Steven felt strangely helpless. ‘What did he say to that?’
‘He said there had been a development in the case and wondered if it might be possible for him to come a day early for the results. I asked Louise and she told me she could be finished by late afternoon: he could come any time after four thirty. He came around ten to five and Louise handed over her report and what was left of the samples. We thought that that was the end of it… but apparently not. I’m so sorry.’
‘Is Louise here today?’ asked Steven. His initial alarm at what had happened was being diluted by his failure to see what the opposition had to gain from making such a move. They’d got their hands on the samples, but Sci-Med had the other half and they knew that. And the Sci-Med lab had already come up with a report.
‘No,’ said Mary Lyons. ‘She had to work so hard yesterday to get the report ready I told her to take the day off. I knew she was planning to go up to her parents’ holiday cottage in Dumfries and Galloway this weekend so I told her to make it a long one…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I’ve done something awful, haven’t I? I didn’t even think to ask the man for his ID after the telephone call. It all seemed so… plausible.’
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ said Steven. ‘You couldn’t have foreseen this happening.’ The anger he felt was at himself for not having foreseen it either. The opposition knew about the existence of the samples at Newcastle University from the bug on Cassie Motram’s phone line when he and Cassie had discussed it. They were just being thorough and checking that there were no more lying around and they had come up trumps. ‘Did you see this man?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes. I thought it was only right that I be there. I waited with Louise until he arrived and then sat in on the discussion. Morris, he said his name was, Dr Simon Morris, a tall, well-built man
…’
‘With a wart on his left cheek,’ said Steven. It came out as more of a statement than a question.
‘Then you do know him? He is connected with your organisation?’
Steven shook his head. ‘No, it’s a long story,’ he said. ‘What did he and Louise have to say about the report?’
Mary Lyons shrugged. ‘I think the general conclusion was that the donor was a near perfect match for the patient in question.’
The expected reply left Steven wondering again why on earth Monk had rushed up here to recover samples ahead of him or see a report Sci-Med already had — particularly as there was damn all interesting in it, was the frustrated rider he added to his own question.
‘Actually, there was one thing Louise remarked on.’
‘Really, what?’ asked Steven, ready to clutch at any kind of straw.
Mary Lyons looked apologetic. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘Louise pointed out something in her report to Morris that she thought was rather unusuaclass="underline" she did it with the end of her pen so I couldn’t see what it was from where I was sitting. Dr Morris dismissed it as having no relevance at all to the transplant and Louise seemed to agree, so I didn’t ask.’
Steven nodded, feeling that the world was against him but finding consolation in the thought that Louise could tell him personally what she thought was ‘unusual’ when she got back from her weekend. He was on the point of getting up to go when he suddenly realised with a hollow feeling in his stomach that, if the unusual thing Louise had spotted in the report did have a significance, James Monk knew that she’d noticed it. That kind of knowledge could be fataclass="underline" Louise could be in great danger. ‘Did Louise’s weekend plans come up in the conversation at all?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.
‘You know, I believe they did,’ said Mary Lyons. ‘Yes, I’m sure they did. I remember Louise saying that she hoped the weather would be good enough to let her walk by the sea and maybe even have a paddle… A bit early for that, I thought.’
Steven felt things go from bad to worse. Only the close proximity of a distinguished female academic stopped him letting go a foul-mouthed tirade against the malevolence of fate. ‘Can you tell me exactly where Louise was going this weekend?’ he asked. ‘I remember her saying it was somewhere near Southerness.’ His tone betrayed the urgency he felt.
‘Not the precise address… I’ve never needed that… but I do seem to remember the cottage is in a village called… let me think…’ Steven reined in his impatience as the seconds ticked by. ‘Leeford. Yes, that’s it, Leeford, and you’re right, it is near Southerness. We talked about the lighthouse there.’
Steven keyed the village into the satnav in the Porsche and roared off, heading west across the country to Dumfries and Galloway. He was stopped by traffic police when doing in excess of eighty-five mph on a straight stretch of road between Annan and Dumfries after being held up for some minutes by a JCB bumping along at twenty. One officer walked round the Porsche while the other asked the usual question. Steven assured the officer that he knew perfectly well what speed he was doing and, as he was a Sci-Med investigator, fully operational and with Home Office authority, he would like to continue doing it at their earliest convenience. He showed his ID and pointed out the number to call for verification.
The reply brought about a sudden change in the officer’s attitude and that of his colleague after a warning glance. Both men now seemed anxious to help in any way they could, and asked if Steven would like an escort to his destination. Steven looked at his Porsche and then at the police Volvo. ‘Maybe not,’ he replied. ‘Just let your colleagues know I’ll be on your territory for the next day or so.’
The road leading from the city of Dumfries to the Solway coast imposed further restrictions on Steven’s progress. Apart from its twists and turns, it was busy with the Friday rush hour: Dumfries’ commuters were heading home.
The traffic thinned as he neared the Solway and he was able to pick up speed on the switchback road that skirted the coast. Now that he was by the sea, he found himself wishing he had more time to enjoy his surroundings. The early clouds had cleared away and the evening sun was shining on the Solway Firth, reminding him of the happy times he and Lisa had spent on weekends in the area, exploring the sites or just enjoying each other’s company on wild and lonely beaches. Steven had always loved the beaches here. The tide seemed to go out for miles, leaving huge expanses of flat sand that ran out to meet the sky, encouraging a sense of proportion when contemplating the problems of life. It was always good to be reminded how small one was in the great scheme of things.
Ten minutes later Steven turned off the main road and onto a single-lane loop on the coast side to enter the village of Leeford. The Porsche’s engine settled down to an irregular and unhappy burble as it was reined in to almost walking pace to allow Steven to look for somewhere he could enquire about the location of the Averys’ cottage.
For this purpose, Leeford proved to be inconveniently smalclass="underline" it comprised, as far as he could see, little more than a few cottages huddling together on a cliff top. It boasted no pub or garage, no shops and very few houses with lights on. A number had wooden shutters on the windows. Holiday homes, thought Steven: it was still very early in the season. Like many such places, Leeford would remain a ghost village until summer sun beckoned its absent owners from the cities. He recalled Louise saying that this would be her first visit of the year.
He passed a sign pointing to a cliff-top path leading to The Harbour and saw there was a light on in the second cottage down from the road. He stopped the car and walked back. He could smell the sea far below on the evening breeze and noted that the cottage he was approaching had seashells rendered into its front wall. A small tricycle lay on its side in the front garden beneath a swing with frayed ropes. Steven knocked on the door and apologised to the woman in her early thirties who answered.