An Air That Kills

by Christine Poulson

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m guessing you’re the new technician.”

  Somehow Katie hadn’t been expecting a genteel Edinburgh accent.

  He pulled off one of his gloves and thrust his hand out. “Tarquin.”

  “Caitlin.”

  They shook hands. His hand was warm, his grip firm. He gestured to his binoculars. “There’ve been reports of ring-billed gulls on the mainland, so I thought I’d see if they’ve got this far.”

  “Is this a good place for birding?”

  “A great place. I was thrilled when this job came up. When I was a kid, we used to have holidays on Lundy Island, not far from here. That’s where I got into birdwatching: puffins, Manx shearwaters, water rail. Of course it’s all on a smaller scale here. We don’t have those huge nesting colonies, but we still have thousands of migrating birds pass through. I even spotted a red-footed falcon last June. And last spring we had a pair of peregrine falcons nesting on the headland. I set up a telescope so that we could see the chicks hatch. I really hope they’ll be back this year.”

  So that was what the telescope was for. It seemed somehow surprising that Tarquin should turn out to be a twitcher. But, on reflection, why shouldn’t someone be both a hipster and a birdwatcher? This was the kind of place that would attract people who were interested in some aspect of the great outdoors. There was Bill and his moths, and Maddie with her hiking. But for someone who didn’t enjoy nature and country life, well, add to that the remoteness of Debussy Point, the pressure-cooker situation of working and living at close quarters, and maybe you didn’t need to look any further to find an explanation for the rapid turnover of technicians.

  Tarquin laughed and said, “Sorry! Got carried away. Once I’m on my hobby-horse...”

  He turned the conversation adroitly towards Katie and began to ask questions that she’d come to expect. As she walked along beside him, she kept glancing sideways. She was fascinated by his moustache, which was waxed so that the ends turned up and he looked like Hercule Poirot in the TV adaptations. Though the beard was bushy, it was carefully trimmed. A lot of men had grown beards in Antarctica, but not like this one. It all looked pretty high maintenance. The combination of the beard and the plaid jacket reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite think what.

  It occurred to her that Tarquin was likely to know Claudia better than anyone. They were the same age and at the same stage in their professional career. If anyone at Debussy Point harboured suspicions about Claudia’s work, it might well be him. She was wondering how to broach the subject, but as it happened she didn’t have to.

  “How are you finding it, working with Claudia?” he asked.

  “Pretty good so far. There is something, though.” She hesitated. “I’ve heard that one or two of my predecessors have had problems with her.”

  “Well, there’s been a fair turnover of technicians in the last year or two, it’s true. Of course, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, living out here.”

  “Wasn’t just that though, was it? I know for a fact that the last technician had a row with Claudia and walked out before her notice was up. Because that was why I got asked if I could start the job early.”

  “Bit of a personality clash there,” Tarquin agreed.

  “So, what was the row about? Do you know? Forewarned and all that.”

  “Oh, something and nothing. I think Claudia complained about something Sophie had done, said she had to do it again, and of course Sophie was working her notice and she was already pretty fed-up with Claudia, so maybe she wasn’t taking as much care as she might have. I think that was the last straw and they had a stand-up row in the lab. We all heard it. And Sophie walked out.”

  “Did Professor Braithwaite get involved at all?”

  “Gemma?” Tarquin snorted. “As far as Gemma’s concerned, as long as Claudia comes up with the goods – and she does – she can do no wrong and Gemma’s more than happy to let her get on with it. What’s the loss of a technician here or there, as long as a replacement can be found and sharpish? That’d be her attitude.”

  This confirmed what Lyle had suspected – that Gemma didn’t exactly have her eye on the ball – and it confirmed Katie’s assessment of her character.

  They walked on together in silence. Then Tarquin remarked, “Lucky you were free to start straightaway.”

  “Well, I’d not long been back from travelling and I didn’t have to work out my notice anywhere.”

