Ken McClure - The Lazarus Strain

‘Just what the fuck was that all about?’ demanded Giles.

‘You know what the Press are like,’ replied Morton.

‘ I might but how the fuck do you know?’ stormed Giles. ‘That lot didn’t just drop in for a pint did they? Somebody rang their bell.’

‘All right… my missus thought we should give them a ring,’ said Morton, moving his shoulders uncomfortably as if he had a column of ants marching along them.

‘Why?’

Morton wriggled in embarrassment. ‘Wanted to see our names in the papers I suppose.’

Giles looked incredulous. ‘If any one of these buggers out there prints something that fucks up our inquiry, you’ll get your name in the papers all right because I’ll throw the book at you, along with the shelf it’s sitting on.’

‘You’ve no right to talk to me like that,’ said Morton. ‘I’m a law-abiding citizen doing my duty. Maybe I’ve got nothing more to say to you now…’

Giles, a full head shorter than Morton, looked as if he couldn’t believe his ears. He walked slowly towards the big man and said menacingly. ‘What did God give you instead of a brain?’ He prodded Morton. ‘An extra big belly?’

Morley noticed that Morton had started to sweat.

‘You’ve got one chance my friend and that is to tell us exactly what we need to know to find the man who was in here with Stig Lyndon last night. Otherwise you can start looking out the suit you’re going to wear in court. Dark blue always goes down well with the jury, I’m told.’

‘All right, all right.’ Morton held up his hands in capitulation. ‘I’ll tell you what I know.’

‘And them nothing,’ said Giles, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb.

Morton nodded. ‘All right, all right. There were two of them, the bloke off the telly and a bigger bloke with longish red hair. The bloke off the telly…’

‘Lyndon,’ said Giles.

‘Yeah, Lyndon, right. He seemed to be in a right funk about something and the other one was trying to calm him down, telling him to relax an’ that.’

‘Did you hear any of the conversation?’

‘Bits and pieces; they were sitting over there by the window. I picked up the occasional thing when I was collecting glasses but not much.’

‘Every word you heard,’ said Giles.

‘The bloke Lyndon said something like, “never meant for that to happen”. The other guy said, “Course not”.

‘What else?’

‘Lyndon said something about not being able to live with it.’

Giles looked at Morley and Morley nodded and said, ‘The weakest link.’

‘What?’ asked Morton.

‘Nothing. What else was said?’

The red-haired bloke said, ‘All you have to do is forget it ever happened.’

‘What did Lyndon say?’

‘Just shook his head.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Later on, Lyndon must have said something that upset the red-haired guy because he started threatening Lyndon.’

‘Saying what?’

‘Couldn’t hear,’ said Morton. ‘I was behind the bar then. It was more the way he was behaving and the look on his face. You can tell when someone’s coming the heavy. But I did hear him say there was no fucking way he was going down for something like that.’

‘Anything else?’

Morton shook his head. ‘That’s it.’

‘You’ve been a great help, Mr Morton,’ said Giles as if nothing had ever happened between them. ‘Perhaps you could give Sergeant Morley here a more detailed description of the man with red hair. Every pimple if you please.’

Giles left Morley with Morton and went outside to talk to the waiting reporters. ‘There will be no further statement from either Mr Morton or the police this evening,’ he said. ‘And it would be a great help to us if you would wait until we are ready to make a statement. Anything else might jeopardise our inquiries.’

Giles maintained a neutral expression but there was no denying the inner relief he felt when the throng started to break up and drift off. ‘Any last questions put to him were parried with, ‘Maybe tomorrow, gentlemen.’

‘Got the description?’ Giles asked Morley when he got in the car.

‘Pretty good one too,’ said Morley.

‘Good, because there will be no going home for us tonight. Any mention of the Four Feathers in the papers tomorrow and Ginger Rogers will head for the hills. We’ve got until morning to find him. Let’s start with the Lyndons.’

Charlene and Robert Lyndon snr. were watching a video of Charlene’s earlier broadcast when the two policemen arrived. ‘Look at my mascara, what a sight!’ exclaimed Charlene with her back to them, seemingly mesmerised by the sight of herself on the screen as her husband showed in Giles and Morley.

‘Char, the police are here.’

Charlene turned round. ‘Oh hello, I tell you what, if you want me to do another one,’ she said, turning back to the screen, ‘maybe the make-up people in the studio could help out. I look a right sight…’

‘We’re rather hoping that won’t be necessary, Mrs Lyndon,’ said Giles. ‘We have a lead that we hope is going to help us find your son’s killer.’

‘Did Robert have any friends with long red hair?’ asked Morley.

‘Red hair? I don’t think so. Did he Bobby?’

‘Did he have any friends?’ would be a better question,’ said Lyndon with a shake of the head.

‘Of course he had friends,’ said Charlene. ‘You know what kids are like, Inspector.’ Charlene turned on what she thought might be a smile denoting affectionate remembrance.

‘He was twenty-four, Char. He wasn’t a kid and he didn’t have much in the way of friends,’ said her husband.

‘He was our son!’

‘There was a bloke with red hair came to door for him once. Couple of months ago,’ said Lyndon. ‘Something to do with some fox-hunting thing they were going on. He didn’t come in or anything but I’m pretty sure I heard Robert call him, Kevin.’

‘Can you remember anything else about him? What he was wearing?’ asked Morley.

‘Scruffy bugger, one of them wax jackets that had seen better days, stripey jersey, scarf, trousers with lots of pockets.’

‘Thank you Mr Lyndon; you’ve been a great help. You too, Mrs Lyndon.’

‘If you need me to do another broadcast, just ask, Inspector. I don’t want any other mother going through what I’ve been through.’

‘Thank you Mrs Lyndon, you’ve been very brave.’

‘What do you think, sir?’ asked Morley when they got outside.

‘Sometimes I think I’m on the wrong planet, Morley,’ said Giles.

‘Yes, but about this Kevin, I mean.’

‘Update the computer search. We’re now looking for a red-haired Kevin arrested in the past for offences connected with hunt sabotage.’

‘There’s something very wrong,’ said Steven. ‘I’m convinced of it.’

John Macmillan looked over his glasses. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I was rather afraid you were going to say that. Any idea what?’

Steven took a moment to compose his thoughts while the rain pattered on the windows behind Macmillan on a dull, wet afternoon. ‘A junior minister from the Department of Health — a man named Lees — turns up at the Crick Institute hours after Devon’s body is discovered and assures the police that the monkeys Devon had been using were part of an experiment being carried out by the professor on a new flu vaccine. One of Devon’s colleagues, who had earlier gone through Devon’s papers at the request of the police, comes to the same conclusion: Devon had been working on flu virus.’

‘So far so good.’

‘But someone — neither the institute nor the police — calls in the army, tells them to don full bio-hazard gear and hunt down the animals with guns. They kill five and incinerate the corpses almost before they hit the ground.’