before he started the man put a hand on his arm and asked thickly, “Is this gonna hurt?”
“Hope so,” said Saracen.
There was a welcome lull between one and two in the morning when the town had settled its differences and settled to sleep. Saracen grabbed the chance to drink tea and eat digestive biscuits that had gone soft through lying too long on the plate. In the quiet of the small hours he started doing the Guardian crossword and was pencilling in the word ARCHIMEDES when the phone rang; it was Dave Moss.
“The woman died and we’ve had four more admissions.”
“From where?” asked Saracen.
“From the Maxton estate. A woman and three kids.”
“Known contacts?”
“Don’t know yet. Braithwaite’s people are investigating but there’s more to worry about at the moment; I’ve got the lab results back.”
“And?”
“It’s plague all right. They’ve isolated Yersinia pestis but there’s some kind of problem with the drug tests.”
“What kind of a problem? MacQuillan assured us that the treatment was cut and dried,” said Saracen.
“Well, the lab think so too but they are not too happy with the readings they’ve been getting. They’d like Porton Down to check them out.”
“What’s to check? The strain is either sensitive or resistant to tetracycline and plague is always sensitive. MacQuillan said so.”
“I know that’s what MacQuillan said and that’s what the book says too but the lab found that, although tetracycline slowed the bug down, it didn’t kill it.”
“Maybe some problem with the potency of the drug used in the test,” suggested Saracen.
“Maybe,” said Moss hesitantly
“So what drug do we use meantime until they check it out?” asked Saracen.
There was an uneasy pause before Moss said, “Trouble is…all the drugs the lab tested behaved in the same way. They slowed the bug down but they didn’t kill it.”
Saracen’s head reeled with the implications of what Moss was saying. “But that means we can’t treat it,” he said finally.
“Yes it does,” agreed Moss.
“If tetracycline slows it down what are the chances of the patient’s own body defences coping?” asked Saracen.
“That’s the big money question,” agreed Moss. “We won’t know until we’ve tried it. So far all the patients have been well into fever before we’ve seen them; they probably would have died anyway. The only people treated with tetracycline have been the staff and the known contacts and they seem all right so far, touch wood.”
“When will we hear from Porton Down?” asked Saracen.
“Two days they reckon. It has top priority.”
“So we just sit tight and hope,” said Saracen.
“Nothing else for it,” agreed Moss.
Saracen put down the phone and sat staring into space for a moment. Sister Lindeman interrupted him. “I’m sorry. We’ve got a right mess coming in,” she said.
“Tell me,” said Saracen wearily.
“Glue sniffers. Four kids. The Police found them on a building site.”
Saracen could smell the solvent on the breath of the children. Like a lot of other things, tar, petrol, disinfectant, it was not unpleasant in small doses but when you put the stuff in a polythene bag and clamped it over your nose and mouth as the four in front of him had been doing it was a different story. He looked at the blistered mouths and rolling eyes and shook his head as he examined each in turn.
One of the four, a street-wise youngster in grubby Tee shirt and jeans and with a mop of curls, seemed less affected than the others so when things were under control Saracen came back to him and asked some questions. He asked the boy his age.
“Twelve,” came the sullen reply.
“Why do you do it?”
“Nothing else to do around here.”
“Crap!” said Saracen.
The boy seemed taken aback. “It’s true,” he mumbled.
“And I’m telling you it’s crap! Don’t you think I’ve got enough to do without dealing with a bunch of cretins who stick plastic bags on their heads?”
“You can’t say that! You’re a Doctor!” protested the boy.
“I just did” said Saracen. Where did you buy the glue?”
“Ain’t sayin’”
Saracen looked at the police constable who had brought the boys in but the man shrugged his shoulders. “I asked you a question,” said Saracen turning back to the boy.
“And I said I ain’t sayin!” replied the boy aggressively.
Saracen eyed him up for a moment and then said, “In that case my son I think a nice enema is called for.”
“What’s that?” demanded the boy.
Saracen leaned over and whispered in the boy’s ear. “First the nice nurse will take this big tube and then…”
The explanation had the desired effect. The boy’s eyes opened wide and aggression changed to panic. “No one is gonna do that to me,” he spluttered.
Saracen nodded gravely. “Oh yes they are,” he said. “And with ice cold water too…”
The boy began to shrink away but was restrained by the constable’s hand.
“Now perhaps if you were to answer my question I might just be able to reconsider your treatment,” said Saracen calmly looking at his fingernails.
The truth dawned on the boy. “This is blackmail!” he stammered.
“I believe it is,” agreed Saracen.
The boy gave in. “Bartok’s in Weaver’s Lane,” he said. “He said we weren’t to tell anyone.
“I’ll bet,” said Saracen quietly. He looked at the policeman and asked, “Mean anything?”
The officer nodded and said, “We know old Bartok. Tight as a cat’s arse.” Realising too late what he had said the policeman began to colour and offer his apologies to Sister Lindeman. “We’ve heard worse,” said Lindeman.
“You’ll have a word with him?” asked Saracen.
“We’ll lean on him a bit but he’ll swear blind that he thought the kids were building model aeroplanes.”
“See what you can do anyway.”
The constable got to his feet and replaced his helmet. “Can I take it these four rogues are going to be all right?” he asked Saracen.
Saracen nodded and said, “This time.”
“Are you keeping them in?”
“These three better stay overnight, this one can go home,” said Saracen lightly shaking the shoulder of the boy who had provided the information.
“Right then. You come with me,” said the policeman to the boy. “I’ll take you home and have a word with your dad.”
“Don’t do that Mister. He’ll kill me!” said the boy.
“Where do you stay?” Saracen asked the boy.
The boy gave an address in the roughest part of the Maxton estate and Saracen looked at the constable. His shrug was a plea for mitigation. The policeman smiled and said, “Perhaps in view of the help this young man has given us and taking into account the fact that he is never going to do anything like it again…”
