Ken McClure - Deception

‘Well,’ thought Steven, ‘Nothing to get too excited about there.’ He acknowledged receipt of the message and reported that he would be visiting the MAFF lab in Ayrshire on the following day. He asked that Sci-Med warn them of his impending visit, giving an estimated time of arrival of between eleven and twelve.

Steven checked out of his hotel just after nine in the morning and began what was to be a trouble-free journey across the central belt of Scotland. The weather was grey and showery throughout West Lothian and Lanarkshire but blue skies welcomed him to Ayrshire and he pulled into the car park of the government lab at 11.15, after putting off some time by stopping for coffee at a hotel on the outskirts of Ayr. He didn’t want to arrive early.

The lab was a two storey concrete building, probably built in the early seventies, Steven thought, its squarish, unimaginative design being offset to a certain extent by the fact that it stood in attractive, well-maintained grounds. He parked in one of two spaces marked for visitors and noted as he got out that the director and several other staff had their own marked places in the car park. He saw this as an indication of the type of lab he was about to enter. Civil service labs were noted for their sense of order; a place for everyone and everyone in their place.

Steven called in at the general office, where he was checked against a list of expected visitors and invited to sign in. After this he was taken to the director’s suite on the upper floor by a small woman, wearing a purple suit and who seemed to have some difficulty in walking. Steven guessed at a hip problem. He was introduced to Dr Robert Fildes, a red-faced man in his early fifties who looked more like his image of a jolly farmer than a scientist. The image was currently bolstered by a rather loud tweed jacket.

‘How can we help?’ asked Fildes. He sounded cultured and intelligent, causing Steven to lay the farmyard image to rest.

‘I understand that the lab undertakes private contract work on occasion?’ said Steven.

‘As much as we can get these days,’ smiled Fildes. ‘Changed days. Sometimes I wonder if we’re a government lab or a pizza parlour.’

‘How does this contract business work exactly? I don’t see you advertising.’

‘No, we don’t advertise,’ agreed Fildes. ‘But our expertise in certain areas is well known. Our staff are usually approached by commercial concerns on an individual basis to carry out work and the lab gets a percentage of the fee. It’s all above board.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Steven. ‘So if I want to have, say, some seeds analysed, I would approach a member of the staff here and negotiate directly with him or her?’

‘If you happened to know an appropriate member of staff, that is,’ agreed Fildes. ‘If you didn’t, you might approach me as unit director and I could tell you whether or not we had someone with the expertise you required on the staff and put you in touch.’

‘I see. Perhaps you could tell me how the contract for this work was handled?’ Steven took out a copy of the DNA analysis on the Agrigene crop growing in Robert Lane’s field in Blackbridge and pushed it across Fildes’ desk.

Fildes put on his reading glasses and read it.

‘A direct contact with a member of staff, I seem to remember. Our Dr Millar was approached personally and carried out the work himself.’

‘But the report would go out as being an official report from this lab? A government lab report?’

‘That’s right. That’s the way we do things. Contract work is treated no differently to any of the other work we do here. I’m not really with you here. Is something wrong?’

‘No, just a routine check’ replied Steven. ‘But I’d like a word with Dr Millar, if that’s all right with you?’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible,’ said Fildes. ‘Gerald Millar is no longer with us. He took early retirement.’

Steven was taken aback. ‘Must have been very recent,’ he said.

‘Just a few weeks ago.’

‘Was this something he’d been planning to do?’

Fildes seemed a little embarrassed. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘It rather took me by surprise as it did everyone else round here.’

‘I see,’ said Steven slowly. ‘Then perhaps you could tell me who commissioned the analysis?’

Fildes took in a deep breath and shook his head. ‘That would be a breach of confidence,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you understand how important that is for the people who contract for our services.’

Steven nodded. ‘In normal circumstances,’ he said. ‘But telling an agent of the Sci-Med Inspectorate is hardly going to constitute a breach of trust. No one else need know about this.’

Fildes looked thoughtful for a moment then said, ‘I suspect you have the powers to demand access if I refuse?’

Steven shrugged and said, ‘I don’t think it should come to that, Director, I just need the name.’

Fildes turned to the computer monitor that sat on the end of his desk and started tapping his keyboard. Steven watched a puzzled look appear on his face. Fildes adjusted his glasses and tapped some more before pursing his lips in annoyance and getting up from his chair. ‘If you’ll excuse me a moment,’ he said, before opening his office door and asking his secretary to fetch something.’

There was a wait of about three minutes during which there was a change to small talk about the pleasant nature of the lab’s location and how nice it must be to live in Ayrshire.

Instead of coming right into the room, Fildes’ secretary opened the door and said, ‘Could I have a word please, Doctor?’

Fildes excused himself and went outside for a moment. Steven heard him raise his voice and say, ‘But that’s ridiculous,’ before all went quiet again. Several minutes passed before Fildes came back into the room. ‘I can’t begin to tell you how embarrassed I am to have to tell you that we don’t appear to have a record of the contract on file,’ he said. ‘The details weren’t entered on the computer and the paperwork doesn’t seem to be around either. I can only assume that Dr Millar must have been so preoccupied with his impending retirement that his routine must have been upset.’

Steven smiled but there was little humour in it. He said, ‘In that case, I’m afraid I am going to have to ask for Dr Millar’s address.’

‘To my further embarrassment, I’m not going to able to help you with that either,’ said Fildes. ‘Gerald’s no longer in the country. He and his wife decided to go and live in South Africa for a while. They have a married son out there I believe, but that’s really as much as I know.’

Steven had to wonder if he was being given the run-around. His only comfort was that Fildes seemed as uncomfortable telling him these things as he was in hearing them.

‘Did Dr Millar work alone?’ he asked.

‘No, he had and Higher Scientific Officer and a couple of more junior people working for him. Perhaps you’d like to speak to them?’

‘Maybe just the HSO.’

Fildes picked up the phone and spoke with someone named, Roberta. He finished by asking, ‘Will it be all right if we come along just now?’

Steven gathered that the answer had been, yes, when Fildes got up and said, ‘If you’d care to come with me.’

Fildes led the way along the corridor outside his room and said, ‘I do hope Miss Jackson can help you otherwise you’ve had a bit of a journey for nothing, I’m afraid.’

This fact had not escaped Steven’s notice. They entered a bright, airy laboratory where a tall, intelligent looking woman, wearing a lab coat and with long dark hair, tied back in a pony tail, rose from her bench stool, washed her hands in a basin, equipped with elbow operated taps and walked towards them, wearing a friendly smile.