Going Viral (15 page)
On the same Monday morning, Brigg had rung Rebecca and told her he’d been comparing the national membership lists of the other charities with Fenella’s national list of virologists.
‘We’ve got nine hits,’ he said.
‘D’you rate any of them?’
‘No, not really, there were bound to be a few. Still got to check them out, though.’ He paused. ‘You any further?’
‘No, not really,’ she said, then realised she was parroting him.
‘Well, see if this helps,’ he said, ‘we’ve just finished all the searches on the Exeter BTA members…’
Marc, Sophie, Craig, Alan, Ron and Malcolm had all done at least a year’s VSO in Africa, some of them two or more.
‘Not Hannah?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Strange how the converts can be the most zealous…’
‘Isn’t it?’
Marc, Hannah and Sophie had been members of a militant group in London called
Direct
Action
Africa
before they’d moved west and joined BTA.
Hannah and Sophie both had convictions for violence from their student activist days. Both had been bound over.
Hannah, Sophie and Emma were members of
Open
Door
as well as BTA. Malcolm and Craig were also members of the
Anti
-
Slavery
League
, which tied in with Craig’s choice of title for his forum –
Starvation
,
the
new
Slavery
.
There was nothing about Will at all.
So, what could she glean from all that, she wondered after she’d put the phone down?
Well, Marc and Sophie must be more militant (and violent?) than they appeared... And
Open
Door
– was the connection stronger than they’d thought? Should they have cleared Mary Broomfield so easily?
Anything else? Craig and Malcolm obviously felt strongly about slavery – but so what? A lot of people did…
She wrote it all down again on a fresh piece of paper and spent an hour shuffling things around to see if she could discern any pattern. She couldn’t, and thought instead of about whose houses she’d cleared so far as being possible sites for a hidden lab… Alan’s, Ron’s, and Marc and Hannah’s, now that Greg had checked the gardens. Malcolm and Sophie lived in rented flats, which made them less likely, she thought. Which left Craig… maybe she should have stayed there longer on Saturday…
One thing she hadn’t done was speak to the two plods again who’d gone to the flat over the shop after the break-in. Do it now…
Phone the station first? No, better face to face.
She drove down and asked the station sergeant if she could speak to PCs Groom and Parsons. Parsons was in, but Groom was away on a course in Birmingham until Thursday. She spoke to Parsons who, of course, was the one who’d chatted to Will and Emma while Groom had asked for the loo and looked round the flat.
She asked him whether he’d noticed anything suspicious about the flat on the way in. No, he hadn’t.
Anything about the tenants?
Parsons thought about this – he was a middle-aged man with a moustache who seemed to have found his level of incompetence at PC.
‘They were nervous,’ he said at last. ‘Definitely nervous about something.’
‘Normal nervousness at a visit from the police, or more than that?
‘Couldn’t rightly say after all this time. Could have been normal nervous, could have been more.’
She swallowed her irritation and persisted. ‘But which would you go for if you had to?’
He wasn’t to be moved. ‘Like I said, I really can’t say. Ma’am.’
She gave up. Perhaps he didn’t like being questioned by a woman – there were still some like that, mostly older PCs like this one, or maybe he was still niggled at the fact she’d been in the shop when they’d searched it… She thanked him and went back to her flat.
In the afternoon, she phoned Herry and he told her about the SCRUB meeting and what Roland had said afterwards about the attack.
‘Did you believe him?’
‘I think so. I would have done for sure if he hadn’t been such a shit earlier.’ Another pause. ‘D’you still think it’s connected?’
‘I honestly don’t know. But like I said, I don’t like coincidences.’
She phoned round her team. Nothing new. Rang Brigg again. Ditto.
*
Next morning, Tuesday, she was wondering about calling Craig to lay the ground for seeing him again when her phone rang… and she somehow knew it would be him.
It was. He asked if she’d recovered from Saturday, told her he’d heard nothing from his boss yet, then asked if she like to have a meal with him. ‘A meal out,’ he added, ‘As in
not
a covert seduction job at my place. Although I can cook,’ he further added.
She giggled, said, ‘I’d love to. When were you thinking of?’
‘No time like the present – what about tonight?’
‘All right.’
‘Shall I pick you up, or meet you there?’
‘There. If you’ll tell me where there is.’
‘
Where
there
is
…? Oh, the eatery, you mean? I thought the Quorum, in Broad Street. D’you know it?’
‘I can find it.’
‘I’ll see you there, then. Seven?’
Business of course, she thought as she put the phone down, but it was still nice to asked out by an attractive male. And Craig
was
attractive, she realised… Why? What made him attractive?
He wasn’t tall, if anything, he was a bit on the short side… As was she, of course. Nor was he that good-looking, slightly monkey-faced, if anything. But he was both funny and fun - and that was quite a lot.
He was also rather sexy…
‘Business,’ she told herself aloud.
*
She phoned round the team again. Nothing.
In the afternoon, she called Brigg and told him about seeing Craig and finding a way to look round his house.
‘Well, be careful,’ he said, ‘make sure your panic button’s on.’ They all had panic buttons on their mobiles, and she told him she would.
‘I think we need a face-to-face,’ he said. ‘I’ll come to you tomorrow, around midday. Can you arrange for Smith to be there?’
She could, and rang Herry as soon as they’d finished.
