In Cold Daylight (21 page)

‘No, that wasn’t Simon. You were being followed anyway, not only by that boy, Ben Lydeway, but by Special Branch.’

I already knew that. ‘Because of Jack?’

‘He just wouldn’t give it up.’

‘How do
you
know Special Branch were following me?’

‘Because of me.’ A tall, gangly man stepped out from the dining room.

I was astounded to see it was Pete Motcombe from Red Watch. It took a fraction of a second for my mind to connect him with Jack’s last message to me.
His mouth is full of deceit and fraud.

My mind raced, rewinding conversations I’d had with Motcombe trying to find any sign or clue of his deception. Hatred and anger course through me. I clenched my fists and glared at him.

‘You arranged for Jack to swap duties with Ian to make sure he would go into that fire first,’ I said. Then the blood froze in my veins. Ian? He was missing. ‘You bastard.’ I spat. I was beyond fear. Anger consumed me. I lunged out and grabbed Motcombe by the throat before a violent blow struck me on the side of my head. I fell to the floor.

Someone kicked me in the stomach. I doubled up with pain. I heard snatches of conversation before I was hauled up and thrust in a chair.

‘Let’s have no more heroics, Adam,’ Davenham said sternly.

With a throbbing head and a sore stomach I wasn’t in very good physical shape to attempt them, but the fury inside me was far from subdued. It had been stupid of me to attack Motcombe. If I wanted to get out of this alive then I’d have to do better than that. I had to use my brain. I needed time to think. I also had to know the truth.

‘How did you get on the watch, Motcombe?’

‘I was transferred from London, or so my cover story went. Everyone accepted me for who I was, including you.’

‘But I still don’t understand, if you’re with Special Branch then what are you doing helping this murdering bastard?’

Davenham laughed.

Motcombe said, ‘Let’s say that Special Branch have a special interest in Mr Davenham, and so do I.’

It clicked at last. ‘You’re working for Special Branch and for him.’ I jerked my head in Davenham’s direction and then wished I hadn’t as a sharp pain shot through it.

‘I told you he was clever,’ Motcombe tossed at Davenham.

I wished I was clever enough to find a way out of this. I said, ‘Special Branch put you into Red Watch when Jack started getting curious about those deaths and the fire. How did you know what he was doing? Who told you?’ Jody, of course. My heart sank at the extent of her deception.

Motcombe said, ‘I don’t think you need to know that.’

Davenham disagreed. ‘It won’t do any harm to tell him, after all he’s not going to be around long enough to repeat it.’

‘Suit yourself.’

Davenham rose to fetch himself a drink. My eyes flicked to Motcombe wondering if I could take him. Motcombe read my thoughts. ‘Don’t even think it, Adam. I am trained to kill.’

‘Drink, Adam?’

‘Why not.’

‘I think you’d be more comfortable if you removed your sailing jacket.’

After a moment’s delay, I stood up and did so wondering if I threw it at one of them, would it cause enough of a distraction for me to make my escape? But Motcombe’s protruding eyes never left me. As Davenham handed me the drink Motcombe took a gun from his pocket.

I wouldn’t be able to overpower the two of them and escape a possible gunshot wound.

Motcombe was a professional he wouldn’t miss.

The odds were stacked too high.

‘So come on, who told you what Jack was doing?’ I wanted to hear Davenham tell me it was Jody. I had to know for certain.

‘Bransbury, the Minister for the Environment, Energy and Waste.’

I started. It wasn’t the answer I had been expecting. When I recovered from my surprise my heart sank. Now I understood.

Motcombe took up the explanation. ‘Bransbury’s telephone was tapped. He had double-crossed one political party, he might do it again. He was vulnerable to blackmail having crossed the floor.

And he is gay.’

Davenham must have seen my surprise because he said:

‘No one knows. Not even his wife.’

There was something in Davenham’s tone of voice that made me wonder. Was Davenham his lover?

‘Rutland telephoned me after your friend Jack visited Honeyman,’ Davenham explained.

‘Honeyman had called the gallant captain to say that Jack Bartholomew was asking questions about a certain cargo that was carried in 1994. I had to warn Bill. The Minister for the Environment, Energy and Waste involved in disposing of hazardous waste and possibly causing the death of those firemen? Can you imagine the scandal?’

