Chapter ten
Amanda drove through the quiet village of Fenhaven in the heart of the Cambridgeshire countryside. She followed the signs towards Saul Anderson's laboratory, turning at the village square.
Two old men hobbled toward a thatch roof public house. They stopped at the noise of her approaching car and turned to watch her drive past. She glanced at the two men in her rear view mirror. They made it to the pub door and tottered through before Amanda lost sight of them in the curves of the road. That's the kind of retirement I want, she said to herself.
The news that morning was in a frenzy over the incident at MacDonald's manor house. Too late for the national newspapers, the TV news channels had been quick to saturate the story with as much coverage as they could squeeze into half hourly bulletins. Commander Phillips' grim but concerned face was on every channel that morning. Primed with a story from the Army's media machine, they had led with an implausible story of a terrorist showdown in the heart of the East End. Phillips explained the situation to the cluster of microphones in front of him, with scant details of the crime and a plea for witnesses to come forward.
Phillips relished the attention and Amanda seethed every time she caught another soundbite on the car radio. He would milk the situation for all he could. His solemn, earnest voice like a cheese grater on Amanda's patience.
But whilst he was busy preparing for his next live update and grooming his career plans, Amanda had the go ahead from Sergeant Kirkwood to investigate the remaining trustees. As expected, any investigation into the Walthamstow slaughter was prohibited, now the domain of British Central Intelligence and stone-faced men in dark suits and Tag Hauser sunglasses. However, Amanda's investigation circumvented any direct orders and any connection between her questioning further trustees and MacDonald's death would be purely coincidental. Officially, at least, until further sense could be made of the link between the trustees and their respective deaths.
Her first avenue of questioning was met by a wall of legal silence. The law firm refused to cooperate with any police queries and Amanda had to request a court order for the firm to divulge even the most basic information of the trust. Even then there were privacy obligations placed upon the trust and the court order was likely to be turned down because there was no case, as such, to investigate.
A five minute telephone conversation with the financial crime unit that morning answered all the questions she would care to have asked regarding trusts. Secretive and secure, there was no public record of a trust. So there was no accessible record of the board and who controlled a trust. It was a legal document, usually kept at a law firm, wherein trustees would manage the trust on behalf of beneficiaries. There was no way of identifying which law firm held the trust or who the trustees were without access to the trust document. In other words, unless you had full cooperation from the administrators of the trust, you had nothing. Nada. Diddly squat.
Her leads to the trustees existed in the fact that she had taken the registration numbers of the gathering of mourners at Masters' funeral. It seemed that they had plenty to say to each other, and nothing to say to the Metropolitan Police.
Amanda's frustration that morning cranked up a few notches when trying to contact the trustee names she did have.
Bishop Reginald White was unavailable for interview. He was due for dinner that night at a diocese inauguration, a meal to welcome newly ordained bishops. She left a message for him to call her when he was available. She remembered his flustered departure at the funeral, where the trustees had gathered outside the chapel. He had nothing to say to her then. Perhaps the tune would be different on news of this third death.
Natalie Kelly was on a trans-atlantic trip to New York. Her flight wasn't due to touchdown for another three hours. Amanda had left instructions with her secretary that she was to contact her immediately. Preferably by phone, but by email otherwise.
However, she had success with her final call. Professor Saul Anderson had agreed to meet with and discuss the situation. He was available immediately and though was not due in the city for a number of days, she was more than welcome to visit him at the Ordo Laboratories in Cambridgeshire.
Amanda sped along the narrow, deserted roads, enjoying the seclusion and drive through the countryside. The road gradually widened until she saw the turnoff for the laboratory, half hidden by a large hedgerow. She eased the patrol car down the lane, carefully navigating the random holes and rucks in the road.
A twelve-foot-high fence along one side of the track was decorated with red diamond plates interspersed between every pole warning of Private Property and Electrification. The grounds beyond the fence lay wild, spiky grass and swathes of flowerless heather.
In front of the entrance of the laboratory a rag-tag group of protestors warmed themselves around an oil drum fire. As Amanda approached in the car, the group grabbed placards and propped them to attention, sullenly watching as she drove up to the security guard hut.
'Drive on through.' The guard waved Amanda on as the first gate opened. She stopped and waited until one gate closed behind her and the second opened in front.
