Antman (41 page)

'Sounds like your experimenters have a real fun time in your red light district.'

'An absolute ball,' said Tom ironically.

Chris looked at her watch. 'It might be politic if I paid the bill.'

'Do I sense we should be setting off?'

'If I'm to head off an inquisition from Bradshaw, about half an hour ago I guess.'

*  *  *

The journey back to Hull was smooth and speedy. Tom arrived at work just before ten. He spent the next hour in the main office sorting out various administration matters. The phone was already ringing as he walked back into his own office and picked up the receiver.

'Chris here. How are you fixed for red wine?'

'Pardon?'

'I asked because I've some cold meat here.'

'Someone fancies herself as the reincarnated Philip Marlowe,' Tom said archly.

'Eh?'

'Raymond Chandler, you know,
The Big Sleep
.' Tom exaggerated Bogarde's drawl from the side of his mouth: 'Don't play the innocent with me, sister. After this is over maybe we can pick up on the wine tasting, when you're no longer carrying the cuffs and I'm not a scientist.'

'Okay, wise guy. I give in. Are you interested in meeting?'

'To be honest I haven't put my bags down yet. An hour ago I returned to the University from a forensic entomology meeting at Peterborough University, would you believe it?' He waited for her response and, true to expectation, she followed his lead.

'I never would believe you. Here was I thinking you were away with some scarlet woman. I hadn't thought such a thing as a flock of forensic entomologists would exist. Do you call them a swarm?'

'A convention.'

'Very good. Any other group of forensic experts is called a body,' she said with a grim snort.

Tom groaned out loud. This conversation was degenerating rapidly.

'Okay, I shouldn't have said it. What I meant was, surely a crowd like that has the potential to be pretty macabre.'

'There isn't so much of the macabre about most of them. I think you might have the wrong idea about entomology of whatever kind.'

Chris was amused by the irony: 'So here we are, a policewoman who's had enough of policing and an academic who finds detection fascinating and doesn't object to being recruited to work for the police.'

'I didn't know you were so brassed off with detective work.'

'I'm not. It's the Police Force which brasses me off.'

'There isn't that much difference between us then. It's the approaches of those fictional detectives which interests me. And their lifestyles, I suppose,' he added as an afterthought. 'I used to want to be a private detective. When I was about to take the plunge into research, I made a resolution that if ever that world crashed, I'd set up a detective agency.'

Chris giggled. 'It'll look a bit of a come down on the business card – Private Eye.'

'Private Investigator,' he corrected. 'We aren't part of the USA yet.'

'Sorry.' She paused to scribble an imaginary alteration in the air. 'Big difference.'

'Not any old investigator, though.'

'Of course not. It wouldn't be dignified, an international academic snooping on adulterous spouses.'

'I don't intend to get into that.'

'That's where the money is, sunshine. Jealous people pay well.'

'I shall set strict limits to what I get involved in.'

'High principles, unemployed, but ethically sound. Very impressive.'

'There's a whole raft of stuff with a scientific or research edge to it, equally as significant as all your adulterers. Environmental issues, industrial espionage, that kind of thing.'

'Don't pin the adultery trip on me. I never said I was interested in people who are adulterating.'

'No, not like that. I thought you said that's what your agency would be doing.'

'I never said that. I said keeping your principles intact is the way to insulate yourself against growing rich.'

'Growing rich at all?'

'You're pushing me. I'll stick at too quickly.'

'That's what I find endearing about you Chris, your flexibility.'

*  *  *

Bradshaw had found out a little about Chris's recent unapproved travels and was not amused. She stood in his office.

'I'm putting it down the line, Inspector Winchester, that unless you obey orders you'll be out of this office, out of plain clothes and out of the Force altogether. Do I make myself clear?'

'Perfectly clear, sir.'

'Never mind the fancy answer. Yes or no?'

'Yes.'

'Get on with it, Inspector.'

‘
With pleasure.'

‘
What did you say?'

'I said, sir, I'll be very pleased to leave this room.'

Bradshaw leaned across the desk and lowered his voice.

'This is not an ordinary room, Inspector Winchester, it is my office. And in my office, the business is done by me. I decide when it is complete and when people come in and go out. Now you will leave my office and carry out this Force's orders without further ado, or there will be serious repercussions.'

The phone was ringing as Chris walked into her own office.

'Hello, is that Chris?'

'Yes. What is it?'

'Christ!' She heard the sound as Tom slapped his forehead. 'Two things. I know the mechanism used to rouse the ants to kill and I know where Thompsen fits in.'

'Slow down, I've had my boss shouting at me. I can only take one more piece of news at a time.'

'Okay, the mechanism first. We've lost a fairly sophisticated device we named the Antennator, which was developed in my Research Centre to explore communication between ants. Now the other matter ...'

