The DCI Warren Jones Series Books 1–3

Tompkinson carried on reading.

“Oh. This is his mid-third-year report.” He adjusted his glasses again and peered over them, a gesture that Jones was starting to recognise as his ‘teaching pose’.

“Standard full-time PhD courses, such as the one that Spencer was enrolled on, are funded for three years by the funding council, in this case the MRC. The expectation is that students complete their research, write it up and submit at the end of those three years. Either way, they stop being funded and they are no longer paid. In reality, we have found that most students take about three and a half years to finish and write up. The funding councils get very antsy if they don’t submit in four years and can penalise the university. So about halfway through the third year we start progression-to-submission meetings.

“Mr Spencer, at this point, was still working full time on his research, but was confident that he would be completed within the next few months and written up by the beginning of his fourth year. That’s fairly typical. Alan has signed the bottom to say he agrees. No further action required.”

He turned the page.

“Three months from the three-year deadline. Spencer is still working full time. Some experiments have had to be repeated. He will start writing up when they are completed. Signed by Alan.”

Another page.

“Three-year deadline. Spencer is still repeating key experiments. He agrees to submit a first couple of chapters of his thesis to Alan for checking by the end of the month. Both sign the form.”

Another sheet of A4.

“Hmm. This is three months later. Spencer has started another set of experiments. He has submitted his first two chapters, which Alan has signed off as satisfactory. However, he requested a confidential meeting with Jenny Stokes where he expressed concern that Alan was insisting that he complete more research and won’t accept the conclusions of a paper that he has written for the Journal of Bacteriology. Jenny advises him to follow Alan’s advice for the time being.”

Jones sat up a little straighter. “So Spencer and Tunbridge had an argument.”

Tompkinson waved a hand in a dismissive gesture.

“I wouldn’t read too much into that, Inspector. Disagreements between PhD students and their supervisors aren’t uncommon at this stage. In fact there is an old saying that your PhD supervisor is the first person that you have a truly professional argument with. It’s almost a rite of passage. Strange as it may seem, but at this stage Mr Spencer will probably be the world’s leading expert on that one tiny facet of his research. He will have lived and breathed his project for the past three years and so will be very possessive of his work.”

Tompkinson’s eyes misted over and he smiled slightly. “It’s been thirty years but I remember the arguments with my PhD supervisor like they were yesterday. Of course, my prof was right and his decision to force me to delay publication of my first paper was absolutely correct. In the end it was published in a far more prestigious journal than it would have been otherwise. At the time though I thought the old bastard was past it and nearly walked out. I went to his eightieth birthday a couple of years ago and he still teased me about it.”

Jones nodded silently, but filed the information away nevertheless. Crawley had suggested that Tunbridge had a reputation for being possessive about his lab’s research. Could this have been enough to provoke Spencer to kill him? And why hadn’t he mentioned this when they spoke to him earlier?

Tompkinson flipped over another couple of pages.

“Here is his three-and-a-half-year meeting. Spencer is still working in the lab and has not submitted any more chapters. The head of Graduate Studies, Professor Davidson, has put Spencer on his ‘cause for concern list’ and scheduled a meeting with Alan, Jenny and Mr Spencer.”

He turned over the page.

“The outcome of the meeting is that Alan did not feel that Mr Spencer had fully proven his hypothesis and recommended a number of further studies to back up his claims. Spencer has agreed to do the studies and Jenny has agreed to meet regularly with him to ensure that he keeps on track. They also agreed upon a schedule to write up the less contentious parts of Mr Spencer’s thesis.” Tompkinson turned to two pieces of paper stapled to the current page. “Professor Davidson and Professor Stokes have both written private memoranda commenting on the tense atmosphere between Tunbridge and Spencer. Jenny has spoken to Mark Crawley and asked him to keep an eye on the situation.”

“Is that sort of thing normal?”

Tompkinson looked a little embarrassed. “A complete breakdown in the relationship between a student and his supervisor is rare but not unprecedented, and of course Alan had a reputation for being a little…difficult, shall we say? Mark Crawley is Tom Spencer’s immediate line manager and is used to Alan’s ways.”

“I see.”

Tompkinson continued flicking through the folder.

“It seems that Spencer unsuccessfully applied for a hardship grant from the Student Welfare Office. They don’t usually help students who are in their fourth year unless something exceptional has happened. However, they did promise to try and arrange some more teaching and demonstrating hours for him.”