The roads within the compound were in better repair, and Amanda sped up, heading to the cluster of low buildings half a mile away. She parked in the empty visitor's area and entered the reception lobby.
'DC Morgan?' The receptionist greeted her with a sunshine smile.
'Yes. I'm here to see Professor Anderson,' Amanda said.
'We are expecting you, detective,' the receptionist handed a yellow visitor card to Amanda. 'Please follow me, Professor Anderson is waiting in his office.'
Amanda followed the receptionist through long white corridors with blue doors spaced evenly along each wall. A pinboard at the end of one corridor was pinned with the usual adverts, notices and social gatherings. Amanda found this unsettling, wondering what a pub quiz team of animal scientists would call themselves. 'Viv's Sectionists?' 'Half a beagle?'
'Here we are,' the receptionist said perkily, knocking quickly on a door that was identical to all the others they had passed, and opened it into Anderson's office.
Amanda was ushered into a small, functional office. Two-tone grey decor with a bookcase along one wall, a wide desk and a computer pushed into one corner. Anderson sat behind his desk. He stood and reached out a long stick thin arm, his white hair giving the impression he was older than his late forties suggested. She shook his hand, barely touching the fish cold skin, having to resist the urge to wipe the warmth back into her hand.
Professor Anderson thanked the receptionist with a nod and asked if Amanda would like refreshments. Amanda declined.
'So,' Anderson studied Amanda with watery, heavy-lidded eyes, the purple rings under his eyes puffed out. 'What can I do for the Metropolitan Police?'
'Professor Anderson, thank you for meeting me at short notice,' Amanda said.
'No problem at all.'
Amanda decided to be forthright with the man. 'Professor, I believe that you may be in danger and that if you can fully cooperate with me we may be able to help.'
Anderson was momentarily taken back, then smiled slowly, uneven teeth revealing themselves between his lips. 'The direct approach, detective. My my, haven't you been watching the TV shows? You're supposed to tease some facts out of me first - before warning me of my impending doom.'
Unflustered, Amanda continued. 'Have you received any threats or silent calls, Sir? Seen any suspicious people around your home or the laboratory?'
'Not that I can say, no. Of course, I am always aware of the protestors at the gates, or animal rights activists that may be meaning me harm.'
'Are you one of the trustees on the board of The Valentine Trust?'
A pause.
'Yes, I am. Although I am under no obligation to share that information with you.'
'Were you aware that a number of board members have met with tragic, violent and -' Amanda paused. 'Unusual deaths.'
'My lawyers have made me aware of the unf
ortunate deaths my fellow trustees have met. Tragic, yes. Violent, regrettably so, and often brought about by the paths they led or decisions they made. But unusual?' Anderson left the question open, inviting Amanda to nibble at the question mark. Amanda spotted the technique, and she suddenly became aware that the Professor was not so much a rabbit, but a predator, baiting her to reveal more than she may have been willing.
'Three deaths, all connected through a trust. I would call that unusual.'
'But hardly time to call in the troops, detective,' Saul quipped.
'Can you tell me what the Valentine Trust does?' Amanda changed tack in the conversation.
Anderson paused, templing his fingers before him. 'I am not able to give you that information. Numerous confidentiality clauses that I, and my fellow trustees, have signed, prohibit any discussion of the trust's affairs outside the boardroom. Trust, you see, it's all in the title. And you have no lawful right to ask without a warrant.'
Amanda narrowed her eyes. 'I have a judicial right to investigate crime. And you have the moral obligation to answer if you know anything that can prevent further deaths.'
'Detective, you are under some impression that the deaths are anything but accidents, or as a result of the lives these people led. I am unable to empathise with you as I honestly do not see how these deaths could have been prevented. At least without a little prior common sense, stable mental condition or better choice of associates.'
Amanda allowed a pause in the flow of the conversation - a beat as Anderson relaxed.
'Why are you being evasive, Professor?' She asked, relaxing a little in the chair. 'Aren't you concerned at the deaths of your fellow trustees?'
'Detective, let me be perfectly clear about this. I accepted your request for a meeting. Indeed, I invited you to my laboratory in good faith. I am here to help in any legal way I can. But I also have responsibilities. Responsibilities I take seriously.'
Amanda sat back in the chair, a slow rage building within her, knowing that the man in front of her was toying with her. Playing a cat and mouse game. He knew more than he was willing to share.
