Requiem (73 page)

Guessing games. She shook her head firmly to show she wasn’t going to play. ‘There’s nothing I can tell you, Inspector.’

Perhaps dusk had been coming on for some time and she just hadn’t noticed, but when she walked back along the side of the building the firemen had rigged up a floodlight on the forecourt to help the workmen fix the last of the boards to the windows. The cast of the light gave the graffiti on the front wall a new prominence, like an advertisement for a coming attraction.
Animal Liberation! End Experiments!
Looking at it again, she noticed the lettering which, like everything else, was rather professional.

Professional … Why shouldn’t activists be professional? Wasn’t everyone nowadays? Charities, muggers, beggars … masters of their various arts.

She noticed that the stringer from the local paper, a spotty-faced young man in a Dick Tracy raincoat, had returned and was loitering near the police car. By the way he perked up at the sight of her, it wasn’t hard to guess who he was waiting for.

But Mabel, Octek’s office factotum, reached Daisy first. She brought a phone message from Jenny, who had managed to track Mabel down to her home nearby.

The message was succinct. It read:
Adrian Bell taken into care at eight this morning under place of safety order. Social services, police. Nothing anyone could do. Children’s panel hearing in a week
.

Daisy felt a lurch of bitter disappointment. Needing to be alone, she walked rapidly through the gate and out of the compound.

‘Miss Field, may I have another word?’

She walked on blindly.

‘Miss Field?’

The raincoat bounced along at her side; she realized with sinking heart that, leech-like, it had attached itself to her and would have to be driven away. She hissed: ‘I’ve nothing to add to what I said this morning, Mr – Bishop.’

‘Brown, actually. Wayne Brown.’ He took a couple of skips to get ahead of her as, turning, she went in the direction of her car. ‘We’ve had a report come through, Miss Field,’ he said, walking rapidly sideways. ‘I was wondering if you’d care to comment. It’s about Octek being involved in the unlicensed testing of chemicals – ’

Unlicensed?
God, where had this come from? ‘No, no – I have nothing to say,’ she insisted, digging into her pocket for her keys.

‘The report says the financial backing came from Nick Mackenzie, the rock star. Is that right, Miss Field?’

She faltered, almost lost her balance, stopped. She stared at him. ‘
What?
’

‘Nick Mackenzie,’ he repeated with awful certainty. ‘According to the report, he put up the money for this place. Could you confirm that, Miss Field?’

She managed to shake her head.

‘Are you denying the story, then?’

‘No … I mean – no comment. No comment!’ Her head was light and bursting. She twisted round, momentarily disorientated, and looked for the car.

‘Would you confirm that he was involved?’

‘
No
.’ She fastened on the car, and made for it, head low, blinking rapidly to clear the smarting from her eyes. Keys – where the
hell
? She scrabbled in her bag.

‘It’ll be all over the nationals tomorrow, Miss Field. All over. It’ll look strange if you don’t comment.’ He ducked his head, trying to catch her eye. ‘When did Mr Mackenzie become involved, Miss Field? Was it his idea? What were the animals involved? What exactly was being tested here, Miss Field?’

Her throat was dry, her head pounding. Keys,
keys
. Turning her frustration on her bag, she upended it on the car bonnet and shook it mercilessly.

Wayne darted forward ingratiatingly. ‘Can I do anything?’

Extricating the keys, she jammed them into the lock and, losing her grip on her temper, told him tersely in words of four letters what he could do with himself. Looking aggrieved, he retreated. ‘It’ll all be out by tomorrow,’ he echoed reproachfully. ‘You’ll be sorry you didn’t give me your story.’

Shaking, still dangerously close to violence, she scooped up the contents of her bag and drove away. A hundred yards up the main road she swerved into the side and stopped, reaching for breath. She jammed her hands against her face and muttered furiously: ‘
God, God
…’ as the realization sank in: this was the end of everything – Octek, Adrian’s freedom. Nick.

She groaned aloud as the full horror of Nick’s position dawned on her. The papers – she could imagine the sort of line they would go for.
Rock star’s secret lab attacked by animal libbers
…
Singer’s animal laboratory inferno
…
Protest star silent on vivisection slur
… As far as the animal-loving Brits were concerned, they might as well call him a child murderer and be done with it.

