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  Anderton came to a halt by a convenient desk and hoisted himself onto it.

  “I’ve been consulting with a few bods from Counter Terrorism Command, up at The Met, to get some background on the types of groups that might do this. I’m hopeful that one of them might deign to come down and give a face to face rundown of what we can do to track them down. In the meantime, we start to dig. Talk to the employees of the facility, talk to the neighbours and friends of the Franks. They’ve not long moved to the area – they moved here because of Frank’s new job at the lab. As you also know, we’ve got Stuart here, who’s about to become a protestor himself.”

  Kate saw Stuart draw himself up a little, putting his shoulders back. Anderton gestured to him. “Stuart, take it away. Give us the details of your assignment – those you can disclose.”

  Stuart waited until the room was completely silent, a smile that Kate interpreted as smug on his face. Look at him, revelling in the attention, she thought. Cocky so-and-so.

  “Hello everyone,” Stuart finally said. “Welcome back, Kate.”

  He flashed her a smile which she limply returned. Why was he welcoming her back as if he ran the place, when he didn’t even know her?

  “As most of you know, I’ll soon be going undercover with the protest groups and activists who are currently targeting MedGen,” Stuart continued. “I’ll be there for a minimum of one month, reporting back regularly to see if we can uncover any evidence on the bombing. You may or may not know this, but in this type of situation, there’s a distinct hierarchy to the groups, different… layers, shall we say.” He spread his hands to demonstrate. “You’ve got the bottom rung; the mostly respectable protestors, the Guardian-readers, the lefties. Not normally much to worry about there, unless you’re scared of petitions and badly made placards.”

  There were a few grins at this. Kate gritted her teeth.

  Stuart went on. “As you get further up, in amongst the more… serious protestors — the more militant ones – that’s where you start to get useful info. That’s where you have to dig in deep, get yourself accepted, before people start opening up to you.” He hesitated, looked as though he was about to say more, then clearly thought better of it. “Anyway, as I said, I’ll be working in the field for a month, probably longer.” He looked over at Anderton.

  “Right, thanks, Stuart,” Anderton said immediately. “Stuart will be reporting back regularly to myself. And, of course, if any of you run up against him in the course of the enquiry, you are on no account to acknowledge him as one of us. Naturally. I would hope that I wouldn’t even have to say that.”

  “You didn’t have to,” said Olbeck, with a smile.

  Anderton nodded. “Well, exactly. Right, now we’re a bit more up to speed, we can get on. Mark, why don’t you and Kate head to MedGen and continue the interviews there? Theo, you and Jane continue with the neighbours and friends of the Franks. Rav, you’re on desk duty today, I’m afraid – I need someone manning the office. Anyone got any questions?” No one had. “Right, let’s get on. Kate – come and see me in my office in five minutes’ time?”

  There was the usual sense, once Anderton had left the room, that a great mass of energy had suddenly dissipated. The team slowly returned to their work.

  “Come and grab me after your meeting with Anderton and we’ll head off,” Olbeck said to Kate. He gave her a cheery wave and made his way down to the end of the office.

  Kate watched him go. She was keenly aware that Stuart was watching her closely and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she was upset. She blinked, bent her head studiously to the papers on her desk and pretended to read them. This was awful. She’d been looking forward to getting back to work for so long, and now she was here, she couldn’t help but think longingly of her home; the sofa where she’d spent so many hours, the garden where she’d sat in the sun and breathed deeply and got better. She mentally counted down the seconds until five minutes had passed, casually pushed back her chair and made her way to Anderton’s office.

  “Come in,” said the familiar voice at her knock. As she pushed open the door, Kate thought of all the times she’d stepped through this doorway into the office, remembering all the emotions that she’d experienced in this room. She took a deep breath and set her face to neutral.

