‘Yes, yes. And you were coming up to town anyway, were you? Only I wouldn’t like to think that I’d broken into your leave…’
‘Clare Hancock did that. But I didn’t really mind.’ That wasn’t true, she thought. At the time she’d minded a lot, like a patient being forced to get out of bed. ‘Yes, I had one or two things to do. Nothing serious.’
‘Ah. And you met up with Wayne yesterday evening, he tells me. Nice lad.’
‘Mm.’ Kathy didn’t feel inclined to encourage this line of inquiry, but the interrogator had a supplementary.
‘Leon was asking after you. He wanted to contact you earlier, but I thought it best you be left in peace for a while. Was I wrong?’
‘No, you were right. I couldn’t have faced him. Not sure I can now.’
‘Ah. And this… being out on a case with me again, Kathy. Can you face that I wonder?’
She frowned to herself, both of them keeping their eyes strictly on the road ahead, and she wondered if Suzanne had said something to him.
‘To be honest, I’m not absolutely sure.’
‘Ah. Because I may not have mentioned it before, but it’s always a pleasure to work with you, Kathy. Even if, in this case, it’s only temporarily.’
No, she didn’t think he had mentioned that before, not in so many words. She waited until he’d negotiated the next lights, then quietly said, ‘Thanks.’
Brock was surprised to see the security chief waiting for them at the entrance to the university.
‘We didn’t need a reception committee, Mr Truck,’ he said.
‘Don’t want you getting lost now, do we, sir?’ Truck replied, in the jovially menacing tone that Brock associated with prison warders and drill sergeants.
Brock recognised the blue mirrored ziggurat glinting like a stepped iceberg in the wintry sunlight. ‘Is that all CAB-Tech, Mr Truck?’
‘It is, sir. Built with Arab money that is. You can sort of tell, don’t you think?’
Brock looked around at the other architectural prisms and didn’t think he could.
A tall, very dignified South Asian in a spotless white lab coat was waiting for them in the foyer, and introduced himself as Dr Darr. He had the same colouring as Leon, Kathy thought, and the same coolness, but older and not as good looking. As they waited for a glass lift to arrive, he pointed to the plans of the building on an information board, like a series of pineapple slices of diminishing size.
‘The central core of the building contains all of the services, electrical, telecommunications, hydraulics, fresh and exhaust air, which are, as you can imagine, very sophisticated in a research facility such as this. From the core the laboratories radiate outward
…’ he paused to emphasise the poetic simile, ‘… like the petals of a flower.’
‘And I suppose Professor Haygill’s office is at the top?’ Brock asked, pointing to the smallest, crowning plan level.
Dr Darr gave a thin smile. ‘Actually, no. The Director was emphatic that the top floor, with the best views, should be devoted to the staff relaxation area. It was a functional decision. You see, the staff like to go up there for the views, and there they mix and discuss their work freely and often ideas are sparked between teams who normally wouldn’t be working together. We are not a particularly hierarchical organisation. People contribute to the limit of their ability and are rewarded accordingly. Professor Haygill’s office is only on the next level up in fact, with the meeting rooms and administrative support.’
The meeting room they were shown to was simply furnished, with a view out across the river to the Dome. The most surprising thing about it was the man sitting at the head of the conference table, the University President, Professor Young.
‘They alerted me to your visit,’ Young said, and Kathy imagined frantic phone calls and alarms. ‘And I thought I’d take the opportunity to keep in touch. Professor Haygill’s secretary misinformed you, as it happens. He landed a short time ago. He’s on his way here to meet you now.’
Kathy was even more impressed. Had they got a message to Haygill on the plane, or hit him on his mobile while he was queuing for immigration? Young gave no indication of panic, unless it was in the overly languid way he strolled forward and shook their hands. Kathy noticed a small pile of glossy brochures on the table.
‘So in the meantime, if there’s anything about CAB-Tech’s role in the university that I can help you with, be my guest.’ He turned to Dr Darr and murmured, ‘I think we might leave any technical matters until Richard arrives, Tahir. So we won’t detain you.’
Darr nodded and withdrew. From another door a woman looked in.
‘What can we offer you?’ Young said. ‘Tea, coffee?’
Brock shook his head. Turning his back on them, he walked over to the window, staring out at the view. He clasped and flexed his hands behind his back and Kathy realised that he was angry.
The woman left, closing the door silently behind her.
‘All right, then.’ Brock turned. ‘Tell us about CAB-Tech.’
‘It’s one of our research centres,’ Young said, casually easing back in his chair and crossing his legs. ‘A particularly successful one. As its name suggests, it works in the field of biotechnology, which of course is a particularly dynamic area of scientific research at present.’
‘And it is part of the university, is it? Its staff are your staff?’
‘It is semi-autonomous. Its Director, Professor Haygill, is a professor of the university, and Dr Darr there is a senior lecturer. Other research staff are appointed directly by CAB-Tech.’
‘From its income which comes from where?’
Young examined his nails. ‘Can I ask what this has to do with your inquiries, Chief Inspector?’
‘Just interested.’
‘Well, it’s not a secret. CAB-Tech attracts the major part of its funding from private sources.’ He reached forward and slid the brochures across the table to Brock.
‘Overseas?’
‘Largely.’
‘From the Gulf?’
Young nodded.
‘And the staff, are they from the Middle East?’
‘Oh, good Lord, they come from all over I should think. Stepney to Singapore.’
‘But specifically, they include a number of Muslims?’
‘Professor Haygill has links with several Middle East universities and his connections in that region make it natural that he should attract staff from there.’
Kathy noticed that both his phrasing and his body language were becoming more guarded.
‘Are they militant?’
‘Oh, really, what does that mean? I dare say they practise their religion, but they haven’t tried storming the Administration Building with Kalashnikovs as far as I’ve noticed.’ His laugh was a sarcastic bark.
‘What about the business with the Christmas e-mail?’
That shook Young. ‘You’ve heard about that? What gossip merchants have you been talking to, I wonder?’
‘What really happened then?’
‘It was simply a storm in a teacup. One of the secretaries on this floor sent out an e-mail to all staff, quite innocently, wishing everyone a happy Christmas, and some of the Muslim researchers objected on the grounds that it was discriminatory and insulting.’
Brock frowned sceptically. ‘And?’
‘And we instituted conciliation procedures and everything was resolved amicably. End of story.’
‘Did you leak that fatwa story to the press, Professor Young?’
Young didn’t move, his face lost all expression. He said softly, ‘Now, why would I do that? It has the potential to be extremely damaging to us. Already, this morning, Haygill phoned me to say that his partners over there had got wind of it and were disturbed. If I were you, Chief Inspector, I’d concentrate on the job at hand. Find the maniac who killed Springer and let us get on with our work.’
At that moment the door opened and a man bustled in. He had thinning sandy hair, glasses, a slight stoop made worse by the heavy black hand luggage he was carrying, and he wore a lightweight cream suit that seemed exotic in the darkening English winter afternoon.