by Ken McClure
Another long pause while Malloy, coffee mug cupped in two hands, considered. ‘I knew the man well,’ he said. ‘I didn’t like him much but we got on and I respected him as an able scientist. He was a lot of other things too- ambitious, insensitive, intolerant, obstinate: I wouldn’t have wanted my sister to marry him but he was anything but a fool and only a fool would have contemplated playing around with smallpox.’
‘I hear what you say,’ said Dewar. ‘But I have to go on the facts and they say he was up to no good.’
‘Oh, I accept that,’ said Malloy. ‘I just don’t think live smallpox was involved in the no-good he was up to.’
‘I can honestly say I hope to God you’re right about that,’ said Dewar with feeling. ‘Let’s look forward to Sandra being able to tell us what really happened before too long,’
‘Thanks for coming over last night,’ said Malloy. ‘I appreciate it.’
Dewar got up and started to put on his jacket. ‘It’s been a while since I drank myself to sleep.’
‘Me too,’ said Malloy.
The two men shook hands and Dewar started back for the city. The journey was uneventful and he got a knowing look from the desk clerk at his hotel when he asked for his key. He answered it with a stony stare before going upstairs to shower and change. He checked with the hospital; Sandra was still unconscious. He checked with Barron; the Iraqis still hadn’t shown any signs of leaving. He reported in to Sci-Med and was told that the contents of Malloy’s lab had reached Porton Down safely and were now being examined as a matter of urgency. There was nothing to do now but wait.
By Friday morning Dewar was starting to worry, not because Sandra was still in a coma but because the Iraqis were still not preparing to leave the city. This was not in the script. The fact that they were still there even started to cast doubt over Le Grice’s role.
‘We’re bored stiff,’ complained Barron when Dewar spoke to him in the afternoon. ‘What the hell are they waiting for?’
‘I’m damned if I know,’ replied Dewar. ‘But it sure isn’t going to come from the institute now. The Porton mob took away the lot.’
‘Maybe they’re just sitting tight to make us think we were wrong all along,’ suggested Barron.
‘Or maybe they’re waiting until a new target institute’s been identified and then they’ll move on.’
‘As long as it isn’t in the UK,’ said Barron.
‘Self, self, self,’ said Dewar.
Karen phoned just after five to say that she had arrived at her mother’s. When would he be joining them?’
‘About seven?’ replied Dewar tentatively.
‘No excuses,’ replied Karen in a sotto voce voice that suggested her mother was listening in.’
‘Would I?’ said Dewar.
‘Hmmm.’
As good as his word, Dewar turned up at the house in North Berwick just before seven and kissed Karen lightly on the cheek before doing the same to her mother and saying, ‘Good to see you again, Jean.’
‘I understand you’re working in Edinburgh just now, Adam. What brings you up here?’
‘A problem at one of the research institutes,’ replied Dewar, accepting the glass of sherry that Karen held out to him.
‘Nothing to do with that foreign student who hanged himself a few weeks ago by any chance?’
‘He was a student at the same institute,’ conceded Dewar.
‘Foreigners,’ snorted Jean, ‘Intrinsically unstable.’
Dewar looked at Karen who shot him a warning glance.
Dewar said nothing. He had prepared himself for an evening of reactionary nonsense from the woman in tweeds. He was not to be disappointed as Jean put forth her views on the absolute necessity of arming the police, using the handle of her knife to emphasise important points by banging it down on the table. She followed up with a treatise on repatriation of coloureds and the introduction of more stringent immigration laws. Finally she outlined her master plan of imposing curfews on all UK streets after ten in the evening. She was of course, willing to relax regulations on certain days like new years eve — ‘I’m not a monster, Adam.’ — and certain other festive dates. Naturally some people would have to be exempted from the rules.
Dewar couldn’t help but feel that among those would almost certainly be certain elderly women, wearing tweeds, body warmers and substantial stockings who lived in large comfortable houses in North Berwick on money left to them by their late husbands.
