by John Holt
“A mutation,” Dawson repeated. “What do you mean?”
Clark nodded his head, and looked at Dawson. “As I say it is early days, and we need to do a lot more research. But it seems that it is not a new virus. We have certainly seen something similar previously.” He shook his head once again. “Similar, I said, but not the same. So it looks like there has been a change, somehow.”
“Why would that be?” Dawson asked.
“Any number of things, Mr. Dawson,” Clark replied. He paused for a few moments. “Environment for one, climate change I suppose, temperature, that kind of thing.” He paused once again. “Previous use of drugs, it may have become immune to our drugs. We just don’t know yet. As I said it’s early days.”
Dawson sighed and shook his head. “If it is similar to a previous virus, one that we already know about, does that mean it will be easier to treat?”
“I’m afraid not necessarily,” Clark replied. “Certainly, it gives us somewhere to start, that’s true, but if it is immune to our drugs then we are really back at square one.”
Dawson nodded. “I see. So what exactly is happening in connection with the search for a cure?” He paused, and shook his head. “A possible cure, I should say.”
* * *
For the next forty minutes Clark gave details of what Trenton were doing in that connection. “So we are working closely with the health authorities, and the World Health Organization. We are working hard to find an effective vaccine. We’ll do it, don’t you worry about that. It’s just a matter of time, that’s all.”
Dawson nodded. “Let’s hope that it isn’t too long.”
Clark nodded. “Well, if I can help you any further please give me a call,” he said. “I have enjoyed our little talk, but I really have to go now. I’ve a meeting, I’m afraid. Rather an important one.”
Dawson stood up, and nodded. “Oh yes, of course. Thank you so much for your help. I’m sure that I will need to come back, though.”
“No problem,” said Clark, as he led Dawson to the door. “That will be just fine.”
* * *
It was on his second visit to Trenton a few days later, that Dawson decided to ask about Punta Rojas
“This epidemic,” Dawson said, “apparently, it started in a little place in Costa Rica. A place called Punta Rojas. I’ve looked it up on the map. It’s a small village, miles from anywhere.”
Clark nodded. “It sounds a typical situation. Epidemics tend to start in small, isolated places. Bad water probably, poor sanitation, and inadequate medicines. Oh yes, it sounds quite typical.”
“Have you ever heard of the place, Mr. Clark?” Dawson asked suddenly.
Clark looked surprised and shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “Except in the present circumstances, that is.” He shook his head once again. “In fact I’m sure that in normal circumstances I would not have recognized the name. I can quite honestly say that I have never heard of the place.”
Dawson was not entirely convinced. What was it that Clark had said on their first meeting? We have certainly seen something similar previously. Was there any connection between Punta Rojas now, and Punta Rojas in 2005?
“Strange,” he replied. “It’s really odd. I was sure that I had heard somewhere that Trenton Pharmaceuticals had a small setup in that very spot some time ago. In fact I had an email from someone with some photographs attached. They were convinced that Trenton had been there.”
Clark shook his head. “They must have been mistaken, I’m afraid,” he said. “We haven’t been there.”
Dawson sighed. “It was about five years ago, somewhere in the Javea Valley.”
Clark shook his head and smiled. “No. I’m afraid that I had never heard of Punta Rojas, not until this outbreak that is. Sorry I can’t help you. I don’t know where you are getting your information from, but you are mistaken. Trenton has never operated in Costa Rica. I think you’ll find that Mexico is the nearest office we have. I’ll check that out for you.” He made a note on a pad. Then he nodded. “Perhaps it was one of our competitors, D G Lawrence and Company. They have a place in Costa Rica, I think. Perhaps it was them.”
Dawson shook his head and smiled. “They are in Nicaragua, not Costa Rica,” he said. “I have already checked.”
Clark nodded. “That’s right. It is Nicaragua. You are very well informed, Mr. Dawson.” There was a pause. “I’ll do a check for you. Find out exactly where our rivals are in that part of the world.” He made another note on his pad.
