An Air That Kills

by Christine Poulson

  “I could fall for a man who has the brass neck to ask for a doggie bag at the Ritz.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d said that out loud. She was tipsier than she thought. “But Justin, I’d better not roll up the worse for drink at the delivery room.”

  “Have a sandwich. That’ll soak up the alcohol. We can save the champagne for later.”

  A text came in. “Have arrived at Rosie.”

  Good. At least Rachel wasn’t going to give birth in the car, attended only by a panicking husband.

  Katie texted back: “Hang on! On my way!”

  By the time they had finished the sandwiches, they had reached the suburbs of London. The lights of houses grew fewer. Flecks of rain appeared on the taxi windows.

  Another text came through. “Waters broken. Ten minutes between contractions!”

  “Ten minutes!” Katie exclaimed. Weren’t things moving rather fast? She looked at her watch. Only an hour ago it had been twenty minutes between contractions.

  “Is that bad?” Justin asked, reading the text over her shoulder.

  Was it? Katie tried to think back to her time on the obstetrics ward. Then the phone actually rang and she heard Rachel’s voice. “Katie? Katie?”

  “Are you OK?” she asked. She could hear a murmur of voices in the background.

  “Yep. We’re playing cards.”

  “You’re what?” Katie couldn’t believe her ears.

  “The midwife says it might be a while yet. This is taking my mind off the contractions.”

  “What are you playing?”

  “Gin rummy.”

  “Who’s winning?”

  “I am. And I’ve got money on it. So far Dan owes me a fiver. His playing’s rubbish tonight.”

  Outside, the turn-off to Harlow flashed past.

  “Oh, hang on, ooh.” Rachel spoke through gritted teeth. “Here it comes again. I’ll pass you over to Dan. He wants to speak to you.” There was a pause while she handed the phone to him.

  “How far away are you?” he asked. Katie could hear the tension in his voice.

  “Hang on,” she said. “How far?” she asked Justin.

  He was already on his phone. “Google says an hour to go. I’ll check with the driver.” He leaned forward and tapped on the panel.

  “Can you keep the line open?” Katie asked Daniel. “Could we do this on the phone until I get there?”

  “I’ll ask the midwife.”

  There was a pause and she could hear voices in the background. Meanwhile Justin was conferring with the taxi driver.

  Daniel came back. “She says it’s fine. It’ll be a first at the Rosie and I can put you on loudspeaker.”

  Justin reported back. “He says yes, an hour or maybe less.”

  With every mile, Rachel’s contractions grew longer, stronger and more frequent, and Katie wondered if she was going to get to the hospital before Rachel reached the last stage of labour.

  It was almost time to leave the motorway when two things happened at once. The traffic began to slow down and Rachel began to groan.

  Daniel said, “Rachel, what’s the matter?” Katie could tell from his voice that he was on the verge of panic.

  The robust voice of the midwife came through. “Nothing’s the matter,” she said. “It’s speeding up; that’s all. It might not be very long now.”

  Katie’s eye was caught by something flashing up ahead. It was a warning on the overhead gantry: “Accident.”

  “Oh no,” she exclaimed, holding her hand over the phone speaker.

  The taxi came to a standstill. Ahead stretched a queue of traffic as far as they could see.

  The taxi driver turned and opened the glass panel. “How’s your friend doing?” he asked.

  “I don’t think I’m going to be there in time.”

  He thought for a few moments. “What the heck,” he said. “It’s an emergency, right?” He swung the wheel hard left and the next moment they were racing along the hard shoulder. They reached the slip road and in a few minutes were on the outskirts of Cambridge.

  Rachel was yelling.

  “Oh my – oh, Rachel!” There was barely controlled panic in Daniel’s voice.

  “What’s happening?” Katie asked. “Rachel, are you remembering your breathing?”

  “Yes, yes, OK. I’m alright, it’s alright,” Rachel panted.

  The taxi sped through the rain-slicked streets. It seemed to take for ever and then lights from the Rosie Maternity Hospital came into view. The taxi drove up to the entrance and screeched to a halt. Katie fumbled for her purse.

  “Just go,” Justin told her. “I’ll pay.”

  She had her hand on the door handle when he said, “Wait. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance.” His arm tightened around her and she turned to face him. Their lips met. They clung together for a few moments. Then she pulled away and he said, “Go, go, go! I’ll wait for you in reception.”

  She jumped out of the cab. “Text me,” he shouted after her.

  Inside, the receptionist knew all about her and pointed to the stairs. Katie took them two at a time. She found herself in an empty corridor and looked wildly around. A nurse appeared.

  “You must be Katie?” she said. It was the voice of the midwife.

  “Am I in time?” Katie gasped.

  “You most certainly are. In here.” She pushed open a door behind her and Katie went in.

  Daniel jumped to his feet. “Thank heavens you’re here.”

  But Rachel was staring at her in astonishment, seemingly speechless. “What’s happened to you?” she asked.

  Katie had no idea what she meant and then she understood: this was the first time Rachel had seen her with full make-up and bleach blonde hair.

