Deadly Code (3 page)

Chapter 3

Rhona made herself look down. Below her, the west coast of Scotland peeped through a curtain of grey cloud, each island a jigsaw piece of green and purple against the charcoal water. 'Shit.'

'Pardon me?'

‘I’m sorry. I hate flying. It's unnatural.'

'But you're a scientist. You know that the laws of physics dictate this thing will stay in the air.’

‘I know, but I still hate looking down.'

'Why don't you pull the blind and pretend we're in a train instead.'

'Good idea. Just don't mention any train crashes.'

The plane was busy. Beyond the curtains of business class, Rhona could hear a wall of voices and the clatter of a trolley. In here life was quiet, well ordered, peaceful and spacious. On her left Andre Frith was reading some papers, on her right a small flat screen begged her to switch on and enjoy the inflight movie. All expenses paid was the way to travel.

Her DNA research had brought her here. For the last couple of years she had been involved in a think-tank to see how DNA studies and certain other branches of genetic research might aid crime investigators in the future. The next step was to match the DNA characteristics of bacteria and virus samples to one another so that they could determine if two individuals were in the same environment, or in close enough contact with one another to pass micro-organisms back and forth. Challenging, but not insurmountable. Such research was welcomed by the university. It brought money in the form of grants. It also brought prestige and invitations to conferences in exotic places.

Her companion turned and gave her one of those American smiles, all white teeth, golden tan and crinkly blue eyes. Rhona was suddenly reminded of Harrison Ford.

'You didn't mention why you were in Scotland,’ she said.

'Didn't I? I was in Scotland because . . . well, Scotland is beautiful.'

'So you were a tourist?'

'Yes and no. I had a little business to deal with first, then I took a look at your west coast. I'm afraid, like so many Americans, I was searching for my roots.

'Your family was Scottish?'

'My great-great-great-grandmother came from Raasay. She was one of the MacLeods cleared from there in the 1800s.'

'So we're related?'

He laughed. 'Looks like it.'

'And did you find what you were looking for?'

He looked sad. 'I found a pile of stones.'

‘I’m sorry.'

'Don't be. It was enough.'

He pulled a photograph from his pocket It showed two women seated on stiff-backed chairs, a man standing behind them. The sepia colours made the women look ugly and severe.

He pointed at the one on the right. 'My grandmother,' he said. 'Scary, isn't she?'

'Yes, she is.'

'She was born in the Red River Valley, which is where her mother ended up. According to family legend, my great-great-grandmother spoke only Gaelic until the day she died. She had made up her mind she was coming back, you see.' He smiled. 'A determined lady.'

'But she didn't.'

'No. But I did.'

The prospect of the LA Conference didn't seem so daunting, now she was on speaking terms with at least one of the contributors.

Andre Frith was to deliver a paper on 'The New Weapons of Ethnic Cleansing. At least sixteen countries, Rhona knew, had bio weapon programs, including Syria, North Korea and China. Russia, Andre reminded her, had already developed a new generation of untreatable diseases which were resistant to antibiotics.

'And on that positive note, here come the pre-dinner drinks,' he announced. 'Champagne, madam?'

Rhona nodded her acceptance. Talking shop with a handsome biochemist over a glass or two of champagne could make her forget there was nothing between her and the Atlantic except fresh air and the laws of physics.

Rhona rolled across the kingsize empty bed and looked at the clock. No wonder Santa Monica was going strong. It might be two in the morning on her internal clock but it was late afternoon here. It would be easier if she got up, went and found a place to eat, then slept when everybody else did.

As she stood in the shower, water pounding on her head, she thanked God she had time to put her brain back together before she had to address the conference.

Andre had left her at the airport, promising to call on Sunday and take her for a short drive. Rhona had no idea what this might mean in American terms. Probably nothing under seventy miles.

On her way to the hotel she chatted with her taxi driver. He told her he lived in the desert and it took him two hours to get home. He had to leave the city at eight o'clock to avoid the rush hour.

Catching a five-minute ride to work, or even walking for twenty minutes, began to look like heaven in comparison. Rhona made a mental note to remind Chrissy how lucky she was; how lucky they both were.

She momentarily forgot the time difference and phoned Chrissy, who was initially disgruntled to be woken up. 'So, you're trying to say it's hell over there?' She didn't sound convinced.

Rhona took in the spacious airconditioned room; the blue sky outside, the sun shining through the window, the smell of fresh coffee and fruit just delivered by the management.

'Not hell, just hectic,' she said.

'So where is this Andre taking you tomorrow?'

'To meet some more MacLeods.'

'You've got family over there?'

'I'm meeting the Californian branch of the Clan MacLeod.'

‘They'll be nutcases.'

'Thanks.'

'Nothing personal,' Chrissy said. 'But chances are they'll be the Jacobite brigade.'

Rhona chose to ignore that remark. Instead she asked Chrissy a favour, which was followed by silence.

‘Never heard of them, but I'll check for you. What were they called again?'

'ReGene.' Rhona spelt it out for her.

'Sounds like an advert for Lee Cooper.'

'The card was here when I arrived. A Dr Lynne Franklin wants to arrange a meeting.'

