ago. He’s reconvening the national emergency committee.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Steven, his voice heavy with resignation.
‘Any ideas at all?’
‘I suppose there could have been more than one list,’ suggested Steven weakly.
‘Then why wasn’t it on the disk? There was plenty of room.’
‘Don’t know, but it’s worth checking out.’
‘I’ll have Greg Allan’s colleagues go through his stuff with a fine-tooth comb,’ said Macmillan. ‘Just in case there is another disk.’
‘You’re absolutely sure this woman’s not on the list?’ said Steven. ‘I mean she might have changed her surname if she got married recently.’
‘She’s been married for twenty years. And, what’s even more important, she’s never had heart surgery in her life.’
Steven felt the weight of the world descend on his shoulders. ‘I see. Send me the details, will you?’
‘On their way,’ said Macmillan gruffly, and he hung up.
When Steven got back to his hotel, the information on the new case was waiting for him when he connected his laptop. The sick woman was Maureen Williams, aged forty-four, a retired nurse who lived with her lorry-driver husband in the village of Port Dinorwic on the Menai Strait. She was currently in isolation in Caernarfon General Hospital and local Public Health officials were keeping a close eye on her neighbours and relatives.
The file made depressing reading. Steven couldn’t find one solitary thing to connect Maureen Williams to any of the other cases. She had never been involved with anyone connected to any of the outbreaks, and she didn’t have a heart problem. ‘So how the hell did she get it?’ he exclaimed out loud. ‘Jesus Christ! Give me a break here.’
He sat down on the bed and stared at the floor, taking deep breaths and trying to get a grip on his emotions. For two pins he’d pen a letter of resignation and piss off into the sunset… but the thought didn’t last. If there was any resigning to be done he’d do it at the end of an assignment, not in the middle, and certainly not at square one, which was where he seemed to be back once again. He got up and started pacing round the room.
Despite the new evidence, he still could not and would not accept that any virus could appear out of thin air and infect at will. There had to be a connection. It was just that he couldn’t see it. ‘Yet!’ he spat out the word defiantly. Almost unconsciously, he started throwing things in a bag. He was going to North Wales.
TWENTY
It was late when Steven arrived in Caernarfon. He’d driven nonstop and felt the need to stretch his legs, so he parked down by the waterfront and walked from the harbour round the walls of Caernarfon Castle where they stood guard over the Menai Strait. He paused halfway round, leaned on the railings and looked down at the cold, dark water lapping on the shingle. The sound of a foghorn somewhere on Anglesey added to the gloom surrounding him. He shivered, rubbed his arms and returned to the car to drive up to Caernarfon General.
At that time of night only junior medical staff were on duty, so Steven spoke to the young houseman in charge of the special unit where Maureen Williams was in isolation.
‘There’s not really much I can tell you,’ said the doctor, ‘apart from the fact that she’s very ill.’
‘I take it no line of contact has been established in the past twenty-four hours?’ said Steven.
‘None at all. It’s a complete mystery how she got it. She hasn’t been out of Wales in the past year, and Y Felinheli isn’t exactly a crossroads for the international jet set.’
‘Ee Felin what?’
‘Sorry, it’s the Welsh name for Port Dinorwic. That’s where she lives.’
‘Is she conscious at all?’
‘Some of the time.’
‘Does she know what’s wrong with her?’
‘Not from us, but we told her husband, of course, and the papers have somehow got hold of it, so it’s no big secret.’
‘How did her husband take it?’
‘Oddly,’ said the houseman, tapping his pen thoughtfully against his front teeth. ‘I was there when my boss told him, and he said something very strange. He said, “The bastards. They knew all along.”’
‘Knew what?’
‘We asked him, of course, but we couldn’t get any more out of him. He just clammed up.’
‘Interesting,’ said Steven, encouraged by the likelihood that Williams knew something about his wife’s illness. ‘Got an address for him?’
The doctor checked the files and wrote it down for Steven.
‘Any other relatives on the scene?’ asked Steven.
‘There was a woman who called up three times a day when Mrs Williams was first admitted. She was a friend, not a relative; Mair Jones, her name was. She seemed very concerned, but then she rang to say that she just wanted to leave a message. She said to tell Mrs Williams she was going away for a holiday, just in case.’
‘In case of what?’
‘I’ve no idea. She said Mrs Williams would understand.’
Steven nodded. He was glad he’d come to Wales. He’d learned a couple of things he could pick away at. He got up to go, saying he would probably be back in the morning. ‘Where will I find a hotel at this time of night?’ he asked.
‘In North Wales?’ exclaimed the houseman, feigning shock. ‘Where all doors are bolted against the devil before midnight? You could try the Station, but I wouldn’t bet my buns on it.’
Once outside, Steven stood for a few moments, thinking about what he’d been told and wondering whether or not to wait until morning before pressing on with his enquiry. If Mr Williams knew something — anything at all — he must talk to him, and the sooner the better. That unguarded comment about the bastards knowing all along demanded explanation.
Steven glanced at his watch; it was a quarter past one in the morning; but if he was still up and working on a bitterly cold night, he could see no reason why Mr Williams should be allowed to slumber on undisturbed. He would go to see him.
Steven checked his road map and was pleased to see that Port Dinorwic was no more than a fifteen-minute drive from Caernarfon. He hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a large place, because there would be no one about at that time of night to ask for directions.
The more he thought about it, the better he felt about going to see Williams at this ungodly hour. Police forces all over the world knew the effectiveness of the middle-of-the-night knock on the door. It was usually a sight more productive than a call at any other time. People were disorientated when their sleep was disturbed, and so were much less likely to lie successfully.
To his relief, Port Dinorwic was manageably small. It clung to a steep hillside, and tumbled down through a series of steps and winding lanes to a harbour and marina. Steven parked on the main street and started his search by walking down a steep, cobbled lane, careful of his footing on the frosty stones and thinking of Under Milk Wood. A small town, starless and bible-black…
At the bottom of the lane, Steven walked towards the harbour, looking at the names of the other streets leading down to it. The third one along was the one he was looking for and number 12, Williams’s house, was four doors up. There was no bell so he gave three loud raps with the heavy knocker and waited. A fourth knock was necessary to get a response.
‘All right, all right, I’m coming. Who are you and what the hell d’you want at this hour?’
‘The Sci-Med Inspectorate,’ said Steven, sounding as official as possible.
‘The what?’
‘Just open the door, please.’
The door opened and a thin, wiry, ginger-haired man, with a plaid dressing gown wrapped unevenly round him, stood there, rubbing his eyes. ‘Who did you say you were?’
Steven showed his ID and said, ‘I have to ask you some questions.’
