Read The Delta Chain Online

Authors: Iain Edward Henn

Tags: #conspiracy of silence, #unexplained, #drownings, #conspiracy thriller, #forensic, #thriller terror fear killer murder shadows serial killer hidden deadly blood murderer threat, #murder mysteries, #Conspiracy, #thriller fiction mystery suspense, #thriller adventure, #Forensic Science, #Thriller, #thriller suspense

The Delta Chain (8 page)

BOOK: The Delta Chain
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By the time Adam returned to the station, Senior Constable Ken Morgan had received the results and placed the computer printout on Adam’s desk.

‘No match,’ Adam said, picking up the NAFIS summary and glancing through it. NAFIS had been the first national computerised fingerprint system in the world and was regularly updated. And it was fast.

‘We can expect word back on dental records by early afternoon,’ Morgan advised, ‘and Markham’s already had replies from the hospitals and blood banks. No matches on the blood or DNA, and none of the women listed as having blood transfusions in the past twelve months are missing.’

‘Interpol?’

‘The details have been sent,’ Morgan said, ‘and our identikit is just about ready to follow.’

With Morgan in tow, Adam walked to the identikit display area. All Northern Rocks police had received training on the system but at the moment it was one of John Harrison’s designated duties. Created especially for the Federal and State police, the system’s database had every possible shape, size and colour in facial features and hairstyles.

Most commonly it was used when taking down a description of a suspect: Harrison would digitally combine the chosen facial parts into one composite picture. Today it was being used for a different purpose – Harrison had scanned his own photo of the drowning victim and was using the system’s extended retouching facility to “touch up and repair” the damage to the corpse’s features.

The image showed what this girl looked like before the ocean had taken its toll. Fair hair, blue eyes, full cheeks, a tiny nose and prominent chin. Adam had the immediate impression that this young woman would have had an infectious smile.

‘Attractive, eh,’ Harrison commented, pushing a wisp of brown hair back from his eyes. There was just a trace of stubble under his chin. Despite the fact that he conformed to police appearance and dress regulations, Harrison somehow managed to project a bohemian air. This amused Adam, most probably because he knew it irritated the station chief. ‘If it looks like she might not be I.D’d for a while, then we should give her a name, eh?’

Adam and Morgan mumbled agreement.

‘Then I’ll take suggestions ‘til Friday,’ Harrison said, ‘at which point we pick the most suitable.’

‘Let’s get this image to the media and to Interpol ASAP,’ Adam said.

‘Consider it done.’

The Australian police had been the first in the world to establish an Internet web site that carried pictures, firstly, of wanted criminals, and in recent years of missing persons as well. Whoever this girl was, Adam thought, someone, somewhere is missing her.

 

Back in his office, Adam motioned for Ken Morgan to pull up a chair. ‘Ken, I want you to get in touch with the Department of Meteorology. I want all their data on the tides and ocean currents for twenty-four hours prior to this girl’s discovery. I’m looking for direction, speed, water depth, wind movement, anything and everything they record for the entire lower Queensland and northern New South Wales coastlines.’

Morgan wrote in his notebook. ‘You think you can trace back to where the body entered the water?’

‘There’s always a chance. The body was washed in by strong currents. It follows that, around twenty four hours earlier, the entry point must’ve been somewhere out to sea, further north.’

‘Which means she could’ve been on a boat.’

‘Definitely worth pursuing.’

‘If she went overboard there’d have been an alert.’

‘Not if it wasn’t an accident.’

‘I believe we have a juicy little mystery on our hands,’ said a voice from the doorway. Both men looked up as Arthur Kirby strode in. ‘I take my first holiday since arriving here and an unidentified floater turns up. Bloody inconsiderate.’

‘Welcome back, Arthur,’ Adam said. Kirby had been station chief for over five years and had taken his share of leave, but he had a strange sense of humour. Statements made as a joke were delivered, not lightly, but with a serious edge. And he rarely laughed.

Kirby was a large man, with great, beefy slabs for his arms and legs and a demeanour that was at times, for Adam, deliberately confrontational. ‘Any answers on this, Adam?’

Adam didn’t bother to point out that the body had only been discovered the night before. He calmly put Kirby in the picture.

‘A drowning is one thing,’ Kirby said, ‘but an unidentified corpse could be linked with that Mermaid case, and that’s a whole different ballgame. The town’s fiftieth is on the horizon and this is a headache none of us need.’

Adam frowned. ‘What made you link this with the Mermaid? This floater of ours was only found last night.’

