The Secret

‘She wouldn’t say, just that she wanted to make a public statement.’

‘And now we’ll never know,’ said Steven with a sigh. It was becoming clear that there was nothing more to be gained from continuing the conversation. He thanked Monfils for agreeing to see him at such short notice and left for the airport.

John Macmillan rubbed his temples in a circular motion with his fingertips when Steven told him he was convinced that both Médecins Sans Frontières women had been murdered. ‘I can sense your desire to get involved, Steven,’ he said. ‘I can even understand it, but the French police are investigating Dr Lagarde’s death. Perhaps we should give them some time? They may uncover a link.’

‘All the signs are that it was a professional hit, John. Chances are they’ll get nowhere, and as for the Czech police, they’re satisfied that Simone’s death was accidental.’

‘We can’t be sure it wasn’t.’

‘My fear is that the police there will be only too happy to accept it was an accident. Murder at an international science meeting would be bad for the conference business. I suspect they didn’t question anyone too closely.’

Macmillan took a moment to digest this before saying, ‘I seem to remember the accident or otherwise occurred at a private showing of the monastery library to the meeting delegates?’

‘It did.’

‘Then you do realise you are suggesting that Dr Ricard was killed by one of her own colleagues?’

‘Or someone pretending to be one of her colleagues,’ argued Steven. ‘Not everyone knows everyone at these medical conference things.’

‘And motive?’ asked Macmillan.

‘Someone wanted to stop her speaking at the meeting.’

‘And Dr Lagarde?’

‘She must have known what Simone knew.’

‘But you don’t.’

‘Not... yet?’ said Steven, knowing that he was throwing himself on Macmillan’s mercy. ‘There has to be something more to all this than just a territorial spat.’

‘This really isn’t a Sci-Med affair, Steven. I don’t see how we could justify the cost of an investigation...’

Steven knew Macmillan was right but couldn’t bring himself to say so.

‘Unless of course... you can see a way?’

Steven snatched at the lifeline Macmillan had thrown him. ‘I was thinking,’ he began. ‘Médecins Sans Frontières is not solely a French organisation. It’s international. There’s a British branch here in London which recruits British doctors and nurses.’

‘Doctors Ricard and Lagarde were both French,’ Macmillan reminded him.

‘But the French police are unable to investigate Simone’s death officially.’

‘Your point being?’

‘Simone and Aline were not just French citizens, they were members of an international organisation — an organisation which includes the UK. Would it not be possible for us to help a sister organisation investigate the unlawful deaths of two of their people?’

Macmillan smiled. ‘You’re stretching things, Dunbar but if as you say there’s a branch of the organisation in London I’m willing to approach them, see what they think about your idea. If they don’t want to have anything to do with it, it’s a straight no from me. Agreed?’

Steven agreed.

‘And another thing. If we should get a green light and this should go any further, you do not step on the toes of the French police at any point.’

‘We’ve already reached an agreement.’

Macmillan raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. ‘I’ll let you know what transpires.’

Steven went to his office and found among his mail the list of participants at the Prague meeting he’d asked Thomas Schultz for, and also the names of the people who went on the library visit from the Czech organiser, Mazarek. He scanned through Schultz’s list first, looking for British delegates, and found five including Tom North and his post-doc Dan Hausman. Dr Celia Laing worked at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine; Dr Clive Rollison worked at Birmingham University. Dr Neville Henson worked at the Microbiological Research Establishment at Porton Down.

This last name and affiliation caused Steven to let out a snort. He supposed there was no reason why a scientist from the government’s germ warfare establishment should not be present but the very idea of microbiological warfare always made his blood run cold. Running his eye down the rest of the list, he noted that the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention at Atlanta Georgia were also represented at the meeting by a Dr Mel Reznik.

Steven checked his watch and decided there was time to put in a call to Celia Laing before setting off for Leicester. He watched raindrops start to patter against the window as he waited to be transferred from the switchboard: the sound made his heart sink. Driving a low-slung Porsche in rain on the motorway was always a less than joyful experience, a bit akin to swimming underwater in a dirty river.

Celia Laing answered and Steven identified himself. It took him a few moments to become accustomed to the sound of her voice. She spoke as if she had too many teeth in her mouth.