  Anderton waved towards a seat. “Shut the door behind you,” he suggested and Kate did so. As she turned to take her seat, Kate remembered the last time she’d been in here with a closed door and what had happened. She wondered whether he did, too. Would that ever happen again or was he always going to be the one that got away? For a moment, she felt horribly bleak. Why was she even thinking that? What was wrong with her?

  “So,” said Anderton, flinging himself in the seat opposite her, his desk between them. “How’s your first day back going?”

  “Fine,” said Kate, totally unwilling to let him know how hard she was finding it. “I’m easing myself back into the swing of things.”

  “That’s good,” said Anderton, hunting for something in one of the desk drawers. “Take it easy, though. No need to rush anything.”

  “No,” said Kate. Was he trying to tell her something? She shifted a little in her chair and almost unconsciously, her hand went to the small of her back, feeling for the ridge of her knife scar.

  “It’s hard coming back after a long time away,” Anderton continued. “Believe me, I know. But you get there, in the end. In a couple of weeks’ time it’ll feel like you’ve never been away.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Kate said. When was he going to stop with the platitudes and actually say something meaningful?

  A silence fell. Kate cast about desperately for something to say, suddenly convinced that Anderton was doing the same. Their gaze met and there was a long, charged moment where the air hung heavy with everything that was not being said.

  “Well,” said Anderton eventually, looking down at his desk. “I won’t keep you much longer.”

  “No,” Kate said.

  “I’m sure you’ve got lots to catch up on.”

  “Yes,” Kate said.

  “Let me know if you need any help with anything.”

  Kate sighed inwardly. “Yes,” she said again, standing and pulling her hand back from where it was rubbing at the scar.

  “Thanks, Kate. And seriously—” Anderton finally stopped fidgeting with his desk drawers and looked at her properly. “It’s good to have you back.”

  “Is it?” asked Kate, unable to hide a smile. Anderton said nothing in response but winked. Kate left the office, struggling to keep her smile from becoming a wide grin.

  Chapter Two

  As she and Olbeck drove away in his car, Kate began to feel better than she had all day. Sitting across from her partner – former partner, she reminded herself – she could feel herself relaxing back into familiarity. This was how it used to be; the two of them driving from interview to interview, case to case, talking about the crime and the suspects and what they were going to do next. It was easy, it was comfortable; like putting on a pair of well-worn-in shoes. She had been worried that Olbeck would now treat her like a subordinate, someone to be talked down to and patronised, but of course he didn’t. He treated her as normal. She felt a little ashamed that she’d even entertained the thought. You’re getting paranoid, she chided herself.

  “Did Anderton brief you?” asked Olbeck.

  Kate shook her head. “Nope. Not a sausage.”

  Olbeck gave her a puzzled glance. “That’s odd. I thought that was why he—” He didn’t finish the sentence and Kate could hear him mentally shrugging. “Anyway, want me to run through things with you?”

  “Please. I feel like I’m totally floundering at the moment.”

  “No problem.” Olbeck shifted gears and settled back in his car seat. “Right, basically, the MedGen Facility is the brain child of two research boffins, Jack Dorsey and Alexander Hargreaves. They met at university – one doing chemistry or something like
that, one doing something a bit less scientific. Dorsey’s the boffin, Hargreaves is the businessman, as far as I can see.”

  “What is it that they research?”

  “Oh, God, something totally esoteric, I don’t understand a single bit of it; it’s something to do with human metabolism – something like that. Anyway, the end result is that their original research got them into developing new methods of weight loss pills. That’s partly why all these protestors are up in arms – all this animal suffering for something as frivolous as the diet industry. Something like that, anyway.”

  “Right.”

  “Made them both huge amounts of money. But we’ll find out a bit more when we interview them. When I spoke to them before, it was just to check alibis and get first impressions, we didn’t get a chance to go into the nitty-gritty of the business.”