  “It’d be only natural if the sponsors wanted to know what was going on. They’re the ones who’ve appointed you, aren’t they?” Tarquin shot a sideways glance at her.

  It was at that moment that she began to wonder if the tables had been turned. She’d thought she was pumping Tarquin, but perhaps it was the other way round.

  She looked at him. He gazed guilelessly back. Did he suspect that she had a hidden agenda?

  “I think they’re paying, yes,” she admitted. “My old boss knew I was looking for a job and recommended me to Lyle Linstrum.”

  Tarquin nodded, seemingly satisfied. He said, “Hey, how would you feel about coming to the Burns’ Night Supper a week on Thursday? I organized it last year and it was such a wow that by popular demand I’ve been prevailed on to do it again. You don’t have to be Scots, or even an admirer of the great Rabbie Burns, to come along and have a good time. My hangover lasted days.”

  “I’d love to,” Katie said, following her new principle of saying yes to everything.

  “Have you ever been to one?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “There’s a wee man in Barnstaple that plays a mean bagpipe. He pipes in the haggis, and what with the whisky and all... Of course,” he added hastily, “you don’t have to have haggis. I’m planning a vegan alternative for those of us that don’t eat meat, and the same for the pudding.”

  Of course you are, Katie thought. “No, no, I like haggis,” she reassured him.

  He brightened up. “And whisky?”

  “I enjoy a good malt as well as the next woman.”

  “Cool! I’ll put an invitation in your pigeon-hole.”

  They had reached the laboratories now, and as they had signed in, she suddenly thought, A lumberjack! That is what he reminds me of! It was the red and black plaid jacket and the bushy beard. All he needed was a Davey Crocket hat and an axe.

  But she was left with the feeling that beneath the flamboyant surface there was a sharp intellect at work and it wouldn’t do to underestimate Tarquin. She had the distinct impression that he knew – or at least suspected – more about Claudia than he was saying. And why was no one willing to tell her what Sophie and Claudia had argued about?

  CHAPTER 17

  WEDNESDAY

  “Caitlin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Fancy going swimming?”

  “Swimming? Where?”

  “Here! In the sea.”

  It was coffee-time in the canteen on the following day, the Wednesday, and Katie and Maddie were sitting together.

  “You do swim?” Maddie asked.

  Did Katie swim! She opened her mouth to explain that she had swum for her school, had reached the regional heats, and almost been selected for the under-18 national team. At university she had spent her summers working as a lifeguard at the local swimming pool. Then she remembered that it was Katie who had done all that, not Caitlin. She contented herself with saying that she did swim.

  “Just in swimming pools? Have you ever done wild swimming?” Maddie asked.

  A memory flashed into her mind. A holiday in Greece with a boyfriend, a remote and deserted bay, stripping off and running naked into the sea. Perhaps when all this was over, she’d suggest to Justin that they had a holiday somewhere warm...

  “Caitlin?” Maddie prompted.

  “Oh, sorry. Does the Mediterranean count?”

  Maddie laughed. “It’s a bit more bracing than that here, but I love it! About once a week, at lunchtime, I go down to the cove, where t
hey’ve made a kind of swimming pool, and plunge in. I feel great afterwards. Today’s a perfect day for it.”

  Katie thought about it. Well, why not? “OK, I’ll try anything once.”

  * * *

  At twelve thirty they met and walked down to the cove. The winter sunshine was dazzling on the sea, and a stiff breeze came off the water. There was a little bathing hut and they got into their costumes there.

  Maddie jumped into the pool and came up spluttering and laughing. Katie decided on the gradual immersion approach. As part of the medical course preparing for Antarctica, there had been a session of surviving a fall into cold water. The instructor had told them that if you have to enter cold water, it’s better not to jump in. Cold-water shock is one of the biggest causes of drowning. No doubt Maddie was to some extent acclimatized to it, and that made a difference, but Katie wasn’t.