Dawson sighed. He wasn’t getting very far. He reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. “I wonder if you would like to have a look at this.” He opened the envelope and took out a small photograph. He placed it on the desk in front of Clark. “Do you recognize anything?” he asked.
Clark picked the photograph up and examined it closely. Then he smiled and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “Should I?”
Dawson leant forward. “That’s you, isn’t?” He pointed. “And that other man, standing next to you, that is someone by the name of Luis Ramone.”
Clark smiled and shook his head. “Really,” he said. “I’m sorry but it means nothing to me.” He slowly handed the photograph back to Dawson. “That isn’t me, Mr. Dawson, and I do not know anyone by the name of Ramone. Sorry.”
Dawson shook his head and placed the photograph back into the envelope. Then he slowly returned it to his pocket.
‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you,” Clark said. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I really have to go now, I’m afraid.”
Dawson smiled. “I understand,” he replied, as he stood up. “Thank you, once again, for your help.”
Clark nodded and smiled. “It wasn’t much, I’m afraid. If you need anything else please don’t hesitate. Just give me a call.”
“I’ll do that,” Dawson said as he started walking towards the door.
Clark walked with him and opened the door. “You have a safe trip home now,” he said. “I’ll get that information for you as soon as I can. Now, goodbye, my secretary will see you out. It was nice meeting you.”
Dawson stepped out into the lobby. Clark closed the door behind him and went back to his desk. He was no longer smiling. He picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“Vickers,” he said, when his call had been answered. “I have a little job for you, now.”
* * *
Chapter Nine
Kendall Detective Agency
The Rican flu virus continued to spread throughout the Central American region unabated, and in a very short time cases were being reported in several of the Caribbean islands, including Cuba, Jamaica, and The Dominican Republic. Several of the islands had imposed bans on incoming flights with immediate effect, and several hotels were closed until further notice.
* * *
“La Prensa,” Mexico City, Saturday – “There have been another eight cases of Rican flu confirmed today, according to the Mexican authorities. This brings the total to thirty-two since the first case was reported three days ago. Senor Chavez, the Chief Medical Advisor has reported that all eight patients are suffering respiratory problems, and several have a rash to the upper part of the body. Three of the new cases are from the same family: Felipe Manolita, a farmer from the Tampico area, his mother, and his young son Miguel.
One of the other cases is of a young English tourist on holiday in Cancun. The patient, William Russell, aged twenty-three, arrived from Liverpool three days ago. He complained of feeling ill on the second day of his holiday. He has been taken to Cancun General Hospital, where he is being kept in isolation. His condition is reported as being extremely serious. The Hotel Grande Sol, where the tourist was staying, together with two neighboring hotels, has been quarantined whilst tests are being carried out.”
“El Nacional,” Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, Saturday – “As the Rican flu continues to spread through the Caribbean, four cases were confirmed in the north of
the island today. All four cases are said to be mild.”
“The Daily Gleaner”, Kingston, Jamaica, Saturday – “The Health Ministry has reported that three cases of Rican flu were confirmed on Thursday evening. All three are from the same family, and they have recently returned from a holiday in the Dominican Republic, where four cases have been previously reported. There have been several other confirmed cases of the so-called Rican Flu in Central and South America. To date it is believed that there have been over three thousand cases, and almost one hundred and fifty deaths. So far there have been no cases reported outside of the Americas.”
Havana, Cuba, Reuters, Saturday – “Community health clinics and hospitals are on full alert today, following confirmation of the first cases of Rican flu in Jamaica, just a few miles from Cuba’s shores. Medical staff has been thoroughly briefed on the Rican flu virus, according to doctors speaking on behalf of the Ministry of Public Health. The director of the Salvador Allende Hospital in Havana said that the facility is prepared to be the main treatment centre should cases of Rican flu appear among the Cuban population. That hospital was also the main hub for treatment during last year’s outbreak of dengue fever, a disease transmitted by mosquitoes. Now the hospital has set aside a 50-bed intensive care unit to be used if the epidemic reaches the island. The Interior Ministry has issued a ban on all flights into the country, from infected areas, with immediate effect.”
