Wildcard sd-3

by Ken McClure

  Steven stared hard at Williams, his dark eyes accusing him of lying.

  ‘Who did you say you worked for?’ asked Williams.

  ‘I’m an investigator with the Sci-Med Inspectorate,’ said Steven.

  ‘What kind of investigator’s that, then?’

  Steven pulled out the gun from the holster under his arm. He didn’t point it at Williams but let it rest in the palm of his hand. ‘One with a gun,’ he replied.

  Williams’s eyes opened like organ stops. ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘The UK’s a hair’s breadth away from having to declare a national emergency, and all because we can’t find out where the virus is coming from. You know more about it than you’re letting on, and that’s making me angry, Mr Williams. Tell me what you know.’

  The threat had the desired effect. Williams, who couldn’t take his eyes off the gun, said, ‘All right, for Christ’s sake. Put that thing away. I’ll tell you.’

  Williams had to clear his throat and regain his composure before he could begin. Steven waited patiently.

  ‘Two Americans,’ said Williams. ‘They recruited Maureen and another woman.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘It was a nursing job, looking after two very sick people, they said.’

  ‘Why them? Your wife has retired from nursing, hasn’t she?’

  ‘They needed a particular kind of nurse. Maureen and the other woman had both trained as fever nurses, and apparently fever nurses are like gold dust these days. They said it was very important.’

  ‘Were the nurses told what was wrong with these people?’ asked Steven.

  ‘Not exactly, just that they should take every precaution in dealing with them.’

  ‘But why would anyone in their right mind take on such a job?’ asked Steven.

  Williams looked at the floor and said almost inaudibly, ‘Three thousand pounds each, that’s why.’

  It was Steven’s turn to be surprised. He let out a low whistle. ‘And part of the deal was that they didn’t say anything about it?’

  Williams nodded.

  ‘Who were these Americans?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How did they pay?’

  ‘Cash in advance.’

  ‘Where were the patients?’

  ‘Somewhere up in the hills behind Capel Curig. They weren’t supposed to tell anyone, but Maureen told me that much.’

  Steven looked silently at Williams for a moment, and the man put his hands to his eyes and began to sob. ‘I’m going to lose her,’ he said. ‘I never thought for one minute that anything like this would happen. We were going to use the money to visit Malcolm and his wife in Australia. It’s ten years since we last saw them.’

  ‘There’s still hope,’ said Steven softly. He had got what he wanted, so there was no need to play the hard man any more and he felt for the man. There was every chance that the welcome addition of cash to the Williams household was going to pay for his wife’s funeral. ‘Did Maureen say anything at all about the patients she nursed?’ he asked.

  Williams shook his head. ‘She told me not to ask.’

  ‘This other woman. Was her name Mair Jones, by any chance?’ asked Steven.

  Williams nodded. ‘That’s her. She went off to Majorca. I think she was scared she was going to get the virus, too. She wanted to have a last fling in the sun in case it happened.’

  Just in case, thought Steven.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ asked Williams.

  ‘Please.’

  When he returned to his car Steven called the duty man at Sci-Med and told him about Mair Jones. He wanted her found in Majorca and brought back to the UK as soon as possible.

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘She has vital information about the virus epidemic. Pull out all the stops and get her back here under any pretext you like — get Special Branch to go out there and kidnap her, if necessary.’

  ‘Would you like to have a word with Mr Macmillan?’

  ‘He’s there?’ exclaimed Steven, automatically looking at his watch and seeing that it was after two-thirty.

  ‘Been here all night.’

  Macmillan came on the line. ‘Dunbar, where are you?’

  ‘I’m in Wales. You’re up late.’

  ‘There was a long meeting of the national emergency committee. We couldn’t agree, so we’re still holding off.’

  ‘Good,’ said Steven. ‘Maureen Williams isn’t a wildcard, she’s a contact.’

  ‘You know how she got it?’ exclaimed Macmillan.

  ‘Just that she got it from someone else. It’s all a bit complicated at the moment.’ He told Macmillan what he’d learned and about the need to find Mair Jones.

