Lazlo inclined his head and raised one eyebrow.
“Well, I’ve not established that any procedural rules were broken, not yet anyway. A sick patient needs a bed in hospital, guv. Hospital policy is that you make space where you can.”
“Tell that to Edward Burns’ family. I had his son in my office last night wanting to know why we haven’t sued anybody yet.”
Lazlo paused.
“Who do you think we’re after in this case, guv?”
Jasper shrugged his shoulders and turned away to look down the river towards Framwellgate Bridge. Beneath them, eight oarsmen synchronously powered their lacquered spruce rowing boat with practised splashes through the Prebends central arch.
“I initially thought we’d be after the surgeon: after all, Edward Burns died from complications of his surgery. But it seems he’s in the clear. We could sue the sick, old patient who brought gastroenteritis on to the ward… ” Jasper trailed off as he considered his words.
“That would be impossible.” Lazlo said.
“Why?”
“She died.”
“From tommy guns?” Jasper’s eyebrows creased into a questioning v-shape.
“She had a stroke.”
Jasper’s iPhone began to ring in his pocket. He ignored it as he stared intently ahead.
“What we need to know is who made the decisions to place her, as a clear and evident contamination risk to all the surgical patients, on that ward. Was it a casualty doctor, a matron, a duty manager? Somebody must have made that decision. Magnus Burns wants to know who it was and I want to know who it was.”
“Your phone, guv,” Lazlo said, pointing at Jasper’s jacket.
Jasper brushed him off and shook his head.
“You need to find out who made that decision.”
A familiar tic began to curl the eyelids on the left of Jasper’s face; once, twice, three times, then a violent inclination of the head towards his shoulder.
The phone stopped ringing.
“There is another side to this, guv.”
Lazlo turned towards the river, watching the eight oarsmen receiving instruction from their coach, who stood straddling his rusty old bicycle on the riverbank. He could not hear what the coach was saying, but there was a lot of jagged gesticulation.
Jasper wanted to say “yes” but the word wouldn’t come out, as though he had developed a sudden immutable stammer, paralysing his speech. A panic rose quickly within him as he realised the word he so wanted to say was stubbornly trapped inside of him. A tic ravaged his face and he rubbed at it with a balled fist.
“Edward Burns wasn’t the only patient to become infected with gastroenteritis on that ward,” Lazlo said.
Jasper shot a penetrating look across at him.
“Five patients were affected by it, as well as several nurses and a junior doctor,” Lazlo said slowly for effect.
Jasper rubbed his face in vain. He wanted desperately to leave the meeting, to escape with his dignity intact, but he could not tear himself away from Lazlo’s revelations.
“What’s more… are you all right, guv?”
Lazlo had tried to ignore the facial spasms and occasional twisting of Jasper’s neck, but he could no longer pretend he had not noticed that something was amiss.
“It’s nothing, just…” Jasper stammered, lowering his head in embarrassment.
“What guv?”
Jasper took a deep breath, stared skywards, and then concentrated on speaking slowly.
“I’m… cream crackered, that’s all. I need a… good night’s… Bo-Peep.”
“When last did you go home, guv?”
Jasper made dismissive gestures with his hands and turned away.
“What else… did you find out?” Jasper said.
Lazlo hesitated as he considered the unusual movements that Jasper was trying so hard to conceal.
“Oh yes, Edward Burns was located in bay four on the ward, and the old lady with gastroenteritis was in bay one, a good fifty feet and several walls and doors away.”
Jasper absorbed this information without revealing anything.
“You’re saying it was the ward staff… who spread the infection throughout the ward… and to the other patients?” Jasper managed to say, in a slow and thick voice.
“Who else?”
“That’s surely very poor… hygienic practice.” Jasper mused.
“Few would disagree with that. Have you seen all the advertising in hospitals these days, urging everyone to wash their hands?” Lazlo said.
