The Delta Chain (7 page)

Adam grinned. ‘I guess no one’s perfect.’

‘And men are far from it.’ She smiled back. But Adam saw behind the smile: her eyes revealed her concern for the Greek shop owner who was well respected in this beachside community.

Barbara left the two men alone.

‘You didn’t get me to come in to the station to make my statement,’ Costas said.

‘We’ll get to that. No rush. Something like this is a dreadful shock to the system. So while I’m here to take down anything you can tell me about last night, I also want to talk with you as a friend, about how you’re feeling.’

‘You’ve been listening to Barbara. She’s making such a damn fuss.’ He shrugged and rolled his eyes skyward. ‘I guess that’s why the Lord put them here. To make a fuss.’

‘Sounds like my mother. Made a monumental fuss over everything. But in the end we love them all the more for it.’

Costas’ eyes met his. ‘Of course we do.’

‘In situations like this, I usually suggest a counselling session with Dr. Enderby, over on Trindon Street. If you’re agreeable he’s available this afternoon. Tentative time of four’o’clock, which you’d need to confirm.’

‘You’re pushing,’ Costas said.

‘He doesn’t bite, mate, and you just might find it beneficial. I know what I’m talking about, I saw him after I attended my first violent crime scene. One visit, hear what he’s got to say.’

‘Okay, okay. It can’t be any more painful than listening to this.’ Both men laughed and inside the house, that sound warmed Barbara Cail’s heart.

Adam began his questioning about Costas’ observations the night before.

Listening in, Barbara marvelled at Adam’s common touch. It reminded her of the natural manner in which he coached the boys at basketball.

She could see how easy it was for her son to idolise Adam Bennett. She just wished Joey could feel a little of the same for Costas.

On an impulse, Melanie decided not to rap on the front door. She might stand a better chance of talking to Costas if she surprised both him and her sister in the kitchen or on the patio.

She was halfway up the side passage when she heard male voices. She stole a glance around the rear corner, saw Costas and recognised Adam Bennett. She whipped out her recorder. The voices would be distant and muffled but clear enough to act as a reference.

Her story took shape as she listened: fishing enthusiast Costas Yannous seeks counselling, on the advice of the police, after discovering gruesome remains.

Yes. She liked the sound of this.

Sensing the detective was finishing up, she slipped the recorder into her pants pocket and rounded the corner. ‘Oh hi, Costas,’ she said, feigning surprise, ‘I called over to say hi to Barbara, but I guess she didn’t hear me knocking.’

Costas was startled, but quickly regained his composure. ‘Hello, Melanie.’ He gestured toward Adam. ‘Do you know Detective Bennett?’

‘Oh yes.’ She beamed a wide, toothy grin in Adam’s direction. ‘Always running into each other, aren’t we, Detective?’ Then, to Costas: ‘How are you, Costas, after that awful business last night? Barbara mentioned it on the phone.’

Adam was well aware of Melanie’s reputation. ‘I guess you’ve seen the morning dispatches as well. Co-incidence that you’re here?’

‘Oh yes, I didn’t know Costas was here. It must’ve been terrible, Costas, finding a murder victim like that.’

‘There’s no evidence as yet to suggest murder,’ Adam said.

‘So it’s not a murder, Detective?’

‘I can’t comment further at this stage, Melanie. You know that.’

‘What did you think, Costas, when you realized you’d hauled in a naked corpse?’ The last two words spoken with an inflection that suggested relish.

‘I think that’s quite enough, Melanie,’ came a voice from the doorway. Barbara Cail made no attempt to mask her anger. ‘Costas needs rest and relaxation. And Detective Bennett’s visit is police business. You shouldn’t be here.’

Melanie raised her arms, shrugging in defence. ‘Not wanting to stir anything up. But you have to admit it’s fascinating, this girl being washed up on the beach like that. Similar to another case, up in Morrissey, just a few months ago. Don’t you think?’

‘There’s another one…’ Costas began.

‘Sure is.’ Melanie focused on Adam. ‘Have the police noted the similarities?’

‘I can’t comment on that, either,’ Adam said.

‘But you know of the other case, referred to as The Mermaid?’

