Antman (36 page)

'Why confidential?'

'You wouldn't like to be mayor in a south coast or Norfolk seaside resort which advertised killer wasps and bees along with sunshine, would you?'

'Point taken.'

'Which brings us back to ants,' he added.

'Tell me how?'

'There's an open question about the minimum climatic conditions necessary to sustain, say, a species of harvester ants which formerly could only live in countries regarded as subtropical. You could say that Robin and his colleagues have without funding been examining this question informally, but in anticipation of a growing demand once certain data on insect migrations hits the mass media.'

'You're talking in riddles, I'm afraid. Decode all this for me.'

He took a deep breath. She held up her hand. 'But not now. One thing I was going to ask you. How old are ants?'

'Do you mean how long-lived are ants, or how old is the ant family in evolutionary history?'

'The latter.'

'The answer to that is being revised. Until recently, it was thought that ants were relatively young, though still millions of years before primates, apes and humans. But fossil ants have been found in Baltic amber which are fifty million years older than previous ant fossils. So when dinosaurs stomped the Cretaceous rain forests there were ants scurrying beneath their feet and on the branches of the giant trees around them.'

'Okay. That's all I've time for, sorry.'

As though to reinforce her words, a personal bleeper concealed somewhere on her person began to give out a series of insistent sounds.

'I suggest another meeting, when we've more time,' she called out, already halfway to the door. 'Byee.'

Who's in demand now, Tom mouthed as she cupped the handset against her ear.

'It's not me they want,' she whispered, 'but the uniform.'

'I should bloody well hope so,' he hissed.

'Bye,' he said to himself as she disappeared into the corridor, talking rapidly into the handset while waving towards him half over her shoulder.

*  *  *

E-mail Tom to Robin:

Things are hotting up here. No time to explain in detail, but great suspicions re possible connection between former employee and unexplained murders in the area. By the way, a particular query about one of your references. Can you supply more details of Walters, .E., 1990, pp. 324-56? It's listed, but the title and journal came through as unreadable as though I'd handwritten them myself.

Regards,

Tom

Tom checked his e-mail several times over the next two hours. He didn't know how much Greenwich inter Time was ahead of Brazil. He knew Robin was capable of working straight through the night on his computer.

Chris was out of the office for a couple of hours. When she returned, Morrison had left three almost identical messages on her voicemail. She rang back.

'I wondered where you were, boss. I've been tracking e-mails.'

She considered a flippant response and was glad she hadn't, when he continued: 'It's Dr Robin Lovelace at the University. Am I right that he's on University business in Africa?'

'Basically, if that's what the list Tom Fortius supplied says, that's where he is.'

'He may be, but for the past few days at least, his e-mail messages haven't been coming from Africa, but from an address in England.'

*  *  *

Chris called unannounced at Tom's office. She stood half in and half out of the room. 'Sorry to burst in. Have you a minute? I must check some information with you.'

'I'm literally on my way out and am already ten minutes late for a meeting.' Tom was puzzled. Her face was sombre. This was serious.

'Two minutes,' said Tom. She closed the door behind her.

'I have to check this with you. It appears your deputy Robin isn't in Africa as we thought. I'm beginning to wonder if he ever left the country.'

'What! That's impossible.'

'We've confirmed the information. He's been in Yorkshire for at least the past three days. Furthermore, and more delicate, he's been having an affair.'

'Oh?'

'You didn't know.'

'Robin's always having relationships.'

'Tom, I'm very sorry.'

She looked down. He saw her expression and experienced one of those agonising awakenings of understanding which seem to go on for ages, but probably occupy only a few seconds. Chris stole a glance at his face. As a police officer she'd had to give many people bad news and she hated every nuance of it.

He was shaking his head. 'No, not Laura, it can't be.'

'You're positive?'

Tom was looking away. He shook his head. 'No, unfortunately, I'm not positive. The bastard.'

'I'm sorry, I assumed you'd know.'

'I didn't know about the affair, but yes, I knew what complete crap it is between Laura and me. I didn't want any of it to impinge on anything between you and me.'

'How could it? There isn't anything between us, not in that way.'

Tom saw her face and coloured up. 'Of course there isn't. It wasn't relevant. That's what I mean.'

'Let's get one thing clear. I need information. I'll decide what's relevant, but at this stage I need to know everything which might have a bearing on how you and your colleagues behave.'

'I'm sorry.' He felt a fool. He didn't know Chris and she didn't know him. He cursed himself, hardly knowing what for. Perhaps he was taking too much for granted.

