‘Don’t get that many visitors these days, lad,’ said Bleasdale, getting up stiffly from his chair to shake hands. ‘Sit yourself down.’
Steven found himself taking an immediate liking to the man, who he guessed was in his early to mid seventies, a victim of arthritis judging by the gnarling of his hands and the stiffness of his movements, but with a full head of white hair and clear blue eyes that didn’t need glasses. His accent and the fact that he looked Steven straight in the eye when addressing him suggested honesty and forthrightness.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’m sure you must have heard about the death of John Carlisle,’ said Steven.
‘Aye, I did.’
‘You must have known him quite well.’
‘You could say. I shadowed him for a couple of years back in the early nineties or thereabouts.’
‘At the time of the Northern Health Scheme?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What did you think of the scheme?’
‘Couldn’t say so at the time, but bloody brilliant, worked like a dream. I was reduced to asking why they hadn’t done it sooner,’ recalled Bleasdale with a staccato laugh. ‘Couldn’t think of anything else to criticise.’
‘Then you were a fan of John Carlisle?’ said Steven, immediately realising his error and adding, ‘Well, not exactly a fan, you were political opponents of course, but an admirer of his abilities?’
‘No, I was never that,’ said Bleasdale, leaving Steven faintly puzzled.
‘But you thought his scheme was brilliant.’
‘’Twas, but it weren’t his,’ said Bleasdale.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It were never John Carlisle who thought that up, lad. I wouldn’t have put money on him doing the four times table. Thick as a plank.’
‘A government minister?’
‘Who avoided interviews like the plague. Any time he appeared in public he was reading a prepared speech. Someone else was pulling the strings, you take my word for it.’
Now he was getting somewhere, Steven thought. ‘Would you happen to know who?’
Bleasdale shook his head. ‘I don’t even think the people in his own party knew the whole truth of what was going on.’
‘Not even his cabinet colleagues?’
Bleasdale broke into laughter. ‘Sounds bloody ridiculous when you put it like that, doesn’t it, but I don’t think so. There was a certain reticence about asking or saying too much about Golden Boy at the time, as if… it might not be good for one’s own… career? I don’t know. But they just seemed to accept they had a cabbage sitting beside them and got on with it.’
‘Why on earth would they put up with a situation like that?’
‘Because whoever was behind Carlisle was so bloody good,’ said Bleasdale. ‘The Northern Health Scheme was brilliant and probably the reason for the Tories getting back in ’92. Apart from that, Carlisle’s good looks were bringing in a shedload of votes for them. The shire ladies got moist at the very sight of him.’
Steven smiled. ‘But then it all went wrong?’
Bleasdale looked thoughtful. ‘Aye, it did. Although for the life of me I can’t think why.’
‘No idea at all?’
‘I remember some kind of drugs war broke out in Newcastle at the time: people died and suddenly it was all over. Carlisle was shifted to some ministry dealing with European trade regulations and the new woman with the health portfolio abandoned the scheme. If I’d stayed on after ’97, I’d have cheerfully pinched the idea and reintroduced it without a second thought,’ said Bleasdale with a chuckle that Steven found infectious. ‘I’d be sitting in bloody Lords right now.’
‘Why did you leave Parliament?’
Bleasdale gave a shrug. ‘Party changed, lad. Blair arrived. New Labour was old Tory as far as I was concerned. I was having none of it.’
Steven nodded. ‘Looks like the country might just be about to agree with you. Thank you for your help, Mr Bleasdale. I’m much obliged.’
‘It’s Arthur, lad. Now, before you go, what’s Sci-Med’s interest in all this?’
Steven asked Bleasdale if he’d read about the Paris flat explosion.
‘Aye, I did.’
‘At least one of the murdered victims had something to do with the Northern Health Scheme, maybe two, and then John Carlisle takes his own life…’
Bleasdale nodded. ‘You know, I wouldn’t have thought he’d have had the nerve. Takes courage to do that, lad. All that stuff about easy way out is bollocks. Doesn’t sound like Carlisle at all.’
Steven made a mental note.
‘Quite a few people died in Newcastle too,’ said Bleasdale thoughtfully. ‘People in and around College Hospital.’
‘In the drugs war,’ said Steven in a tone that made Bleasdale acknowledge the doubt in it with a slight shrug before stating the obvious.
‘Well, it were all such a bloody long time ago.’
Steven got up to go. He shook hands with Bleasdale, thanked him again and told him not to get up.
‘Let me know how you get on, lad.’
Steven arrived at Tally’s flat just before nine p.m. ‘How are you?’ he murmured in her ear as they embraced.
‘Knackered.’
‘Pity.’
Tally withdrew slightly. She smiled and said, ‘Not that knackered. Drink?’
They settled down on the couch, sipping gin and tonic, Tally snuggling in to Steven’s shoulder, Steven’s heels resting on a footstool. ‘Well, tell me all about it,’ she said.
‘I’m all at sea,’ Steven confessed. ‘I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to be investigating.’
‘I knew it. It was all a trick to get you back.’
Steven dismissed the notion with a smile. ‘There are a lot of puzzling things but I don’t see how they fit together as yet.’
‘Try me. I was always good at jigsaws.’
Steven told Tally what he’d been doing and about his meeting with Bleasdale.
‘You know, this reminds me of a film I once saw,’ said Tally. ‘The Manchurian Candidate, all about a Communist plot to get their man to the presidency of the USA.’
‘I remember,’ said Steven. ‘Frank Sinatra was in it. I don’t think John Carlisle was brainwashed though, just dumb.’
‘A handsome front man of no discernible substance,’ said Tally. ‘Not that unusual in politics, when you come to think of it.’
‘No,’ conceded Steven. ‘But the people behind Carlisle were so good that no one in the party made a fuss, and as their secret agenda seemed to be modernising and improving the National Health Service out of all sight, why would they? And then something went wrong and it all disappeared in a mess of unexplained deaths.’
‘I thought you said a drugs war broke out?’
‘That was the official story.’
‘You don’t believe it?’
‘There were never any arrests.’
‘I have a suggestion,’ said Tally after some thought.
‘Mmm?’
‘Let’s go to bed.’
EIGHT
‘I didn’t ask about your mother,’ said Steven, suddenly feeling guilty as the thought came to him at breakfast. ‘Did your sister come up at the weekend?’
Tally nodded. ‘Don’t worry. You had a lot on your mind with what was happening to John and other things. We’ve agreed to look at homes. I’m going to see one this evening.’
Steven nodded, not knowing how to respond. He wanted to say it was probably for the best but could see how much Tally was hurting at the idea. ‘I hope it’s the right one.’
Tally got up to start clearing away the dishes. ‘John’s big day,’ she said.
‘The operation’s scheduled for eleven.’
‘Let me know when you hear something, but it’ll have to be a message on my mobile.’
Steven said he would. ‘Just leave those,’ he said as Tally started to wash up. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’ll do them before I go.’
‘There’s a meeting of senior medical staff this afternoon,’ she said, drying her hands. ‘I think it may have something to do with that new vaccines agreement with the pharmaceutical companies we were talking about.’
‘Why should that affect you?’
‘I think we’re going to be asked to suggest priorities,’ said Tally, putting on her jacket and coming over to kiss him goodbye.