'Looks like you're in demand.'

'I'd like to know a bit about the company before I agree to speak to her.'

'She probably thinks you've got a DNA vaccine up your sleeve, ready for worldwide distribution.'

Rhona resisted a retort. With Chrissy always wanting the last word, they could be there all night.

'By the way,' Chrissy said, 'I'm going to the jazz club tonight. See how Sean's getting on without you.'

'Oh.'

'Danny says the band's new singer is very hot.'

Danny was the latest in Chrissy's long string of boyfriends.

'I thought I’d better view the competition.' Chrissy paused. 'My competition, I mean.'

No answer could adequately express what Rhona felt at that moment, so she didn't voice one.

'I'll email when I've done the background on ReGene,' Chrissy went on. 'Oh, DI Wilson says thanks for the report on the foot. He'll talk to you when you get back.'

Rhona rang off quickly before Chrissy could fire more ammunition at her. Chrissy believed in being up front about everything, including Sean. Making a meal of Rhona's jealous streak was Chrissy's way of telling her not to worry. It rarely worked.

Rhona opened the suitcase and found something to wear that suited another climate - and another planet, she thought, as she emerged from the cool elegance of the marble reception area into the late afternoon sunshine of Third Street, Santa Monica.

A guy with long hair and a longer coat stood on the corner, money rising and falling from his flicked hand with monotonous regularity. He had the look of a Jesus who had just ejected the money lenders from the temple and now wasn't sure what to do with their small change.

Rhona tossed a coin into the embroidered hat at his feet. If he spotted her contribution to his welfare he didn't acknowledge it.

The pedestrian precinct of Third Street was already teeming with people, hanging out and being cool, and that was only the beggars. An alcoholic told the truth on his cardboard sign: Okay, I won't lie, I need a drink, please give. Honesty seemed to be paying off.

Rhona took her time, reading restaurant menus posted in glass cases on the sidewalk, trying not to be intimidated by the waiters and waitresses, all definite members of the beautiful people's club.

'Madam, you like Italian?'

This one was particularly handsome and sexy. It was obvious why he was told to hang about the entrance.

Rhona succumbed and shortly afterwards found herself sitting in an alcove, sipping cool white wine and wiping up deliciously fragrant olive oil with freshly baked bread. Okay, so you could do this in Glasgow, but it wasn't quite the same. Rhona felt guilty at the thought. While she waited for the main course, she took another look at the message on the back of the ReGene card.

Looking forward to your paper. Could we meet some time while you're here? Dr Lynne Franklin.

It told Rhona nothing except that ReGene had a fancy address in Los Angeles and a second address in the Bahamas. Whatever the company did, it made money at it. Rhona slipped the card back into her wallet and concentrated on the arrival of the main course.

Noticing her Scottish accent, the waiter hung around and gave her his family history, including the low down on his Italian relatives who ran a Glasgow restaurant. By the end of the meal, he had asked whether she was dating anyone. It was while she was saying (somewhat reluctantly) she was, that a girl came in. She was tall, much taller than Rhona, with the blonde good looks of a Beach Boys album cover. Rollerblades made her even taller, so that after her perfectly performed halt she stood six inches above Rhona's waiter, who she had obviously come to see.

Trying not to think of a Steve Martin film, Rhona removed herself from the middle of the ensuing confrontation and took her check to the counter to pay. The equally handsome man on the till gave her a perfect smile and wished her a good day.

On the Santa Monica promenade, things weren't any better. Replicas of the restaurant girl whizzed past on rollerblades. Male rollerbladers looked like Rambo in very small shorts.

Santa Monica didn't look like Glasgow but according to Andre the two places had one thing in common. You could buy anything on this promenade, including drugs and sex, provided you had the money.

She glanced at her watch.

It would be four in the morning in Glasgow. Sean would probably be back from his gig at the club.

Rhona pulled out her mobile and pressed the familiar number, imagining the signal waving its way around the world. It rang out half-a-dozen times before she hung up.

When she got back to the hotel there was a message waiting for her at reception. Andre would be round at ten o'clock the next morning to take her to the MacLeod tent at a Highland games. Rhona tried to imagine what Chrissy would say about that. It didn't bear repeating, even in her head.

Before she went to bed, she set up her computer and checked her email. Nothing.

No phone calls from home, no emails. It was true, living in hotel rooms made you disappear.

Rhona didn't notice the gold-edged envelope until she climbed into bed. Lying on the bedside table, it looked too smart for an advertising leaflet.

In that, she was wrong. It was an advertising leaflet. A really classy one. The embossed card inside suggested that, alone in Santa Monica, Dr MacLeod might like some intelligent and charming male company for dinner and seeing the sights. No prices quoted. Obviously if you had to ask the price, you couldn't afford the man.

Rhona tucked the card back in the envelope, but not before she'd noted the name and phone number on the back. Jason, it seemed, was the one on special offer.

Rhona switched off the light, wishing she had someone to share the joke with.

Professional woman, alone in Santa Monica on business, seeks charming intelligent man to share dinner and ...

Chapter 4

Chrissy was waiting outside the jazz club for Danny when the girl and boy arrived.

