noticed this. He had also noticed there was a type of person who appeared on horseback at hunt meetings but didn’t say so. ‘I understand there was one occasion recently when you were pulled from your horse by one of these saboteurs, sir?’
‘Him?’ exclaimed Blackmore. ‘The wog? Whoops, shouldn’t say that I suppose; I could end up in the dock these days. Mustn’t upset our Muslim brothers, must we eh? Oh no. They can come over here and yank me off my bloody horse and kick shit out of me but say anything about it and you’re in trouble. Crazy!’
‘Are you saying the man who pulled you from your horse was coloured, sir?’
‘You bet he was.’
‘Did he say anything to you, sir?’
‘No, he was enjoying kicking me while I was down too much.’
‘Did anyone say anything to him?’
‘One of the great unwashed called out, ‘Leave him be, Ali, he’s had enough.’
‘You’re sure he was called, Ali, sir?’
‘Aren’t they all?’
Giles remained silent.
‘Yes, Inspector, I’m sure.’
NINE
‘Are you seriously telling me that you want to start looking for someone called Ali among the Asian community across Norfolk and the Midlands?’ exclaimed Chief Superintendent Rydell. ‘Please tell me this is some kind of seasonal joke.’
‘I know it seems somewhat daunting, sir’ said Giles.
‘Somewhat daunting?’ mocked Rydell. ‘Christ! Half of bloody Leicester is called Ali!’
Giles remained silent, knowing that Rydell would realise what he’d just said and hoping this might strengthen his own position.
Rydell interpreted the silence correctly. ‘You know damn well what I mean Inspector and you also know I’m no racist.’
‘Of course not, sir.’
‘But facts are facts. It would be like looking for someone called Wu in China.’
‘Or a Freemason in the police force; spoilt for choice.’ Giles received a black look. ‘I know what you mean sir, but if we don’t follow this up we could be accused of allowing a psychopath to continue wandering the streets.’
‘If we were to even contemplate such an investigation with so little to go on, it would swallow up our budget for the next ten years,’ said Rydell.
‘I wasn’t suggesting we do that, sir.’ He had a mountain to climb here. ‘But I tend to believe Shanks when he says it was this Ali character who tortured and murdered Prof Devon. I think some more enquiries — confined to the animal rights people and known hunt saboteurs — might well yield more information about the man in question.’
Rydell shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Draw a line under this one. I want you to charge Shanks with both murders. Even if there were three people involved, we got two out of three and let’s settle for that. If at any time in the future someone with that name and a connection to the animal rights mob should come to our attention, we’ll consider reopening proceedings and certainly interview him about the Devon killing.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Giles, with an air of resigned acceptance.
‘Any word of the missing monkey?’
‘Still out there somewhere,’ said Giles.
The key card appeared on Steven’s desk just after eleven next morning. It arrived by special delivery along with a note suggesting that he call the lab.
‘Good news and bad news,’ said Dr Mac Davidson, the chief of Biosciences, the lab that Sci-Med used for independent analyses. ‘We did find evidence of someone other than Timothy Devon having touched the card recently. We got two DNA profiles from it. One was Devon’s.’
‘You did?’ exclaimed Steven.
‘The bad news is that we can’t tell you who the second person was. It wasn’t anyone connected with the case so far and there was no match for the profile on the police computer.’
‘So it was someone without a police record?’ said Steven.
‘That’s about the size of it,’ agreed Davidson. ‘Could be perfectly innocent. Your call. You decide.’
Steven thanked him and put down the phone. He let out his breath in a long exasperated sigh. Why was life continually like this, he wondered. A simple yes or no answer to a question would be a welcome change instead of being continually presented with what politicians would call, ‘a range of possibilities’ — twin brother of a ‘raft of opportunities’ and equally ill-defined. Had someone other than Devon really tried to use that card or was there an entirely innocent explanation for the second profile? It could even have been his own DNA when he thought about it. Although he had tried to avoid touching the card when he’d removed it from the safe — had worn gloves for the procedure — it was still just possible that he had contaminated it. The act of putting surgical gloves might have involved touching the outside surface of one or other of them at some point, causing the transfer of a few epithelial cells which could in turn have been transferred to the card. The PCR reaction used by the lab to amplify tiny amounts of DNA on any surface was incredibly sensitive. He could of course, ask the lab to analyse his own profile for elimination purposes but that led on to thoughts of asking everyone at the institute to do the same. He called Lees to tell him of the card’s return.
‘Then I suggest that we meet tomorrow morning at the Crick and move this damned virus before it causes any more trouble,’ said Lees. ‘I take it your “routine” tests revealed nothing to worry about?’
Once again, Steven noticed Lees distance himself from responsibility. He really was establishing himself as one of Whitehall’s finest when it came to moving his arse out of the firing line. ‘Nothing to keep us awake at night,’ replied Steven, not wanting to say anything more.
‘Good. How about eleven?’
‘Fine. Where’s it going?’ asked Steven.
‘Porton Down,’ replied Lees. ‘Best place for it. Bomb proof container in an armoured van with armed police escort. We’d hate to further incur the wrath of Sci-Med.’
Steven ignored the snipe. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘See you at eleven.’
At three in the morning Steven saw the irony in telling Lees there had been nothing to keep them awake at night when he found himself lying awake wondering about the unknown DNA profile on the card. It was, strictly speaking, none of Sci-Med’s concern. Their interest lay in what the escaped animals had been carrying — and a right can of worms that had turned out to be and one that wasn’t quite over yet with one animal still at large — but that was no excuse for adopting blinkered vision and rushing for the finish line. Sci-Med investigators were given a great deal of latitude in how they went about their business and they had been hand-picked for the way they thought. They didn’t miss much. Going off at a tangent was actively encouraged by John Macmillan in people who had demonstrated the value of doing so in the past. ‘Pick away at it’ was one of his favourite expressions. Steven was one of those who recognised that problems were seldom circles; they were more often spheres. Trying to get an overall picture which would embrace all dimensions could rival mapping the dark side of the moon at times but it could also be a seductive challenge. He gave up on sleep and got out of bed to make some coffee. It took him an hour’s consideration but he did come up with a couple of things he might do the following day. The first involved him leaving early and getting up to the Crick Institute in time to have a talk with Nick Cleary before Lees arrived with the virus removal crew.