So, pissed off and broke? The motives were certainly stacking up against Spencer. Again, why hadn’t Crawley mentioned this? Jones knew that at times like this a person’s loyalties were torn. Crawley might well have been trying to protect Spencer, not because he felt that Spencer was guilty, but because he felt responsible for the lad and didn’t want to cause him any trouble. On the flipside, he’d shown no such loyalty to the postdoc Severino. Why? Mark Crawley was worth a second visit, Jones decided.

“What is Spencer’s current situation?”

Tompkinson flicked forward to the last page of the folder.

“He’s coming up on four years. He needs to have submitted by October first at the latest. Apparently he submitted several more draft chapters, all of which Tunbridge accepted. However there is still some disagreement over the final results.”

“What happens if he misses the deadline?”

“Well, there are a couple of options.” To emphasise his point, Tompkinson held out a hand, counting off the fingers. “First, he misses the deadline and has to apply to the Board of Graduate Studies for an extension. They have to consider the university’s standing with the funding agencies as well as what is best for Mr Spencer.

“Second, they decide to simply ditch the disputed work and write up what he has completed for submission. That’ll depend on how critical the work is to the thesis.”

Another finger. Warren wondered if it was just his imagination — now that he was looking out for it — or was Tompkinson’s hand trembling more?

“Third, he could well fail the PhD. In which case we would probably submit his earlier work and examine him for an MPhil.”

“How big a blow would that be to him?”

“Catastrophic. The thing with PhDs is you only get a single bite of the cherry. He could very well end up in debt, with a four-year hole in his work history and bugger all to show for it. It would almost certainly hamper his career. He could massage his CV a bit, claim that he went for MPhil then stayed on and did more research, but it probably wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny in a job interview.”

So Spencer certainly had a motive. The question was, was it enough to make him snap? Warren was looking forward more and more to this afternoon’s scheduled interview.

“Moving on, another name that has been mentioned this morning was that of Dr Antonio Severino. What can you tell us about him?”

Tompkinson sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing them for a few moments before replacing them, something that Jones was starting to associate with the professor being forced to answer unpleasant questions.

“Another of Alan’s diplomatic triumphs.” The irony of the statement was clearly masking a genuine irritation and anger at his former colleague.

“Officially, Dr Severino is taking overdue holiday whilst he waits for the renewal or otherwise of his contract.”

“And unofficially?”

“Alan got rid of him. He claims that Severino had completed the project for which he was originally employed and that his services were no longer required.”

“What about the disagreement over the publication of Severino’s findings?”

“Again, officially the papers are ‘in preparation’ with other members of the lab finishing their part of the project. Unofficially, Severino’s contribution to the overall manuscript was so great that Tunbridge would struggle to justify his position as lead author. Alan was pretty tight-lipped about the results from this particular research, but the rumour mill has it that they had solved several significant problems in the field of antibiotic resistance. I suspect that Alan was going to use the interest garnered by the publication of the research to kick-start his search for funding to start his own company, with him as boss. The last thing he’d want is to share the limelight with someone else. Based on gossip in the tea room, Alan was probably going to split Severino’s work into two separate manuscripts and dilute his influence by padding out the papers with other results from the lab. That way he could retain first authorship on both papers. In the meantime, Severino has practically nothing on his CV to account for the past two years of work, making him almost unemployable.”

“Is that ethical?”

“Absolutely not. But try and prove it. Severino did lodge a formal complaint with the university — and was no doubt planning on writing to the editor of whatever journal Alan finally submitted to — but it would have been his word against Alan’s and he wouldn’t have stood much chance.”

“How did Severino take this?” Jones had already heard Crawley’s version of events; he was interested to see if Tompkinson agreed.

“Badly. Apparently they had it out in the corridor and he very nearly got himself escorted off the premises. From what I’ve heard he made a beeline straight for the pub, before returning rather the worse for wear a few hours later and vandalising Alan’s car. Security prevented him from entering the building to find Alan.”

“So what happened then?”

“Alan was livid and wanted him arrested for criminal damage. However a few of his colleagues in the department calmed him down enough to agree not to press charges as it was in nobody’s interest to see it splashed across the newspapers. Mark Crawley brokered a peace deal in the end and I believe that Severino agreed to work out his notice from home and pay for the damage. In return, I think Alan agreed to let Mark write any job references that came his way.” Tompkinson shook his head. “I don’t know how he does it. Mark’s been with the bugger for over ten years. That man deserves a bloody medal.”

So far at least, it seemed that Tompkinson’s story matched Crawley’s, although Jones still wanted to speak to Crawley again about the omissions he had made earlier.

“Do you know of anyone else who may have harboured a grudge against Professor Tunbridge? I hear that other lab members have also left on bad terms. What about other current members of his lab?”

