Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral

by Puckett, Andrew

  ‘That was a few years ago,’ I pointed out.

  ‘I still don’t think they’ve tightened up anything like as much as we have.’

  ‘Do they still use hen’s eggs?’

  ‘Well, they did when I was there...’

  Tim Butterfield was a Senior Scientific Officer who’d already been in the department when I arrived. He’d done a PhD at Bristol Cabot University, and was thus, incidentally, as entitled to the handle Doctor as I. More, some would say, since I hadn’t extended my medical degree beyond Batchelor. He was quiet and rather inward usually, as scientists often are, but was a good virologist.

  ‘What about the Uni. labs here in Exeter?’ I asked him. ‘Eggs and security.’

  ‘I don’t know. D’you want me to find out?’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll tell them we’re doing a survey on Microbiological Safety and say I want a look around.’ In addition to his other duties, he was Health and Safety Officer for the area.

  ‘What if they object?’

  ‘They won’t – nobody argues with Health and Safety these days. And if they do have the temerity,’ he continued, ‘I can always invoke your name.’

  I let out a sigh – he had a habit of coming out with irritating little quips like that sometimes. ‘Can you fix it up for today?’

  He looked at the clock. ‘Doubt it. Probably do it tomorrow, though.’

  ‘OK, do that.’

  He hesitated, then… ‘You think they might really do it? Release live Variola?’

  ‘We’re working on that assumption.’

  He bit his lip as though wondering whether to say more… He had a pleasant, self-contained face with neat features, and always made me think of a well-groomed vole. He’d grown up in Birmingham and had a slight Brummie accent. Actually, mole might have been a better description, since it was he who’d kept me informed about Roland’s perfidies…

  He started to get up – ‘Well, I’d better get on with it.’

  I said, ‘A couple more things…’

  He sat down again and I asked if he could do the same thing for all the other university virology labs in the South West. ‘Say, Plymouth, Bristol, Bath and Gloucester.’

  ‘OK. Cabot’ll be a pleasure.’ he added with a slightly vengeful smile, then, ‘What about the work here?’

  ‘Anything that can’t wait?’

  ‘Not really. You said a couple of things…’

  ‘Mm… Could you make a list of the equipment they’d need, to culture enough virus to infect say a dozen or so people?’

  He nodded, stood and started for the door.

  ‘Oh, and Tim…?’

  ‘Not a word,’ he said.

  After he’d gone, I started on the list of virologists Brigg wanted. The NHS ones were easy enough, there are only about a dozen medical labs in the South West and the information was on their web sites. I rang them to check anyway, in case they were out of date.

  The universities were more difficult. Just because they didn’t have a specific virology lab didn’t mean that someone couldn’t culture viruses there, especially if Tim was right about security. And what is a virologist? The medical schools probably had lab assistants who were perfectly capable of growing viruses – and what about the medical students themselves?

  I did the best I could with them… maybe Tim could find some more as he went round them…

  I tried Roland again in the afternoon, but with no luck. However, he phoned me back a few minutes later.

  ‘Roland, where are you?’

  ‘Southampton,’ he replied.

  ‘I know that, I mean, why didn’t you tell me about it? You know we’re not supposed to have more than two team members away at a time.’

  ‘It’s Southampton, not Siberia,’ he said. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘The problem Roland, is that I’ve been trying to contact you all morning to arrange a meeting and haven’t been able to. You’re supposed to tell me if you want to leave the area. You know that.’

  After a pause, he said, ‘Sorry Herry, it slipped my mind.’ Yeah right… ‘When is the meeting?’

  Monday, I told him. He asked what it was about.

  ‘I’ll tell you when we’re all here,’ I said and rang off.

  I sat for a few minutes, waiting for my heartbeat to settle…

  Roland Wade-Stokes was a consultant in infectious diseases and, like all the other team members, had already been here when I’d been made Team Leader. The problem was that he’d also been the other applicant for the Directorship and had never got over not getting it himself. He was a bit older than me, more experienced and he’d been expecting to get it.