  As he spoke, Olbeck flicked on the indicator. The car turned off into a smaller road that continued for about half a mile before ending in a formidable gate. The gate that blocked the road was topped with razor-wire and the glassed-in booth by the entrance had an impregnable look. Olbeck drew the car into the side of the road and approached the guard, sat impassively behind the screen. After a long and suspicious perusal of their warrant cards, he pressed the button that drew back the gate and they were able to drive through.

  “They’re obviously expecting trouble here,” said Kate, noting the cameras and the high fences that surrounded the site. “They clearly value security. Why wasn’t Michael Frank more careful?”

  Olbeck shrugged. “He was new to the job. He was in a hurry. And, security or no security, they’ve never had a car bombing before. No one was expecting that.”

  “I suppose so,” said Kate. She watched as the buildings of MedGen came into view. They looked as if they had once been some kind of government building, perhaps ex-council offices or something similar, but had clearly undergone a huge and expensive renovation.

  Olbeck parked the car at the front of the main building. The two officers made their way through the automatic glass doors, into a reception area that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a luxury spa. Behind the curving steel and glass of the front desk sat a polished young woman in a tight black suit. Her well-shaped eyebrows twitched upward minutely as Kate and Olbeck flashed their warrant cards but otherwise she preserved the neutral expression of a shop window mannequin.

  Another glossy young woman, equally stone-faced, came out to usher them through to what was clearly the inner sanctum of the executive offices. Kate looked around as they waited. The glass-topped coffee table before them was scattered with a variety of glossy magazines and broadsheet newspapers; The Times, The Spectator, Tatler, Racing Times. The fittings were plush and expensive, with several vaguely medically themed objects d’art dotted about the room. An abstract painting on the wall, full of swirling reds and blues caught her eye. As she got up to take a closer look at the tiny label at the bottom of the frame, she realised it was actually a hugely magnified photograph of a cell from the smaller human intestine.

  “Nice,” she murmured to herself as the glass door to the office opened.

  Both directors of the company emerged to greet them. Jack Dorsey was a man who missed being handsome by a mere whisker; he was just a shade too thin, his face a little too bony for true good looks. He, according to Olbeck’s notes, was forty six – he looked older, partly because of his receding sandy-grey hair and the deep-cut wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. But there was still an element of freshness in his general demeanour; something of youth and vigour and keenness. Kate could imagine he was devoted to his job.

  His partner, Alex Hargreaves, seemed to embody the opposite qualities. Attractive, in a kind of coarse, slightly overfed way, Hargreaves was very much the businessman; well dressed in a Jermyn Street suit, thick black hair combed back, and the hint of a jowl developing above the collar of his expensive linen shirt.

  When they were all seated in Alex Hargreaves’ huge office, with coffee cups placed before them by the black-suited automaton who had shown them in, a small silence fell. Jack Dorsey sat forward in his leather chair, his bright blue eyes fixed on Olbeck’s face. Alex Hargreaves lounged back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other.

  Olbeck began by thanking them for their time. He was almost always courteous to begin with, Kate remembered.

  “We’re following up a number of leads in relation to the murder of Michael Frank,” Olbeck continued. “What would be really helpful for us is to find out more about the victim himself. Can you tell us anything about him? What was he like?”

  Both men went to answer, glanced at each other and half-laughed. Dorsey inclined his head in a kind of ‘after you’ gesture and Hargreaves nodded, leaning forward in his chair. “I interviewed Michael for the role – well, we both did, but I took the first interview. We’re always on the lookout for new talent here, the brightest and the best. Michael was pretty well established in his old firm, but he was looking for more responsibility, something a bit more challenging.”

  Olbeck nodded encouragingly.

  “Anyway,” Hargreaves went on. “He got the job. He was far and away the best candidate, hands down.”

  “What was he like?” asked Kate, thinking she should speak, finally.

  “Like?” Hargreaves looked confused.

  “Yes. What did you think of him? Personally, as opposed to professionally, I mean.”

  “Well… I—“ Hargreaves looked a little confused. “He was a nice bloke, I suppose. Bit quiet.”