  She walked gingerly down the steps into the pool, flinching as her feet entered the water. She forced herself on until it rose up and gripped her round the waist. It was like being encased in ice and she had to fight the urge to jump straight back out. She took a breath and launched herself into the water.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” she gasped.

  Maddie was treading water nearby. She laughed and said, “It’s lovely when you get used to it.”

  And, strangely enough, once she’d swum around for a few minutes, it was.

  They climbed out, stripped off their swimsuits and rubbed themselves dry. The endorphins had kicked in now and Katie was buzzing.

  “Do you get it now?” Maddie asked.

  “I get it! But Maddie, you don’t come here alone, do you?” Katie asked, as she struggled into her jeans. This was always the worst part of swimming: pulling your clothes onto damp skin.

  “Tarquin’ll sometimes come with me, or on a weekend my boyfriend, but there’s not always someone available.”

  That was something else Katie’s instructor had said: never go into cold water alone. Always have a partner and take it in turns to go in. Well, they’d already broken that rule, but it was sound advice. “I really think you should have someone with you.”

  “It’s sheltered enough in the pool; it’s not like being in the open sea.”

  “But still, it’s so cold, you might get cramp. I’ll come with you once a week if you like.”

  “Every Friday?”

  “You’re on,” Katie said. She was about to add “for as long as I’m around”, but stopped herself just in time. She couldn’t let Maddie know that there was a limit on her time here.

  Maddie had brought a Thermos of tomato soup and one of coffee. Huddled in their heavy jumpers and parkas, hands clasped around their mugs, they sat in companionable silence, gazing out to sea.

  Katie had been waiting for the right moment to return to what Maddie had been going to say about Gemma Braithwaite when Claudia had interrupted them in the canteen. This felt like it.

  “So bring me up to speed with the gossip. The other day you were saying something about Professor Braithwaite?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Katie got the impression that Maddie wasn’t all that happy to return to the topic. “There’s not really anything in it. The thing is, she has the nicest accommodation on the island. Bluebell Cottage? Do you know where I mean? That sweet little gate-keeper’s cottage on the edge of the wood.”

  “I walked past it the other day. There was a Jag parked outside.”

  “Yeah, that’s it; that’s her car. There’s been a lot of bad feeling about her living there and it’s understandable, because she’s not even here half the time. One or two people have been saying that she’s having an affair with Caspar and that’s how she managed to get it allocated to her.”

  Katie thought of the scene she had witnessed and how she’d suspected something of the sort. “And are they? Are they having an affair?”

  “Actually, they’re not.”

  “Can you be sure?”

  “Yes, because – well, I shouldn’t really say...”

  Katie let the silence stretch out, hoping that Maddie would feel compelled to break it.

  Eventually she said, “No, really, it’s just that I know they’re not.” Clearly there was more to it than that, but it wouldn’t do any good to press her.

  Maddie changed the subject. “Something I’ve been meaning to mention. It’s best to be careful what you leave lying around in the lab.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “A few things have gone missing lately. Funny, really, nothing valuable. But it’s annoying. For instance, I’m trying to save money by bringing my own lunch in, and twice in one week my sandwich has disappeared from the fridge in the staffroom. I’m not the only one that’s happened to. It’s usually food. But Tarquin had a nice paperweight, a stripey stone from some Scottish island or other, and he thinks someone’s taken that too. Someone else is missing a pen.”

  Katie’s antennae pricked up. She was reminded of a series of petty thefts and practical jokes that had taken place on the Antarctic base – with serious consequences. If it was money or something valuable like a phone that was taken, enquiries had to be made. But this kind of thing – a sandwich, a paperweight – was harder to follow up. Yet it could have a serious impact on the atmosphere in the lab. It isn’t nice to think that one of your colleagues, someone you know, is pinching your food.

  “Do you have any idea who might be doing it?”

