Tasker leant heavily towards the former. Somehow, he believed Katryzna’s claim that she worked alone.
Ward also explained, quietly, that her people had scanned Parris’s laptop for the most recently accessed files. One file stood out for its ambiguity: a spreadsheet of thousands of rows containing five columns of numbers that seemed to show energy readings with dates, co-ordinates and what appeared to be angles, with numbers ranging from 1 to 360. They were already trying to see if any of the co-ordinates pointed towards Laukstad. Meanwhile, Ministry people testing on the ground there were reporting novisan fluctuations standard for a coastal village. Reports that were useless: they needed readings from four days ago, but Norway didn’t have their own MEE, so no one was watching then. Except, apparently, Duvcorp.
Tasker’s initial perception was so far validated, though; the investigators had turned up a variety of wounds on the bodies, caused by knives or blunt instruments, but the claw and bite marks could well have been from human teeth and nails. Ward went on to say her Support team had run historical checks, for similar unexplained mass murders, with no apparent motive or specific suspect. There was a village in Estonia, Silna, in 2009. Sixteen people killed in some kind of mob attack. It was during a heatwave and got passed off as caused by unusual atmospheric gas – one of the Ministry’s favourite fallbacks. There was also an unresolved group murder in the Brixton riots, in the early ’80s, and an Arctic expedition who all died violently in the ’60s. Nothing flagged more recently, not concerning the Ministry. But then, they might not have flagged Laukstad without being tipped off to it.
They took a great stone bridge across Ordshaw’s river and the skyline opened up to the right of the car. Duvcorp’s HQ stood out: a trio of cylindrical towers at staggered heights, reflecting light even on this dull day. The opposite of subtle.
“The lady we’re meeting,” Ward said, “is Ms Marge Cosgrove. Head of their Renewable Energy European division. In company structure, she’s not far below the upper executives. London advise that we don’t bring up their novisan research, though.”
“I’m sure they do,” Tasker murmured. There wasn’t much they could discuss, was there? This was just an opportunity for Duvcorp to confess, if they’d be so kind.
Ward parked in a large drop-off zone and a stiff-legged man led them through a cathedral-scale lobby to a gilded lift. That took them onto an expansive roof terrace, atop one of the building’s lesser towers. A dozen tables sat opposite a café bar, overlooking an expansive view of Ordshaw’s South Bank. Marge Cosgrove was the café’s sole occupant, waiting in a crisp grey suit. She had the hard-lined face and straight posture of someone who strategised her life down to the most efficient way to breathe. She put on a welcoming smile, about as genuine as the ones Tasker used.
Cosgrove invited them to sit and said, “Naturally, we were all devastated to hear about Simon.” You could almost believe it. “It’s shocking anyone would want to hurt him. He was quiet, kept to himself. Hard working. But I expect you know all that, given his history with the Ministry.”
Ward gave Tasker a deferring look and he started, “He fit in at work?”
“I never saw a problem,” Cosgrove said. “He was a senior researcher, promoted multiple times. Simon was pioneering new solar energy solutions.”
“Did it somehow concern activity in Norway?” Tasker dived straight in.
The smile tightened, the rest of Cosgrove’s body motionless. “Why do you ask?”
“Parris specifically requested me,” Tasker lied. “That is, an agent based in Norway. Did your work involve surveying irregular energy readings?”
She looked at Ward as though asking if such topics were really fair game, and Ward didn’t meet her eye. Cosgrove said, “In Norway? Do they even have sunlight at this time of year?”
Tasker waited for a proper answer.
Cosgrove calculated him carefully. “Agent Tasker, we have no concerns in Norway. If you’re alluding to that tragic village massacre, I can emphatically insist there is no connection. But . . . Simon brought such concerns to you? He had ideas of his own, separate to his research here. Perhaps he couldn’t leave his Ministry work behind? When we have access to his computer again, we might check exactly what he was up to.”
Sure – check, delete and/or replace.
“He didn’t bring any concerns to you?” Ward proffered. “Before he came to us?”
Cosgrove put on the act of trying to recall. Then evaded the question. “He was a private man, he didn’t like to cause a fuss or draw attention.”
“Well he got someone’s attention, didn’t he?” Tasker bristled.
“After talking to your people, you mean?”
“Do you mind me asking,” Tasker moved straight on, “where Parris’s work was concentrated? Geographically. Do you have overseas production centres? Research labs? Elsewhere in Scandinavia, or Europe? Maybe south, to study solar energy research – Africa? I don’t know – the Congo?”
For a second, Cosgrove was surprised. Then the wall returned. “I don’t follow.”
“No? Parris never got assigned work in Africa, I suppose? What about his coworkers? A Miguel Lopaz, for example?”
Cosgrove’s mouth twitched, just a little. “Agent Tasker, I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Ward frowned, looking more confused than their host.
Tasker said, “Just a name we’ve an interest in.”
“One he told you?” Cosgrove said, making a show of checking her watch. “Something to do with the Congo?”
Tasker held her eyes, waiting for more, and her mouth curled tightly.
“Very well, let’s be frank – from one illicit research body to another. Yes, Simon was involved in research that might overlap your own. No, it had nothing to do with anywhere in Africa, nor Norway. That he spoke to you about it, and not me, suggests a throwback to a project from his past which he clearly never let go. I couldn’t begin to suggest why he would do that, unless . . .” She indicated Ward with a knowing look.
Ward frowned. “He wasn’t working for us.”
“Interesting.” Snideness crept into Cosgrove’s tone. “It would seem he wasn’t entirely working for us either.” She stood. “Now, without meaning to be rude, if it’s only a name you have to ask about, I’ll have someone from HR talk to you.”
“Wait.” Ward rose, too. “We’d like to discuss Parris’s job –”
“Ha” – Cosgrove dropped the friendly act – “but you are clearly better informed than me, Ms Ward. And I’m sure you’re well enough informed to know how complicated pushing your point could make things, for everyone. Good day to you both.”
Ward looked to Tasker, chilled by the audacity of that tone. He gave her the slightest shake of his head and Cosgrove indicated for their stiff-legged escort to take them away. They rode the lift in silence and were taken back to the lobby, where Tasker noticed two burly men emerge from some double doors, looking their way with all the appearance of nightclub bouncers. Tasker couldn’t make out a neck tattoo.
Ward asked, “Who’s Miguel Lopaz?”