‘I have to bake the gel on to photographic paper to be able to see the results. I’ll need some help. Rosie, probably. She spends all her time doing DNA profiles but mostly of fruit flies.’
‘Fruit flies?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Parts of their DNA are not wildly different from that in humans. She’s in a team that is trying to find out how cancers develop. Fruit flies are quite good for that and they reproduce quickly. No one minds if you kill a few fruit flies in an experiment. Less controversial than rabbits or monkeys.’
We went down the corridor to find Rosie who was deeply disturbed by Marina’s two black eyes. Rosie stared at me and was clearly asking herself if I were the guilty party but Marina introduced me in glowing terms and trotted out the car accident story again. I wasn’t sure if Rosie was much reassured.
‘Rosie, darling, can you help me with a DNA profile?’ asked Marina.
‘Sure. Do you have the sample?’
‘I’ve already done the electrophoresis.’ Marina gave her the square of gel.
‘Right,’ said Rosie, turning to the bench behind her and fitting the gel matrix into a machine. ‘Ready in a few minutes.’
While she waited, she chased an escaped fruit fly around the lab. The fly was very small and difficult to see but she eventually trapped it in a clap between her hands.
‘How do you do experiments on things so small?’ I asked.
‘We use microscopes to look at them. There,’ she said pointing at a microscope on the bench, ‘have a look down that.’
I leant over and looked down the double eyepieces. Fruit flies in all their glory, big, easy to see, and very dead.
‘You see? They’re not really that small, not compared to cells,’ she said. ‘Cells are so small, we need to use an electron microscope to see them.’
I decided not to ask how an electron microscope worked. I was feeling inadequate enough already as I couldn’t have caught the fly between my two hands. I couldn’t even clap, with or without a fly.
The machine behind her emitted a small beep and Rosie removed what looked like an early Polaroid photograph from a small door in its side.
‘This isn’t from a fruit fly,’ she said. ‘Looks human to me. Anyone I know?’
‘I hope not,’ said Marina.
‘So it wasn’t a road accident?’ said Rosie.
Rosie was a smart cookie, I thought.
‘I’m going to have to go,’ I said, ‘or I’ll get a parking ticket on the car.’
‘Or it’ll be towed away,’ said Marina. ‘They’re dreadful round here.’
‘Be careful, my love.’ I gave her a kiss.
‘I’ll look after her,’ said Rosie.
‘Do that,’ I said.
I went down and retrieved my car from under the gaze of a traffic warden with just one minute remaining of my time. He didn’t look happy.
I drove round the corner and stopped to ring Frank Snow at Harrow.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ll be in the office on Thursday and you are welcome to come and see me. What is it about?’
‘A former pupil,’ I replied.
‘We don’t discuss former pupils with the media,’ he told me.
‘I’m not media,’ I said.
‘Who are you then?’
‘I’ll tell you on Thursday. See you about nine?’
‘Make it ten.’ He sounded unsure. ‘Come for coffee, if you must.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Coffee at ten on Thursday. Thanks. Bye.’
Instead of going back to the flat, I went to the races. I needed a street corner to ring my bell and shout from.
Towcester Racecourse is set in the beautiful surroundings of the Easton Neston Estate to the west of Northampton. My spirits were high, as was the sun, as I turned through the impressive arched and pillared entrance into the car park. I chose my parking space carefully, not only to avoid another confrontation with Andrew Woodward, but also to make a physical ambush between car and racecourse entrance more difficult. I had been caught out like that once before.
I went in search of my prey. As always, he was in the bar nearest to the weighing room in the ground floor of the Empress grandstand.
‘Hello, Paddy,’ I said.
‘Hello, Sid, what brings you all the way to Northamptonshire?’
‘Nothing much. How come you’re here?’
‘Oh, I lives just down the road. This is me local course.’
I knew, that’s why I had come. I was pretty sure he’d be here, and I was pretty sure he’d be in this bar before the first race.
‘Now what can I do for ya, Sid?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, Paddy.’
I looked around the bar which was filling up with those looking for a drink and a sandwich before the entertainment began.
‘Are ya going to buy me a drink?’ said Paddy.
‘Now why would I want to do that?’ I replied. ‘It’s high time you bought me one.’
‘Don’t ya want to ask me anything?’
‘No. What about?’
We stood for some time in silence and I could tell that I would die of thirst before Paddy put his hand in his pocket so I ordered myself the ubiquitous diet Coke and stood there drinking it.
‘Well, why are ya here then?’ said Paddy.
‘I’m meeting someone,’ I replied.
‘Who?’ he asked.
‘Never you mind.’
‘What about?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
Paddy’s antennae were almost quivering and he could hardly contain himself. He absolutely hated not being ‘in the know’ about everything. He finally bought a Guinness to calm his nerves.
Charles came through the door at the far end. I had called him on the drive north, had very briefly explained to him my little game and he had eagerly agreed to help. He had brought with him a distinguished-looking white- haired gentleman in a tweed suit and a dark blue bow-tie.
‘Ah,’ I said and walked over to greet them, leaving Paddy at the bar.
‘Hello, Charles,’ I said. ‘Thanks so much for coming.’
‘Sid,’ he said, ‘meet Rodney Humphries.’
We sat down on some chairs at a table. I checked to see that we were still in Paddy’s view and caught a glimpse of him staring at us. We spoke with our heads bowed close together and, from Paddy’s position, it must have appeared quite conspiratorial.
‘Rodney lives down the road from me,’ said Charles. ‘He was keen as mustard to come.’
‘Any excuse not to do the gardening,’ said Rodney with a smile.
‘Well, Rodney, if anyone asks you, which they probably won’t, you can give a fictitious name and say that you’re a retired professor of ballistics.’
‘Professor of ballistics, eh? I like that. Retired from anywhere special?’ he asked.
‘Anywhere obscure that no one could check up on.’
He thought for a moment. ‘Professor Reginald Culpepper from the University of Bulawayo, in Rhodesia. In the good old days of UDI, which is when I was out there. That should do. No one will be able to check on that now that