‘Because I’ve just had the mayor on the phone saying exactly that,’ Kirby said. ‘Apparently his office had a call this morning from some pushy bitch over on the Express. Wanted to know whether the mayor thought this mysterious body would put a dampener on the upcoming festivities, to which she was told “no”. Then she wanted the mayor’s thoughts on the similarity to this so- called “Mermaid” case in Morrissey. She was told “no comment”. But of course she’ll print her inflammatory questions and our “no comment” without regard to the impact.’

‘Why would the Express want to do a big number on this?’ Ken Morgan wondered aloud.

‘Damn silly bitch is trying to make it a bigger story than it is,’ Kirby said, ‘and her attitude, I’ll bet, is that the public have a right to know or some such bullshit.’

‘I’ll take a firm line with the Express,’ Adam told Kirby, ‘I’ll impress on Eddie Cochrane that it would be irresponsible to make more of this than it really is.’

‘It’s just a drowning,’ Morgan commented, puzzled.

‘It’s whatever some stuck-up reporter wants to make of it,’ said Arthur Kirby with disgust. ‘Adam, the mayor wants to see us in his office at one’o’clock. And you’ll need to have some answers.’

Adam resisted the temptation to “bite.” ‘One’o’clock it is,’ he said.

 

The day continued just as William Westmeyer hoped. Warm, relaxing, stimulating.

He surveyed his guests. They were just as he wanted them to be after the morning session – unwinding, with their interest well and truly piqued. Most importantly, he knew he’d convinced them that scientific research was not something abstract, confined to uni departments – it was every bit as dynamic as the worlds of finance and technology. It was commercially viable and profit motivated. With potential investors, that was the bottom line.

Westmeyer placed a wing of chicken and an assortment of salads on his plate as he moved along the serving table. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Dr. Stephen Hunter gesturing to him. Hunter was seated with two of the guests. Of all his scientists, Hunter was the one that reminded Westmeyer of his own early years. Hunter’s eyes were mysterious and seductive pools, with the promise of hidden depths. Like Westmeyer, he was one of the few scientists equally at home in business gatherings as he was when he was in his lab.

Westmeyer joined the table and Hunter introduced him to Bill Hadley and Meredith Seals, board directors with the Inter-Continental Banking Group. ‘Dr. Hunter was just imparting some fascinating information to us,’ said Meredith Seals, a slender, conservatively attired woman, ‘about advances in cancer research.’

‘I lost a brother to the big C,’ said Bill Hadley, a down-to-earth type whose world weariness seemed at odds with his bright eyes and sharp features, ‘I think it’s bloody marvellous what you people do in your white coats.’

‘You’re talking about Toronto?’ Westmeyer asked.

‘Yes,’ said Hadley, ‘experiments on mice with cancer, apparently.’

‘Scientists over there had success with those experiments,’ Stephen Hunter confirmed, ‘and then took the next big leap, conducting gene transplants on human breast cancer patients. There is a human gene that stimulates our response to our immune cells. That gene was transplanted into the cancerous tumour cells.’

‘Incredible.’ Meredith Seals showed uncharacteristic excitement. ‘And those patients showed increased immunity to the cancer?’

‘There’s still a long way to go,’ Westmeyer pointed out, ‘but yes, there was a registered increase.’

‘Sky’s the limit with this kind of research.’ Hunter took a sip from his wine. ‘And one of my projects is developing a similar line of research in cell transplantation, but with blood cells.’

‘Dr. Hunter is known internationally for his work with blood,’ Westmeyer informed them.

‘I commend you for it,’ said Bill Hadley. ‘I’m afraid I have to admit to going weak at the mere sight of it.’

‘As do I,’ Hunter joked.

Hadley turned to Meredith, chuckling. ‘Can you believe these guys? They sit down to lunch and talk genes and blood cells.’ He was clearly enjoying himself.

‘Not normally,’ Hunter gestured toward Westmeyer. ‘When this one’s around, the talk usually turns to the horses.’

‘You’re a betting man?’ asked Hadley.

‘Nothing relaxes me more, Bill.’

‘I hadn’t pegged you as a gambler.’

‘Oh I don’t consider it gambling. It’s a science. I study the form, read up on the trainers and the riders, and I make educated guesses.’

‘A man after my own heart.’ Hadley warmed more and more to his hosts as the lunch progressed. He hadn’t imagined he would so enjoy the company of a bunch of scientists. He noticed that even Meredith was relaxing and knocking back the wine.

