Superintendent?’
Tulloch took a deep breath. ‘I fully understand your concern but regaining control of the area would mean a full frontal assault involving hundreds of officers in full riot gear. Flushing out the opposition on home ground would almost certainly be very costly in terms of police and possibly innocent civilian casualties.’
‘It has to be done,’ said Wright. ‘The people in there must be vaccinated as soon as it becomes available.’
‘Perhaps the army?’ suggested Mary Martin tentatively.’
‘Only as a last resort,’ said Finlay. ‘The Scottish Office wasn’t that keen on bringing troops in to man the barriers this morning but the situation was such that we just had to. But I think that’s as far as it goes unless something really awful happens.’
‘Couldn’t you send in snatch squads to arrest the ring-leaders?’ George Finlay asked Tulloch. ‘If you know who they are, that is?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Tulloch. ‘They’re known all right. The same trash are running things just like they seem to run everything else in that God-forsaken place from drug dealing to money lending but proving it is always quite another matter. Asking people to stand up in court and testify against them is like asking the tide to go out on Royston beach. As for sending in a snatch squad, we’re talking about the heart of drug-land here. Steel-reinforced doors and blocked stairways, broken lifts and prams suddenly appearing across your path, teenage mothers yelping about police brutality. Pieces of concrete falling from the flats and more knives than you’d find in the Swiss Army.’
‘My God, as if we didn’t have enough to contend with,’ said Finlay. ‘A riot on top of an epidemic.’
‘The vaccine’s not here yet,’ said Dewar. ‘So we’ve probably got another day to wait. I suggest we leave the police, the politicians and the military to work on the problem of regaining control. When the vaccine finally comes — probably this evening we can decide then what we do next.’
There were no dissenting voices.
‘By the way, Major, are your men armed?’
‘Plastic bullets and only then as a last resort.’
As they rose from the table, George Finlay came over to Dewar and said, ‘I almost forgot, Sharon Hannan was asking for you. She seemed agitated about something. Maybe you could come over to the hospital? Have a word with her?’
‘Of course,’ replied Dewar, suddenly excited at the prospect of hearing something useful from her. Maybe this was the break he’d been hoping for. Maybe she’d remembered something important. ‘How is she?’
‘The rash appeared this morning; she definitely has smallpox; she’s putting on a brave face but she’s really quite ill.’
Dewar drove over to the Western General, slowing down at the Crew Toll roundabout just to the north of the hospital to look at a gaggle of military vehicles and police panda cars parked across the main road on the eastern perimeter of Muirhouse. There was something sinister about seeing soldiers with automatic weapons hanging from their shoulders on the streets of the city. Something inside him said their weapons should be up on their shoulders and they should be in dress uniform, marching behind a band on their way to some ceremonial duty at the palace or up on the castle esplanade, entertaining tourists. That’s what soldiers did in the city. Seeing them stand beside a striped lifting bar, spanning the width of the road looked like old newsreel footage from Northern Ireland.
Beyond the barrier, the road was absolutely empty of people or traffic, a dark ribbon of tarmac leading to the concrete skyline of Muirhouse with a pall of smoke still hanging over it from last night.
Dewar turned away and drove up to the hospital where he found parking a lot easier than last time. All clinic and day patients, whether surgical and medical had had their appointments cancelled. Any patient who could possibly go home had been discharged. All non essential surgery had been re-scheduled for some unstated time in the future. Plastic hips and knees would have to wait. Benign cysts would stay where they were for the moment. The hospital was purely for emergencies only
Dewar changed quickly; he was anxious to hear what Sharon had to say. The room was in semi-darkness when he entered. One of the nurses had told him this was because Sharon’s eyes were hurting. He shuddered as he remembered Michael Kelly’s eyes when he’d first seen him.
‘Hello Sharon, I hear you’re not so well,’ said Dewar gently as he sat down at her bedside.
Sharon had been facing the wall; the rash was clearly visible on her cheek. She turned her head, smiling slightly at the voice she recognised but the smile faded when she saw Dewar’s visor. She seemed to recoil slightly and stare at it as if its use were some kind of betrayal. But it was what the nurses wore, thought Dewar. All the same, he didn’t want anything alarming or alienating her. He needed to keep her trust if she were to tell him anything. He took his visor off and said, ‘This damned thing is far too hot. How are you feeling?’
There was no denying the rise in his pulse rate once the visor had gone. He felt exposed and vulnerable. Once again he was trusting his life to a vaccination. The thought made the site on his arm itch slightly, but maybe that was imagination, the power of suggestion as Harry Hill might have put it, he thought stupidly. He wasn’t big on bravado but he felt it was necessary in this case. He hoped he looked calm because it didn’t feel like that on the inside.
‘I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus,’ complained Sharon weakly. ‘I hurt all over.’
‘You’ve got to hang in there,’ Dewar encouraged. ‘Think of nice things. What you’re going to do when you get out of here. Sunshine, beaches, swimming pools, Pina Coladas.’
‘I drink Bacardi,’ replied Sharon.
‘All right, Bacardi,’ smiled Dewar. He reached out his hand and smoothed the hair on Sharon’s forehead and felt a warm dampness there. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. ‘Dr Finlay said you wanted to speak to me?’
‘There was no one else I could tell,’ said Sharon. ‘You said I could call on you if there was anything … ‘
‘Of course, Sharon.’
‘It’s Puss.’
‘Did you say, Puss?’
‘My cat. It’s in the flat. It’s not been fed for days. There was no one else I could ask. Could you possibly go along and feed it, maybe? I’d be ever so grateful. I don’t think I’m going to get better for a few days yet.’
Feed the cat? That’s what she wanted to see him about? She wasn’t going to provide the missing link? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he couldn’t believe it. He’d really been up for this. He’d really believed that Sharon had remembered something important, something that might enable him to identify the source of the outbreak and all she’d wanted was someone to feed her cat!’ He took a few moments to compose himself then he swallowed his disappointment and said, ‘Of course, Sharon. Where will I find a key?’
‘The nurses have my clothes. You’ll find my key in the leather jacket, left hand pocket.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ he assured her.
‘Thanks very much,’ said Sharon. ‘I’m really obliged. Will you come back and see me?’
Dewar suddenly saw the fear in her eyes. There was no mistaking it. She was behaving bravely but of all human emotions perhaps fear was the most naked and exposed when it appeared in someone’s eyes. His sense of frustration evaporated.
‘Of course I will,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll tell come back and tell you how Puss is getting on.
Dewar went through the disinfecting procedure with a heavy heart then went in search of a nurse who could help him with Sharon’s key. He found two nurses sitting together in the duty room having a cup of tea. They looked exhausted. Dewar said so.
‘We’ve been working twelve hour shifts since the outbreak started said the elder of the two.
‘And no day off,’ added the other.
‘I guess that’s what angels do,’ smiled Dewar, tongue in cheek. ‘Florence has a lot to answer for.’
‘Florence, my bottom,’ said the older nurse. ‘In my case, the building society insists. What can we do for you?’
Dewar told them about the key.
‘Sharon’s clothes were sent off for disinfection but the contents of her pockets would remain here.’ She got up and went over to a wall cupboard. She swung it open to reveal a number of plastic boxes each with a shallow lair of red fluid in them and a label on the front. She brought down one and said, ‘Here we are.’