  CHAPTER 10

  SUNDAY

  DEBUSSY POINT

  The five mosquitoes – all female – rested in their jar inside the sealed plastic bag. Only the females were blood-feeders and only they carried the parasite that caused malaria – truly a case of the female of the species being deadlier than the male. Both males and females fed on nectar for nourishment, but the females also needed protein to create eggs, and they got that from the blood.

  It hadn’t been difficult keeping the girls alive. The bathroom was heated to a temperature of twenty-five degrees centigrade and the wet cotton wool inside the bag gave them the humidity they needed. A second pad of cotton wool soaked in a ten per cent sucrose solution gave them enough food and water. In human terms they would soon be middle-aged and it wouldn’t be very long before they started dying off. They would have to be used within the next two or three days. It was now a long time since they had had a proper feed and that was good. They were getting hungry for blood and they would be all the more likely to seek out a source once released.

  Murder by mosquito. Would it work? Viewed with scientific detachment, it was a very interesting question. The chances of infection were surely excellent. Perhaps it had even been tried before. Who could say? In a climate where malaria was endemic it would be impossible to prove. Here at Debussy Point it was surely safe enough. Even if a diagnosis was made in time – and that was not at all likely – no one would suspect that it had been brought about deliberately. Why should they?

  It was a pity about the cold weather. Mid-January was far from ideal, whereas a summer’s evening after a hot day would have provided optimum conditions. The mosquitoes would have had the heat that they needed to fly efficiently. Released outside an open bedroom window, they would have quickly made their way in, attracted by the smell of human skin and the carbon dioxide plumes of exhaled breath. But it was no good thinking about that. This couldn’t wait. The girls would just have to be released directly into the bedroom. Not quite as straightforward, but still eminently doable.

  Typically the incubation period was somewhere between seven and fourteen days, so there wouldn’t be too long to wait. If it didn’t work – well, there woul
d have to be a Plan B. Because one thing was certain: this situation could not be allowed to go on. Something had to be done about it, no question.

  CHAPTER 11

  The rays from the setting sun were raking the sea as Katie pulled in at the top of the hill that overlooked Debussy Point. She switched off the engine and let the silence settle around her. The view was stunning. Debussy Point lay off the coast of north Devon in the Bristol Channel. The tide was full and the dark island lay in a pewter sea. It was the shape of a teardrop, the narrow end closest to the land. Sometimes it was an island, sometimes it wasn’t. It was possible to drive along a causeway when the tide was out, but the times of the tides rarely coincided with working hours. Some people lived on the island, but others often left their cars on the mainland and were transferred to the island by boat, or by jeep if the water wasn’t too high. Right now it was cut off by the tide and she would have to leave her car on the landward side.

  The buildings were dark masses with just an occasional light. Hard to believe that down on that island was a state-of-the-art lab complex where some of the most advanced research in the world was being carried out. In the fading light, there was an air of mystery about it. It looked more like a place of myth and legend. Wasn’t this King Arthur country? There was Tintagel further down the coast, where he was supposed to have been born and she remembered that Cadbury Castle to the south in Somerset also had some kind of Arthurian association.

  It was late afternoon on Sunday and she had just driven down from Cambridge. The time had come to take up her new identity, but she needed a few more minutes to prepare herself. It was, after all, less than a week since she had first heard of Debussy Point and then everything had happened so fast.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave Rachel and the baby.

  Benjamin Charles Marchmont had been born just before midnight on Thursday night, with both Katie and Daniel in attendance. Daniel was euphoric with relief and glad that in the end he had seen it through. After all the anxiety it had been a normal birth with no complications. But it would be two or three weeks before they knew if Benjamin was a match for Chloe, and quite a bit longer before he could be screened for DBA or some other condition that would prevent a transplant. In case he did turn out to be a suitable donor, the umbilical cord had been stored. It should contain enough stem cells for a child of her age without having to resort to the more invasive procedure of taking some of Benjamin’s bone marrow.

  Katie had texted Justin and he had come to the ward, bringing the bottle of champagne with him.

  “I like him,” Rachel had hissed while Daniel and Justin were deep in conversation. “I hope this one’s a keeper. If I were you, I’d hang on to him.”

  “Rachel!” Katie had protested.

  Katie had told her that it was much too soon to know, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been asking herself the same question. She couldn’t help wondering if after all this time Justin really was going to be the one. And the question wasn’t as premature as all that. It would soon be a year since they first met, and they had got to know each other in circumstances that would test any relationship. But better, really, just to enjoy it all as it unfolded and to bask in the glory of falling in love.

  Justin had come back to the boat and spent that night with her there – and the Friday and Saturday night. Meanwhile the day had been crammed with preparations for leaving, and now here she was. Her car was new, a nice second-hand Citroën – decent, but not flashy. Her clothes were new. She was new. She was a brand new person with a newly minted past. She felt giddy at the speed with which she’d been parachuted in, and uneasy as well. It had all happened far too fast. The training sessions with Julia had been reduced to one meeting. They could communicate by phone, but it wouldn’t be the same. Similarly, she had had just a few hours in a Cat 3 lab instead of the days that she had anticipated. She felt uncertain and unprepared.

