Ken McClure - Lost causes

‘Let me know how you get on, lad.’

Steven arrived at Tally’s flat just before nine p.m. ‘How are you?’ he murmured in her ear as they embraced.

‘Knackered.’

‘Pity.’

Tally withdrew slightly. She smiled and said, ‘Not that knackered. Drink?’

They settled down on the couch, sipping gin and tonic, Tally snuggling in to Steven’s shoulder, Steven’s heels resting on a footstool. ‘Well, tell me all about it,’ she said.

‘I’m all at sea,’ Steven confessed. ‘I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to be investigating.’

‘I knew it. It was all a trick to get you back.’

Steven dismissed the notion with a smile. ‘There are a lot of puzzling things but I don’t see how they fit together as yet.’

‘Try me. I was always good at jigsaws.’

Steven told Tally what he’d been doing and about his meeting with Bleasdale.

‘You know, this reminds me of a film I once saw,’ said Tally. ‘The Manchurian Candidate, all about a Communist plot to get their man to the presidency of the USA.’

‘I remember,’ said Steven. ‘Frank Sinatra was in it. I don’t think John Carlisle was brainwashed though, just dumb.’

‘A handsome front man of no discernible substance,’ said Tally. ‘Not that unusual in politics, when you come to think of it.’

‘No,’ conceded Steven. ‘But the people behind Carlisle were so good that no one in the party made a fuss, and as their secret agenda seemed to be modernising and improving the National Health Service out of all sight, why would they? And then something went wrong and it all disappeared in a mess of unexplained deaths.’

‘I thought you said a drugs war broke out?’

‘That was the official story.’

‘You don’t believe it?’

‘There were never any arrests.’

‘I have a suggestion,’ said Tally after some thought.

‘Mmm?’

‘Let’s go to bed.’

‘I didn’t ask about your mother,’ said Steven, suddenly feeling guilty as the thought came to him at breakfast. ‘Did your sister come up at the weekend?’

Tally nodded. ‘Don’t worry. You had a lot on your mind with what was happening to John and other things. We’ve agreed to look at homes. I’m going to see one this evening.’

Steven nodded, not knowing how to respond. He wanted to say it was probably for the best but could see how much Tally was hurting at the idea. ‘I hope it’s the right one.’

Tally got up to start clearing away the dishes. ‘John’s big day,’ she said.

‘The operation’s scheduled for eleven.’

‘Let me know when you hear something, but it’ll have to be a message on my mobile.’

Steven said he would. ‘Just leave those,’ he said as Tally started to wash up. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’ll do them before I go.’

‘There’s a meeting of senior medical staff this afternoon,’ she said, drying her hands. ‘I think it may have something to do with that new vaccines agreement with the pharmaceutical companies we were talking about.’

‘Why should that affect you?’

‘I think we’re going to be asked to suggest priorities,’ said Tally, putting on her jacket and coming over to kiss him goodbye.

‘I suspect the defence of the realm people will have first bite of that particular cherry,’ he said.

‘No harm in letting our views be known. We’re not all pessimists when it comes to bio-attack. Let’s not forget weapons of mass destruction. Are they still looking?’

Steven smiled. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

Steven drove back to London, wondering what his next move should be, but thoughts of John Macmillan and the two possible outcomes of the operation kept interfering with his train of thought. If John died, would he really consider taking over? Come to that, would he get the chance? He might be John Macmillan’s preferred successor, but if Macmillan wasn’t around to have the final say, Government, new or old, might see an opportunity to interfere, and he had put up a few backs over the years. In fact, more than a few if he were honest.

But if John should pull through and take up the reins again, would he go or would he stay? Tally had insisted he return to Sci-Med but rightly or wrongly she’d been feeling guilty at the time, and that could change when she found herself under the stress and strain of ‘not knowing’ — the feeling she’d always feared. There was also his reason for having resigned in the first place — a matter of principle which didn’t seem so clear-cut now that he had experienced life in that bloody awful job at Ultramed.

‘Shit, I don’t know,’ he exclaimed out loud as he entered the outskirts of the capital. There were just too many variables… as was the case with his current investigation. He decided to dump the car at his apartment and head over to the Home Office to wait out the operation with Jean Roberts.

Jean broke into a big smile when he appeared. ‘I’m so glad I’m not here on my own this morning,’ she said. ‘How did you get on up north?’

‘Bleasdale was very helpful. Thanks for setting the meeting up. Turns out Carlisle was a man of straw.’

‘Most men are,’ said Jean. ‘Present company excepted,’ she added quickly.

Steven smiled. He knew Jean had never married and wondered if her comment had been born of past bitterness. He decided not to pursue the matter as he saw the hands of the clock reach eleven o’clock. ‘Good luck, John,’ he said.

‘Amen to that,’ said Jean.

Steven found himself imagining the smell of burning bone in the theatre as the surgeon’s trephine removed a segment of John Macmillan’s skull to allow access to the brain. He tried to dismiss the image and asked, ‘Jean, how did John know that the Charles French murdered in the Paris explosion was the one involved in the Northern Health Scheme?’

Jean looked thoughtful. ‘The name, I suppose.’

‘You think he remembered that a man named Charles French was part of the Northern Health Scheme all these years ago?’

‘No, I don’t think it happened that way… Let me see, DCS Malloy told him about Charles French renting the Paris flat and being one of the victims… Antonia Freeman was also identified, and Sir John remembered who she was… then John Carlisle took his own life and I was asked to come up with information on the health scheme. He would have seen the name in the stuff I gave him about that.’

‘Right,’ said Steven. ‘That makes sense. What do we know about French?’

‘Largely what DCSMalloy told Sir John. He was a Cambridge graduate, chief executive of Deltasoft Computing and a pillar of the community.’

‘Carlisle was at Cambridge,’ said Steven, thinking out loud.

‘You think they might have known each other when they were students?’

‘Worth finding out.’

‘Right. Actually, I’ve just remembered something else. It wasn’t just Charles French’s name John would have seen in the old info, it was the company name as well. French was running Deltasoft at the time of the health scheme.’

‘You’re absolutely right. I should have picked up on that. Well done, Jean. So his contribution presumably would have been in the provision of software to run the operation.’

‘Seems logical.’

‘Quite a contribution when computers weren’t what they are today… Maybe our man of substance behind the man of straw.’

‘What would you like me to do first?’ Jean asked.

‘See if Charles French and John Carlisle were at Cambridge at the same time. We’ll take it from there.’

‘Will do,’ said Jean. She looked up at the clock. ‘Too soon to phone?’ she asked.

‘I think so. Brain surgery takes time.’