‘So this is where you came in, Motcombe. You had to hush things up?’

‘I was sent in to find out what the secret was that could cause a scandal and possibly wreck the government. Jack was good, he led me to Honeyman and Honeyman led me to Rutland.

After a little pressure Rutland told me who had paid him to take the cargo.’

‘And you thought you’d earn yourself some extra money?’

Davenham said, ‘I’m a wealthy man, Greene, and everyone has their price, even your brother.’

My mind was racing. How could I go for Motcombe and get that gun from him? How long did I have?

‘What was in that cargo?’ I asked tersely. ‘You can at least tell me that before you kill me.’ For a moment I thought of Simon but Davenham must have read my mind.

‘I shouldn’t rely on Simon coming to your rescue. As I said, everyone has his price. He’ll soon get through your father’s inheritance, my offer of help will be rescinded, and that will be the end of him unless he plays ball. Simon, as you must know, doesn’t care about anyone or anything except success and that means continuing his research and getting his product to market.’

I felt some pity for Simon. ‘The cargo?’ I prompted. There just had to be a way out of this.

‘It came from the laboratory on Salisbury Plain?’

Davenham answered. ‘Yes. I was researching into developing a new anti-ageing drug. The project was highly secret as you can imagine; if competitors got a sniff of what I was doing there would have been no end to the industrial espionage. It was a government project; Bill helped me get the funding for it. At the time he was a Conservative MP. I convinced him of the need to look into researching a drug that could help keep people fitter and healthier longer. I was working with an enzyme called telomerase. It was first discovered in 1984. Telomerase is found in a wide variety of cancers which have a genetic mutation allowing them to manufacture telomerase.’

‘You’ve lost me,’ I muttered.

Davenham smiled patronizingly. ‘In the 1970s it was discovered that the ends of our chromosomes have little, er shall we say, caps on them which prevent them from getting frayed.

If these caps, called telomeres, are lost, then the chromosomes stick together and the cell eventually dies. More cells die, the more you age.

In a normal cell the telomeres fuse gradually becomes shorter and shorter and eventually the cell commits suicide. We grow old.’

‘So by using this enzyme and manufacturing telomerase you can stop the cell committing suicide and prevent, or hold up, the ageing process?’

‘In its simplistic way, yes. We’re all living longer

– well some of us are.’ He grinned.

My body stiffened. The adrenaline was pumping through me preparing me to attack. I thought what have I got to lose? But not yet.

Motcombe wouldn’t kill me here; it was too risky. They would have to take me somewhere, and maybe only Motcombe would do that. One against one, even with a gun I stood a better chance of staying alive.

Davenham was saying, ‘If we could just slow down the ageing process and therefore stave off some of the diseases of old age, Parkinson’s, cancer, osteoarthritis… Oh I know they’re not confined to the elderly but the majority of cases, except possibly cancer, are. Just think of the savings to the NHS. The elderly and their ailments are a great drain on it.’

‘So it was done purely for the good of the country to help save the National Health Service money,’ I scoffed, tossing back some of the whisky, which until then had stayed untouched in my hands.

Davenham shrugged. ‘It would have had commercial implications too, of course, but I didn’t worry too much about that then. I just wanted my own laboratory and to conduct my research. I had ideas, which I wanted to test. I had met Bill at university, which is where I also met your brother, as you know. I lost touch with Bill for a few years before coming across him again at a dinner. I told him about my ideas and he agreed to help.’

I bet he did, after Davenham had seduced him and then blackmailed him. I also presumed the relationship was still active.

Davenham swirled the whisky in the beautifully cut crystal glass with his slim elegant hands.

‘During the course of my research I experimented with many chemicals, which included what are coarsely known as gender benders – PBDEs –

polybrominated diphenyl ethers – if you want the full name. They disrupt hormones, and are known endocrine disrupters, which damage sperm. The processes also involved the use of Acrylamide, a suspected carcinogen, but there isn’t sufficient data to prove it causes cancer in humans. After all, how can you test it on humans to see if it is known to cause cancer?’