  Now, he baited me at every opportunity, only backing down when I got heavy.

  Infantile, but the fact was that it got my adrenaline going a little bit more on each occasion. There was nothing he’d like better than to see me in the shit again. I knew, through Tim, that he had no qualms about rubbishing me behind my back; I also knew there were others around the hospital who thought he should have got the job.

  With an effort, I forced my mind away and went on with the list of virologists.

  Tim looked in to say that he’d arranged visits with the Exeter med school and university labs for tomorrow morning, and would try and fix up the others for the following week.

  ‘They didn’t kick up, then?’

  ‘Not a bit. I’ll do the list of equipment in the afternoon.’

  ‘Tim, there’s something else you could do for me while you’re at it –’ I explained about my difficulty of identifying exactly who were the virologists in the universities and med schools, and he said he’d find what he could when he visited them.

  The next day, Friday, I finished the list of virologists so far as I could, then started on the morning’s reports.

  I’d just finished when Rebecca Hale rang and asked if the list was ready yet. I told her I’d got some, but not all of them, and she said she’d call at my house on her way back to London. We agreed on six.

  In the afternoon, Tim came to tell me he’d been round the Exeter Uni. labs and that their security was better than he’d expected. He’d also made a list of the equipment needed for a do-it-yourself virus culture kit. We went through it together:

  Incubator, ‘Fridge/freezer, Microscope, Centrifuge,

  Safety Cabinet, Macerator, Bunsen burner,

  Cell lines, cell growth and maintenance media.

  Water, gas, electricity.

  Distilled water, saline, chemicals

  Most of it wouldn’t be too difficult for a reasonably competent virologist to get hold of.

  ‘I can’t see them getting a hood, though,’ I said, referring to the Safety Cabinet virologists work under to make sure they don’t get infected themselves. They work by vacuuming air through the front of the cabinet and exhausting it through a filter to the outside.

  ‘And I can’t see them working without one,’ he said. ‘Not unless they’re mad.’

  ‘Which by definition, they probably are.’ I said. ‘Anyway, they’ve probably got themselves vaccinated or protected by cowpox.’

  ‘Getting hold of a vaccine isn’t that easy.’ he said. ‘And would you be happy playing around with live Variola just because you’d fondled a cow’s udder?’

  ‘How elegantly put.’ I said, then, ‘Actually, I might – if I had confidence in my diagnostic skills and was sure I’d had cowpox.’

  ‘You think one of them is a medic?’

  ‘No, I’m thinking they’re probably not such perfectionists as you. If they had a secure enough space, I think they’d do it, vaccinated or not.’

  He shrugged. ‘You could be right.’

  I asked if he’d fixed up visits with any other labs.

  ‘Yes, but there’s a problem. Cabot say they can only see me on Monday, which is when you wanted to have the meeting. Otherwise, it means waiting till the next week.’

  ‘Do it Monday.’ I said. ‘We can’t wai
t that long.’

  ‘Will you put off the meeting? Bearing in mind we’re all supposed to there. I can just see Roland making a fuss about it…’

  ‘No, that can’t wait either. Roland’ll have to lump it.’

  He nodded his approval. ‘Anyway, I’ve fixed up Bath for Tuesday, Plymouth Wednesday afternoon and Gloucester Thursday.’

  I told him to let me know how he got on, and he left.

  At five thirty, I logged out and drove back to my mean little box in the dismal little estate on the edge of town. Rebecca Hale was waiting outside for me. I took her to the sitting room and asked her if she wanted tea or coffee.

  ‘Sorry to be precious, but d’you have any skimmed milk?’

  I did, and she asked for tea.

  When I came back in with a tray, she was by the bookcase glancing through the titles.

  ‘Detective work?’ I said as I put the tray on the coffee table.

  She smiled. ‘It’s amazing what you can tell about someone from their living room.’

  I sat down, poured. ‘But not a lot from mine.’

