The Chosen Dead
Page 35
‘I’ll see to it.’
From the depths of her handbag Jenny dredged up a file that she seldom found time to use on herself. Pulling up a chair, she cautiously took hold of one of Alison’s hands and was surprised to find that her fingers were warm and perfectly relaxed. She set to work, filing each nail in turn – short but not mannish, wasn’t that how Alison liked them? Silence was too awkward, too intimate now they were touching, so she tried to keep up a flow of small-talk, the kind of chatter the girls in the hair salon she occasionally visited managed to maintain all day. But Jenny lacked their gushing spontaneity; the words dried up before she had finished the first hand. So instead she spoke to her about the office, the things Alison would have been fretting about had she been conscious. The pile of neglected files was down to half its previous size, Jenny assured her, but another big case had come in on Friday: the bodies of five Bangladeshi stowaways had been discovered in a container at Avon-mouth docks. She would be spending most of the week trying to trace their families – the kind of task Alison would have dealt with in a morning with the help of all her contacts.
She had done a good job – nails filed, cuticles pushed back – but Alison’s manicured hands slipped from where Jenny had placed them across her middle and flopped like those of a corpse, either side of the bed. She lifted her arms again, feeling their full weight, and tucked them inside the sheet.
Jenny found herself with nothing left to say and was seized with fear that this might be her last opportunity.
‘You’d better not die on me, Alison.’
No answer. The blank expression now looked accusatory, as if Jenny had somehow stolen the life out of her.
‘Go on, then. See if I bloody well care.’
From the corner of the eye she saw the heart monitor flicker: two high peaks, close together.
Maria reappeared between the curtains.
‘Look,’ Jenny said, pointing to the monitor. ‘Her heart . . .’
The nurse glanced at the monitor, then back at Jenny. ‘It does that now and then.’ She gave a patient smile. ‘I’m going to be busy here in a minute. I think you probably ought to go now.’
‘Will she live?’
Maria gave a gentle smile. ‘We can’t say. She might be lucky, she might not. Who knows how these things are chosen?’
Who knows indeed?
Jenny whispered a final goodbye and made her way across the ward and along the interminable corridor that led eventually to the exit. She stepped out gratefully into the warm late-summer air. She looked up at the chestnut trees waving in the breeze and felt the life in them. A life majestic but uncaring, which existed only for its own sake. To hell with purpose. Life was life, and every scrap of it was miraculous and beautiful, and when you weighed it against the alternative there was no contest.
NOTE
MY INTEREST IN THE MACABRE and terrifying subject of biological weapons was first stimulated when I was a student in the 1980s and chanced on a second-hand copy of a book entitled A Higher Form of Killing: The Secret History of Chemical and Biological Warfare. It had been published in 1982 and was co-authored by the journalist Jeremy Paxman (now an eminent TV presenter) and Robert Harris (now an equally eminent novelist). The authors related the existence of a US biological weapons programme during the Vietnam War, and described failed attempts to create a biological weapon that would afflict only enemy combatants.
In the intervening years, I had followed developments in genetic science with great interest. DNA, the blueprint for life, consists of only four amino acids – known by the shorthand initials A, C, G and T – arranged in a coded sequence. Over the course of the last three decades, science has learned to cut and splice it with tremendous efficiency. Human DNA can now be decoded very quickly and cheaply and on an industrial scale. The hunt is now on to discover precisely what each DNA sequence codes for, and how this knowledge can be exploited for the development of medical treatments and, of course, for generating profit. Could all these advances, I wondered, be turned to darkly sinister purposes? On reading a revised 2002 edition of A Higher Form of Killing, I saw that Paxman and Harris had had the same thought: ‘The very success of the project to map the human genome opens the theoretical possibility of weapons designed to target sectors of the populations whose only offence is to share a race, gender or genetic predisposition.’
Eager to know if practising scientists shared this fear, I consulted with an eminent microbiologist, who explained to me in simple terms that it was theoretically possible to create an ethnic weapon, though the practicalities would present a considerable technical challenge. He used the analogy of keys and locks to explain the complex chemical interactions between bacteria and the cells they attack. But in theory, if you are able to isolate the proteins expressed by a gene specific to a particular ethnic group, you will have taken the first and most difficult step in the process of creating a bacterium engineered to attack only hosts containing that precise sequence of DNA.
Interestingly, while my contact was willing to talk about theoretical possibilities, he became more circumspect when it came to discussing what specific disease might be used as the basis for a weapon. I could see that he wouldn’t want to be associated with a story that took for its subject a highly emotive pathogen such as meningitis, so I didn’t trouble him again, and hence I am not quoting any experts by name as the sources of my information. I have learned that research into these highly dangerous organisms is an extremely delicate subject and, quite understandably, not one which those working in the field wish to be sensationalized or treated lightly. I hope I have not done so, but I nevertheless respect the wishes of scientists to remain squarely within the realms of present and practical reality.
The field of human genetics is moving so quickly and in so many unexpected directions that it is impossible to say what wonders may emerge over the next fifty to a hundred years; the possibilities – from smart drugs to treat cancer to therapies that promise to extend life to a span of several centuries – seem limitless. But almost more intriguing to me is whether the forces antagonistic to life will develop with equal alacrity and cunning. The most obvious example of how we have escaped one horror only to be faced with another is the evolution of superbugs, which have in effect been created by the antibiotics we developed to counter bacterial infection in the first place. In researching these phenomena I have been fascinated to read the scientific and philosophical debate over how and why life-threatening bacteria and viruses have evolved: they serve no function other than to make us ill; they are not part of any wider ecosystem; there is no need for them to exist. Having weighed the principal arguments, I was left asking myself whether the existence of these organisms is in fact evidence of an anti-life force in the world? I haven’t yet arrived at an answer, nor has science, but I’ve a feeling it’s a question that may be receiving a lot more of our attention in the future.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank my editor at Mantle, Maria Rejt, for her wise and perceptive comments on the manuscript and for being such a reassuring presence throughout the process: no writer could hope for better. Thank you also to my agent, Zoe Waldie, whose honest opinions and sound advice I value greatly. I am also indebted to my publicist, Katie James, and to Sophie Orme and all the unfailingly friendly team at Macmillan. I am extremely grateful to my wife, Patricia, for her help in editing and to all my family for the support they give me every day. Those who helped with my research into very sensitive areas of science and medicine have chosen to remain anonymous, but they know who they are and I thank them very much. Lastly, I would like to express my gratitude to all the readers who have written to me during the last year – your warm words are a constant source of inspiration and encouragement.
The Chosen Dead
M. R. Hall is a screenwriter, producer and former criminal barrister. Educated at Hereford Cathedral School and Worcester College, Oxford, he lives in Monmouthshire with his wife and two sons. Aside from writing,
his main passion is the preservation and planting of woodland. In his spare moments, he is mostly to be found among trees.
THE CHOSEN DEAD is the fifth novel in M. R. Hall’s CWA Gold Dagger shortlisted Coroner Jenny Cooper series.
www.m-r-hall.com
facebook.com/MRHallAuthor
@MRHall_books
Also in the Coroner Jenny Cooper series
The Coroner
The Disappeared
The Redeemed
The Flight
First published 2013 by Mantle
This electronic edition published 2013 by Mantle
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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ISBN 978-0-230-76124-7 EPUB
Copyright © M. R. Hall 2013
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Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT