by Ken McClure
‘Can I call you tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I’d like to know how you get on.’
‘That wouldn’t be my reason for calling you…’ said Steven, making deliberate eye contact.
Tally smiled and said, ‘Steven… I know we’re attracted to each other but logic says that this isn’t going anywhere… My life is here and you’re just passing through.’
‘It’s not that far from London.’
‘It would never work.’
‘We could make it work.’
Steven put down his glass and took Tally’s hands in his. Tally looked as if she was having difficulty with an inner struggle. Her head was telling her one thing but her body quite another. Steven took her in his arms and kissed her. Tally was tentative at first but then seemed to relax but only until her head won the battle. She put both hands on Steven’s chest and pushed him away gently. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I only met you a couple of days ago and you’ll probably be gone tomorrow
… It’s been nice but let’s just leave it at that.’
‘If you say so,’ said Steven sadly. He smiled and kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘ Bonne nuit, madame.’
First thing next morning Steven called Pinetops school camp and asked for the names of the schools which had pupils staying there at the time of the TB alert. There were nine in all and one of them was in Leicester. Seeing this as being the favourite, he obtained the number from Directory Enquiries and called the school office, saying that he was a Department of Health official, checking on the pupils who’d been given BCG vaccine when staying at Pinetops. Steven ticked the names off his list of green sticker children as the woman read them out. She stopped after twelve and Steven prompted, ‘And of course, Anwar Mubarak?’
‘He’s not one of ours,’ said the woman.
‘You’re absolutely sure?’ said Steven.
‘I’ve never heard of him.’
‘Really? He’s the boy who was taken ill at the camp; I thought he was one of your pupils?’
‘Definitely not. Sorry.’
Steven tried the school nearest to Leicester and got the same result. He grew more puzzled and frustrated as the schools dwindled to leave just one, the school Trish Lyons went to in Edinburgh. As there were only twelve names left on his green sticker list he asked the administrator to confirm the names as he read them out. He ticked off twelve before adding, ‘And Anwar Mubarak.’
‘No, he’s not one of ours.’
Steven closed his eyes and said, ‘He was the boy who caused the scare, the one who fell ill.’
‘That may well be but he wasn’t from our school.’
Steven threw his pen down and let out a long sigh. What the hell was going on? Mubarak hadn’t been a pupil at any of the nine schools who’d sent pupils to Pinetops. He’d made a point of telling each of the schools that Mubarak had been the boy who caused the panic just in case there had been a ‘misunderstanding’ about the name like there had about the hospital he’d been admitted to. He’d expected to be corrected by the relevant school but this hadn’t happened. All nine were under the impression that the boy had been a pupil at another school.
Steven phoned Tally. ‘I’m going back to London. I have to speak with John Macmillan. The boy, Mubarak, wasn’t a pupil at any of the schools staying at Pinetops.’
‘What? How can that be? Maybe they changed his name?’
‘I thought of that. They didn’t. All the schools are under the impression that the sick boy was a pupil elsewhere. Thinking back, the staff at Pinetops weren’t told which school he belonged to either.’
‘How odd. It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘It does if he didn’t exist,’ said Steven.
ELEVEN
‘What?’ exclaimed John Macmillan when Steven told him. ‘How dare they send us off on a wild goose chase? They gave me their absolute word and I promised cooperation on that basis.’
Steven thought about this while Macmillan stalked around the office, giving vent to his anger. ‘I suppose in the strictest sense of the word, they didn’t lie,’ he said, secretly knowing that he was just adding fuel to the fire. The Whitehall Mafia were not his sort of people and he enjoyed seeing them found out. ‘Mubarak can’t be in any danger if he doesn’t actually exist… and by the same token, he couldn’t have been responsible for what happened to Keith Taylor or Trish Lyons, I suppose…’
‘Don’t play semantics with me,’ fumed Macmillan. ‘Clinics in Sweden… requests from the highest level… double-dealing bastards.’
‘It could be to our advantage that they don’t know that we know they were lying,’ said Steven.
Macmillan stopped stalking round the office. ‘Go on.’
‘If you go back to DOH with all guns blazing before we even have an inkling about what they’ve been up to, they’ll find some way to bluster their way out of trouble. They’ll muddy the water with the usual nonsense about failures of communication and unfortunate misunderstandings. The end result will be that they’ll batten down all the hatches and tough it out. We may never find out what went on at Pinetops.’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘We say nothing, let them think we’re playing ball while we try to find out what’s really been going on.’
‘Makes some sort of sense, I suppose,’ said Macmillan, calming down a little.
‘Let’s take stock,’ said Steven. ‘We have a situation where one hundred and eight children were given BCG vaccine without any apparent cause… if indeed, that’s what they were given.’
Macmillan rolled his eyes.
‘Several of these children have presented with skin complaints. One has died of necrotising fasciitis although the diagnosis remains incomplete because the lab can’t confirm it and another girl looks like she’s developing a similar problem. First, I think we have to establish exactly what the kids were given and why, and see if that provides clues as to what’s been happening to them. I’ll leave the “whys” up to you.’
‘Where will you start?’
‘Pinetops has its own small clinic and at least one fully qualified nurse on the staff. I’m hoping that they were involved in the administration of the vaccine — it’s my guess they were if only because it might have aroused suspicion if they hadn’t been. I’ll go up there and talk to them, ask them if they noticed anything out of the ordinary at the time. Then I’ll pay another visit to Edinburgh and see how things are with Trish Lyons. I’ll also have another talk to Scott Haldane’s widow. Something still tells me that her husband figured out something that I should know.’
‘Maybe the something that got him killed?’ said Macmillan.
‘Quite so.’
In contrast to his first visit, Steven found the activities at Pinetops in full swing when he arrived. The camp had its full complement of children enjoying the outdoor life and a series of character-building experiences under the eyes of ever-vigilant instructors. Steven paused to watch a number of them practise rolling and righting their canoes near the edge of the lake. He’d never been fond of that manoeuvre himself — water always got up his nose — although he recognised it as being an essential skill to have. He empathised with one boy who was coughing and spluttering after his roll to the amusement of the others. Their accents said they came from London.
‘You just can’t stay away from here, can you?’ said David Williams when Steven put his head round the door.
‘Makes me wish I was a kid again,’ said Steven, looking back at the water. ‘The lake looks wonderful this morning.’
The instructor joined him. ‘Takes some beating, doesn’t it? God’s own backdrop. What can I do for you this time?’
Steven asked if he could talk to the clinic staff.
‘No problem. I know that Joan, our registered nurse, is dealing with a cut knee at the moment. I’ll take you across.’
Steven and the chief instructor walked across the camp compound passing as they did a posse of children about to depart for a walk in the hi
lls, all clutching maps and compasses.
The smell of disinfectant assaulted their noses as they entered the clinic where the camp nurse had just finished bandaging a young boy’s knee. She was telling him to come back in the morning for a change of dressing. ‘And don’t get it wet, young man.’
‘Joan, this is Dr Dunbar from the Sci-Med Inspectorate; he’d like to ask you a few questions,’ said Williams.
‘Hope we’re not in any trouble,’ said the nurse with a smile.
‘Nothing like that,’ said Steven, nodding his thanks to the instructor, who took his leave. ‘It’s about the BCG vaccinations that were administered to a number of children here a few months ago. Were you involved in that?’
‘Yes, I helped administer them.’
‘Excellent,’ said Steven. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. Tell me about the team. How many people were involved?’
‘Let me see, the doctor and four assistants. Six including myself and Carol my assistant.’
‘Did you know this doctor?’
‘I’d never seen him before.’
‘So he wasn’t local?’
‘No, I think someone said they all came up from London.’
‘You didn’t happen to catch his name, did you?’
‘Leyton, I think. Yes, he introduced himself as Dr John Leyton. Is there something wrong? Why are you asking?’
‘No real problem,’ said Steven, anxious to dispel the seeds of suspicion the nurse was showing. ‘But a few of the kids have fallen ill since getting the vaccine so we have to be sure that correct procedure was followed; you know how it is these days?’
‘Tell me about it, forms for everything and an entire nation waiting for the chance of compensation.’
‘Exactly,’ said Steven. ‘I take it you noticed nothing out of the ordinary about Dr Leyton and his team?’
‘Nothing at all, they seemed very nice.’
‘Did they bring the vaccine with them or was it ordered in for them?’
‘They brought it.’
‘Can you remember anything at all about it… what it said on the labels for instance?’
‘It said BCG,’ said the nurse as if she were talking to an idiot.
‘Well, that’s a good start,’ said Steven with a smile. ‘Anything else? Dates? Manufacturer’s name?’
The nurse looked askance at him. ‘Surely no one is suggesting they were given the wrong vaccine?’ she exclaimed.
‘No,’ sighed Steven. ‘But these days you and I both know that we have to dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s.’
‘I checked the expiry date out of habit. I can’t remember what it said but it was fine.’
‘Manufacturer?’
‘Sorry, wait, no, there was a name… Nichol, I think. I can’t be a hundred per cent certain but I’m pretty sure it was something like Nichol or Nichols. I didn’t pay that much attention.’
Steven thanked the nurse and told her she’d been an enormous help. He struck up a conversation with her about her background in nursing and the types of injury she came across at Pinetops just to reinforce the friendly, routine nature of his inquiry but in reality hoping that she wouldn’t bother to mention his visit in any formal record she had to submit.
Before driving off, Steven phoned in a request to Sci-Med, asking them to check up on any pharmaceutical company having a name like Nichol or Nichols who was involved in the manufacture of BCG vaccine. At the same time he checked to see if the London lab had managed to grow anything from the post mortem samples taken from Keith Taylor. ‘No, nothing,’ came the reply.
It was about nine in the evening when Steven arrived in the outskirts of Edinburgh and decided to use the place where he had stayed last time, Fraoch House. He phoned ahead about a room and was told he was ‘in luck’. Keeping a low profile was still a good idea, he reckoned. The fewer who knew where he was and what he was doing, the better.
He hesitated before he phoned Scott Haldane’s widow, wondering if it might be too late to call, but then did it anyway, apologising for the lateness of the hour but asking if he might meet with her in the morning.
‘Is there really any point?’ snapped Linda Haldane. ‘Everyone still believes my husband committed suicide. In fact, I think I’m even beginning to believe it myself.’
‘But not really?’ said Steven.
‘No,’ she sighed.
‘If it’s any comfort, I’m not entirely convinced myself,’ said Steven. ‘That’s really why I’d like to talk to you.’
Linda gave another long sigh. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘The house was burgled three nights ago and I’m still in the process of clearing up. I really don’t have the heart for any more dealings with officialdom. I’m sick of policemen and endless questions.’
‘God, I’m sorry,’ said Steven. ‘That was the last thing you needed but I’m not really a policeman and frankly, I think I’m on your side. Maybe just half an hour?’
‘All right,’ conceded Linda, as if against her better judgement. ‘Come round at ten. You remember where?’
Steven said that he did.
‘Why don’t we sit outside in the garden while we have the chance,’ said Linda, glancing up at the watery sunshine when Steven arrived promptly at ten. ‘Apart from that, I still haven’t finished clearing up the mess inside.’
‘Did the police have any ideas about the break-in?’ asked Steven.
‘No, not really, just that it was probably drug addicts who knew that Scott was a doctor and imagined he kept cupboards full of heroin all over the house. They certainly gave the place a thorough examination,’ she added bitterly.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Steven. ‘Many people don’t realise what an awful experience it is to have your home invaded by strangers.’
‘I can still feel them in the house,’ said Linda with an involuntary shudder. She left Steven alone to enjoy the morning sunshine and blackbird song while she went back inside to make coffee.
‘Nice garden,’ he said when she rejoined him.
‘Mmm,’ agreed Linda. ‘Unfortunately we’re not going to be able to stay here much longer. We’ll have to learn to live within our means as my old gran used to say.’
‘I’m sorry, I thought…’ began Steven, feeling embarrassed.
‘Suicide tends to negate life insurance policies,’ said Linda with undisguised venom. ‘So, unless you know differently…’ She fixed Steven with a steely gaze.
‘I’ve no evidence,’ confessed Steven. ‘Only a feeling that there’s more to the green sticker children than I’ve been told. I suspect it was what your husband was concerned about rather than Trish Lyons’ accident.’
‘So you do now believe it was an accident and not the reason for some guilt trip that drove Scott to his death?’
Steven nodded and conceded the point. ‘Like your husband, I do believe it was an accident.’
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. How can I help you?’
‘You told me that Scott was very upset after making various phone-calls connected with the Trish Lyons case but wouldn’t say why. I just wondered if you’d remembered anything else since the last time we spoke, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. I desperately need something to point me in the right direction. I’ve got the same uneasy feelings your husband had but he obviously figured out more than I have.’
‘God knows I would love to be able to say yes to that question,’ said Linda. ‘But I haven’t. Scott wouldn’t tell me anything. He kept saying he had to be sure before he said anything.’
‘Didn’t you pick up the odd clue from his phone-calls? A name? An organisation? Anything at all?’
‘I think I already told you about him complaining that people were being downright obstructive.’
‘Nothing else?’
Linda looked doubtful. ‘I suppose I may have picked up the odd word here and there when he raised his voice on the phone… I think I once heard him ask, “Who made the bloody stuff?” but I’ve no
idea what he was talking about.’
Steven repeated the quote. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said, thinking about the vaccine. ‘I think I may even know what he was asking about.’
‘Really?’
‘Trish Lyons isn’t the only child to have fallen ill after attending the camp in the Lake District. Apart from their attendance there, the one common factor among them was that they were all vaccinated with BCG vaccine.’
‘And you think Scott was suspicious about it?’
‘It’s possible. Not only that, I think he may even have worked out what was wrong with the kids. If you do happen to think of anything else please call me, any time, day or night.’ Steven handed her his card.
‘I will. I promise.’
Steven couldn’t have arrived at the children’s hospital at a worse time. Patricia Lyons’ mother, Virginia, was clearly upset and arguing with doctors having just been told they would have to amputate Trish’s arm to stop the infection spreading throughout her body. Raised voices meant that he could hear much of what Virginia Lyons was saying as he waited outside the room.
‘What infection?’ she demanded. ‘You haven’t come up with anything yet. You’re just guessing. How can something you can’t even grow be spreading throughout her body?’
Steven could only just pick up the muted murmur of reasoned response before Virginia Lyons broke down in tears and was led out from the office by one of the doctors to be handed over to a nursing sister who wrapped her arms round her and led her away for tea and sympathy.
Steven recognised one of the doctors as John Fielding, the man he’d spoken to last time. ‘I came to see how Trish was. I think I may already have my answer,’ he said.
Fielding shook his head in a gesture of hopelessness and said, ‘The lab still can’t grow anything and she continues to deteriorate no matter what antibiotics we give her. We’re fighting a losing battle here. Even if her mother gives us the go-ahead for amputating her arm, she’s still not out of the woods. The patches on other parts of her body are beginning to look as if they might go the same way.’
‘You mean the infection is not a result of her burns becoming infected?’ asked Steven, feeling some trepidation.’