  ‘No, not a lot. You like reading, you’ve got catholic tastes, but you haven’t lived here long, have you?’

  ‘Fifty points.’ I paused, went on, ‘When my wife and I separated, we sold the house and I moved into this one.’

  ‘It’s rented?’

  I nodded and she said, ‘Explains the lack of character.’

  ‘Could be that I lack character, of course. Sugar?’

  ‘Could be.’ she agreed. ‘Just milk, please.’

  I handed her cup and saucer. She sat on the sofa and took a sip.

  I gave her the list of the virologists I’d found so far and explained why it wasn’t complete, then told her how Tim was going to look for others when he inspected the university labs.

  She put her cup down. ‘I wish you’d asked me before letting him in on this – how much does he know?’

  ‘Only that you need the names of the virologists to compare with the charity members,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t you remember the commander saying he didn’t want the teams knowing about the police operation?’

  ‘That’s hardly a major part of the police operation,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Even so…’

  ‘Besides, like us, Tim’s signed the Official Secrets Act and to be frank, I don’t think we’re going to find out where they’re doing it without his help.’

  I showed her the list of equipment Tim had made, and how he thought the need for a safety cabinet meant they were more likely to be doing it in a university lab than have their own.

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I take your point, but another time, could you ask, please?’

  I nodded curtly. ‘All right.’

  After a pause, she said, ‘Do you agree with him? That it’s more likely to be in a bona fide lab than a hidden one…’

  ‘Not sure.’ I thought for a moment. ‘I think they’re mad enough to do it without a hood – especially if they’ve got somewhere secure.’

  She nodded. ‘I think so too.’

  She told me how she’d managed to get on the BTA committee and how she was hoping to find excuses to look round all their homes. Then she finished her tea, thanked me for the lists, and stood up.

  At the door she said, ‘Your first name’s Herry, isn’t it?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Rebecca.’ she said, and held out her hand. ‘Oh, I was going to give you my mobile number, now that I’m in with BTA.’ She wrote it down for me.

  After she’d gone, I fed it into my mobile, gave it a speed-dial code, then sulked a little, despite the olive branch she’d offered before leaving. There’s nothing quite like being told off by a good looking female for deflating the male ego.

  Then I spent the weekend vegetating.

  Sad, isn’t it – someone of my age and (putative) intelligence slopping round in a dismal little box all weekend, but there it is. The fact was that since my wife Sarah had walked out on me last year, I hadn’t had the energy or enthusiasm to do much else. I suppose I was still in shock at her betrayal – is betrayal too strong a word…? No, I don’t think so.

  By now, both my parents had been dead for some time and my brother, Redd, a government engineer, was on secondment in Canada. He and I got on well, but I didn’t have any other family worth speaking of. Oh, I suppose I had friends, but some of them were Sarah’s as well, while others were colleagues at the hospital,and there, I felt so beleaguered I didn’t know who I could trust. Siege mentality, I suppose.

  *

  Monday morning. The SCRUB team meeting...

  ‘As a point of protocol, Herry, isn’t this meeting invalid without Tim’s presence?’ Roland was looking at me with that mix of sincerity and helpfulness that is entirely false.

  ‘Tim’s presence in Bristol is more important than his presence here, Roland,’ I replied evenly.

  He shrugged. ‘Not a lot of point in having rules unless we’re going to observe them.’

  I regarded him. He was only about four years older than me, but his baldness and spectacles made him look more. As did the superciliousness lurking round his mouth. I said, ‘Another rule is that only two people from the team should be away at any one time. Last week, you made it three.’

  ‘It was Southampton Herry, and we sorted that out then. This is now. I move that this meeting is invalid.’

  The two women, Anne and Helen were looking down at their hands, their embarrassment at the bickering of two adult males palpable.

  ‘Tim’s absence has been approved by Commander Brigg of the Home Counter Terrorist Unit, which I think is all the validation we need.’ Stretching the truth, but who cared…?