* * *
On the north side of Miami there is an area known as Sunny Isles. It is a booming resort area, popular with the tourists, and the locals alike. Bordered by the Atlantic Ocean to the east, and the Intracoastal Waterway to the west, it has a population of just over fifteen thousand people. It is home to a number of exclusive hotels, together with modern office buildings, and luxury apartments. Along the main thoroughfare through the area, Collins Avenue, there is a wide range of designer stores, including Harry Winstone, Gucci, and Armani.
Situated at 16000 Collins Avenue is a small modern office complex, two storeys high, located in landscaped grounds, just a short distance from the beach. Apart from fully serviced office suites, the complex also includes meeting rooms, video conferencing facilities, and a full time reception. At the eastern end of the first floor is home of the Kendall Detective Agency.
* * *
The Kendall Detective Agency had been in residence for a little over four months. The agency hadn’t exactly been swamped out with work subsequently, although it had been reasonably steady. Not that Tom Kendall was worried at all. His last job, involving the Marinski jewels had paid off quite handsomely, eventually.
Apart from all of the modern facilities included in the complex, Kendall had also provided his suite with the very latest computer wizardry. Not that he understood it all. In that respect he was very much the novice, but he was learning. He also had the good foresight to include a rather large comfortable sofa as part of the office furniture.
Kendall, and his secretary, Mollie, had now established something of a routine. Twice a week Mollie pampered herself at a local beauty parlour, and twice a week Kendall went out for his jog.
* * *
Tom Kendall had just got back from his run along the beach, and was lying semi-conscious on the sofa. It had gone quite well that morning, and, although he was extremely tired, he was gradually getting used to it. He tried to go at least twice a week, going further and further each time and gradually getting quicker and quicker. He was beginning to feel a little healthier, he thought. So the health regime, that Mollie had suggested, seemed to be working, although he wasn’t sure that he had actually lost any weight. Not yet anyway. Too soon, he thought, much too soon. No it wasn’t just that. It was too many of those cream doughnuts, and the chocolates that he was so fond of, more than likely. And the burgers, and the fries, and the pizza and the …
Try as he might he still had not cut down on the “baddies”, as Mollie called them. In fact he thought that he was actually eating more of them. Sure, he knew that they were bad for a person. They were full of saturated fats, and calories, and a prime cause of high cholesterol. What was it that Mollie said about them? They were a heart attack on a plate that was it. But he did so enjoy them. You can’t do it all in one go, can you? You had to build up very slowly, but surely. At least he was taking a bit of exercise. That was something, wasn’t it? That was progress. It was a start. That would have been un-heard of a few short weeks ago. Rome wasn’t built in a day, he muttered. Besides, he was working on it, wasn’t he? What more could he do? Be reasonable! What was that old saying? Learn to walk before you can run. All right, all right, so that wasn’t entirely the saying he was looking for. Act in haste repent at leisure. That was it, act in haste. How true that saying was! That was more like it. That was his story anyway, and he was sticking to it.
* * *
There was a loud tap on the door. Kendall opened his eyes and sighed. Then there was a second tap on the door, louder this time. Why doesn’t Mollie answer the door? There was a third knock. Kendall sighed once again, and sat up. Mollie was nowhere to be seen. Then he heard her in the kitchen making some coffee. He reluctantly swung his legs down from the desk, and walked over towards the door. There was yet another tap. Louder still, and now sounding impatient.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he murmured. Keep your shirt on. He opened the door. Two people were standing in the corridor, an elderly lady, and a young man.
“Mr. Kendall?” the young man asked. “Mr. Tom Kendall?”
Kendall nodded. “I’m Tom Kendall.” he replied. “What can I do for you?”