  A light came on near the shore, illuminating what she guessed was a jetty. Katie shivered. Once again, she had slipped into a reverie, she realized. The car was cooling down. Time to move on.

  Katie’s instructions had been to go to a university car park close to the jetty and ring for the boat.

  She did that, and a cheerful male voice answered and told her that he would be there “in a jiffy”.

  While she waited, she rang Justin. She had promised to let him know when she arrived. At the sound of his voice she felt a pang. It might be a while before they met again.

  He clearly felt the same because he said, “Do you think you might get away for a weekend before long? We could meet in London – or I could drive down.”

  “I hope so. But I’d better see how it goes.”

  There was a pause. She wasn’t sure how to end the call, and clearly neither was he.

  Then, “I miss you,” he said.

  “And I miss you.”

  “Ring me again soon.”

  “I will.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “And Katie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful.”

  She watched from the quay as the motor boat approached. It was dark now and a stiff breeze was coming off the sea. She went to the jetty. The boat drew up and the driver threw her a rope. He jumped out, took the rope from her, and made the boat fast.

  He turned to shake her hand. “You must be Caitlin Marsh. I’m Caspar Delaney. Welcome to Debussy Point!”

  His hand was warm and firm in hers. She’d somehow assumed that the man who was coming to get her was some kind of janitor or porter. She certainly hadn’t expected that it would be the boss himself.

  He saw her surprise and said, “There’s hardly anyone here at the weekend. And besides, I like a spin in the boat. Now let’s get your stuff on board.”

  As they got Katie’s cases out of the boot, he said, “We’re not very formal here – can’t afford to be when we’re such a small community.”

  He was a small man and slightly built, but wiry too. She noted the ease with which he swung her bags on board. When he gripped her arm to help her onto the boat, she was conscious of his strength.

  They set off for the island. Raising his voice above the noise of the outboard motor he said, “Have you had a long drive from – where is it that you’ve come from?”

  Yes, where had she come from? Panic briefly flared. Then she remembered. In her new life she still had a mother in York. Stay as near to the truth as is practicable, they had said. You’re less likely to be caught out that way.

  “I’ve driven down from York.”

  “Claudia will be delighted to see you. The sudden departure of Sophie has been a real setback for her. Lucky that you were able to come at such short notice.”

  Katie was ready for that. “I only got back from a year’s travelling a couple of weeks ago, so I happened to be free.”

  “Dr Linstrum said that you worked on one of his other projects?”

  “That’s right.” She remembered Julia’s advice about not volunteering too much and left it at that. Caspar was the director, after all, and it would be presumptuous to assume that he would be interested in a detailed account of her employment history.

  Caspar nodded, apparently satisfied.

  The boat drew up by the jetty on the island. There was a small jeep waiting. Caspar helped Katie load up her luggage. They got in, he took the wheel, and they jolted up the road, past the labs, clustered near the jetty, and on up to the house. That was the oldest building on the site.

  Katie had read up about Debussy Point. Hugh Benton, the man who had bequeathed Debussy Point to the university, had been an eccentric Victorian industrialist who had bought the island in the 1880s. In the Middle Ages there been a monastery, which had fallen into ruin after the Reformation. Benton had used some of his fabulous wealth, derived from Cornish tin mining and the Devon Great Consols copper mine, to build a vast Gothic Revival house. Money had been no object and Benton had instructed his architect to emulate
his favourite buildings – the Chateau de Pierrefonds and St Michael’s Mount. The result was a huge rambling mansion, a riot of towers and turrets, flying buttresses and gargoyles.

  They parked on the forecourt of the house. The main part of the house was used as offices, but there was also accommodation for staff, and that was where Katie would be staying.

  “The main entrance is closed in the evening and at weekends,” Caspar said. “We’ll have to go round the side.”

  He unfolded a trolley from the back of the jeep and they loaded Katie’s luggage onto it. Caspar trundled it along a path through a shrubbery lined by wrought-iron lamp posts that Katie guessed had once been gas uplighters. They cast a dim yellow glow. He stopped by a door and got out a bunch of keys. Katie felt something brush against her ankle and exclaimed. She looked down to see a black and white cat.

  “Oh, Denis!” Caspar said with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Denis was winding himself around her legs. At the sound of his name he looked up and mewed plaintively.

  Caspar unlocked the door, saying, “Denis isn’t allowed in the house, so of course it’s the one place he longs to be. He’s a downright nuisance.”

  “Does he belong to someone?”

  “Oh yes, he’s got a perfectly good home of his own with a couple who live in the converted stable block on the other side of the house. But he spends most of his time hanging around waiting for an opportunity to sidle in behind someone. He’s a master at doing that while no one’s looking. If you wouldn’t mind pushing your luggage inside, I’ll keep him at bay.”

  Once they were safely inside without Denis, Caspar led the way to a narrow corridor. Halfway along he opened a door on the right that led to another corridor. At the end was a spiral staircase.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to carry your stuff from here.” They each took a case and bumped it up the stairs. Katie found herself on a landing lined with display cabinets. Glassy eyes stared out at her. “Blimey!” she said.