All he had asked was silence, a degree of protection, and she had let him down. For some reason she was certain it was she who had let him down. Somewhere, somehow she had let this happen. Somewhere, somehow she had trusted someone too much.

She blew her nose and angled the rear-view mirror downwards. She dragged at her eyes blindly, smearing the dampness away, and thought:
Who?
She realized it hadn’t been so long ago that she’d asked that very question in relation to the leaking of Peasedale’s involvement in Octek.

Who?

She reached Kensington just after eight. The rain had eased off. It took her a while to find the address, which was near Holland Park. It lay in a dark tree-lined street of ambassadorial residences with well-camouflaged house numbers. Nick’s place was towards the end, a substantial house set behind a high wall. Above a screen of tall shrubs gothic gables rose sharp against the sky; no lights showed.

Beside the solid wooden gate there was a video-phone with a glowing buzzer. When she pressed it a light sprang on. She stared resolutely at the camera lens, her heart high in her chest.

The wind rattled the leaves of a nearby shrub, a branch creaked, a walker’s heels clacked rhythmically along the other side of the street. The light went off with a slight click. She had the sensation of momentary disconnection, then, coming to, she reached up and pressed the buzzer again.

‘Gone abroad.’ A voice from behind, bored, knowing.

She twisted round. The man was close, but he had his back to the streetlight and she couldn’t make out his face.

‘At least that’s what they’re saying.’ He shifted slightly then, stiffening, squinted at her. ‘It – er – wouldn’t be Miss Field, would it?’

‘No comment.’

‘No need to be like that,’ he chuckled triumphantly. ‘No need at all. I’m from the
Sun
. We’ve been good friends of yours in the past, Miss Field, very good friends, haven’t we?
And
of Mr Mackenzie’s – I think he’d agree about that, in fact I’m sure he would. Knows we can be relied on to give a fair quote. What about a quote, Miss Field? Can you tell me – ’

‘Get lost.’ She stabbed at the buzzer, then, in a fit of desperation, left her finger on it.

‘Miss Field – I’ll take your words down verbatim. No aggro. You can say as much or as little as you like. No pressure. I’m good with the human angle. My speciality, you might say. They always give me the victims – ’

A voice barked out of the video-phone. Hurriedly, guiltily Daisy jerked her finger off the buzzer as if it had stung her. It was a male voice, staccato, edged with fury. Nick.

For an instant Daisy stared vacantly at the camera before putting her mouth to the grille. ‘Daisy. Daisy Field.’ As she pulled back the reporter moved closer, coming in for Nick’s response. Daisy slapped her hand over the grille as if that could prevent Nick’s voice from emerging, and, parting her fingers, added hastily: ‘Let me in – ’ She almost said
Nick
, but stopped herself. ‘There’s a guy bothering me.’

A pause, a silence, she thought for a moment that he wouldn’t let her in, then the door-release sounded. She pushed her way through into the garden and slammed the gate behind her.

No lights showed at any of the windows, nor at the door just visible at the end of a short path. She waited on the doorstep. A bolt shot back, a lock turned. The door opened and he stood there in a pool of yellow light, barefoot, hair tousled, an open shirt pushed haphazardly into the waistband of his jeans. He didn’t speak but moved back a step and indicated with a small jerk of his head that she could come in. His expression was grim.

He pushed the door closed behind her, and stood there, feet apart, arms folded. She didn’t have to ask if he’d heard what had happened, it was written all over his face.

‘Well?’ he demanded, and his tone was like ice.

‘I … just wanted you to know that I have no idea how the press got hold of this … I wanted to say – I’m sorry,
really
sorry …’

‘Is that it?’ he asked caustically. ‘If so, then – ’ He moved to open the door again.

‘No – I … Please. I wanted to explain.’

‘Explain? You’re joking!’ He gave an ugly laugh. His gaze was unwaveringly hostile.

‘But it’s not the way it looks!’ she pleaded. ‘If you’d just let me explain.’

He hesitated, then, with the heavy air of someone overcoming his better judgement, moved away from the door and briskly refolded his arms. ‘So?’