Karen, suspecting that Dewar’s patience was running thin, suggested that he and she should have a walk round the harbour before doing the dishes. Dewar leapt at the chance.
‘How come you turned out normal?’ he asked Karen as they walked down the cobbled street leading to the harbour.
‘She’s not as awful as she sounds,’ said Karen. ‘She has a good heart really.’
‘I’ll take your word for that,’ said Dewar ruefully.
‘Granddad — Mum’s father, was a colonel in the army like Dad. She’s always been used to standards influenced by the ruling classes. She didn’t like it when the world changed so she and her friends built a little world for themselves. They stick together and pretend nothing’s changed. They all have money so it’s not difficult to find tradesmen and professional people who will pander to them and maintain the illusion.
‘That still doesn’t answer my question. You’re not like her.’
‘I might have been had I not gone to university and learned to think for myself. Then I did voluntary service overseas and saw just how little some people had to live on. Working in Public Health has been a bit of an eye opener too, seeing just how little some people in this country have. Unlike my mother, I know what the real world’s like; I’m not afraid of it like she is. I have no illusions about it but I don’t feel threatened all the time. I feel okay.’
Dewar put his hand on Karen’s buttock and squeezed lightly. ‘Yup, you do,’ he agreed.
‘Trust you to lower the tone.’
‘Now you’re sounding like your mother.’
Karen gave him an elbow in the ribs and said, ‘You haven’t told me how your investigation’s going.’
Dewar told her what he could.
Karen shivered slightly and Dewar suggested they start back. ‘You are going to stay over?’ she asked.
‘If you want me too.’
‘Of course I want you to. Mother would take it as a personal slight if you didn’t.’
‘Even though she can’t stand the sight of me?’ said Dewar.
‘Don’t be silly. Being slightly to the right of Mussolini herself, she sees you as an incipient red menace because you care about people and tend to say so.’
‘So do you in your job,’ said Dewar.
‘Ah but she sees that differently. She thinks of me as doing charity work People like her have always done that. You know, the knitting socks for soldiers bit, the WVS tea van, driving ambulances and the like.
Dewar took a deep breath before they entered the house and Karen smiled. ‘I’m proud of you,’ she said. ‘Keep it up. She’s an early bedder.’
Karen’s mother asked if they’d noticed the graffiti down by the harbour. They hadn’t. ‘Young thugs with nothing better to do with themselves,’ declared Jean, using this as a starting point to expound her views on the shortcomings of the young and how they should be tackled. ‘And what do they get if they’re caught? Probation,’ she snorted. ‘As if that’s going to stop them. They’re laughing at authority, that’s what they’re doing.’
‘I think I know how to stop recidivism,’ said Dewar.
Karen shot him a warning glance but it was too late.
‘Really Adam?’
‘Hang first offenders,’ said Dewar with a straight face.
‘Well, you know my views about hanging, dear … ‘ Jean began then she realised she was being mocked. ‘That’s silly, Adam,’ she said with a sour expression.
Karen closed her eyes momentarily then said, ‘It’s about time we did the dishe
s, Adam.’
‘Right.’
‘I think I’ll go up to bed dear,’ said Jean. ‘I think I’ve got a migraine coming on.’ She kissed Karen on the cheek and said a frosty good night to Dewar.
‘And you were doing so well,’ said Karen, making a start to the washing up.
Dewar came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. ‘Sorry,’ he said, nuzzling her neck.
Karen moved her head to one side and held up her rubber gloved hands. ‘Don’t think you’re going to get round me that way,’ she said but she was smiling.
‘Are you going to let me come to your room?’
‘No, we agreed, it’s right next to Mother’s.’
‘Well, you can come to mine.’
‘You’re on the other side of her,’ said Karen.
‘I bet she planned it that way,’ complained Dewar. ‘With all that military background in the family, I bet she’s a tactical genius.
‘A little exercise in self restraint won’t do you any harm at all,’ said Karen.
‘On the other hand … ‘ said Dewar sliding his hands down on to Karen’s hips.