  He shrugged. ‘I nevertheless wish to have my objection noted.’

  I scribbled a note. ‘It is. Shall we proceed?’

  As I outlined the situation, all three of their faces betrayed their shock, Roland’s most of all.

  But the little smirk hovering over his lips afterwards made me wonder if he’d already known. And it told me with certainty that any slip I made would be reported, and that he’d be one step ahead of me with the banana skins.

  Why did I let him treat me like this? Why didn’t I put him in his place , wherever that was?

  Well, about a month ago, a gift had fallen into his lap. A girl of 18 had been admitted one night with what looked like meningitis. A sample of cerebrospinal fluid was taken and rushed to the lab, where it was examined and viral meningitis diagnosed. Roland, who’d examined the patient, said he simply didn’t believe this – the symptoms didn’t match. James West, the registrar on-call had backed up the scientist. Eventually, Roland had taken another CSF (a thoroughly unpleasant procedure) and brought it personally to the lab and waited while it was examined.

  It turned out Roland was right – it was meningococcal meningitis, not viral. Fortunately, the girl recovered, although a cock up like that could have easily cost her life. We still hadn’t got to the bottom of what had gone wrong. I’d backed up James, which is why he owed me, but shit’s sticky stuff and Roland had chucked a farmyard of it at me…

  Chapter 5

  The Quakers’ Meeting House was as discreet as the Quakers themselves, tucked down an alley a little way off the city centre.

  You’d never notice it if you weren’t looking for it, Rebecca thought, peering at the small white notice on the door. She looked for a bell push, but couldn’t see one. She tried the door and it opened.

  She was in a dimly lit panelled hall. She could hear voices and followed them to a small room on the right.

  Five people sat round a wooden table. Marc got up.

  ‘Rebecca – come in. You found us, then?’

  ‘Of course she did, or she wouldn’t be here, would she?’ This was Hannah, sitting next to him. Marc hadn’t mentioned that she was on the committee.

  He ignored her and found Rebecca a chair.

  ‘Hannah, you know already. She’s the secretary. Thi
s is Sophie, who organises our events.’ A woman with glasses and long dark hair, thirtyish, a bit blue stocking, Rebecca thought… ‘Craig, who’s our liaison;’ also about thirty with a cheerful, boyish face; ‘and Alan, ex-treasurer and supernumerary.’ Around 50, overweight, with a round face, glasses and thinning grey hair.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, glancing round with what she thought was the right degree of shyness.

  The others murmured Hi or Hello, then Marc declared the meeting open. The first item was the treasurer’s position.

  ‘I take it you’re still interested, Rebecca?’

  ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘OK.’ Marc smiled. ‘So why don’t you tell us something about yourself?’

  She laughed nervously… ‘What a terrible question. All right, I’m Rebecca Hale, I’m 27 and I’ve just moved down to Exeter from London.’ She explained how she’d been working in NHS admin for five years and was hoping to find something similar here. ‘I’ve always wanted to get involved in an overseas aid charity, but my partner – my ex–partner, disapproved of that sort of thing.’

  Sophie let out a rather unladylike snort.

  Rebecca continued, ‘Anyway, now that I’m single again and re-starting my life…’ she smiled and shrugged… ‘Here I am.’

  ‘Why us?’ Alan asked, echoing Marc a few days ago. ‘Why not Unicef, or one of the others?’

  She told them how she’d looked at all the groups’ websites and had been attracted to BTA’s practical approach.

  Hannah said, ‘NHS admin covers a multitude of sins… what did you actually do?’

  ‘I was in the salaries and wages department.’

  ‘As a clerk?’

  ‘Administrative Officer.’ Realising that this was a bit blunt, she went on, ‘I spent most of my time in the section dealing with agency staff.’

  ‘So you’re used to dealing with figures?’ Craig said.

  ‘Yes. Well, getting a computer to deal with them for me, anyway.’

  ‘Were you qualified?’ – Hannah again.

  ‘My degree was in Business Studies and Management.’