The Secret

Steven stared at this last piece of information with the feeling that he was missing something. He prided himself on not missing much. Paying attention to detail was an important part of his job. Even if it didn’t appear significant at the time, a small detail could later prove to be the missing part in a puzzle — or even save a life. He remembered what it was. When he’d asked Bill Andrews about who had been present in the gallery when Simone had fallen, Andrews had mentioned Khan, saying, ‘The Pakistani doctor who was with us — Dr Khan, I think his name was,’ as if he hadn’t known him.

Steven got up and walked over to the window to look out at the rain. Andrews and Khan both worked for intelligence services, had probably collaborated over the setting up of fake aid teams and had been with Simone at the time of her fall. They then came down from the gallery and put on a Greek tragedy for the benefit of onlookers with much weeping and wailing. They didn’t know it yet but by Christ they were going to pay for it... in spades.

Steven turned his thoughts to Aline Lagarde and who might have killed her. Andrews? Khan? Khan hadn’t been at Simone’s funeral: he’d had to return to Pakistan, according to... Andrews. Was that the truth or could Andrews have been covering for Aline’s killer? Steven had been planning to phone Andrews to quiz him about who had lost a contact lens in the gallery on that fateful day but things had moved on apace. He was now almost sure that Andrews and Khan had cooperated in Simone’s murder. He called Inspector Philippe Le Grice in Paris instead.

After an exchange of pleasantries Steven came directly to the point. ‘I have a favour to ask.’

‘In connection with the death of Aline Lagarde?’

‘Yes. I think it possible she was murdered by a Pakistani intelligence officer named Dr Ranjit Khan. His cover is that of an aid worker in the villages of the Pakistani/Afghan border. The official story is that he attended the conference in Prague where Simone Ricard died and then returned directly to Pakistan. I think he may have come to France. Is there any way you can check immigration records for the relevant dates?’

‘Normally, yes,’ replied Le Grice, sounding unsure. ‘But given the involvement of our intelligence services in the investigation into Dr Lagarde’s death, they might wonder why I want to know.’

‘I take your point,’ said Steven. ‘But there’s a good chance they know nothing about Khan. I don’t think even they know the whole story.’

‘But they came up with the evidence against Dr Lagarde.’

‘I think they were involved in trashing her reputation but I don’t think they knew anything about the killing. They were acting under orders to keep a CIA operation in Afghanistan out of the limelight.’

‘I thought you guys were the Americans’ poodles,’ said Le Grice.

‘I’ve got a sore paw.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Steven felt guilty about asking Le Grice to do something that might rebound badly on the detective if he were wrong and French intelligence did know more than he thought they did. The phone interrupted his train of thought. It was Jean Roberts.

‘Hello, Steven. John was wondering if you had any more thoughts to offer on the ME problem? I think the Home Secretary has been inquiring.’

Steven’s feelings of guilt shifted direction. He hadn’t actually got round to re-examining the file Jean had given him in detail. He should have remembered that although he and John knew that Langley’s death had been an unplanned accident, that was not the official line and the police had probably been encouraged to think differently.

‘I haven’t reached any conclusions as yet,’ he replied. ‘But I’m working on it.’

‘Then that’s what I’ll tell him,’ said Jean, giving Steven the awful feeling that she could read his mind. ‘I’ll let him know you’ll be in touch soon.’

Steven interpreted the word ‘soon’ as ‘get a move on’. ‘Thanks, Jean.’

He found it hard to switch his attention from the progress he had been making on an international platform to events at home involving threatening letters, paint daubing and the letting down of tyres, but he opened the file and started reading.

Seventeen

After an hour, Steven’s initial feeling that he was looking at trivial crimes which had nothing to do with Sci-Med started to falter as he picked up on a puzzling feature about the whole ME affair. He paused to make more coffee and was cursing the fact that his Gaggia espresso maker was leaking all over the place when the phone rang. He thought it might be Philippe Le Grice, but it was Tally.

‘Good news, I’ve got an evening off. Can you come up?’

Another guilt attack. ‘Tally, I can’t. I’ve got to get a report ready by tomorrow morning.’

‘What a pity.’

‘I’m already way behind.’

‘Ah me, then my disappointment will probably lead to the appearance of the wicked witch of the west on the wards tomorrow. Think of the children, Steven, think of the poor children...’

Steven couldn’t help smiling as he started to waver.