[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
troduced.
Jilly Palmer, said Vincent, this is Gordon Reeve.
They shook hands. Pleased to meet you, she said. She had
a flushed complexion and a long braid of chestnut-colored hair.
Her face was sharp, with angular cheekbones and a wry twist to
her lips. Her clothes were loose, practical.
Supper s ready when you are, she said.
I ll just show Gordon his room first, Vincent said. He saw
the surprise in Reeve s face. You can t get back to London to-
night. No trains.
Reeve looked at Jilly Palmer. I m sorry if I
No trouble, she said. We ve a bedroom going spare, and
Josh here made the supper. All I had to do was warm it through.
Where s Bill? Vincent asked.
Young Farmers . He ll be back around ten.
Don t be daft, said Vincent, pubs don t shut till eleven.
He sounded very different in this company: more relaxed,
enjoying the warmth of the kitchen and normal conversation.
But all that did, in Reeve s eyes, was show how much strain the
man was under the rest of the time, and how much this whole
conspiracy had affected him.
He thought he could see why Jim had taken on the story, why
he would have run with it where others might have given up:
because of people like Josh Vincent, scared and running and
innocent.
His room was small and cold, but the blankets were plenti-
ful. He took off his coat and hung it on a hook on the back of
the door, hoping it would dry. His dark pullover was damp, too,
so he peeled it off. The rest of him could dry in the kitchen. He
found the bathroom and washed his hands and face in scalding
water, then looked at himself in the mirror. The image of him
injecting BSE into a tapped human vein was still there in the
back of his mind. It had given him an idea not something he
129
Ian Rankin
could put into use just yet, but something he might need all the
same . . .
In the kitchen the table had been laid for two. Jilly said she d
already eaten. She left them to it and closed the door after her.
She never misses Coronation Street, Vincent explained.
Lives out here, but has to get her fix of Lancashire grime. He
used oven mitts to lift the casserole from the oven. It was half
full, but a substantial half. There was a lemonade bottle on the
table and two glasses. Vincent unscrewed the cap and poured
carefully. Bill s home brew, he explained. I think he only
drinks down the pub to remind himself how good his own stuff
tastes.
The beer was light brown, with a head that disappeared
quickly. Cheers, said Josh Vincent.
Cheers, said Reeve.
They ate in silence, hungrily, and chewed on home-baked
bread. Towards the end of the meal, Vincent asked a few ques-
tions about Reeve what he did, where he lived. He said he
loved the Highlands and Islands, and wanted to hear all about
Reeve s survival courses. Reeve kept the description simple, leav-
ing out more than he put in. He could see Vincent wasn t really
listening; his mind was elsewhere.
Can I ask you something? Vincent said finally.
Sure.
How far did Jim get? I mean, did he find out anything we
could use?
I told you, his disks disappeared. All I have are his written
notes from London.
Can I see them?
Reeve nodded and fetched them. Vincent read in silence for a
while, except to point out where he himself had contributed a
detail or a quote. Then he sat up.
He s been in touch with Marie Villambard. He showed
Reeve the sheet of paper. The letters MV were capitalized and
underlined at the top. They hadn t meant anything to Reeve or
to Fliss Hornby.
Who s she?
130
Blood Hunt
A French journalist; she works for an ecology magazine
Le Monde Vert, I think it s called. Green World. Sounds like they
were working together.
She hasn t tried contacting him in London. There d been
no letters from France, and Fliss hadn t intercepted any calls.
Maybe he told her he d be in touch when he got back from
San Diego.
Josh, why did my brother go to San Diego?
To talk to Co-World Chemicals. Vincent blinked. I thought
you knew that.
You re the first person to say it outright.
He was going to try and speak to some of their research
scientists.
Why?
Why? Because of the experiment they had carried out.
Vincent put down the notes. They tried to reproduce BSE the
way it had flared up in the UK, using identical procedures after
consultations with MAFF. They brought in sheep infected with
scrapie and rendered them down, taking the exact same shortcuts
as were used in the mideighties. Then they mixed the feed to-
gether and fed it to calves and mature cattle.
And?
And nothing. They didn t exactly trumpet the results. Four
years on, the cattle were one hundred percent fit. He shrugged
his shoulders. They ve got other experiments ongoing. They ve
got consultant neurologists and world-class psychiatrists working
on American farmers who show signs of neurodegenerative dis-
ease. Bringing in the psychiatrists is a nice touch: it makes every-
one think maybe we re dealing with psychosomatic hysteria, that
the so-called disease is actually a product of the human mind and
nothing at all to do with what we spray on our crops and stuff into
and onto our animals. He paused. You want any more casserole?
Reeve shook his head.
The beef s fine, honestly, Vincent said, smiling encourage-
ment. Reared organically.
I m sure, said Reeve. But I m full up, thanks.
Well, it was 85 percent truth.
131
Ian Rankin
* * *
After breakfast, Josh Vincent drove Reeve to the station.
Can I contact you on the farm? Reeve asked.
Vincent shook his head. I ll only be there another day or so.
Is there somewhere I can contact you?
Reeve wrote down his home phone number. If I m not
there, my wife can take a message. Josh, you haven t said why
you re hiding.
What?
All these precautions. You haven t said why.
Vincent looked up and down the empty platform. They
tampered with my car, too. Remember I told you about the
farmer?
The one who s been campaigning against OPs?
Yes. A vet was helping him, but then the vet died in a car
crash. His vehicle went out of control and hit a wall; no explana-
tion, nothing wrong with the car. I had a similar crash. My car
stopped responding. I hit a tree rather than a wall, and crawled
out alive. No garage could find any fault in the car. Vincent was
staring into the distance. Then they bugged the telephone in
my office, and later I found they d bugged my home telephone,
too. I think they opened my mail and resealed the envelopes. I
know they were watching me. Don t ask me who they were, that I
don t know. I could speculate though. MI5 maybe, Special Branch,
or the chemical companies. Could have been any of those, could
have been someone else entirely. So he sighed and dug his
hands into his Barbour pockets I keep moving.
A running target s the hardest kind to hit, Reeve agreed.
Do you speak from experience?
Literally, said Reeve as the train pulled in.
Back in London, Reeve returned to the apartment. Fliss had left
a note wondering if he d gone for good. He scribbled on the bot-
tom of it Maybe this time and put the note back on the table.
He had to retrieve his bag and his car and then head home. But
132
Blood Hunt
first he wanted to check something. He found the page of Jim s
notes, the one headed MV. On the back were four two-digit
numbers. He d suspected they were the combination of some
kind of safe, but now he knew differently. He found a screwdriver
in the kitchen drawer and opened up the telephone: apparatus
and handset both. He couldn t find any bugs, so he replaced the
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]