The Silent Sleep of the Dying (Eisenmenger-Flemming Forensic Mysteries) (23 page)

"That's presumably why," said Eisenmenger. "There's a lot of high-powered research going on here. A lot to protect."

But it made him feel uncomfortable and he could sense Helena felt likewise. It felt as if they were entering a giant's maw.

In front of the main building there was a huge car park surrounding a lake from which five tall fountains rose. Swans ignored them regally as they drove past towards the car parking area. This alone was the size of a small, provincial airport, although visitors were privileged by having a small, exclusive compound relatively close to the main building.

"Quite a walk if you're late in to work," remarked Helena as she got out of the car and looked around.

"A bitch if it's raining."

The entrance foyer was suitably awesome, with an atrium that rose like a cathedral and enough marble to have brought Kubla Khan to climax. It was bright and light and airy, stretching off in various directions from a central, circular reception desk but Eisenmenger could already feel awe-fatigue beginning to take effect.

Evidently Helena felt it too for she murmured, "Are they yelling something, or just shouting it?"

And still the show had not finished for, by some means miraculous, the undoubtedly attractive but rather hypothermic blonde behind the reception desk knew not only who they were but that their escort was, as they spoke, on his way to convey them to their destination.

Thus they found themselves in the office of Benjamin Starling. It was large and plush, but by now it could have been hung with the jewel-encrusted entrails of a unicorn and it would barely have raised their interest. Starling was also big; tall but he had worked hard enough as a trencherman to ensure that it made no difference. He was obese and impressively so, clearly having to shift twenty stone every time he felt the urge to scratch his backside.

"Miss Flemming! Good of you to come." He spoke with an accent that was difficult to place; to British ears it sounded American, but she suspected that there would have been an entirely opposite impression on the other side of the Atlantic. He raised himself — apparently without effort, although Eisenmenger found himself speculating on what was happening to his arterial blood pressure and venous return — and proffered five podgy fingers. When she took them they enfolded her hand and squeezed just enough to hurt her. The flesh, she noted, was surprisingly firm and dry. He turned to Eisenmenger. "And this is?"

"John Eisenmenger. He is advising me on this case."

The same hand was proffered and this time, although Eisenmenger did not know it, the pressure applied was a little bit greater. His demeanour remained open, friendly and charming. He offered them coffee, which they declined. "You're here about Millicent Sweet."

"I represent her late father."

He had no paper on his desk, Helena noticed. To his left was a large flat screen monitor, at least sixty centimetres across, over a keyboard. He punched a few keys, presumably calling up the correct file. He turned back to them. "May I ask why?"

"Miss Sweet died some weeks ago. The circumstances were … unusual. I am investigating them on behalf of her father."

Somehow the adiposity of Benjamin Starling didn't hang down; his face was covered in the stuff but it defied the gravitational force that it must have felt, clinging rigidly to his facial skeleton. Thus when his expression changed, as it did now, it was not hidden, it was transparent, and the affability of the host was replaced by the more hardened expression of a potential antagonist. "I think you owe us more than that, Miss Flemming. Am I to assume that there is the potential for litigation against Pel-Ebstein?"

Somehow the concept seemed ludicrous; a belligerent gnat fighting a blue whale.

Helena said, "I think you can answer that better than me, Dr Starling. All I want to know is what Millicent Sweet did while she worked for you."

He leaned back in the dark blue leather of his chair. It creaked, but held and Eisenmenger found himself breathing again. "But you must see things from my perspective, Miss Flemming. Much of PEP's research is highly confidential. We are involved in numerous areas of pharmacobiological research, many of which cannot be discussed with unauthorized personnel, for reasons of both industrial and, I should add, national security. I cannot go into any great detail about Miss Sweet's work."

Helena was, as ever, making notes while Eisenmenger was leaning back in his rather comfortable chair and just looking at Starling. She finished, frowned down at what she had just written as if seeing it for the first time, then returned her gaze to Starling. "Am I to take it that Millicent was working on something to do with defence?"

It was disguised by an innocence of tone that fooled no one. Starling stared at her for a moment, and Eisenmenger had the feeling that Starling's gallstones (he must have had gallstones because he was so obese) were suddenly tweaking him a tad. Then Starling turned back to the screen. "She worked in the Models Development Division."

"Sounds like fun. Balsa wood and glue, or snap-together plastic?" Eisenmenger's voice was lazily amused.

The gallstones kicked a bit harder and now Starling seemed hostile. "Models Development is among our most innovative and forward-thinking divisions. We only ask the best and the brightest to work there."

"And what does it do?"

Starling's response was itself a model — one of vagueness. "Its remit is to develop potentially useful biological, biomechanical and biogenetic systems that might be exploited in the future. Miss Sweet was working in the biogenetic subdivision."

"Doing what?"

Starling had walked the road far enough. He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Eisenmenger glanced at Helena. She asked, "She was working in a very remote laboratory, Dr Starling. Why was that?"

"We have facilities all over the world. There is no significance in where she worked."

Helena saw nothing in his expression that suggested he was lying, although she knew he was. "Really? It must be very expensive to maintain a laboratory on a remote Scottish island."

Starling sighed. "Our facility on Rouna is one of our oldest. It is true that its remoteness assists in maintaining industrial confidentiality, but it is no more secure than any of our labs on this site."

"Except it no longer exists."

Eisenmenger's interjection appeared unwelcome. Grudgingly, Starling conceded the fact.