‘
Wait a moment. When did this device go missing?'

'I'm not sure, but I'm kicking myself. It's been missing for months, possibly longer.'

'Sounds slack to me.'

'I know, I know, but it's universities. They're very federated organisations, which means people can be left to their own devices for years, unless what they're doing or not doing infringes upon somebody else's territory.'

'Bizarre.' She was very unimpressed. ‘What's your other discovery?'

'Not a discovery so much as a thought.' He paused and took a deep breath. 'I've remembered something going on at the time Walters was here. He was on sick leave after a serious accident and we'd had several temps in and were looking for a permanent replacement. He said he could find us a candidate from a local technical college who'd been employed as a technician for several years. I think I recall some discussion with our personnel department about whether relatives of staff could be employed on this basis.'

‘
We're talking about a relative of Walters?'

'I seem to remember something about Thompsen and Walters being brothers.'

'Right,' said Chris slowly. 'Is that all for now? I need to talk to people at this end.'

She rang off. ‘Where's Morrison.' She called, 'Morrison.'

After a pause, a faint voice replied, 'Boss?'

'Morrison, where are you?'

'In the toilet.'

'I want to speak to you, urgently.'

Morrison's response indicated the problem was the curry he'd eaten last night. Chris was undaunted.

'I can't wait. If you aren't coming out, I'm coming in.'

*  *  *

Tom's mobile was signalling an incoming call and when he came off the phone to Chris he checked it. It was a message from his brother Basil, saying his mother had been taken ill, but was all right, and asking him to return the call. Christ, thought Tom, I can't ring back at present. I'll do it as soon as there's a space. He went through into Jean's office.

'Is everything all right?' Jean asked, thinking he looked drained.

'It never rains but it pours. My mother's ill. My brother's been on the phone, telling me the doctor's been and it's all in hand. I don't need to do anything. Let me know if he rings the office. I'll see you later.'

Strange, thought Jean, how some men live totally separate lives from their wives and families. She would have expected Tom's wife to be the one phoning with this news. It wasn't hard to pick up that Laura wasn't in Tom's universe at present.

Shortly afterwards, Chris emerged from the male toilet and rang Bradshaw. She outlined the situation, saving the punch line till the last moment.

'Morrison believes the file contains the name of a father for Walters. We need to interview him. The problem is that the only location we can trace is in the USA.'

*  *  *

'They talk about the victims of abuse feeling guilty,' said Tom.

'I don't know what you mean,' said Luis Deakin.

He was so quick to reply that Tom looked at him sharply. I've offended you, he thought.

'I once watched a television programme,' said Chris. 'This woman was talking about the lives of people who are victims of abuse, how they need to move from experiencing it to surviving it and then dealing with it, in a therapeutic sense.'

'They ask for it,' said Luis suddenly.

'I beg your pardon.'

'I said the bastards often ask for it,' Luis repeated mechanically, as though speaking in his sleep.

‘
What did you say?' asked Tom. He was aware of the intensified silence from Chris's corner of the room.

Luis started as though coming out of a reverie: ‘What? Sorry, I thought I was hearing a bell.'

Tom and Chris were both staring. Tom spoke. 'Are you all right, Luis?'

'Yes, yes. Why do you ask?'

‘
What did you think I said, Luis?'

'Did you ask me a question?'

'Actually I didn't,' said Tom. 'But you answered one.'

Luis passed his hand across his brow. 'I'm sorry.' He seemed confused. 'It's been a long day. I am overtired. I reach the stage where I imagine things.' He laughed nervously. 'Overactive brain. You know. That sort of thing.

Tom laughed with him, slightly hesitant, but smiling nevertheless. 'Perhaps it's time to call it a day, Luis.'

'Probably it is,' Luis answered, speaking rather slowly as though surfacing from sleep. 'I'll pack up. It’s been rather a long session.'

'Too true,' said Tom. 'See you tomorrow.'

'Yes, see you. Farewell.'

After he had gone there was silence for a minute or so. Chris broke it first. ‘What was all that about? Presumably you knew about him being prone to hearing things.'

Tom shook his head. 'I don't know what's going on here. I honestly don't know.' He sat for a while and eventually spoke. 'Let's put it down to tiredness. We're all tired. We've all had enough.'

They sat in the car park talking. Chris left the car to go to her office and Tom drove back to work. A couple of hours passed. He was packing up when the phone rang. It was Laura.

‘
Where have you been? I've been ringing for ages.'

'Sitting in this office for the past few hours.'

'Tell that to whoever you like, but don't try fooling me. Anyway listen hard, your mother's critically ill.'

'How can you say that? She's been ill but she's fine.'