‘What? … ‘
‘I could have you right here over the kitchen sink.’ He slid his hands down further to grip Karen’s skirt and start hitching it up.
‘Adam!’ protested Karen in a stage whisper.
Dewar continued to nuzzle the side of her neck as he brought her skirt right up over her bottom and drew her back into him.
‘I don’t really … think this … is a very …good idea,’ moaned Karen in a voice that suggested it wasn’t entirely a bad one. ‘You randy b … ‘
‘Karen darling, I should have said, you really must use up the … ‘ Jean’s voice behind them faded away. Dewar closed his eyes and prayed for the ground to open up. Karen just froze.
‘Well, really!’
‘Oh God, tell me that didn’t happen,’ prayed Dewar aloud.
‘It did,’ said Karen, who was now taking the situation better than Dewar. She even found the look on Dewar’s face amusing. ‘Well, that cured your randiness, didn’t it?’
‘Damned right,’ replied Dewar, still stricken with embarrassment. ‘I may never rise again.’
‘It’s not the end of the world,’ said Karen. ‘I’m sure after all this time even my mother has worked out that we don’t spend all our time together playing Scrabble.’
‘Even though …’
The telephone rang and Karen left the kitchen to answer it. She returned saying, ‘It’s for you.’
‘I had to leave a number,’ Dewar apologised.
The call was from Ian Grant. ‘I’m at the hospital, Sandra Macandrew is showing signs of regaining consciousness. I thought you’d want to know.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Dewar explained to Karen that he’d have to go.
‘Saved by the bell,’ said Karen.
Dewar still looked embarrassed. ‘What should I do about your mother?’ he asked. ‘Apologise?’
Karen shook her head. ‘If I know my mother, she’ll pretend nothing ever happened. It’ll probably never be mentioned. Let’s just do the same.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dewar putting on his jacket.
‘I’m not,’ said Karen. ‘It’s rather nice to be wanted. Long may it continue.’
Dewar gunned the Rover up the thirty odd miles to Edinburgh in a little over thirty minutes. He found Grant seemingly having an argument with one of the medical staff. Both men were speaking in whispers but the fact that it was an argument was pumping up the volume. Grant caught sight of Dewar and looked relieved. ‘Good to see you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying to explain to Doctor Sellars here that you must speak to Miss Macandrew first.’
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Dewar.
Sellars looking harassed, said, ‘I’m under pressure from her parents. They know she’s coming round and they want to be with her. It’s only natural.’
Dewar nodded his understanding. ‘Maybe I should have a word with them?’
‘Worth a try,’ said Sellars, happy to pass the buck to anyone in the circumstances.
Dewar was shown into the room where a nurse was attempting to pacify Sandra’s parents.
‘This is outrageous,’ her father was complaining.
‘I’m sorry. I’m the cause of all this trouble,’ said Dewar, announcing his presence. He held out his hand and shook hands with both of Sandra’s parents. ‘I know this must all seem totally unreasonable but it’s vital I speak to Sandra first. She knows something that could conceivably affect the lives of millions of people.’
‘Our Sandra?’
Dewar nodded. ‘I think you can take it as a good sign that she’s coming out of her coma and you have my assurance that you’ll be allowed to sit with her as soon as possible. Please, just bear with me a little longer.’
The couple seemed satisfied if more than a little taken aback at what Dewar had told them. They sat down and Dewar left them alone with the nurse again.
‘Okay?’ asked Sellars.
‘For the moment,’ replied Dewar. ‘Can I see her now?’
Sellars led the way.
‘Sandra! Can you hear me?’ asked Sellars loudly.
Sandra moved her head on the pillow as if annoyed at the insistence in Sellars’ voice. ‘Go away,’ she murmured.
‘Come on now Sandra. Open your eyes.’
Sandra’s eyes opened like those of a toy doll that had been moved into an upright position. ‘How many fingers Sandra?’ asked Sellars, holding up three fingers.