"There was a fire, wasn't there? Was that related to the work going on there?" Eisenmenger tried to sound as neutral as possible.

"No."

It was said with finality and therefore as a form of non sequitur. As such, it left them slightly at a loss until Helena asked, "Then why did you terminate the project after the fire."

For just a moment Starling was perhaps discomforted. "What makes you think we terminated the project?"

"Because Millicent had to find another job."

It was either this or the gallstones that made a fleeting glance of uncertainty flow through the fat. "That was nothing to do directly with the fire. The project was coming to an end. The laboratory was old and we think that the fire was most probably a result of an electrical fault. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the actual nature of the research — that, at least, was the opinion of the insurers. You can have a copy of their report, if you wish."

Helena opened her mouth but Eisenmenger got there first. "I don't think that will be necessary. So you can't give us any more precise information on what Millicent was working on?"

He shook his large head. "I'm sorry."

They continued for a few more desultory minutes but they had no more questions that caused Starling trouble. As they voiced their queries his demeanour gradually resumed confidence and they all knew that they had lost the initiative. Eventually they rose and the interview was ended.

"I'm sorry I can't be more use, Miss Flemming, but you know how it is," Starling said, shaking Helen's hand.

She nodded, not because she did know but because these were formalities and she was a polite woman. He turned to Eisenmenger with a smile and a nod of dismissal. "Dr Eisenmenger."

They left, the wonders of their environment completely powerless to impress.

*

They waited until they were past the final gate and free of Pel-Ebstein's imposure before they said anything. This was not due to prior agreement, more to a feeling of apprehension, as if they had just been witness to something large and sleeping and possibly dangerous.

"Well?" asked Helena.

It was then that Eisenmenger simultaneously felt alarm and excitement explode.

"I wonder." He said this quite calmly and the fact that he stopped the car seemed almost unconnected with the utterance.

"What's wrong?"

"I need to check something."

He got out and, to Helena's surprise he dropped onto his knees despite the mud. For a few seconds she lost sight of him, and then he abruptly reappeared at the front of the car. A further disappearance was followed by his face, now grinning, rearing up outside her driver's side window. This pantomime left Helena pulled between mystification and irritation which she voiced when he got back in the car, caked in equal amounts of mud and satisfaction. "What the hell are you playing at?"

He held out his hand. On it was a small, circular device, perhaps two centimetres in diameter and half a centimetre thick.

"What's that?"

He put the device to the gearstick and with a click it stuck. "I'm not an expert, but I would say that it's a listening device."

*

Starling stared at the bare surface of his desk for a long time after Helena and Eisenmenger had left. It was fully ten minutes before the door opened. Starling looked up. "Well?"

Rosenthal shrugged. "They know a lot."

"But do they know too much?"

Rosenthal sat down in Eisenmenger's chair. He crossed his legs and clasped his hands. He had on his face a large smile. "Well, that's difficult to judge, but I think we can rest assured that they know nothing about Proteus. The question is has Hartmann talked? That is not clear."

"And if he has?"

"He will be taken care of." Rosenthal shut his eyes and said dreamily, "From the point of view of our security, the answer to your question is that they know something. Ergo, they know too much."

Starling, until now passive, even subdued, raised his forearms and brought them down on the oak desk with a crash. A small paperweight, made of titanium, jumped and performed the smallest of dances. Rosenthal chose not to react.

"When this started, you told me it could be contained."

"This whole situation should not have been allowed to originate. If my advice had been taken in the first place, there would be nothing to contain."

"The decision was not yours, or mine, to take."

Rosenthal shrugged. "Nor was the information on the … aggressiveness … of Proteus accurate. The assumptions we were told to plan on were out by a factor of ten. Under those circumstances, the job I have done has been exemplary."

Starling's face wasn't quite a sneer, but it was a close call. He asked, not without some sarcasm, "And now?"

Rosenthal's smile lasted no more than a quarter of a second. "Now we do what we should have done in the first place. We sterilize the project."

"Does that include those two — Flemming and Eisenmenger?"

For the first time Rosenthal seemed less than certain. "I don't know," he admitted. "We have to be careful about further 'incidents' that can be so closely interconnected." He paused, then said, "I think I need more data before a decision is made."

"And how will you obtain it?"

"I hope that problem has just been taken care of."

There was a knock on the door and a small, stern-looking woman came in with a piece of paper that she handed to Rosenthal. As he read it a frown of annoyance appeared before he sighed and handed it to Starling.

"Not stupid, certainly. I had hoped they would take longer to find our little device."

Starling was more animated. "Don't you realize what this means? They know that we've got something to hide!"

"They knew that already. There's a world of difference between knowledge and proof."

"Well? What now?"

Rosenthal smiled. "All is not lost. I'm sure it won't be long before Helena takes her new friend, Alasdair, into her confidence. Depending on how close they're getting to the truth, we decide our next moves." He looked directly at Starling, into his eyes. "
I
may need to act quickly … and irrevocably."

Starling returned the stare but his eyes held nervousness. Then he looked down at his nice, polished desk. "Do what you have to," he said in a small voice.

*

For fear that there were more listening devices, they said nothing until they had stopped at a roadside restaurant. They discussed what they had learned over coffee drunk from thick porcelain mugs.

"Something and nothing, I think," sighed Helena. "It's quite clear that they're hiding something, but quite what is still not obvious, and whether it's relevant to Millicent's death is anyone's guess."