“Did the ward staff effectively cause Edward Burns’ death then?” Jasper suggested.
Jasper’s phone rang again. He pulled a face of intense frustration, then suddenly realised it might be Jennifer. Extracting the phone from his breast pocket he stared in deep thought at the illuminated screen.
“Important?” Lazlo asked.
“It’s just Stacey, I’ll call her in a moment. I want you to find out everything about hygiene policy on the wards, Lazlo. They have a term for the nursing of infected patients on hospital wards which is supposed to prevent the spread of contagious infections.” Jasper’s voice was coming back to him.
“Barrier nursing,” Lazlo said, deadpan.
Jasper began to pace up and down, extending an index finger as he thought.
“It could be important to establish which one of the ward staff was the first to catch the tommy guns from that patient. I want to know about how the barrier nursing failed and how so many people subsequently became infected. I also want to know who made the decision to admit that sick patient to a surgical ward.”
“Anything else, guv?” Lazlo said sarcastically, with a subtle shake of his meaty head.
Jasper ignored him, continuing to pace up and down. Did the repetitive movement ease the tics, he wondered, or did it just help to hide them?
“There’ll be a lot of closing of ranks,” Lazlo said.
“I hope you and this matron get on really well. You’ll need an insider.”
Lazlo scoffed.
“I’m going to need more than that. It’ll be like trying to break into Fort bloody Knox.”
“I’m moved to tears, I am,” Jasper said placing his elbows on the stone parapet, the left arm twitching as though an electric current was torturing it. “And that’s not all, I have another assignment for you.”
Lazlo rolled his eyes.
“Another job?”
“Yes,” Jasper replied, without hesitation. “I have a new client whose three year old son died from measles. The boy attended Bailey School and the mother says he caught the measles from another boy at school called Seamus Mallory.”
Lazlo had pulled a notepad out from his jacket pocket and was scribbling furiously with a stubby pencil that almost completely disappeared between his fleshy fingers.
“I need all of this information confirmed, as well as whether the Mallory kid had been vaccinated with MMR.”
“M – M – ?” Lazlo repeated as he scribbled.
“MMR – measles, mumps and rubella. It’s a standard pre-school vaccination. Got it?”
Lazlo nodded.
“I’ll do my best, guv.”
Jasper studied his phone as he tried in vain to rub away the distortions on his face and neck. He read the message from Stacey.
Mr C, your wife’s sister has been calling and calling, she’s trying desperately to reach you. She sounds very upset and says it’s urgent. And another thing – Mrs K is in hospital. Please call back.
Jasper froze and wondered why on earth Jennifer’s sister was so persistent in trying to reach him. He had not spoken to her for at least a year, not since last Christmas when he was obliged to thank her for yet another set of braces she had sent, probably at Jennifer’s behest. Her calls must be about Jennifer, what else could they be about? Jennifer was staying with her, was she not, so why did Jennifer not call him back herself? Had something happened to her?
Suddenly, the unanswered phone calls and
lack of contact over several days struck a chord of concern deep within Jasper and he felt his heartbeat increase.
“Everything OK, guv?” Lazlo asked.
Jasper nodded as he scrolled through his missed messages and found the one he had ignored on the bridge minutes earlier.
“Mrs Kowalski is in hospital,” Jasper said absently.
“Mrs who?”
“The mother of the three year old who died of measles.”
“Why?” Lazlo said.
Jasper did not answer as he listened to the missed call with a look of disbelief crossing his face.
“Jasper, it’s Charlotte here. I’ve been trying to contact you for days. I’m really worried about Jennifer, she’s not been returning my calls and I haven’t spoken to her for a week. I was expecting a visit from her after her trip to London but she never turned up. What’s going on? Has something happened? Is she all right? I’m so worried about her, please call me.”