  ‘I think the Home Secretary’s still in the building,’ said Macmillan. ‘I’ll have a word and impress on him the importance of finding her.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What will you do in the meantime?’

  ‘Go back to the hospital in the morning and see if Mrs Williams regains consciousness.’

  Steven opted to drive into Bangor rather than return to Caernarfon. He thought his chances of finding a hotel open in the early hours of the morning might be better in a bigger place, and so it proved. There was no chance of getting anything to eat, but at least he found a bed for what remained of the night and a bathroom with hot running water. There was an electric kettle in the room, with sachets of tea, coffee, sugar and whitener and, thankfully, a few biscuits. He had a warm bath, then dined on instant coffee and digestive biscuits. Luckily he was so tired that he fell asleep quickly, putting his hunger on hold until the morning.

  The consultant in charge of the special unit at Caernarfon General, Dr Charles Runcie, had been made aware of Steven’s interest in the case. He smiled and offered his hand. ‘I don’t think I can tell you any more than my houseman, Roger Morton, did last night,’ he said.

  ‘But I can tell you something,’ said Steven. He told Runcie of his success in establishing that Maureen Williams was no wildcard case.

  ‘A nursing job!’ exclaimed Runcie. ‘So what in God’s name happened to her patients?’

  ‘That’s what we have to find out,’ said Steven. ‘They’re trying to trace Mair Jones at the moment. I don’t suppose she ever came here in person?’

  The consultant shook his head and said, ‘I think not. There would have been no point. We would only have given out information to relatives.’

  ‘What are the chances of getting any information out of Mrs Williams?’

  ‘Slim,’ replied Runcie. ‘Frankly, I don’t think she’s going to last beyond-’

  There was a commotion outside, then the door burst open and they saw a harassed-looking woman trying to restrain another woman.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dr Runcie, but this woman insists on seeing Mrs Williams. She seems to think she knows something about her husband’s disappearance.’

  ‘I’m afraid Mrs Williams cannot receive visitors because of her condition,’ said Runcie calmly. He got up from his chair. ‘Mrs…?’

  ‘Doig, Karen Doig. I’m sorry to burst in like this, but there seemed to be no other way. We’ve been trying to see Mrs Williams for the past two days, and I’m at my wits’ end — we’re both at our wits’ end,’ she added. She gestured at a man who, looking slightly embarrassed, was hovering in the background. ‘This is Ian Patterson. His wife, Amy, and my husband, Peter, have disappeared from a company field station near Capel Curig where they were working, and Mrs Williams knows something about it.’

  Runcie looked at Steven and said, ‘I’m sorry, the world seems to have gone mad this morning.’

  Steven’s bemused detachment had changed when he heard Capel Curig being mentioned. He ignored Runcie’s apology and asked, ‘What kind of field station?’

  It was Runcie’s turn to look bemused. He turned to his secretary, who was smoothing herself down, and said, ‘Claire, do you think you could bring us all some coffee?’

  ‘Peter and Amy bot
h work for a company called Lehman Genomics, just outside Edinburgh,’ explained Karen. ‘They were sent down to the company’s field station here in Wales, and now both of them have disappeared. The company claims that they ran off together, but we won’t accept that until we have more than Lehman’s word for it. We came to find out for ourselves.’

  ‘Where does Mrs Williams come into it?’ asked Steven.

  ‘She was one of a party of four people who stopped in Capel Curig about twelve days ago and asked for directions to the field station. There were two American men and two local women — one was Mrs Williams. We’ve been able to establish that at least one of the men worked for Lehman, but the company denied all knowledge of this when we phoned them earlier.’

  Steven was beginning to feel that his luck had turned. ‘Mrs Doig,’ he said, ‘you don’t realise it but you’ve done your country a great service by coming here this morning.’

  Karen was not the only one to look puzzled, but Steven was already on the phone to Sci-Med. ‘I need to know everything about Lehman Genomics’ was his request.