‘I’m a friend of Sean's. I’m singing here tonight.'

The doorman waved the girl past, but stopped the boy.

Chrissy didn't blame him. No way was the guy twenty-one. She wondered if the girl was his big sister and he just wanted to hear her sing. She thought about pleading his case, saying she would keep an eye on him.

Then the bouncer told him to get lost. The boy didn't argue, just gave him the finger and walked away.

Danny showed up minutes later and swept Chrissy inside. The basement room was throbbing with music.

'Drink?' Danny mouthed.

All the tables were taken so she waited for him near the bar. The club was a popular haunt with university staff, especially forensics and pathology. It was close to work and stayed open late. If you were called out to an incident in the middle of the night, you could come here afterwards and drown your sorrows. There were two mortuary technicians she recognised at a table doing exactly that.

Danny handed her a Bacardi Breezer and slipped an arm round her waist.

At the end of his solo number, Sean spotted her and smiled over.

At least half a dozen women, including the two mortuary technicians, turned to look enviously at her. Sean was working his usual magic.

When the young woman came on stage, the place went quiet. Sean took her hand and brought her forward. She wore a red sequinned dress that hugged her slim body. Her hair was swept up at the back, exposing a heart-shaped mole on her cheek. The mix of intensity and vulnerability reminded Chrissy of old footage of Janis Joplin.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Esther Dickson.'

The charcoal eyes darted about the audience, as frightened as a roe deer caught in the headlights of a car.

Sean played the intro.

She hesitated and missed her entrance.

Sean played the opening again.

This time she came in right on cue.

The background chatter faded as the low sensual voice filled the room. Chrissy felt a shiver run down her spine. She was good, really good. The audience was hanging on every note. Esther was more confident now. She knew she had them in the palm of her hand.

At the end of the song, the audience clapped wildly and shouted for more. Chrissy looked at Danny. He was loving it.

'Watch out Rhona.'

'What?' Danny pulled his eyes from the stage.

'I said, watch out Rhona. This one only needs to sing to get a guy off.'

Danny grinned like a man with a hard-on. 'Yeah, baby.'

Esther sang three songs. The whole audience was sexed out. She left the stage before they finished clapping.

Danny gave Chrissy a kiss with a promise in it and went to the bar for a refill. Chrissy followed the singer to the Ladies. She found her leaning over the basin, running cold water through her hands.

'You're very good,' Chrissy said.

'Thanks.' The voice was flat, as though the life had drained away with the songs.

Chrissy examined Esther's reflection in the mirror. She had seen this female before somewhere. But where?

'Are you singing anywhere else?'

Esther looked at her sharply.

'What the fuck do you care?'

Chrissy rummaged in her bag. She had seen her before. She was sure of it 'It's cool,' she made a show of renewing her lipstick, 'I just thought I'd heard you before.'

Esther shrugged and touched up her own mask of eyeshadow and lipstick. 'Couldn't have. I just moved here.'

*With your brother?'

'My brother?'

'The young guy outside.'

'Spike's not my brother. He's a mate.'

The girl had stopped being defensive. Whatever Chrissy said now had to keep things that way. She didn't get the chance.

'Shut the fuck up!' The girl hissed at the mirror.

'What?'

Esther ignored her and headed for a cubicle, slamming the door in Chrissy's face. From inside came the sound of muttering. Chrissy knocked. 'Are you okay?'

The girl didn't reply, at least not to Chrissy. The muttering went on, then the sound of retching and the thump of something hitting the floor. Chrissy banged on the door.

'Hey, are you alright in there?'

'Fuck off and leave me alone.'

It took Chrissy five minutes to find Sean. The band was taking a break and he had gone outside for some air. When she brought him back to the toilet, the cubicle was empty.

'She was on something.'

‘You don't know that,' Sean said firmly.

The thought crossed Chrissy's mind that he knew more about Esther than he was letting on.

'She was swearing at the mirror.'

A half-smile played Sean's lips. 'Maybe she was swearing at you.'

Chrissy wasn't giving up. 'I've seen her someplace before.'

Sean looked mildly irritated. 'I'm only interested in where she is at this moment. We have a second half to do.'

Chrissy gazed past Sean.

Esther had appeared at the door. *Is there a problem?' she said truculently.

'Not with me,' Chrissy shot back.

'Could you give us a minute?' Sean said quietly.

'Fine.' Sean did know more about Esther Dickson than he was letting on. Chrissy headed for the bar and a stiff drink.

Esther was back on stage ten minutes later. She seemed calm, dreamy even. An addict after a fix?

Chrissy stood with Danny's arm about her and listened to Esther's haunting voice. Sean had given her the girl's version of events on his way to the stage. He might be convinced, but she wasn't.

In the shadows near the bar she spotted the boy with the spiky hair, who had somehow sneaked in. He wore the same expression as Danny. Whatever substance the girl had in her voice should be powdered and marketed.

But magic voice or not, the story of a migraine attack just didn't make it with Chrissy.

She was sure she'd seen Esther before. And she had the feeling the girl was bad news. Bad news Rhona needed to know about.