She must have sensed his discomfiture. 'Look, I can see you're busy. I'll ring you again.'

She closed the door quickly and was gone. Tom didn't move for a minute of so.

'Damn,' he exclaimed out loud, driving one fist into the palm of his other hand. 'Damn, damn, damn!'

*  *  *

At ten in the morning Tom's door opened and Robin burst in.

'How could you?' Robin exclaimed.

'What?'

'You let them think I could kill somebody.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Somebody in this place does.' Robin turned and was on his way out.

'Before you go, please explain how you've managed to turn up here whilst e-mailing me from another continent.'

Robin looked embarrassed. 'I managed to slip away for a few days.'

'I suppose that's how you've carried on with Laura.'

You're managing to look stunned, Tom thought.

'Laura? I don't know what you're talking about.'

'I'm talking about the affair you've been conducting with my wife, the wife of your longstanding friend and colleague.'

Tom had never seen Robin change so quickly. His face seemed to collapse into unhappiness. He slumped into the office chair.

'Tom, I'm so sorry.'

'Not as sorry as I am at losing the friend I thought I had.'

'It isn't like you think.'

'Unfortunately, it is. Now clear out of my office before I do something I might regret.'

After the disastrous meeting with Robin, Tom was on the phone to Chris.

'Where is he?' she wanted to know.

'In his office I suppose. I didn't ask where he was going.'

Half an hour later Tom's phone rang. It was Helen and she was near hysterical.

'Robin's been arrested, on suspicion.'

Tom was staggered. So this was what lay behind Robin's remark. 'On suspicion of what?'

It took a while to calm Helen down. He promised to ring the police, find out what he could and call her back. He dialled Chris's direct number and within a couple of minutes wished he hadn't.

'Bradshaw's adamant. Look at it from his point of view. We have a suspect with a motive and no alibi.'

'What motive, for God's sake?'

'Come on, Tom, look at the facts. Whichever way you turn there are questions.'

'There are questions, so he's the convenient new arrival who becomes number one suspect.'

'He needs to explain his movements.'

'What possible motive could he have?' asked Tom.

'Your research unit's under threat from the management and you can ask that?'

'You believe it too.'

'I didn't say that.'

Tom's tone was harsh with anger. 'You don't have to. Actions speak louder than words.'

'There have been other killings, connected with your neck of the woods, Tom.'

'You mean my department. Serial adulterer Robin may be Multiple murderer, never.'

Part Three

Fission

Chapter 24

Tom was not a great churchgoer. Nevertheless he was moved by the funeral service for Hugh and Janie. Partly, it was the gravity of the occasion, the slow procession of the coffin down the knave of Beverley Minster, the hush over waiting rows of people in the crowded church. He couldn't imagine more than a dozen people who would attend his own funeral, yet people were waiting outside the Minster for this man's coffin to re-emerge, because every seat inside was taken. For the most part, it was the playing of a particular hymn from childhood and his mother's funeral which brought Tom close to breaking down. 'All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small.' Perhaps that was where he'd started with his obsession with ants. Who knows how these things work, he thought. In the depths of our minds?

Afterwards, people milled around in their hundreds outside the Minster; cars and taxis queuing for lifts to the crematorium. Tom hung around on the edge of the crush, avoiding contact with people. At one point he thought he saw Apthorpe talking to a group of research students. He had a way of attracting students. They seemed to like his avuncular manner. He was non-threatening in a kind of traditional way. Apthorpe irritated Tom in every way. He had the gift, if that's what it was, of attracting females. Tom was sure that was Naomi Waterson close to him, almost touching his arm. If anyone was a murderer, it was Apthorpe, not Robin.

Tom swivelled round to set his mind on other, more constructive thoughts. He caught sight of Chris standing across the street, staring into the crowd. He knew she'd written Robin off as a suspect and after this latest double killing was waiting for the chance to convince Bradshaw. Bradshaw, on the other hand, had to go through the ritual of adding this to the evidence of Robin's guilt. He worked with Mackintosh in the same part of the University, dammit. But then so did fifteen hundred other staff and students.

Chris was watching the black-suited men pacing to and fro, looking at the ground, mixing, exchanging a few words here and there.

What does a killer do in such circumstances, she wondered? That is, if their killer was there. Perhaps this was part of it for him. Perhaps he'd come to gloat. He could even be one of the mourners. She checked herself. That was moving in the direction of Bradshaw's thoughts. It was too obvious.

*  *  *

Graver couldn't sleep. The choir from the Minster echoed round the coils of his brain. The voices were growing too loud. He started shouting. Sometimes it was the only way to drown them out.