The lady took a step forward. “We hope that you can help us,” she said. “It’s about my son, Richard. He was murdered a few weeks ago.”
Kendall looked at her. It was obvious that she had been crying, and crying quite a lot. He looked at the young man. The man took a deep breath, and nodded his head. “We are depending on it, Mr. Kendall,” he said. “We are desperate.”
“Depending on it,” Kendall thought. “We are desperate.” Kendall shook his head and looked at the man for a few more moments. What was so urgent, he wondered. He continued to stare at the young man for a moment or two longer, hoping for an answer. There was nothing. Kendall shook his head and turned his attention to the lady. Late sixties, smartly dressed, distinguished. She was gently sobbing. Kendall nodded slowly, and took a deep breath. “Do come in,” he said, as he stepped back from the doorway. As he did so there was a sudden noise behind him as Mollie returned from the kitchen. Kendall shook his head, and coughed to clear his throat. “Mollie, my secretary,” he explained, smiling. “Two more cups, please, Mollie,” he called out. “And please could you bring some of those …”
“I know,” Mollie said quickly. “Chocolate biscuits coming right up.” She turned around and returned to the kitchen.
“Please,” Kendall said. “Do sit down.” He indicated the two chairs on the opposite side of his desk. He watched them both as they sat down. The young man was extremely attentive, as he helped the lady into her seat. On close inspection Kendall could see that he too had been crying. Kendall took another deep breath. “All right,” he continued. “What is this all about?” he asked.
The young man looked at the lady and nodded. He turned back to face Kendall. “Mr. Kendall,
“My name is Peter Dawson,” he said. “This is my mother. Three weeks ago my brother, Richard, was killed. His body was found in the car park area behind the Trenton Tower.” He paused for a moment. “You may have read about it.”
Kendall thought for a few minutes. He shook his head. it didn’t sound particularly familiar. “The Trenton Tower,” he repeated. Then he suddenly nodded his head. He had read something about it, he thought vaguely. It wasn’t much of a story, a few short lines, and that was it. And as far as he could recall it was of no real significance. He had barely taken any real interest in it, merely giving it a casual glance, as he made his way towards the Sports pages. After all it was just another accident, wasn�
��t it? One of hundreds, if not thousands, that happened every day of the year. Most of them were never even mentioned in the paper. Not newsworthy enough. Not unique enough. Just another death, that was all.
In fact, as far as he could recall, this particular story had only been featured because the young man had worked for the newspaper or something similar. But she had said that he had been murdered. He couldn’t quite remember the finite details of the story, but as far as he could recall there had been no mention of murder. It had been reported as a simple, tragic, accident. It was unfortunate, but there you are. That’s how the cookie crumbles, that’s how the ball bounces. Not really of any real interest, simple as that. Just a paragraph or two on page eight, or ten, or somewhere, he thought. He tried hard to remember what was actually said.
He suddenly nodded his head. “I remember it vaguely,” he said. “I remember reading something about it at the time. A dreadful accident I understand. He fell or slipped, or tripped or something, I seem to recall. Over a wall, or was it a fence, or something. I’m sorry it’s all a little vague. There was the coroner’s report. Accidental death was the decision, I think. Just like that, so simple. I really am very sorry.”
The young man shook his head. He was disappointed, but he was not at all surprised at Kendall’s reaction. He sighed. Of course he realized that there was absolutely no reason why Kendall should feel any differently. There was no reason why he should remember the story. It was just another death that had occurred that day. Just another statistic entered into the records. “Accidents for the second quarter are up by 3.6%.” It was just figures, that was all, meaningless figures. But this wasn’t just a figure, was it? This wasn’t just a percentage point on a chart. This was personal. This was his brother. This wasn’t an accident. This was something much more serious. Kendall would naturally be skeptical, he believed that it was an accident, plain and simple, because that’s what the newspaper had said. The young man knew that it was up to him to convince Kendall otherwise. He shrugged his shoulders, and sighed once again. All right, so it was going to be difficult, but it had to be done.