  Runcie asked to be excused, but said Steven was welcome to use his office for as long as necessary. Steven questioned Karen and Ian Patterson closely for the next thirty minutes, trying to establish whether there was a connection between the company and the virus outbreak. He didn’t say as much, but it was clear that Peter Doig and Amy Patterson were the two patients Maureen Williams and Mair Jones had been recruited to nurse.

  ‘Have you no idea at all what Peter and Amy were working on?’ asked Steven.

  ‘They weren’t allowed to say,’ replied Patterson. ‘Secrecy is important to research companies like Lehman.’

  ‘What kind of scientist is your wife?’

  ‘She’s an immunologist.’

  ‘Not a virologist?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And Peter?’ asked Steven, turning to Karen.

  ‘He’s a medical lab technician by training. He worked at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh from the time he graduated, but he got fed up with the low pay. The job with Lehman came up about nine months ago.’

  Steven nodded. ‘I take it he didn’t say what he was working on, either?’

  ‘’Fraid not, although he did have a name for it. He called it the Snowball project. Maybe it was a pet name he made up. I’m not sure.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Steven with heartfelt sincerity. He had the link he was looking for. The disk with the heart valve recipients’ names on it had been headed ‘SNOWBALL 2000’. He said, ‘Could I ask you folks to show me the way to this field station?’

  ‘It burned down,’ said Patterson.

  ‘The night before we got here,’ added Karen. ‘But there was no one inside at the time, although the company Land-Rover that Peter and Amy had used was still parked there.’

  ‘But they had gone?’ said Steven.

  ‘Yes, but we’re not sure how. The police checked the local taxi firms for us but with no joy.’

  Steven felt a hollowness creep into his stomach. He didn’t like what he was hearing, but he tried his best not to show it. ‘I think I’d like to take a look at the place anyway,’ he said.

  ‘That’s how we felt,’ said Karen.

  ‘Did the police have any idea what caused the fire?’ Steven asked.

  ‘They didn’t say,’ replied Patterson. ‘But they obviously kept some pretty inflammable chemicals there. There was only a burned-out shell left.’

  Steven’s hollow feeling got worse. ‘There’s no point in us all going,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we arrange to meet later-’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted Karen. ‘You haven’t told us what you know about this. Who are you exactly, and what’s going on?’

  ‘You’re quite right and I’m sorry,’ conceded Steven. ‘If you’ll just bear with me for the moment, I promise I’ll tell you as much as I can later on.’

  Reluctantly, Karen and Patterson agreed, but only after getting a firm undertaking from Steven that he would meet them again that evening. They then gave him directions to the field station.

  Steven called Sci-Med as soon as he got to his car, and asked if there was any information available about Lehman Genomics yet.

  ‘Reputable biotech company, American parent company, shares rose thirty per cent last year, several products licensed and doing well in the marketplace, strong research group believed to be working on transplant organs from animal sources, UK arm fronted by Paul Grossart, a former senior lecturer in biochemistry at the University of Leicester. Any use?’

  ‘Transplant organs from animal sources,’ repeated Steven slowly. ‘Any more information on that?’

  ‘There’s a rumour going around that they pulled the plug on a major animal project recently.’

  ‘I’ll bet they did,’ murmured Steven. ‘It was called the Snowball project. Any more from Porton about Sister Mary’s heart valve?’

  ‘No. What more do you want? They say there was nothing wrong with it. It was in good working order and a perfect immunological match for her.’

  ‘Ask them to carry out a DNA sequence on it,’ said Steven. ‘As fast as they possibly can.’

  ‘What are they looking for?’

  ‘Let them tell us that,’ said Steven.

  ‘Okay, you’re calling the shots. Anything else?’

  ‘Not right now.’

  ‘Word is that Special Branch have located Mair Jones in Majorca. She should be back in the UK by this evening.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Steven followed the directions he’d been given and three hours later he found himself high on a Welsh hillside, collar up, shoulders hunched against a bitter wind, looking at the charred remains of the field station. The bad feeling he’d been harbouring was made worse by the sight of the twisted metal frame of the Land-Rover. Unlike Karen Doig and Ian Patterson, who saw its presence as a puzzle, he feared it was stating the obvious: that Peter Doig and Amy Patterson had never left. They — or more correctly their bodies — were still here.