He rose and poured another whisky. I eyed Motcombe, wondering if I would have a chance to escape that gun but Motcombe’s gaze was clearly on me and the gun was steady.

Davenham continued, ‘The process of disposing of carcinogens requires precautions, which even from the brief time you spent studying biochemistry you should know, but in case your breakdown has obliterated the knowledge I’ll tell you. For example they must be doubly wrapped in plastic bags, sealed and labelled, clearly identified and passed on to a specialist waste disposal company.’

‘And you didn’t bother with any of that!’ I spat.

Davenham shrugged. ‘I had an arrangement with a certain party overseas who would take the waste for a fee and dispose of it. There was nothing illegal in that, at least there wasn’t then.’

‘For Christ’s sake, men have died because of you!’

‘I didn’t start the fire.’

I was out of my chair but Motcombe was quicker.

He struck me across the face with the butt of the gun. I put a hand up to my bleeding mouth.

Davenham shook his head. ‘Give him a handkerchief, Motcombe; I don’t want his blood all over the furniture. Really, Adam, you shouldn’t be so emotional. Frank Rutland knew what he was carrying. He made money out of me though you wouldn’t have thought so to look at the way he was living.’

‘Did you kill him?’ I asked surprised.

‘Of course not, and neither did I kill Honeyman. That needed more expertise.’

I glanced at Motcombe who simply shrugged.

I knew it was him.

Davenham went on, ‘After the fire on board the ship, Rutland got a little nervous but there was no evidence to show that it had caused cancer. We carried on until 1995 when the Basel Convention examined the exporting of waste.

What we had been doing until then, exporting waste to be disposed of in another country, wasn’t illegal.’

‘But not marking it as hazardous waste, was,’ I snapped. ‘Those fire fighters went on to that ship not knowing that they were being exposed to dangerous chemicals. Why not get the waste from your laboratory experiments disposed of in the proper manner? Surely the laboratory was perfectly legitimate? This can’t be just about money,’ I cried incredulously.

‘Isn’t everything about money at the end of the day?’ answered Davenham. ‘Besides I didn’t trust anyone. A chemist at a waste disposal company could have easily tracked me down and discovered what I was doing. I couldn’t afford anyone to find out. That’s why it was only me, oh and Gerry Drake. Unfortunately he died.’

I thought of Jody. Had her father known what Davenham was doing with that waste, or had he been innocent of the blatant negligence that Davenham had practised?

Davenham said, ‘The research led to no anti-ageing drug, but I’m still working on it, although I did find that what I had produced had remarkable results for rejuvenating skin, hence the April range of beauty products and rejuvenating skin creams. It’s made me a very wealthy man, as you can see.’

I looked at Motcombe. ‘You made sure that gas cylinder was placed inside the club and ready to explode when Jack went in. Did you push Jack into the fire or simply let him go before you.’

‘Jack was always an action man.’ He smiled.

I jumped up and flung the remaining dregs of my drink in Motcombe’s face. But Motcombe’s response was quicker. The gun came down on the side of my head. I didn’t stand a chance. My world went dark.

When I awoke I was lying on my side and something hard was rubbing against my cheek. I shifted my head and winced, cursing softly under my breath as gravel pierced my skin.

I tried to move my hands but found they were tied behind my back. It was dark. It took me four attempts and a great deal of effort to swing myself upright. Thankfully there was a wall behind for me to lean on. My head hurt like hell. It felt as though someone had implanted an orchestra inside it and they were practising a Beethoven symphony very badly. I tried to shake myself awake and then wished I hadn’t as the cymbals clashed between my ears.

My legs were free, which was a blessing, about the only one, unless I counted being alive. I sniffed the air. It smelt of damp and decay and something else that I couldn’t quite place. I strained my ears listening for any sound that would give me some indication of where they had brought me. All I could hear was scratching and the light patter of rats.

Slowly my eyes grew accustomed to the dark and I began to identify the smell. The toot of a river barge confirmed it. I was in a derelict building along the Thames somewhere, an old warehouse that hadn’t yet been converted into the riverside residence of rich city men and women. I wasn’t alone.

In front of me, by the light of a powerful torch, I could see two men standing close to a fallen steel girder. It was Davenham and Motcombe.