Hadley didn’t imagine for a moment he was in the hands of a master manipulator. Westmeyer’s investigators supplied intensive background on every one of the guests. He’d never been to a racetrack in his life but he knew Bill Hadley lived there on weekends. Westmeyer noted that, as usual, Hunter was enjoying this game as much as he loved the lab.

Hunter’s attention was momentarily drawn to Kate Kovacs as she passed with her plate of food. ‘Kate, join us,’ he called, catching her eye. He suppressed a cynical grin as he watched her stifle a frown and then force a smile. ‘Oh, hi Stephen.’ She nodded to Westmeyer. ‘Fantastic spread, William.’

‘It’s a sensational day all round, I couldn’t be happier,’ Westmeyer replied.

Hunter shifted his chair, creating a space beside his and reached back to pull in a spare chair from the table behind. ‘There, sit down. I’m sure our friends here have heard quite enough about blood work and genetics and would be equally fascinated by your line of expertise.’ He introduced Kate to Hadley and Meredith.

‘Kate’s our resident IT guru, on assignment from A.B.C.S.,’ Westmeyer added.

‘Ah, computer systems, now that’s a little bit closer to home, eh, Meredith,’ Hadley said.

‘Yes,’ said Meredith. ‘A big job, trouble-shooting the system at a research facility. Excuse me for saying so, but you seem a little young for such a role.’ She delivered the words with a warm smile but with a cool edge to her voice. It was a sound Bill Hadley had heard before, whenever a younger, prettier woman joined him and Meredith in a group. Sometimes he found it amusing but at other times, like today, it irritated him.

‘Oh, I started young,’ Kate responded without a trace of cattiness, ‘and I’ve been with A.B.C.S. for several years. Me and the megabytes go back a long way.'

Hadley leaned forward over his plate. ‘Now what’s this business William was on about earlier, regarding your software speeding up the progress of the research?’

‘A.B.C.S. is known for business solutions,’ Kate said, ‘and tailoring our own brand of software intelligence to suit the requirements of our clients.’

‘Makes sense.’

‘But it’s hardly a new concept,’ Meredith said.

‘No. But it’s both the sophistication of our systems and the personal on-site service where A.B.C.S. differs. There’s a growing demand for that today.’

‘Can’t argue with that.’ Hadley was clearly on side. ‘Your boss, James Reardon, has quite a reputation. Whizz kid and all that. The financial press loves reporting on him. I believe his firm has more than doubled in size in the past two years.’

Kate ran her fingers through her blonde hair, sweeping it back. ‘Yes. It’s been an exciting company to work for, Bill, and an incredible learning curve. Anyway, getting back to what you referred to on speeding up the research…’

‘Yes.’

‘Genetic research is complex beyond my understanding, I don’t mind admitting, and it relies heavily on computing solutions. I’m talking about applied mathematical formulae and algorithms. Are you familiar with concepts such as high-end digital software that applies those techniques?’

Hadley laughed. ‘Only in layman’s terms. Not so much of the techno jargon, eh.’

‘Okay.’ Kate smiled, took a deep breath and searched her mind for the most suitable approach. ‘Let me use as an example, a scientist and his experiments in an earlier age. How about Thomas Edison, regarded as
the
scientific wizard of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Discovering electric light meant conducting a series of experiments, each one of which tried out a combination of various compounds to see whether they would produce the sought-after result. The fact is, Edison and his team conducted over ten thousand experiments over a period of decades, slowly and surely narrowing the odds.’

Westmeyer and Hunter shared a grin at the retelling of this famous story.

‘Yes. Extraordinary,’ said Hadley.

Kate continued: ‘Even today, all scientific and medical advances come from seemingly endless tests and trials, and the use of computers to analyse pieces of information along the way has sped up the process. A.B.C.S. has developed a method that James Reardon calls DataStorming…’ she pulled one of her funny, expressive monkey faces, ‘…okay, so it’s a bad word play on brainstorming, but I think it’s kinda catchy.’

‘It’s catchy,’ Hadley agreed.

‘We’ve created a DataStorming information bank specifically for the Westmeyer Centre. It holds a complete encyclopaedia on every branch of science and medicine. Utilising that knowledge, the software analyses data and formulates the most potentially successful results that can be achieved.

‘What that means is that Dr. Hunter can advise DataStorming he wishes to isolate the gene most responsive to fighting leukaemia and to engineer a set of much stronger leukaemia fighting genes. He programs the system to digitally conduct thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of hypothetical experiments and to analyse the hypothetical results. From these, DataStorming then advises the most likely combinations for undertaking the real laboratory experiments.’

BOOK: The Delta Chain
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