  The police had found no human remains, but he suspected that that was exactly what they had been set up to find. Finding nothing suspicious, they would have no further interest in the building, which would be left as a ruin but still be owned by Lehman, who would leave it untouched in perpetuity. Steven examined the stone-flagged floor, which had largely been cleared of debris during the initial search, but ash and carbon dust had filled all the cracks so that it was impossible to tell if any of the flagstones had been disturbed before the fire. He looked around outside and found a metal bar he could use as a lever. He started in the centre of the first of the ground-floor rooms, but by the time he’d raised four of the heavy stones he’d decided that this was no job for one man on his own. He called in the local police for assistance.

  Two hours went by before one of the officers doing the digging called out that he’d found something. He held up a human femur like a fish he’d just caught. The talking stopped and for a moment the only sound was that of the wind blowing through the ruins. ‘There’s more,’ said the officer almost apologetically.

  Steven took little pleasure in having his worst fears realised. As he’d suspected, the burned-out building had been obscuring the site of an earlier cremation.

  ‘Almost the perfect murder,’ said the inspector in charge of the operation, who was clearly embarrassed that the police had overlooked this possible reason why the Land-Rover was still there.

  ‘No,’ said Steven, without taking his eyes off the bones being removed gingerly from the trench and laid on a tarpaulin beside the rim. ‘It was natural causes.’

  ‘What? How can you possibly say that?’

  ‘These are the remains of two scientists who were sent here to work. I think they fell ill with the same virus that’s been affecting Manchester — don’t ask me how. They were given expert nursing care, but they died. Their employers sought to cover up their deaths by cremating them and burying their remains beneath the floor, before setting fire
to the building itself.’

  ‘Bloody hell, you’ve got that all worked out,’ said the inspector. ‘Dare I ask what the reason was?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ replied Steven sadly. ‘Ask me that tomorrow.’

  He drove back to Caernarfon with a heavy heart: he would have to break the news to Karen Doig and Ian Patterson. He had arranged to meet them at a hotel near the castle, but didn’t want to tell them in a public place, so he called Charles Runcie at Caernarfon General and asked if he could provide more suitable surroundings.

  ‘My office?’ suggested Runcie.

  ‘Perfect,’ agreed Steven. ‘I’d like you to be there too, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Whatever you think,’ replied Runcie.

  Telling the pair was as awful as Steven had imagined. The look that came into Karen’s eyes when he told her that Peter was dead was something that would remain with him for a long time. After that she collapsed into tears and Runcie did his best to comfort her. Ian Patterson seemed to take the news about his wife more stoically. He sat very still in his chair, looking wordlessly at the floor, but then Steven saw tears start to fall, and he felt a lump come to his own throat.

  Even in her pain, Karen was thinking. ‘How can you be sure,’ she asked, ‘if there was only… bones and ash?’

  ‘I know,’ agreed Steven. ‘It will take DNA profiling to be absolutely certain, but all the circumstances point to it being Peter and Amy.’

  ‘I don’t understand any of this. How could they possibly get the virus? And why would anyone want to keep it a secret and cover it up?’

  ‘I think Lehman Genomics can tell us that,’ replied Steven softly. ‘In fact, I think they can tell us how everyone got the virus.’

  ‘That bastard, Paul Grossart!’ exploded Karen. ‘He knew all along what had happened to them! And he let us go on thinking…’

  ‘In the long run he’ll answer for it,’ said Steven. ‘I promise.’

  Karen and Ian were persuaded to stay overnight in Caernarfon and drive back to Scotland the following day. Their original instinct had been to leave for home immediately, but Runcie persuaded them that neither was in a fit state to undertake a long drive; they should wait until morning. Besides, the police would probably need a word with them before they left.