‘It was …’ She grasped at a half-formed idea, something that had taken root during the journey from Chelmsford, and developed it rapidly. ‘I think the whole thing was planned. I think they knew all about Silveron, all about what we were doing, long before the raid. And the story about you – they leaked that specially, to get at you. To discredit you – ’

‘Well, they did a bloody good job, didn’t they?’ he interrupted bitterly. ‘I’m for the slaughter tomorrow, and that’s for sure.’ He made another move for the door.

‘No, no, you don’t understand – ’ She gabbled slightly in her rush to explain it to him, to get the idea straight in her mind. ‘The animal rights people – we were meant to think it was them – but it wasn’t! The police said it couldn’t have been – too professional. The burglar alarm had been disconnected, and they said the animal people aren’t up to that sort of stuff. Disconnected and
re
connected, in fact – so it wouldn’t go off until the fire started. That way they had time to wreck everything and get the fires going and get away before anyone knew …’ Not certain that he’d absorbed the enormity of what she was saying, she explained: ‘There
were
no animal rights people! They never existed. They were just a front, for someone else. Someone who wanted to stop what we were doing.’

Perhaps she was selling the idea too hard, perhaps he simply wasn’t ready for it, but his face had become a mask of disbelief. ‘These people are really dangerous,’ she argued, hearing the desperation in her voice. ‘They could have killed someone!’

‘But they didn’t, did they?’ he exclaimed with a bark of sarcasm. ‘Except
me
, of course.’

‘Okay,’ she said in sudden surrender. ‘Okay.’ She spread her hands wide. ‘So it’s my fault. Okay, so I fouled up. I take the blame. All right.’ She fisted her hands. ‘But, listen – if we give up now, then they’ll have won. They’ll have beaten us – ’

‘What are you saying?’ His face was alight with incredulity. ‘What are you suggesting? Are you saying we should go
on
?’ He hit the heel of his hand against his forehead in an extravagant gesture of disbelief. ‘Incredible! I don’t believe it!’ He let his voice rip. ‘Christ – I’ve never known anyone with such – such total
tunnel
vision. God – you beat everything.
Everything
…’ He took a stride closer. ‘Tell me – what does it take for you to get the message? How can I get through to you?’

‘I think you’re getting through to me,’ she said quietly.

‘I am? Good!
Good!
Well, the message is – it’s all over. Finished.
Finished
. I was crazy to agree to this thing in the first place! Crazy to think there was a hope in hell of keeping it quiet! Crazy to think that you – that you – ’ He took a pace back, then swayed forward again, looming over her. ‘I never want to hear about this again – got it?’

He was very close. She had a sudden memory of the island, and the touch of his cheek when she had reached her arms round his neck and hugged him.

She held up her hands in submission. ‘Okay,’ she said, trying to steady her voice. ‘Okay.’

He hovered for a moment, not entirely convinced of victory, then let out a long breath and stood back.

Daisy cleared her throat. ‘One thing. The boy – Adrian – he’s been taken into care. No warning, the social services just arrived this morning and took him away. It’ll take months to get him back. Lawyers, costs … The last of the cash – I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind?’

His hands unwound, his shoulders slumped. He was just beginning to focus on the idea when there was a sound from deeper inside the house, a loud clinking of china and a sharp exclamation, quickly followed by a crash, the sort that comes from a catastrophic breakage.

Nick started across the hall, calling: ‘Are you all right?’ Reaching an open door, he put his head through and said something Daisy couldn’t hear. There was a reply, which she missed as well, but she could make out the speaker’s gender all right. Female, a liquid voice, a rich laugh.

Daisy thought hastily: Well of course, there was bound to be somebody. There had to be. She did her best to sit hard on her emotions, but some of them bulged out untidily, like air in an unruly cushion.

Nick turned back. Sighting Daisy, his eyes hardened again. Clearly not in the mood to waste any more time, he raced for the door, his hand reaching out to pull it open.

‘The boy,’ she reminded him as he sped past.

‘What?’ He yanked open the door and glared at her. Finally he gave a short sharp nod. ‘Okay.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. Stepping out, she turned back. ‘And thanks for everything else, for your support.’

‘Bye,’ he said sharply, and shut the door.

In a state of emotional suspension, hardly aware of what she was doing, she set off in the general direction of Holloway. Nearing King’s Cross, she changed her mind suddenly and made for Simon’s flat. Yes,
you
, she thought with sudden viciousness. I want to talk to
you
!