‘Yes, Melanie.’

‘And you’re aware of the similarities?’

‘As I said, I can’t comment-’

‘But if there are similarities, Detective, wouldn’t you be looking into any possible connections?’

‘It’s too early for that kind of speculation. But nice try.’ It was his turn to grin.

Melanie gave Costas a hug. ‘You take it easy, okay?’

‘Yes, yes.’

She kissed his cheek, then waving, headed off. ‘Thanks for putting up with me, Detective. ‘Bye, Barbara.’

‘She should’ve been an actress, not a journalist,’ Barbara said with disdain once her sister was out of earshot. ‘I have to apologise for my sister, Adam.’

‘You don’t have to apologise for anyone else,’ Costas said, ‘and I don’t want you worrying and fussing over me, either.’

‘Oh, enjoy it while it lasts.’ She winked at Adam and then walked back into the house.

Back in her car, Melanie smiled inwardly and imagined the angles her article could take. “Police refuse to speculate on similarities between the unidentified drowning victim and an earlier case known as The Mermaid. ‘It’s far too early to speculate,’ was all Detective Sergeant Adam Bennett would say.”

She was headed for the front page and she’d be on the phone to the Brisbane City Chronicle to make sure they were along for the ride. In the meantime though, she used her free hand to punch the numbers of the Mayor’s office into her cell phone.

A man with a commanding presence. Kate recalled that description from the various articles about him. She’d read many of those before arriving at Northern Rocks. She always researched the people and companies to which she was assigned.

William Westmeyer strode into the boardroom and took to the podium. His personal assistant, Jackson Donnelly, introduced him to the group. Kate had snuck into the room just seconds before, slinking into one of the second row seats. Donnelly had flashed her an icy stare. She’d been too late to be part of the introductions to the potential investors.

There were fourteen of the visitors – nine men and five women – all senior executives, representing four different companies in the financial, pharmaceutical and medical technology fields.

‘Thank you for joining us here today,’ Westmeyer addressed the group, ‘and I trust that each and every one of you – visitors and selected staff alike – will enjoy and benefit from the day we have planned. After my introductory address here this morning, we’ll embark on a tour of the Institute, show you our facilities, our work, our plans, then we’ll lunch outside. We’ve set up a marquee on our beautiful grounds and I see that God has blessed us with weather to die for.’ There were murmurs of agreement from the group.

‘And then, I will personally be putting the hard word on you for money. And lots of it.’ Westmeyer paused here as a wave of laughter swept the room. ‘The root of all evil. Or, in our case, a nectar for helping us achieve a stronger, healthier world.’

He’s good, Kate thought. He could have been a politician or an actor. Over the years he’d attracted the support to build a facility with a strong international reputation.

Westmeyer looked over his audience like a proud and all-conquering hawk, an appearance suggested by his prominent and bushy eyebrows, aquiline nose and steel grey hair that was like a living stamp of authority. As always on these occasions he was immaculately groomed, this time in a navy blue Pierre Cardin three piece suit.

‘I want to begin by speaking to you about genetic engineering,’ he said in a suddenly more reserved tone, stripped of his opening theatrics – this was the dedicated, articulate scientist now – ‘something that’s become more and more a part of our daily lives, but about which there are still many misconceptions. Genetic engineering, or recombinant DNA. What is it? How real are the benefits we’re all saying it can bring…’ once again a pause for effect as his deep blue eyes roved across the staff and the fourteen visitors, ‘…very real. But first, let’s backtrack a little. We’re all well schooled these days that recombinant DNA is the use of bio techniques to manipulate DNA to alter hereditary traits, and beyond that to the cloning and growth of animal, plant and human cells.

‘While there are breakthroughs in the cloning of mice and sheep we are not talking about the cloning of human beings, nothing like that – the world of science can’t create another one of me, God forbid…’ another wave of laughter, more spirited this time, Westmeyer had succeeded in putting his audience totally at ease, ‘…but it is already providing amazing results in the creation of enhanced new crops and foods, new drugs and new surgical techniques. All with far reaching benefits.’

The lights dimmed and the LCD on the wall came to life. Pictures of the Institute filled the screen.

