‘Is Steve around?’ asked Dewar, choosing to ignore her question.
‘He’s working at home this morning. He took his disks home. He had some paperwork to do for Professor Hutton and the gas board were coming to read his meter. Do you want me to call him?’
Dewar hesitated for a moment before saying. ‘Maybe I’ll go visit him at home. Can you give me his address?’
Sandra hesitated for a moment and Dewar saw her dilemma. He said, ‘If you’d rather, I‘ll go through the proper channels with Professor Hutton. I should have thought.’
Sandra smiled and insisted, ‘No, really. I’m being silly. We know you and you’re some kind of policeman anyway. Steve lives in a converted church building in a village to the south called Temple. Have you got a car?’
Dewar shook his head. ‘I was planning on going by taxi. Is it far?’
‘About eight miles from here. Not that far.’
‘That’s okay. Can you write it down?’
Sandra wrote down Malloy’s address and asked, ‘Would you like me to call you a cab from here?’
‘Thanks.’
Sandra picked up the phone and called the admin. section, asking for a taxi for a visitor to the lab who was just leaving. ‘There’ll be one here in seven minutes,’ she said to Dewar. ‘They always use the same company.’
‘Much obliged,’ said Dewar.
‘Have you managed to find out any more about Ali’s death?’
‘Bits and pieces,’ replied Dewar. ‘Nothing that helps terribly much. I don’t suppose you’ve remembered anything that might be useful?’
‘Where does smallpox come into it?’ asked Sandra, ignoring Dewar’s question and establishing eye contact.
‘Smallpox?’ repeated Dewar, taken aback and stalling for time.
Steve started asking all sorts of questions about the smallpox DNA fragments we’ve been using after your last visit. I thought there must be some connection between you, Ali’s death and the smallpox fragments.’
‘I can see why you’re doing a PhD,’ said Dewar. ‘What did Steve say exactly?’
‘He impressed upon George just how important it was that our stocks of fragments should all be accounted for in case there was an impromptu inspection. We were told we had to obey all the rules to the letter and start keeping the place tidier. He got on to Pierre about clearing out Ali’s stuff and creating more fridge space.’
Dewar stopped her with a raise of his hand. He asked, ‘Are you saying that Ali’s stuff wasn’t checked before the audit return was made?’
Sandra moved uncomfortably. ‘No, I’m not saying that at all. George checked it for listed smallpox DNA fragments; Steve asked him to,’ she replied defensively. ‘But naturally there were various tubes and bottles with labels he couldn’t decipher and Ali is no longer around to ask. Steve asked Pierre to take a look before we got rid of it to see if he could decipher anything.’
‘Shit,’ said Dewar
‘What difference does it make? Ali didn’t have anything the rest of us didn’t have access to.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Dewar flatly.
‘Surely you’re not suggesting that Ali had some kind of secret project on the go?’
Dewar didn’t reply.
‘Oh my God,’ said Sandra. ‘That is what you think, isn’t it? It’s not really Ali’s suicide you’re concerned with at all. That’s not why you’re here. It’s something to do with this smallpox thing, something to do with the reason they banned movement of the fragments.’
There was no point in denying anything, Dewar concluded. He felt l like a government spokesman acknowledging the appearance of new variant CJD. — It was all right to eat your words as long as they didn’t contain beef. On the other hand he didn’t want to enter conversation about it. Instead, he simply asked, ‘Did Pierre Le Grice do what Steve asked him to do?’
‘I’ve not had occasion to look.’
‘Could you look now?’
Sandra looked surprised but she walked across the lab and opened the bottom door of a large fridge-freezer. ‘Yes,’ she said, getting down on her haunches to examine the contents. ‘It’s been cleared out.’
Dewar looked thoughtful.
The phone rang and broke the ensuing silence. ‘Your taxi,’ said Sandra.
‘Here we are,’ said the taxi driver over his shoulder as they drove into a small village of Temple in Midlothian. Dewar could see it was well cared for, pretty without being twee.
‘Where is it you’re looking for exactly?’
‘A converted church.’
‘Know it. They’re a’ goin’ that way these days,’ said the driver. ‘Carpet warehouses, offices, health clubs. Sign o’ the times.’ He pulled up outside the church at the edge of the village and said, ‘There you go.’
Dewar paid him and took a look at the building. There was very little from the outside to suggest that it wasn’t a parish church any longer. The only give-away was the fact that it’s front door had been altered and there was a letter box. He opened the iron gate and walked up the path between the gnarled yew trees on either side. He saw that autumn leaves had started to pile up against the wall exposed to the prevailing westerly wind. He knocked on the red door, wondering whether it would be loud enough. The wood seemed thick enough to absorb the sound but he couldn’t see any bell-push. The sound of music reached him from inside. The door opened and Steve Malloy stood there. Miles Davis was playing in the background.
‘You?’ exclaimed Malloy. ‘I was expecting the gas man.’
‘Maybe he’ll come too,’ said Dewar.
‘Come in. This is a surprise.’
Dewar saw that the interior of the church had been altered extensively to provide an attractive, modern open plan living area. ‘Did you do all this yourself?’ he asked.
‘Mostly. Not because I’m mad keen on DIY but because I couldn’t afford to have anyone else do it by the time I’d bought the place.’
‘Looks like you knew what you were doing,’ said Dewar.
‘Let’s say I learned along the way. Coffee?’
‘If it’s not too much trouble. Thanks.’
Malloy went over to the kitchen area while Dewar continued to look around. All the major features of the original church had been retained, from the gallery to the stone pulpit — now used to house an array of spot-lights, directed at key features. The pews had been removed and the floor area divided cleverly into what amounted to different rooms without there actually being partition walls. Malloy had obviously been working in the office area where the computer had gone on to save-screen mode with fish drifting across the screen and the sound of bubbles softly emanating from the speakers.
‘It must be expensive to heat,’ said Dewar, raising his voice to be heard.
‘It would be if I tried to heat the whole place,’ replied Malloy. ‘But I’ve adopted a zone heating policy, a bit like the days when houses were heated by coal fires. You had heat inside a radius of ten feet from the fire. Outside that semi-circle you froze. I put heating where I’m going to need it and live within these areas.’
Malloy brought two mugs of coffee and handed one to Dewar. They both sat down. ‘What’s the problem?’ asked Malloy.
‘It’s Ali,’ replied Dewar. ‘I’ve found out he was under pressure from Iraqi government officials to do something for them.’
‘What?’
‘Something concerned with smallpox.’
‘Good God,’ said Malloy, ‘You’re serious?’
A friend of Ali’s overheard an argument about “pieces” he was being given. I’m pretty sure they were talking about DNA fragments.’
Malloy shook his head as if not wanting to believe what he was hearing. ‘But If Ali had been doing anything like that we would have known.’
‘Would you?’ asked Dewar.