  “Not really, no. But Tarquin’s keeping a log, so if anything of yours goes missing, let him know.” Maddie looked at her watch. “Oh, is that the time? I’ve got to get back. Got some mozzies due for a feed.” She gathered up their empty mugs and got to her feet, not looking at Katie. “Thanks for coming with me. It’s been great. Do you fancy the Karaoke evening tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, maybe. Thanks.”

  You’re not a very good liar, Katie thought, as they tackled the steep climb up from the cove. You do suspect someone. I wonder who it is.

  CHAPTER 18

  THURSDAY

  The following morning Katie went down to the insectary to look in on Maddie. When she knocked on the door a male voice said, “Come in.”

  She opened the door and was surprised to see that the room was almost in darkness. She could just make out Tarquin, sitting on a stool next to a cage of mosquitoes.

  “Hi there, Caitlin,” he said. “Is it Maddie you’re after?”

  “That’s right. I’m wondering if she’s free for lunch.”

  “She’s busy in the Cat 3 lab. She shouldn’t be long now. Come on in. You’re just in time to watch feeding time at the zoo.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s a regular date every Thursday. Our babies are hungry,” Tarquin said, “and we can’t have that.”

  Katie closed the door behind her. Now her eyes were adjusting to the dim light, she saw that Tarquin had rolled up his sleeve to expose his bare arm. His hand was covered by a blue nitrile glove.

  “You mean you’re going to arm-feed them?” Katie said, fascinated.

  “Yes, hence the Stygian gloom,” Tarquin explained. “They prefer to feed in the dark, so we dim the lights.”

  He put his arm into the cage through the sleeve attached to the side and sealed it with a rubber band. “Come to Daddy!”

  Katie gave a yelp. “Tarquin!”

  Tarquin laughed. “They’re clean. They can’t do me any harm.”

  “I know! But how can you? How many are there?”

  “In here? Oh, about five hundred.”

  “And they’re all going to bite you?” She watched as first one mosquito, a dark speck in the gloom, and then another and another, landed on Tarquin’s bare arm. She’d known, of course, that researchers who breed mosquitoes sometimes do this, but still...

  “It must hurt, surely?”

  He shrugged. “You feel it when they attach themselves and your arm starts to tingle as though you’re being injected by lots of tiny needles, but honestly it’s not that bad.”

  “Isn’t your
arm going to be sore afterwards?” Katie asked, remembering the mosquito bites that had plagued her on holidays abroad.

  “I’m fairly resistant by now. I’ve developed a tolerance to the saliva. There’ll be an inflammatory response and my arm will be hot and red, but only for a few hours.”

  “Why don’t you just use that membrane feeder that Maddie showed me?”

  “Yeah, we can do that, and we do, but this is better for all kinds of reasons. My blood is exactly the right temperature. Some mosquitoes just won’t feed on artificial membrane feeders and the strain will die out if we don’t arm-feed them. And anyway, we want to breed ones that feed well from human skin, like they do in the wild. And you can learn a lot from the way the mozzies interact with your skin.”

  Katie shivered. “It’s perfectly rational – I can see that. But all the same!” It gave her the creeps, just watching. His arm was covered now with blood-sucking insects. She averted her eyes from the feeding frenzy.

  “Yeah, it’s counter-intuitive,” he agreed. “And that leads me to the other and most important reason.”

  “Which is?”

  He smiled at her. “It’s a great way to boost my street cred and get in with my supervisor. It’s a funny thing, actually. Bill can’t do it. He gets a kind of allergic reaction.”

  The door opened and Maddie came in. “Showing off again, Tarquin?” she asked when she saw what he was doing. “He does like an appreciative audience,” she told Katie. Her tone was not friendly.

  Tarquin frowned. “Look, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Maddie –”

  “I should have known that if you want something doing properly, you have to do it yourself,” she said. “But I can’t be down here day and night. I have to have some time off.”

  “Yeah, of course you do. But I’ve told you, I did come in.” He turned to Katie. “I’m in the doghouse with Madds. We had a blood culture get contaminated with bacteria and Madds thinks it was my fault.”