'Professor Anderson, thank you for the invitation, but you said you were willing to cooperate fully. So what do you have to tell me?' Amanda said.
'That there is no threat to my life! I am sorry that I cannot encourage your neurotic investigations, but I am a man of reason. If you have any evidence, perhaps, other than the happenstance accidents? Do you have any evidence?'
'Many questions are being raised through our investigations of the crime scenes.' Amanda didn't want to reveal any lack of real evidence, especially with someone she was quickly developing a suspicion about. The dour yet friendly Professor Anderson may well turn into suspect Number One. Amanda sighed, glanced up at a wall chart, and decided to change tack. 'Could you tell me a little about what you do here?'
'We are placing our very own bookmark in the Genome project.' Professor Anderson said.
'The Genome project? Isn't that something to do with the study of DNA?'
'Oh, you know something about our studies?' Professor Anderson preened. 'Yes, DNA sequencing and sequence analysis. Very interesting. All life is unique, and the genome of any given individual is also unique. We are contributing to the world-wide studies and furthering humanity's understanding of ourselves, and the root of ourselves.'
'You're getting away from me here, Professor.' Amanda leant forward, encouraging Dr Anderson's growing excitement.
'We have identified many evolutionary relationships within DNA,' he said. 'We have an artificial environment for our fruit fly world and have been able to track detrimental mutations - and even introduced beneficial ones into their evolution. Fascinating stuff, of course, but we are also delving deeper than most.'
'Delving deeper? What could be deeper than understanding the building blocks of life? Identifying the DNA sequence of a person?' Amanda repeated phrases back to the Professor as a question, drawing him further into the explanation.
'Firstly, you have to understand our objectives here,' Anderson said, becoming excited at the prospect of an eager audience. 'Not only do we map an individual's DNA makeup, but we intend to understand why that person is who he or she is - tracking the blueprint of their Genome through their parents, and their parent's parents, back through their ancestral history. The sum of the partnerships going back through the generations. Can you imagine the possibilities, to identify the very source of a disease tracked through the ancestral line?'
Amanda paused for effect, allowing the doctor to see the understanding dawn on her face. She was pleased that he was talking so freely as his studies here may have some connection to her investigation.
'Tracking DNA through the family tree?'
'Marvellous, isn't it. We have a computer model to replicate the whole process. It also accounts for a little side study we are completing. Looking into "Junk DNA."'
'Junk DNA? Sounds an ominous term?' Amanda said.
'A throwaway term, I assure you. Junk DNA is the label given to approximately eighty two percent of DNA for which there is no function. The clutter around the proper DNA strands. However, there does seem to be some value to junk DNA that is quite surprising. In fact, it wasn't so long ago that the nature of some of the junk DNA was revealed. The supposed potential of the litter DNA that seems quite extraordinary. And yet, there it is. Right there in front of us the whole time. The eternal answer to science and religion and the very . . .'
A rapid knock on the door and the secretary burst into the room, flustered but sharp, eyes piercing Amanda. 'Professor, your next appointment is awaiting you in the laboratory.'
'Oh, really?' Anderson said.
'Perhaps you could offer me a tour of the building?' Amanda asked before the Professor could dismiss her.
'That is impractical, I'm afraid. Besides, it is not set up for casual viewing. You would not, I fear, find a room full of fruit fly an appealing spectacle. And indeed, most of our work is kept securely within computers.'
'Ah, and I was so hoping to discover the secret of the fidelity gene in men.' Amanda smiled, stood and replaced her notebook and pen in her coat. 'You've been very helpful, Professor, and I am sure you're right. There may be no connection in the deaths of the trustees of the Valentine Trust. I am but a humble policewoman, just doing her job.' Amanda made to leave.
'Thank you for coming all this way. On a wild goose chase, it would seem.'
'Yes. So it would seem.' Amanda thanked the Professor, quickly shaking his hand before she closed the door behind her and followed the receptionist through the grey labyrinth.
'Thank you for your time.' Amanda nodded to the receptionist and walked to her car. She noted that there were no other cars in the car park. Another appointment indeed?
The Professor was getting quite chatty before the interruption and Amanda wondered how she would be able to corner Professor Anderson again. Away from his laboratories and watchful eyes.
She waved at the receptionist as she circled round the empty car park, floored the accelerator and zipped towards the perimeter gates.