resign by three in the afternoon.
Steven called her to say how sorry he was.
‘They didn’t listen to a word I said,’ she complained, obviously bemused by the rapidity of events. ‘They’d all made up their minds before they even saw me.’
‘I don’t suppose it’s much help right now, but you made the right decision,’ said Steven.
‘Thanks, but I get the impression people are trying to avoid me this afternoon.’
‘Embarrassment,’ said Steven. ‘They don’t know what to say.’
Steven had scarcely put down the phone when it rang. ‘All right, you win, Dunbar,’ said a voice he didn’t recognise.
‘I’m sorry, who’s this?’
‘Just get these Public Health bastards off my back and I’ll tell you what you want to know. They’re ruining my business.’
The penny dropped: it was Anthony Pelota.
‘We close at midnight tonight — assuming anyone turns up after what you bastards have been doing to me. Come round then and I’ll tell you.’
‘It’s a date,’ said Steven, elated at the prospect of making progress at last. Another comforting thought was that he might not have to tackle Ann Danby’s mother after all. In his book, Ann and Charles Danby seemed two decent people whose life had been turned upside down by their daughter’s death. He suspected that respectability had always been a cornerstone of their lives and now they had to cope with the fact that not only had Ann taken her own life, but she was being cited as the cause of a virulent disease. On top of that, she had been wrongly labelled a drug addict and a whore by several tabloids. The Danbys really didn’t need him questioning them all over again about their daughter’s sex life.
At six in the evening Steven telephoned his own daughter, Jenny, to apologise for not having been up to see her at the weekend. He spoke first to his sister-in-law, Sue, to find out how things had been going.
‘No problems at all,’ she assured him. ‘Jenny was disappointed, of course, that you couldn’t come, but the school’s planning a Christmas fair and the kids are making the decorations, so that’s being keeping all three of them occupied. Jenny’s been made responsible for green stars.’
‘A big responsibility,’ said Steven.
‘You’d better believe it,’ said Sue. ‘I’ll put her on.’
Steven felt the usual lump in his throat when Jenny came on the line with a cheerful, ‘Hello, Daddy.’
‘Hi, Nutkin, how are you?’
‘Busy, busy, busy. I’m making stars for the school hall, beautiful green ones.’
‘Then I’m sure they’ll be the best green stars anyone’s ever seen,’ said Steven, ‘and I look forward to seeing them when I come up there. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it this weekend, Jenny.’
‘That’s all right, Daddy. Auntie Sue said you were busy with sick people, trying to make them better. We prayed for them at school this morning. Miss Jackson said they were very ill.’
‘They are, Nutkin, and the sooner I find out where the germs are coming from, the sooner people will stop falling ill.’
‘Best get on then. Bye, Daddy.’
‘Bye, Nutkin. Love you.’
‘Love you too, Daddy.’
Sue came back on the line. ‘Any idea how long the epidemic down there is going to run?’ she asked. ‘There were three more cases declared in Perth today.’
‘Something tells me it’s going to get worse before it gets better,’ said Steven. ‘Frankly, we’re no nearer finding the source of it today than we were at the outset.’
‘That’s not a happy thought.’
Steven agreed. He had a word with Sue’s kids, Mary and Robin, before hanging up. They asked if they could go to the zoo again the next time he came to Scotland and his ‘Maybe’ was taken as a cast-iron promise.
The streets around the Magnolia were dark and almost deserted when Steven got there just after midnight. The earlier snow had given way to a clear starlit night which had brought a hard frost to the pavements, and they glistened as he walked from his parking place to the restaurant. The lights were on inside but just like last time the blinds were shut and a ‘Closed’ sign hung on the door. He knocked on the glass but this time there was no response. He tried several more times before beginning to think that Pelota had changed his mind.
‘Shit!’ he murmured. More in frustration than anything else, he gave the door handle a sharp twist, and to his surprise the door opened. He stepped inside, paused and called Pelota’s name. Still no response. He looked around. The restaurant was warm, the table lights were all on and Mozart was playing gently in the background. He went to the back of the restaurant and pushed open the kitchen door. He found Pelota lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ he exclaimed. He bent down to examine the body, which was curled up in the foetal position and facing away from him. The amount of blood convinced Steven that Pelota must be dead, but he was wrong: Pelota gripped his arm weakly and turned to face him. His eyes were wide and his lips drawn back over his teeth in agony. He tried to talk but blood was frothing from his mouth and Steven saw a kitchen knife embedded in his stomach.
‘Don’t try to speak, old son,’ said Steven, freeing himself from Pelota’s grip and fumbling for his mobile phone. He punched in three nines and asked for an ambulance and then the police. He gave the bare minimum of information, knowing that his skills as a doctor were pressingly in demand if Pelota was to survive. He stripped off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and donned a pair of plastic kitchen gloves before grabbing some clean table linen and getting to work on stemming the blood flow.
Stomach wounds were bad, and Pelota’s was particularly awful in that there had been intestinal damage: the contents were oozing out into his peritoneal cavity, increasing the danger of infection many-fold. Steven spoke automatically to the man as he worked, assuring him that help was on its way and all would be well soon. Pelota passed out and Steven felt for a carotid pulse; it was still there, but weak.
The last time Steven had dealt with such a wound he had been sheltering in a hollow in the desert while on operation in the Middle East. His patient on that occasion had been a fellow soldier whose insides had been opened by a grenade booby trap. The soldier had died because sophisticated help had been a long way away. Pelota’s chances would only be marginally better if he reached hospital in time. He had already lost an enormous amount of blood.
Mozart’s ‘Eine kleine Nachtmusik’ gave way to the even more beautiful sound of an ambulance on its way. The wail of a police car joined the chorus. The thought of police involvement made Steven start thinking about the criminal aspects of what had happened, as well as the measures necessary to keep the wounded man alive. Pelota had a bone-handled kitchen knife protruding from his stomach and presumably he hadn’t put it there himself. Was it conceivable that the attempted murder had had something to do with his decision to tell Steven who Ann Danby’s lover was? It was a chilling thought. What could be so important about keeping a love affair a secret? What depended on it? A marriage? A career? A reputation? All three?
The ambulance stopped outside the door and two attendants entered the restaurant, carrying emergency equipment. They froze when they saw the man on the floor. ‘Jesus Christ!’ said one. ‘What the fuck?’ said the other.
‘He’s been stabbed in the stomach; there’s intestinal damage. He needs intravenous fluid quickly.’
‘Who are you?’ asked the first attendant suspiciously.
‘I’m a doctor and this man needs help fast.’
‘No one said anything about this amount of blood. You’ll have to wait for a specialist crew.’
Steven couldn’t believe his ears for a moment. ‘What?’ he exclaimed.
‘There’s a special service operating for high-virus-risk cases,’ replied the man, looking down at Pelota.
‘This is nothing to do with the virus,’ exclaimed Steven. ‘He’s been stabbed, for Christ’s sake, and if he doesn’t get to hospital soon he’s going to have no chance at all of making it.’
‘We’ll call a special equipment vehicle,’ replied the man, leading his colleague outside and leaving Steven speechless. As they left, two police officers from a Panda car came in.
‘Shit! Nobody said it was a bloody murder,’ complained the first.
‘At the moment it’s an attempted murder,’ said Steven through gritted teeth. ‘He’s still alive but he has to get