Later, she thought about what to wear in the evening. She’d always been in jeans or leggings when they’d met before, so a skirt or dress – not that she had a great selection down here. She took a long, hot shower, then tried what dresses she had, eventually opting for a dark blue.
It was less than a mile, so she walked. It was dusky, but there was still a band of light in the west – evenings drawing out... the snow had all gone and it was quite mild.
Broad Street was indeed broad and the Quorum about half way along, tucked discreetly between two larger buildings. Inside was further discretion, discrete lighting and dark wooden panels, and she hadn’t had time to decide whether it was contrived or genuine when she saw Craig coming over from the bar.
‘You found it, then?’
‘Well, I’m here.’
‘So you are.’ He grinned. ‘What would you like to drink?’
She had a glass of red wine. He was drinking white, she noticed.
‘Did you walk? he asked.
She nodded, and he said, ‘So did I. Most civilised way to travel, when it comes down to it.’
‘Depends how civilised the street population is,’ she said.
He grinned again. ‘Yeah. It’s not too bad here – early evening, anyway. Is London as bad as they say?’
‘In parts. Mostly not.’
They chatted easily for a few minutes, then a waiter came and told them their table was ready.
The main body of the restaurant was pleasantly filled without being crowded. It had the sort of cosmopolitan feel that reminded her of Brown’s. They sat down and studied the menu for a few moments.
‘What are you having?’ she asked. ‘You know it here.’
‘Snails, then grilled turbot,’ he said.
She leaned forward. ‘What
are
snails like, honestly? I’ve never plucked up the courage to have them before.’
‘A bit like shellfish, I suppose. D’you want to try one of mine?’
‘No, it’s time to leap. I’ll have the rack of lamb to follow, though.’
After the waiter had gone, he asked about her parents. She told him how her father had been a genuine cockney, but her mother was from Essex. ‘A noble lineage,’ she added.
He laughed. ‘What did he do – your father?’ he asked.
‘A lathe operator in the railway works – until he got made redundant.’ She told him how he hadn’t been able to find another job, lost heart and how it had soured the family atmosphere. ‘What about you?’
‘Mum and Dad were both teachers, so I had it pretty cushy, really.’
‘Posh school?’
‘Grammar – if you call that posh.’
‘Some would.’
‘Do you?’
‘Posher than mine.’
The snails arrived, in a tangy red sauce. He showed her how to grip the shell with the tongs and winkle them out. She cautiously tried one.
‘What d’you think?’
‘Not bad…’
He poured her more wine and asked if she thought she’d stay in Exeter. She said she hoped so, partly because she liked what she’d seen of the city, but also because she rather liked BTA –
‘What, even after Saturday night? Not to mention that last meeting…’
She laughed. ‘Yes, even after all that. Talking of BTA,’ she said, thinking it was time she got down to business, ‘I heard on the news this morning that they’re increasing the overseas aid budget – did you hear it?’
Had the slightest look of wariness come into his eyes?
‘Yes,’ he said lightly. ‘Maybe this bunch have got a conscience after all.’
‘Unless they’re doing for purely political reasons.’
‘Well, they are politicians,’ he agreed. Then, ‘So you think that we’re maybe halfway tolerable? BTA…’
‘Yeah,’ she said, then wrinkling her nose – ‘Maybe halfway, anyway.’
‘Well, there were certainly some whackos at the meeting.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, then hesitated as though deciding whether to go on… ‘Although I still don’t know what to make of Hannah…’
He waited for her to go on.
‘I know you say,
Oh
,
that’s
just
Hannah
… but her attitude, her aggression, did make me wonder whether to stay at one stage…’
He said, ‘She does have reasons for her aggression.’
‘Ahh.’
‘Why
ahh
?’
‘I usually read that as code for some sort of abuse.’
‘That’s very perceptive of you,’ he said. ‘Personal experience?’
She was puzzled for a moment, then said, ‘Oh, you mean my ex. That wasn’t really abuse. He just dominated me.’
‘Isn’t that abuse?’
Rebecca laughed. ‘That would make a hell of a lot of relationships abusive – not many are really equal, are they?’
Craig shrugged. ‘I can think of one that is. Marc and Hannah, because he knows how to absorb her aggression. They both get what they want from it. Truly synergistic.’
‘But she was in an abusive relationship before Marc?’
‘Something like that,’ he said.
Time to back off…
She said, ‘What about you, Craig?
He leaned forward, chin on palm – ‘What about me?’
‘I find it hard to believe you haven’t been married, or at least in some sort of relationship.’
‘I’ll take that as flattery.’ He sat up, took some wine. ‘I was married,’ he said. ‘She died.’
‘…Oh, I’m sorry. How long ago?’
‘Four years.’
‘What happened? Sorry – don’t tell me if you don’t want to.’
‘Illness. I’d rather not say any more if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not.’
Suicide
… ?
At this rather opportune moment, the main course arrived.
Her rack of lamb was delectable – as good in its way as Hannah’s Stroganoff. She said so, and asked how his turbot was. The same, he said. He poured more wine and they ate in silence for a few moments.
Back to work. She said, ‘What about Sophie, where does she fit in?’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, she tends to agree with Hannah about everything – follow her line, anyway, and yet it’s
you
she flirts with all the time…’
‘What, you think she should be flirting with Hannah?’
