‘Unfortunately, I don’t have one at the moment, sir,’ said Giles. ‘But hitting the same organisation twice suggests a definite motive. I don’t think we’re talking random killings either.’
‘So that’s what I should tell the media, Inspector, is it? We don’t know who carried out the killings or why but we’re pretty sure they weren’t random? Bloody hell, I’m going to look a right prick!’
‘With respect sir, we are not particularly well equipped to see the motive behind these killings and that’s a major problem.’
‘We’re policemen for Christ’s sake. It’s our job!’
Once more Giles held up his palms against the onslaught of his superior. ‘Of course we are, sir, and yes, you’re right, it is our job but the very nature of the organisation involved here, a research institute engaged in work we know nothing at all about, may be what is actually stopping us from seeing the motive — and if we can’t see the motive…’
‘We are working blind,’ said Rydell, finally accepting what Giles was saying.
‘Precisely, sir.’
‘But isn’t that what Sci-Med is for? A sort of interface between science and us? You told me one of their people came to see you.’
‘Yes sir, Dr Steven Dunbar, but Sci-Med were interested in the animals that had escaped or, more correctly, what they might be carrying in case it was a threat to public safety. Of course, at that time, we all thought that the crime had been carried out by animal rights extremists so Sci-Med would have seen that as a police matter and left it alone.’
‘But now…’
‘You’re right, sir. Things have changed. If there was some other reason behind the killings, we’re going to need help in finding it. Dr Dunbar left me his card. With your approval, I’ll get in touch with him and suggest we talk.’
‘Do it.’
Sergeant Morley found Giles rinsing out his mouth in the men’s room. ‘Sore throat?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Giles. ‘I’ve been kissing arse all morning. I’m just trying to get the taste out my mouth.’
‘The word is that the papers have got hold of the fact that Smith’s killers were Asian.’
‘Christ,’ said Giles, wiping his mouth with a paper towel. ‘It never rains but it pours. That’s all we need. If they combine that with the Shanks family’s claim that “Ali” was a Pakistani they’ll start a bloody race war.’
Morley held the door open for Giles. ‘Can’t we do something to stop them?’ he asked.
‘Appeal to their better nature, you mean?’ said Giles, leading the way along the corridor.
Morley sensed that no reply was necessary.
‘Journalism is an equal opportunity occupation, Morley. Being a half-arsed fuckwit is no impediment to employment.’
Steven knocked on Macmillan’s door.
‘I’m going back to Norfolk. This time I’m going to stay up there for a bit.’
‘A change of heart?’
‘I’ve just spoken to Frank Giles of the Norfolk Police. He’s good. He already suspects that someone other than the animal rights brigade might be behind the killings at the Crick but he’s having trouble coming up with an alternative motive. He thinks there might be some scientific reason involved so he’s asking for our help. What do you think?’
‘The fact that the police have more or less eliminated the animal rights theory through their inquiries makes your explanation all the more plausible,’ said Macmillan. ‘Maybe the time has come to share a little more information. Play it by ear.’
‘There’s going to be an added complication,’ said Steven.
Macmillan arched his eyebrows.
‘Giles says the papers are about to suggest that the killings were racially motivated.’
‘Oh, happy day,’ sighed Macmillan. ‘I’d better get the Home Secretary up to speed on this. I’ll tell him it’s beginning to look more than ever likely that animal rights involvement at the Crick was a red herring and then I’ll throw in what the Press are about to do. Poor chap, he’s only been in the job a few weeks and he’s already got the judiciary on his back.’
‘My God, don’t you ever go home?’ asked Steven when Giles answered the phone at 9 p.m.
‘Not tonight I don’t,’ replied Giles. ‘One of the evening papers ran with the story. All leave’s been cancelled. Where are you?’
‘In your neck of the woods. I decided to drive up tonight. I’ve booked into a hotel for a couple of nights. When do you want to talk?’
‘As soon as possible,’ said Giles.
‘How about socially over a pint right now?’
‘Nipping out to a pub in the line of duty sounds just fine to me,’ said Giles.
‘I’m staying at the Pear Tree.’
‘See you in ten minutes.’
Steven’s suggestion had not entirely been made for social reasons. He was hoping that if he and Giles met on their own he could perhaps persuade the policeman that certain things he might tell him should remain confidential. He smiled as Giles came into the bar and shook his hand. ‘What are you having?’
‘My favourite question,’ said Giles. ‘Pint of best.’
The two men sat down at a table in a corner where the nearest people were three tables away — an elderly foursome drinking sherry before going in to dinner.
‘So you’ve run out of animal rights extremists?’ said Steven.
‘I think we’ve interviewed every bugger who ever patted a dog in the street,’ said Giles, ‘and drawn a complete blank. I think we’ve been taken for a ride. The animal rights stuff was a blind.’
‘I think so too,’ said Steven.
Giles’s glass which had been on its way to his mouth was replaced on the table. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. It sounds like you know something I don’t,’ he said.
‘I suspect something,’ corrected Steven, ‘and because it’s just a suspicion at the moment I would appreciate if we could keep it between ourselves?’
Giles sipped his beer and appeared to consider. ‘Depends,’ he said.
‘On what?’
‘On whether keeping things between ourselves impedes a murder inquiry in any way.’
‘A legitimate concern,’ said Steven. ‘Supposing I were to tell you that what we are dealing with here is a determined attempt by person or persons unknown to get their hands on a biological weapon.’
‘Jesus,’ said Giles. ‘You’re serious?’
‘It’s beginning to look that way.’
‘What weapon exactly?’
‘It’s a virus known as Cambodia 5,’ said Steven. ‘It’s a kind of influenza.’
‘Influenza?’ exclaimed Giles. ‘You mean we’re all going to get flu?’ He managed to sound both relieved and puzzled at the same time.
‘No, I don’t,’ said Steven flatly. ‘If the mortality rate of the virus transfers directly from its original avian host we are talking about a 90 % death rate.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘It’s a variant of the strain of flu that killed more than 20 million people back in 1918.’
‘Shit,’ said Giles as if he’d just realised something. ‘That’s what your escaped monkey was carrying, wasn’t it?’
Steven nodded.
‘And you just said flu.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Well, thank God they found the bloody thing,’ said Giles… before he noticed the look on Steven’s face. ‘They didn’t?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ admitted Steven. He told Giles about his interview with Robert Smith’s wife and what she’d told him about her husband’s insistence that the animal the army had recovered had not been the one which had escaped.
‘So Shanks’s story about Ali could be true. This Ali character could have gone back to the institute on his own.’