Tompkinson chewed his lip thoughtfully. As he did so his head twitched forward and backward slightly and his hands, which were now resting in front of him, tapped out a rhythmless tune. Time for more medication? Warren wondered. As if noticing Jones’ scrutiny, Tompkinson clasped his hands together tightly, arresting the tremors.

“You’d need to speak to them, I would imagine. Personnel can give you the details of all the current and former members of the lab. As to whether any still bear a grudge, that’s hard to say. He did have two technicians speak to their unions about a constructive dismissal case concerning alleged bullying. However they decided not to pursue the case after finding better-compensated work elsewhere in the department.”

“You bought them off?”

Tompkinson’s shrug was non-committal. “They found a better position and decided it wasn’t worth their time and effort to pursue the case.”

I’ll bet the unions were annoyed about that! thought Jones, but said nothing.

“I believe that he also had run-ins with some of his other graduate students, although nothing serious enough to cross my desk.”

Jones made a quick note to get onto Personnel and Student Services to find out their details. His list of potential suspects and people to interview was growing longer and longer.

Karen Hardwick had remained silent throughout most of the interview, but Jones could see that she had been paying close attention.

“What will happen to Professor Tunbridge’s research group, now that he is gone?”

“A tricky question. This has never really happened before. A few years ago a young Principal Investigator was tragically killed on holiday. However, he only had a single PhD student and a research technician. The student moved into another lab, taking enough of the lab’s funding to complete his project. The research technician was also redeployed and the research group was wound up. It was a bit messy for a few weeks, but it all sorted itself out.

“Alan’s lab is another matter. For a start it’s much larger and it has rather a lot of allocated funding. I suppose there will have to be a meeting of all of those concerned. In the interim at least, the lab will probably continue running under Mark Crawley. The students will be dealt with on a case-by-case basis — some may go and work in different laboratories with like-minded research groups, others may continue to work with Mark. As to the long-term, the funding agencies and the university will have to decide what happens.”

So, it seemed as though Crawley might be the heir apparent to the research group after all. Would he want it, though, or would it be, as he’d claimed, a weight of responsibility he could do without? A point for future consideration, Jones decided.

“Well, thank you for your time, Professor. We may need to ask you a few more questions in the future. In the meantime, could you speak to your Personnel and Student Services department and let them know that we will be asking to see your records?”

“Of course. I suspect I’ll be in here all day if you want to contact me. But I’m surprised that you are leaving so soon.”

Jones blinked in surprise. “I’m not sure I see what you are getting at.”

“Well, it would seem that you have missed the most obvious motive, Chief Inspector.”

“Oh? What might that be, then?”

“Well, money, of course.”

Jones blinked in surprise.

“Money? How would killing Professor Tunbridge make his killer rich? Was Professor Tunbridge particularly wealthy?”

“No, at least not that I know of. However, Alan’s work was potentially very lucrative.”

“So, tell me about Professor Tunbridge’s research and why you think it provides a motive.”

Tompkinson took off his glasses and polished them again, before replacing them and resuming his ‘teacher pose’.

“Where to start? OK, to fully appreciate how big a motive this is, you need to understand some basic science. I’m sure that you’ve heard about the problems with bacteria becoming resistant to antibiotics? So-called ‘hospital superbugs’ such as MRSA, resistant to even the strongest of antibiotics?” Jones and Hardwick both nodded.

“Well, the problem cannot be over-stated. There are strains of Staphylococcus aureus, the bacterium that MRSA stems from, that are resistant to all commonly used antibiotics, even the so-called ‘last resort’ drugs such as vancomycin. Let me be clear, here. If you develop an infection from this strain of bacteria, you will die. And it’s not just hospital superbugs. Extreme Drug-Resistant Tuberculosis, or XDRTB, is now being seen in TB hotspots around the globe. The current vaccination against TB, the BCG, is woefully poor and it’ll be years before the latest version comes online. TB is spread by coughing and sneezing. Regular TB still kills millions of people each year. Without antibiotics to kill off the infection, the death rate will soar. These days, a person with TB can pick it up on one side of the world and cough and sneeze his way across the globe in twenty-four hours, infecting everyone he comes in contact with. Can you imagine what it would be like if the strain that the person was carrying was XDRTB?”

Jones tried to imagine such a scenario and felt a cold chill sweep over him.

“Of course, drug companies are trying to develop new antibiotics as we speak. however the speed at which bacteria can become resistant to these drugs is frightening. Did you know that the first antibiotic, penicillin, was first used to treat patients in the 1940s yet within four years cases of resistant bacteria were reported? By the 1960s it was present in hospitals and by the end of the 1990s almost forty per cent of Staphylococcus bacteria were resistant. Since penicillin’s discovery, dozens of different antibiotics have been discovered — almost all of which are now resisted by bacteria. Some of those antibiotics were rendered all but useless within ten years. Because of that, there is actually less incentive for drugs companies to invest in new antibiotics.”