‘Three, ‘ replied Sandra.
‘How many now?’ Sellars held up four.
Sandra moved her head from side to side again in a gesture of annoyance. ‘Four,’ she mumbled.
‘Good. Who’s the prime minister?’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Come on now, Sandra. Tell me who the prime minister is.’
‘Blair,’ mumbled Sandra.
‘Who? Louder.’
‘Blair. Tony bloody Blair.’
‘All yours,’ said Sellars to Dewar.
FOURTEEN
Sellars left Dewar alone with Sandra and the machines that monitored her every breath, their gentle bleeps and clicks creating a soothing background, the coloured LEDs complementing the subdued night-lighting in the room. He moved a chair up to side of the bed and sat down facing Sandra with his elbows resting on the edge.
‘Sandra, do you remember me?’ he asked. Unlike Sellars he didn’t raise his voice; his face was very close to hers.
Sandra’s eyes flicked open then closed again. A good ten seconds passed before she replied, ‘Dewar.’
Dewar felt elated. There was nothing wrong with Sandra’s long-term memory. There was of course, still the possibility that accident trauma had wiped out memory of the incident with the car and possibly for some time before it. This was very common.
‘Sandra, do you remember what happened to you?’
Again Sandra’s eyes flickered open momentarily then closed again as if she’d found her eyelids too heavy. ‘Hospital,’ she said slowly.
‘Do you know why you’re in hospital?’
Sandra made a sound as if she were about to answer then she stopped and exhaled. She did the same twice more then uttered, ‘No.’
So there was memory loss. This was bad news. If she couldn’t remember anything about the accident right now, there was no guarantee she ever would. It was impossible to predict what might happen in cases like this. She might remember everything within a couple of days or nothing at all for the rest of her life. The big question now was, how much of what had gone on before the accident could she remember?
‘You had an accident on your bicycle, Sandra.’
‘Bike,’ repeated Sandra. The word did not seem to trigger any special memory for her.
‘You don’t remember?’
‘Bike. No.’
‘Do you remember Pierre, Sandra? Pierre in the lab.’
‘That’s right. He’s French. Tell me what else you remember about him.’
‘In the lab. He was in the lab.’ Sandra moved her head uncomfortably. Dewar felt encouraged. He’d pushed the right button.
‘When was he in the lab, Sandra? The last time you were there?’
‘Last time … yes.’
‘I think you came across him doing something wrong in the lab, Sandra. Is that right? What was he doing?’
‘The sequence,’ replied Sandra as if she was recalling something unpleasant. She frowned and tried opening her eyes again. This time she managed a few seconds before closing them again.
‘What sequence?’
‘DNA … Smallpox DNA. Not ours.’
Dewar felt his throat tighten a little with excitement. ‘Not yours?’ he said gently. He desperately didn’t want to upset Sandra’s train of thought.
‘Not our fragments.’
‘How did you know that, Sandra?’ he asked. ‘How did you find that out?’
‘Computer … Pierre left sequence in computer. I ran … database check. Not our smallpox.’
‘Let me see. You found a DNA sequence in the computer. It had been entered by Pierre and it was the sequence of a smallpox fragment that your lab was not supposed to have. Have I got that right?’
Sandra nodded her head on the pillow. She seemed pleased and relieved to have got it across successfully.
Dewar had understood what she’d said but he didn’t quite understand the implications. He frowned and said, ‘But the sequence of the smallpox virus is available to all scientists. Anyone can access it in the DNA database. ‘What was odd about finding a bit of it on the computer?’
This time Sandra shook her head as if to signify a misunderstanding. ‘Pierre’s sequence,’ she said. ‘Not from database.’
Suddenly Dewar realised what she meant. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t a sequence he’d taken from the database, it was a DNA sequence that he’d put in. Something he’d got from an experiment he’d done in the lab. It was you who checked it against the database to find out what it was?’
A relieved nod from Sandra.
‘So Pierre was working in the lab with smallpox fragments that he shouldn’t have had access to?’