Jasper felt the colour drain from his face. All this time he had thought Jennifer was staying with her sister. Until now, he had not thought too much of the fact that she was not returning his calls; he too had not exactly been terribly attentive recently with court cases demanding his attention. But the fact that she was not returning even her sister’s calls, for she and Lottie were close, was very out of character for Jennifer.
“What’s the matter, guv?” Lazlo asked again.
Jasper paused as the facial tic twisted his face and pinched his eyelids together.
“Something’s wrong.”
“Mrs… er… whatever her name is?” Lazlo ventured.
“No, my missus. Jennifer has been uncontactable for too many days now. I must find out where she is.”
“Is she not at home, guv?”
“I haven’t been there for quite a while, Lazlo, but she’s not answering the phone.”
Suddenly Jasper began to move, walking purposefully across the bridge. Lazlo stared after him, a frown creased into his ample features.
“Where are you going, guv?”
“Home. I need to go home, Lazlo, something’s not right.”
Lazlo pocketed his notepad and short pencil and began to lurch across the bridge in pursuit of Jasper.
“I’m coming with you, guv.”
FOURTEEN
Dr Timothy Potter listened intently as the speaker on stage explained in passionate detail his concerns over the impending vaccination crisis. Potter was attending a national meeting on current challenges facing General Practitioners in the United Kingdom. The speaker, standing behind a gleaming glass and chrome lectern, was none other than the chairman of the British Medical Association.
Professor McAndrews was a short, slightly overweight man dressed in a black suit. His vocal delivery was measured, emphatic and struck right at Potter’s heart.
“As GP’s you are facing an outbreak of measles on a scale never before seen in this country.” McAndrews said, indicating a graph projected on to the enormous white screen behind him.
“In 2007, there were 990 cases of measles, in 2008 there were 1350, and in 2009, you will see an estimated 1600 cases.”
Potter scribbled frantic notes on a pad in his lap. His gold rimmed spectacles were balanced halfway down his sharp nose, enabling him to both peer over them to see Professor McAndrews and the screen and also to focus on the notes balanced on his legs.
“Almost all cases of measles are in children who have not received the MMR vaccine, this is currently estimated to be one in five children across the UK.”
McAndrews paused and studied the attentive faces in his audience. He gripped the podium with both of his hands and rocked slightly on his heels, as though he were riding a steed, his quick eyes active beneath a learned head of greying hair.
“The irony of this situation we all face is that the seven years leading up to this impending catastrophe saw worldwide deaths from measles fall by seventy five percent, due to the success of international vaccination programmes.”
He paused again and leaned forward even closer to his captive audience.
“Do you know how many children died worldwide from measles in those seven years? I’ll tell you, ladies and gentlemen, it was 197 000. 197 000! I’d like to see that figure printed in tomorrow’s tabloids.”
He drank a little water from a glass on the podium before continuing.
“Now, I know that each and every one of you in this audience today wants to know what can be done to head off this impending measles epidemic. I’m going to tell you what I think should be done.”
Potter scribbled, unable to take his eyes off the startling figures up on the screen and thinking all the while about Ollie Kowalski and even about Jasper Candle’s visit to his surgery just days earlier. Following that visit he had seen this meeting advertised and suddenly felt compelled to attend.
“We do not have to re-invent the wheel here, we simply need to follow the established models of so many other countries: the USA, Spain, Australia. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I believe we must move to make childhood vaccination… compulsory.”
A hushed murmur emanated from the audience and several delegates thrust their hands high in the air. McAndrews picked them out one by one with a raised forearm.
“I know what you all wish to ask me. How would we ever hope to police a compulsory vaccination programme? Well, the answer is very simple. Childhood vaccination, and in this specific case, MMR, becomes a pre-requisite for admission to school. It becomes a health and safety issue for the paramount safety of all children at school. No MMR, no entry to school.”
Potter found a wry smile creeping across his face as he thought of Jasper Candle’s analytical remarks in his office. The lecture ended to rapturous applause and an announcement of a coffee break. Potter rose quickly, grabbing awkwardly at papers and pencils falling off his lap. He was desperate to catch Professor McAndrews during the interval.