“Huh? You’ve lost me, Professor. Surely with such a need for new antibiotics, whoever discovers a new one stands to make a fortune!”

Tompkinson smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. It takes up to a billion US dollars and anything up to fifteen years to develop a new drug. The success rate from good idea to pharmacy counter is tiny. The vast majority of potential drugs are eliminated in the early stages of development because they don’t work or have unacceptable side effects. Drug research is an incredible gamble, with the pay-off being massive exclusive sales in the years before the patent expires after which everyone and his uncle can use your research to make your drug at a fraction of the cost and undercut you. Because of that, pharmaceutical firms favour drugs that will recoup that investment. They like to play safe. So what’s the point of spending a billion dollars developing a new antibiotic that ninety per cent of bugs are going to be resistant to before you’ve even made your investment back?”

The question hung in the air.

Scratching his head and trying to keep up, Jones asked the obvious.

“So where is the motive, then? Presumably anyone stealing his idea would still have to spend millions doing the safety trials. I don’t know much about this sort of thing, but I seem to recall from an article in some Sunday supplement that the bulk of the cost of developing a drug lies with the safety testing. Who is going to murder the prof over something that won’t make them any money?”

The professor nodded.

“You are quite right, of course. As regards the bacteria acquiring resistance, rumour has it Professor Tunbridge had solved that particular conundrum.”

“He’s developed a multi-pronged attack to delay the onset of antibiotic resistance, hasn’t he?”

The question was blurted out from DC Hardwick.

Tompkinson nodded enthusiastically as if praising a favourite student.

“Very good. I see that you know something about this, Constable. Did you study at university before joining the police?”

She nodded, confidence buoyed somewhat by the praise.

“Yes, sir. I did a Molecular Biology degree and we learnt a lot about antibiotic resistance. You mentioned that Professor Tunbridge was planning on going commercial with his work — is this what you meant?”

“Yes, ‘Trident Antibacterials’ was the name he was considering. Alan was just starting to put out feelers for potential backers. It was all very hush-hush, of course. I believe that he was in the process of protecting the work with patents before he went public. The word on the grapevine is that he had successfully developed a drug system that attacked three unrelated drug targets simultaneously. The theory is that whilst the odds of one bacterium developing a chance mutation that renders the cell resistant to an antibiotic is fairly good when you consider the trillions of bacterial cells that will be treated over time, the likelihood of all three targets being thwarted simultaneously is infinitesimal. Even if a cell becomes resistant to one or even two of the methods of attack, the remaining drug target will still remain viable.”

“So you are saying that Tunbridge’s murder may have been, for want of a better word, industrial espionage?”

Tompkinson shrugged. “I would say it’s a possibility.”

“Who would benefit from his death, then, and how?”

“I suppose the most obvious candidate would be a rival pharmaceutical company. The idea of a multi-pronged attack isn’t in itself brand new. I’ve no doubt that dozens of laboratories around the world are working on similar approaches. Stopping Tunbridge from launching Trident would buy them time.”

“Murder seems a bit extreme. Why not just buy him out? If the stakes are as high as you say they are, surely somebody could just throw a few million quid his way to sell them his work, or even offer him a job in their company to finish it with them.”

“That may well have happened. However, knowing Alan as I do, working for another company wouldn’t appeal to his ego. For Alan, being the CEO of his own company that produced this miracle cure would be the ultimate goal. He was a huge self-publicist and he’d have relished the idea of a four-page spread in New Scientist or even the front cover of a major news magazine such as Time. In terms of money, if he wanted to sell his work, then he’d make much more if he was able to sell a fully working product. If it is as successful as he wanted it to be — and it is still a big if — he could float Trident on the stock exchange or even license it to the highest bidder. In this case we could be talking hundreds of millions, if not billions.”

“What about the research that he has already published? Surely, the cat’s out of the bag now. Isn’t it just a question of time before somebody else follows his work? What about the other members of his lab? Surely, if they got together they could assemble the pieces and finish the work?”

“Perhaps one day, but you have to realise how controlling Alan was. He still performed some of his own research. That’s rare — most professors of his standing haven’t wielded a pipette in anger for years. I would imagine that the central piece of the jigsaw is all Alan’s own work and he probably hasn’t shared his data with anybody else. I fear that when Alan died, Trident died with him. And with him millions of people who could have been saved from a horrible death.”