‘So what made them think Sandra Macandrew might be a possibility?’ Dewar wondered aloud. ‘When I met her she struck me as a normal graduate student, doing exactly what she wants to do in life. Not many of us can say that. Her thesis work was going well according to Malloy, although the ban on smallpox fragments will cause some interruption. She lives in a flat with other students, she’s vegetarian, a member of Friends of the Earth, cycles to and from the lab, has occasional nights in the pub, Chinese meal at the weekend with her friends, not much money but no money worries either. If you’re looking for Ms Typical Grad Student, Sandra Macandrew gets my vote.’
‘Then maybe you’re jumping the gun here. Maybe it really was an accident,’ suggested Barron.
Dewar shrugged, unconvinced. Both men fell silent for a while then Dewar said, ‘There’s another possibility.’
Barron raised his eyebrows.
‘Sandra wasn’t approached by the Iraqis… but she knows who was.’
‘And they tried to kill her to keep her quiet? Yes, that’s a starter, agreed Barron.’
‘It would also imply that the one they approached has actually agreed to do it,’ said Dewar. ‘Otherwise the Iraqis would be more interested in killing the one who’d turned them down than Sandra.’
‘It’s hard to believe they’d use students as hit men,’ said Barron. ‘And my people are good at their job. Their report for yesterday says that Siddiqui and Abbas left the student centre in the afternoon, accompanied by two of the students but they just went round the corner to the Bookstop Cafe in Teviot Place. They stayed there for about forty minutes, talking, then returned to the centre. Neither went out again.’
‘So we’re either looking for a hit man we know nothing at all about …. or maybe the police were right and it was some drunk.’
‘I take it you told the police about your suspicions?’
Dewar nodded. ‘I wanted them to mount a guard on her last night.’
‘Her being alive really is the trump card in this game. It could make all this speculation academic if she pulls through. Her evidence could be absolutely crucial.’
‘I’ve asked that I be the first to speak to her when she comes round. Right now, finding out what she knows about the smallpox business is more important than finding out who did this to her.’
‘Right,’ agreed Barron. ‘If you give me that list, the sooner we start keeping tabs on the others the safer it might be for them.’
Dewar suddenly didn’t feel so bad about not warning Steven Malloy that he would be put under surveillance. It didn’t seem so bad if it was for his own good. He went upstairs to his room and returned with the list.
‘No addresses,’ said Barron.
‘I asked my informant for the names of people who were competent to do this sort of thing. He wasn’t happy about it, ‘felt like he was letting down his colleagues. If I’d gone on to ask for their addresses he would have seen there was more to it and clammed up altogether. I’m sure Her Majesty’s Secret Service can take it from here?’
‘Fair enough,’ said Barron. ‘You’ll let me know if there’s any change on the injured girl?’
‘I would if I had some way of contacting you,’ said Dewar flatly. ‘You didn’t give me a number.’
Barron brought out a pen from his inside pocket and wrote down a phone number on the card Dewar handed him.
‘Out of interest, why didn’t you?’
‘Never on a first date,’ said Barron.
Ye gods, the man has a sense of humour, thought Dewar, but he kept looking at Barron as if waiting for a proper answer.
‘I showed you my ID at the airport,’ said Barron. ‘You didn’t show me yours. Simple as that.’
My God, different world,’ thought Dewar as Barron left. He must have run checks on me to make sure I was Adam Dewar and not an impostor. He supposed this level of suspicion and security consciousness was a comfort. It just left him feeling bemused.
It occurred to him that Steven Malloy might not yet actually know about Sandra Macandrew. He checked his watch; it was just after eight thirty. He’d probably still be at home.
Malloy sounded as if his mouth were full. ‘Sorry, I’m just finishing my breakfast,’ he apologised.
Dewar pictured toast crumbs on the receiver and imagined the incongruous smell of coffee in church. He told him about Sandra.
‘God, that’s awful,’ exclaimed Malloy, sounding distressed. ‘How is she? Can I see her? Is there something I can do?’
‘I’m afraid she’s critical,’ said Dewar. ‘She’s in Intensive Care at the Royal Infirmary. She has multiple injuries and nobody’s committing themselves about her chances.’
‘Have her parents been told?’
‘I’m sure the police will have done that.’
‘This is an absolute tragedy,’ said Malloy. ‘I must go there. I’ll go into the lab first and tell the others then I’ll come straight to the hospital.’
Dewar was about to warn him about the police guard but he stopped himself; he didn’t want to explain why. He would do it the other way around. He would warn the police to expect Malloy. ‘I’ll probably see you there,’ he said.
Grant was there by the time Dewar arrived at Intensive Care. He was talking to two uniformed policeman stationed at the doors.
‘Any improvement?’ asked Dewar as he joined them.
‘They say nothing much has changed,’ replied Grant. ‘Her parents are sitting with her. They’ve come down from Elgin.’
The two uniformed men sat down again on their chairs on either side of the door as Grant and Dewar entered the unit and looked in through the glass panel. They saw a scene played out every day in hospitals across the country as Sandra’s mother, tears running down her face, sat holding her daughter’s hand. Her father, equally stricken but barred from emotion by male custom sat on the other side of the bed with granite features. Only his eyes showed the pain he felt.
Sandra slept on, her broken body ventilated and monitored by machinery. Green lights, gentle bleeps and clicking relays said that it was doing its job. It would continue until Sandra’s brain was ready to take over from it or until such times as a decision was made that said it never would and a switch would be turned off.
Malloy arrived in an agitated state. ‘How is she? Has there been any improvement?’ he asked as the policemen on the door let him through.
Dewar put a finger to his lips and said quietly, ‘Her parents are with her.’
Malloy nodded and spoke in a whisper. ‘Oh God, this is awful. You didn’t say when it happened.’
‘Just after eight last night. She was cycling home,’ said Grant.
Malloy shook his head. ‘It could only have been about twenty minutes after I spoke to her.’
Dewar and Grant looked at each other. ‘You spoke to her?’ exclaimed Dewar.
‘She phoned me about half past seven.’
‘Why?’
‘She said she’d discovered something we should talk about.’
‘What?’ asked Dewar, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’ exclaimed Grant.
Malloy seemed puzzled at the effect what he was saying was having on Dewar and Grant. ‘No, I suggested it could wait till morning. I was going out last night.’
The accusing stares he was getting prompted Malloy to continue. ‘Graduate students are always making “discoveries”. It’s a fact of life. They nearly always turn out to be red herrings or some kind of artefact in the experimental system. I saw no reason to drive into the lab at that time.’
‘So you assumed that Sandra’s discovery had something to do with her research work,’ said Dewar, suddenly understanding Malloy’s attitude.
‘Of course,’ replied Malloy, looking surprised. ‘What else?’
Grant and Dewar ignored the question. ‘Did she seem upset at all when you said it could wait till morning?’ asked Grant.
‘Upset? No, I don’t think so, although … ‘
‘Go on.’
‘She did sound a little … ‘