THIRTEEN
By mid-afternoon William Victor Spicer had been taken into custody, charged with the murder of Anthony Pelota, and Steven was nearing his wits’ end trying to establish how Spicer had managed to contract the disease. The MP had not been anywhere near Africa in the past five years and could recall no recent dealings with anyone who had. Absolutely nothing in what Spicer had told him in their long interview even hinted at a new line of inquiry.
His worst fears about the man being a red herring, rather than the common factor in the virus outbreaks, looked like being realised. Humphrey Barclay, Victor Spicer and Frank McDougal still appeared to be independent, unconnected sources of filovirus outbreaks. He called Fred Cummings and arranged to meet him over at City General. He needed a sounding board and Caroline was working down at St Jude’s; her answering machine had just told him so.
‘You did well in getting to Spicer,’ said Cummings when Steven told him about the morning. ‘Cane’s people didn’t even know he existed.’
‘But it hasn’t got me anywhere. Spicer has just replaced Ann Danby as the wildcard in the pack. We’re left with a virus that looks as though it’s breaking out at random.’
‘But we both know better than that.’
Steven nodded. ‘But I am beginning to wonder.’
‘You’ll find the link,’ said Cummings encouragingly. ‘It’s out there somewhere, as someone used to say.’
‘Thanks a lot.’ Steven smiled. ‘So what’s happening in the real world?’
‘More and more cases, and it’s been spreading out of the city, as we knew it would. People move around, and with the best will in the world we’re not going to put a stop to that with a city population of over two and a half million. All the medical services have been put on the alert for it nationwide, so there’s a better chance of snuffing it out than there was here in Manchester at the beginning. There are no new wildcards as far as we know, but there are still a few cases we have to work on to establish the line of contact.’
‘What are CDC up to?’ asked Steven.
‘They’re having a re-think about whether this particular flilovirus might be airborne after all.’
‘Shit,’ said Steven.
‘They’re reaching the same conclusion we did: that there are just too many people going down with it for it to be body-fluid transmission alone.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘We ring-fence the city and burn down all the houses,’ replied Cummings, adding, in response to Steven’s expression, ‘It’s ironic, really, but that’s what they do in the African outbreaks and it’s very effective.’
‘But not an option.’
‘I think a curfew is the best we can manage. We’ve got to stop people mingling in public places. We’ve closed the big things like cinemas and football grounds, but so many small businesses got exemptions from the last order that it ended up making very little difference. People are more frightened now, though, and that’s going to work in our favour.’
‘Fear is our friend,’ said Steven.
‘A good soundbite,’ said Cummings. ‘I’ll make a note of it.’
‘How about resources?’
‘No problem about equipment. The Americans and Swedes have been flying in state-of-the-art stuff. I think the CDC people see us as a bit of a testing ground for what they’ve been preparing for in a big American city for years. The Swedes have prided themselves on being expert in mobile facilities ever since Linkoping in 1990. That aside, we have a growing nursing-staff problem as I think you’ve seen for yourself?’
Steven nodded.
‘There’s a country-wide call going out for volunteers, preferably those with infectious-disease experience but they’re a dying breed. Most of the old infectious-disease hospitals have been closed down over the last ten to fifteen years.’
‘I guess we didn’t need them with all these old churches lying around empty,’ said Steven sourly. ‘They’re ideal. All we need do is tack a crematorium on the back and they’re tailor-made for the job.’
Cummings looked sidelong at him and said kindly, ‘Don’t let it become your problem, Steven. You’ve got to stay detached from the nitty-gritty and concentrate on finding the source. There must be one.’
Steven said, ‘It’s hard to remain detached when people are dying around you and you haven’t a clue where to look next.’
‘It’ll come to you. It sometimes takes more courage not to become involved.’
‘How’s Sourpuss Cane doing?’
‘He’s all but given up,’ replied Cummings. ‘Going strictly by the book, as he’s done all his life, has yielded precisely nothing. Your coming up with a boyfriend for Ann Danby whom he and his lot failed to spot and the government calling in help from CDC were severe blows to his pride. It’s my guess he’s about to realise that he needs to “spend more time with his family” and resign.’
‘Another resignation?’ said Steven. ‘Not good for morale. Who’s taken over from Caroline at Public Health?’
‘Her number two, Kinsella. He’s okay but Caroline already ran a good department; he’s just taken up the reins. Pity Spicer played politics with Caroline’s job. She was a big asset.’
‘Right.’
Steven returned to his hotel and started to work his way once more through all the data he had gathered on the people classified as wildcards. Yet again he searched for a common factor he might have overlooked but yet again he and his computer failed to spot one. ‘More data,’ he murmured. ‘Must have more data.’
He rang Sci-Med and asked for more information about the people involved. No, he couldn’t be more specific, he told them, just send anything they could come up with, however trivial. Better too much information than too little.
Steven thought long and hard about what Cummings had said about not becoming too involved. It made sense, and he acknowledged that, but his gut instinct was telling him something else. It was telling him that waiting for inspiration was something that could be done anywhere. It might just as well be down at St Jude’s.
Assuming that Caroline and Kate would take their mid-shift break around the same time they had on the previous evening, Steven drove down to the church and waited for them to emerge. He waited fifteen minutes before the pair of them appeared with hair wet from the shower and dark rings under their eyes from tiredness.
‘I really didn’t think I’d see you here again,’ said Caroline quietly.
‘I find I have another free evening,’ said Steven, using bravado to combat what he really felt.
‘Good for you,’ said Kate. Caroline echoed this but her eyes said that she understood just how big an effort it was for him.
When the two women returned to work after after their break, Steven joined them as an extra pair of hands. If anything, conditions in the old church had got worse overnight. Patient numbers had risen sharply; there was an extra line of beds, making three in all and housing something in the region of sixty desperately ill people.
‘We’re having to use the old vestry as a mortuary,’ said Kate Lineham. ‘The crematoria are finding it difficult to cope. There’s a bit of a backlog.’
Steven swallowed and gave a slight nod.
‘Let’s go to it, guys,’ said Kate.
Steven worked a five-hour shift as he had the night before and left with Caroline again, feeling drained but very conscious that Caroline had worked twice as long as he had.
‘I think I have a tin of corned beef in the cupboard at home,’ said Caroline, ‘and maybe some beans. What d’you say?’
‘You temptress, you,’ said Steven, feeling again that he could do with some company. ‘But I’m sure I could get us both dinner at my hotel if you’d like?’