Potter managed to corner the ever popular professor cradling a cup of coffee and trying to devour a crumbling Danish pastry with as much elegance as possible. Up close, Professor McAndrews was even shorter than he appeared behind a podium, which is where most people only ever got to see him. Potter weaved in between the bodies of delegates, packed like sardines and cradling cups of tea and coffee. The room was filled with the smell of coffee and the murmur of dozens of conversations blurred into one.
“Professor?” Potter said with raised eyebrows, hoping to invite an audience with the great man.
McAndrews gesticulated and mumbled behind lips encrusted with sticky pastry. His sharp eyes darted down to Potter’s lapel badge, identifying him by name and area of practice.
“I’m Timothy Potter, from Claypath in Durham.”
“Yes, I know,” McAndrews said, pointing at Potter’s badge with the half eaten pastry and a sardonic smile.
“If I may, Professor, I have a very interesting situation developing back in Durham. One of my patients died recently from measles encephalitis…”
“So tragic and unnecessary, but this is what the public don’t realise will happen ever more often,” McAndrews interrupted, nodding his grey head.
“The thing is that I’ve had a visit from a medico-legal solicitor, a compensation lawyer, who is considering a case of negligence against the family of an unvaccinated child who infected the victim with measles.”
McAndrews raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he chewed.
“I’m not sure if there is a precedent for such a prosecution under vaccination law, is there?” Potter continued.
McAndrews wiped his mouth on a small serviette and managed to spill some coffee into the saucer.
“In the USA it is not unusual, there were 800 prosecutions in one year alone in Maryland. In England, however, you’d have to go back about 100 years.”
Potter was surprised, as he did not think there had ever been prosecutions in England against individuals who had failed to vaccinate. His outward astonishment prompted the professor to continue.
“It was 1903, the Ashton vaccination prosecutions.”
“And the outcome?”
McAndrews chuckled and sipped at his coffee.
“The public outcry was such that it effectively marked the end of vaccination prosecutions. A typically emotional and sentimental reaction, just as has happened in recent times with the misguided and damaging media campaign against MMR. Of course, much has transpired since 1903 and worldwide successes of vaccination programmes like polio and smallpox have firmly established vaccines as safe and effective in improving human health.”
It was a noted behaviour of professors that, whenever they spoke to anyone, there was an instinctive tendency to lecture. Potter merely nodded affably in agreement.
“Well, his timing is very appropriate. We need ninety five percent of children to be vaccinated to maintain herd immunity safely. Latest figures I have indicate MMR vaccination levels down at eighty five percent. Too low, Timothy, too low, dangerously low. An epidemic is inevitable and almost unavoidable at this stage.”
“Do you think Parliament will back a compulsory vaccination programme?” Potter asked.
McAndrews smiled wryly and reached into his suit pocket, producing a small, white card.
“Democracies have their weaknesses, I’m afraid. Please give my card to this solicitor and feel free to give him a copy of my lecture as well.”
And with that the professor turned to another group demanding his attention, their meeting summarily terminated. Potter pocketed the card thoughtfully. In a strange and inexplicable way, he found himself emboldened by Jasper Candle’s involvement, a notion that both encouraged and displeased him in equal measure.
FIFTEEN
The drive to Jasper’s house took about fifteen minutes, ending in a winding country lane outside Durham. He lived on a steep hillside that overlooked the River Browney as it snaked peacefully through verdant hedgerow lined pastures on the river’s fertile flood plain. A single, small lane lined with neatly kept Georgian brick homes wallowed peacefully in the midst of rural idyll.
“I’ve never seen your house before, guv.” Lazlo remarked, nodding in approval as Jasper’s black Audi TT crunched to a halt on the gravelled drive.
The Secret Anatomy of Candles Page 6