‘Let me tell you about my Institute. We are a research facility only. We do not manufacture products here. We do not patent inventions nor treat patients – but our research and development creates major advancements in all those areas.

‘We carry out specific projects on behalf of our clients – whether they be pharmaceutical companies, hospitals, universities, or Government departments.

‘Our research is primarily in the field of biotechnology. I’m not going to go into a lot of mumbo jumbo about gene splicing, folks. We all know DNA provides the unique genetic code for every living thing.

‘We’re talking about isolating a portion of the genetic material from one organism and combining it with a portion of the DNA molecule from other organisms to grow new cells. If you’re one of those with concerns to its end use, let me allay any fears. There are regulations in place to prevent the creation of new viruses, for instance, and as you would be aware the U.N inspects countries to ensure biological weapons are not being developed. In addition, the international scientific community and various Governments have outlawed any potential development in cloning human beings.’

‘So’, said a sudden, strong voice from the audience, ‘genetic scientists aren’t the modern day answer to Dr. Frankenstein?’ The speaker was a tall, thin man, intense looking, with carrot coloured hair and blue eyes.

If William Westmeyer was at all startled by the interruption he didn’t show it. He barely batted an eyelid as he responded. ‘Not at all. But I’m glad you raised the issue because I’d like to give an example of how recombinant DNA benefits us. To wit, one of the earlier by-products of gene splicing was the manufacture of the now widely used human insulin.’

Westmeyer turned so that he was partially facing the LCD. The screen showed an illustrated example of a DNA strand. It was a lengthy double spiral, as though a rope ladder had been twisted round and round itself. ‘The familiar image of the DNA molecule, enlarged many, many millions of times,’ Westmeyer said.

Kate knew Westmeyer was enjoying himself immensely. This was his turf and he was strutting his stuff like one who loved the spotlight and knew how to play to it.

‘The bio-technician’s first act,’ he continued, ‘is to isolate the gene code for human insulin. Through the use of highly specialised procedures, using enzymes, we can cut this particular gene sequence away from its surrounding DNA. Then it’s combined with an isolated bacteria gene.

‘Why bacteria? Because they are the fastest reproducing cells. They carry plasmids, small loops of self- duplicating DNA. These combined genes are then injected back into the bacteria, multiplying at a lightning rate to recreate the human insulin. Which, in turn, is then used in the treatment of diabetes.’ Westmeyer paused for effect. ‘Okay, end of the science lesson.’ There was a ripple of laughter. ‘Ah, I see you’re relieved.’ More laughter.

Westmeyer directed his focus on the carrot-topped man. ‘It’s Mr. Carstairs, isn’t it?’

The man cleared his throat, as if suddenly embarrassed. ‘That’s right. Please call me John.’

Westmeyer gave a relaxed smile. ‘John, that’s an early, relatively straightforward example of genetically engineered substances with life enhancing uses. There are many thousands more being developed in the fight against cancer, AIDS, and a host of other diseases. That is what our work here is for. That is what the field of genetic research is committed to achieving.’

His gaze took in the whole group. ‘In this business, operating costs are a big consideration, hence my decision to move from the U.S and set up here in Queensland. Our current investors have more than tripled their outlay in just the last three years, and that’s why we’re now offering a restricted number of Australian investors the chance to play a part in our contribution to medical science.’

It was a superb performance. It intrigued Kate that this wasn’t just spin. It was fact. The Westmeyer Institute was highly rated by scientific bodies. There were huge profits in biogenetic engineering. What didn’t make sense was that Rhonda Lagan, an honest and trusted A.B.C.S. employee, would deliberately plant a custom made virus into the computer network, which was what Kate now suspected. And that someone had obtained Rhonda’s password and deleted her diary.

Kate squirmed in her seat. She was anxious for the moment the back-up files reached her laptop. She wanted to start reading through those entries.

Located west of Sydney CBD, in Parramatta, New South Wales, the National Automated Fingerprint Identification system (NAFIS) provides its service to police departments across all states. NAFIS receives, searches and stores prints for identification. It was the Searching Unit that received all incoming prints, such as the ones for the Northern Rocks drowning victim, which it checked against its 1.8 million records for a match.