‘It’s no wonder really, after what happened,’ she commented, returning his money to him. ‘So what next?’
He told her that the offices were going to be sprayed and that a memo would be sent to all staff to explain the arrangements, but of course that didn’t ensure their personal safety, nor safeguard their homes.
Reaching for the phone, he called the company in Yorkshire which had been giving him so much trouble earlier in the week and asked its astonished manager to buy up whatever insecticide he could lay his hands on locally and ship it down to him with his next consignment that night.
‘Pack it in plain cartons, will you? Mark them with my name and invoice them to… hold on a mo’…’ He checked in his folder and gave the man his personal reference number. ‘Yes, I know it’s an odd request, but we’re a bit stuck down here and… You’ll do it? Good man! Thought you’d help me out.’
Yorkshire owed him a life, he thought, pleased with himself. He put the receiver down. Sarah stood in the doorway, a cup of coffee in her hand, watching him. ‘Got it!’ he told her. ‘Be here first thing in the morning.’
‘I imagined that was why you were ringing them.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘I didn’t make you a cup because Mrs Lee wants you. She’s got the police with her. You been up to something?’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ he teased her. He felt a little more relaxed; things were going his way at last. ‘To see me arrested for some wicked crime?’
‘For murdering beetles,’ she retorted. ‘No, that’s no joke. I don’t think I shall sleep tonight.’
In Mrs May Lee’s office he found a uniformed police inspector, a young lean man with a dark, tired look about his eyes as though he’d had no sleep the previous night. She introduced him as Inspector Ryan from Worth Road.
‘Inspector Ryan has brought a letter from his superintendent requesting our help,’ she added. "Your help, that is. If you agree.’
‘Captain Archer, perhaps I could explain,’ the inspector intervened. It was the first time since leaving the Army, Guy thought, that anyone had addressed him by his rank. ‘In view of the situation regarding these beetles, a small action committee has been established to operate separately from the normal emergency services. As you can imagine, everybody’s rather stretched at the moment, but we’ve seconded Detective-Sergeant Evans to the committee, to work full time. Other members have backgrounds in the Department of the Environment, the borough council and the Department of Public Health. Your name was suggested as someone with the right sort of experience.’
‘It’s a bit unusual, isn’t it, for the police to be organising this sort of thing?’ Guy asked.
‘The borough council is the organising authority for the time being,’ the inspector explained patiently. ‘But with Worth Hall destroyed, we’re providing a room at the police station where the committee can meet. May I take it that you’re willing to help?’
Guy glanced at Mrs May Lee. She nodded.
‘In that case,’ the inspector concluded, extracting a buff envelope from his briefcase, ‘your presence will be expected at twelve noon today, when the first meeting will be held at Worth Road police station. I’m also to give you these documents. Would you mind signing for them, captain?’
When the inspector left, Guy waited behind for a word with Mrs May Lee. After all, the company did pay his salary and she’d have had every right to refuse to release him. But when he raised the subject she cut him short and launched into some worthy statements about the company having an obvious duty towards the community it served. Very Confucian, he thought to himself; she surprised him. Then she spoiled the effect by adding that in working with the police he was bound to discover some areas where there was still room for computerisation.
‘Still free?’ Sarah greeted him cheerfully when he returned to his own office,
‘I wonder,’ he said, and he told her what it was all about.
‘Sounds bad,’ she commented, her face grave. ‘Even worse than in the papers. Guy, I think they’re keeping something secret. Doesn’t it look that way to you? I mean, why else are the fuzz running this committee and not the councillors? Are they taking over, or what?’
By the time he had arrived at Worth Road police station for the action committee’s first meeting, Guy had begun to suspect that Sarah might be right. A WPG in uniform showed him up to a small conference room on the first floor. Its furniture was functional and there were bars over the windows which overlooked the police car park. Detective-Sergeant Evans, in his usual baggy jacket, came forward to welcome him and introduce the others, announcing that the superintendent would be along to say a few words before they settled down to work.
From the seating arrangements it was clear that the detective-sergeant would be chairing the meeting.
Guy took his allotted place near the end of the bare table and glanced through the papers in front of him, which listed the other committee members. Immediately opposite him sat Mary Armstrong, with a mild-looking grey-haired man next to her, whom he took to be her Oxford entomologist friend Derek Owen. Bill Jenkins from the Borough Engineer’s Department and Jane Campbell, a bespectacled, severe-seeming official from the Department of the Environment, had both already been introduced to him. None of them spoke.
Detective-Sergeam Evans cleared his throat. ‘Sorry to keep you all waiting,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the superintendent won’t be too long. I should perhaps explain that this committee, this action committee, has been called into being on the superintendent’s own initiative.’ The door opened and the superintendent appeared. ‘Ah, already hard at it, I see,’ he observed crisply. ‘Good, well I’ll not hold up the proceedings for long,’
A smooth operator, Guy judged, taking an immediate dislike to him; he knew the type well. His uniform was just a shade too smart, fitting him like a Savile Row suit. He was probably a bastard to work for, but obsequious towards anyone ranking higher than himself, the sort of man who rated people according to the degree of influence they might have on his own career.
After a few carefully chosen words of welcome, he went on: ‘We in the police, of course, are very much part of the community. Several of our own officers have been killed by these beetles and the snakes associated with them. We are also responsible for publip order. If things go wrong, we are invariably called out to clear up the mess. That is as it should be.
‘I decided last night that something more is needed than the ordinary emergency services. The borough council is still trying to sort things out after the recent tragic events, so after consultation — and using the powers available to me in a civil defence crisis — I’ve called together this committee. Your task is to stand back from the rescue operations and look at the basic problem. I’m not asking for a long report. What we need are lines of action — rapid and effective.’
With a few more words to rally the troops, he wished them luck and walked briskly out of the room.
‘Thank you, Winston Churchill,’ murmured Bill Jenkins sotto voce.
‘Evan’ Evans obviously heard the remark but chose to ignore it. ‘Right, let’s get started,’ he said in his gentle Welsh manner. ‘First an update on the situation. We’ve had several more incidents since those you’ve read about in the papers. This map shows the locations.’
He removed the covering sheet from a display board at his end of the table to reveal a large-scale map of the borough. On it the blobs of coloured ink were clustered like stars on a cloudless night. The overall effect was even more horrifying than the sight of the front-page headlines had been that morning.