  “He was quiet,” broke in Dorsey. The others in the room looked at him and he went on, unruffled. “He was quiet but he wasn’t shy. He had one of those personalities that grow on you. He had… character, I suppose you would say. To use an old-fashioned term.”

  Hargreaves looked at his partner with an expression that Kate couldn’t quite place. It was half admiration, half something else. Impatience? Irritation?

  “I see,” said Olbeck, nodding. “Was Mr Frank well-liked in the company? Did he mix well, make friends?”

  The two directors looked at one another. Hargreaves almost, but not quite, shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” Dorsey said, after a moment. “I certainly don’t think he was disliked. Unfortunately, he wasn’t here long enough for me really to be able to make a judgement on his popularity, poor man.”

  “Did you have a lot of contact with him, day to day? Both of you, I mean?”

  Hargreaves nodded. “A fair amount. We had weekly meetings of the exec team – the executive team, I mean – and Michael was part of that. Ad-hoc meetings during the week, as and when were needed. Budget meetings once a month. Is that the sort of thing you mean?”

  Olbeck nodded. “It all helps to build a picture. We’ll need to speak to any of the staff who worked closely with him, who reported to him, worked under him, you get the picture. Would you be able to take us down to where he worked?”

  Dorsey clasped and then unclasped his hands. “We can, Inspector. It’s—” He hesitated for a moment and glanced across at Hargreaves. “These are the areas of… well, animal experimentation. If you get distressed by that sort of thing…”

  Kate refrained from pointing out that they were here to investigate the brutal murder of a human being. She waited for Olbeck to answer and, when he didn’t, said crisply “I’m sure we’ll take it in our stride, sir.”

  “There’s very little actual experimentation here,” Hargreaves said quickly. “But that’s what the media and the protestors are all over, of course.”

  “That’s something else we’ll need to talk to you about,” Olbeck said. “I see you’ve got fairly good security on site but what with the bombing, this is clearly not enough. Is there someone we could talk to about that, as well?”

  Dorsey nodded. “I’ll ask our Head of Security to come up now. He’ll be able to take you through the set up here, and you’ll be able to ask any questions that you want.”

  “Fine,” said Olbeck.
r />   They were shown back into another plush meeting room, with a crystal carafe of water and two glasses placed before them on the table by the receptionist, who barely nodded in response to Kate’s thanks. Olbeck’s phone buzzed.

  “Damn it,” he said, checking it. “I need to head back after this meeting. Anderton wants me on a conference call.”

  “Oh?” said Kate. She was conscious of a spurt of something that felt suspiciously close to jealousy. Why did Anderton want Olbeck on a call and not her?

  Because he’s a DI, Kate. And you’re not. She clamped down on the thought, telling herself it didn’t matter.

  “What about interviewing his co-workers?” she asked. “Want me to do that?”

  “No, that can wait until tomorrow. You and Theo can come down and work them together. Okay?”

  “Okay,” muttered Kate. She didn’t actually agree – wasn’t time of the essence? – but she wasn’t ready to start querying Olbeck’s orders. Not quite yet.

  There was a knock on the door and a tall, bald man walked in, introducing himself as Terry Champion, Head of Security. Thickset and muscular, with one of those protruding bellies which makes the owner look eight months pregnant, Champion was nevertheless helpful and forthcoming. Ex-army, Kate surmised. She wondered why it was that security guards and chiefs were always bald? She went off into a mini-reverie whilst Olbeck asked the questions, fantasising that an excess of testosterone was responsible for both their choice of occupation and their hair loss, before bringing herself back to reality with a start.

  “Oh yes, lots of threats, tons really,” Champion was saying breezily. “We X-ray all the post as a matter of course.”

  “Any letter bombs or anything like that? Suspicious packages?”

  Champion rubbed his chin. “Nothing that bad, to be fair. Occasional package of dog shit, but we take that in our stride.”

  “Not very pleasant,” Kate said, feeling she should contribute something.