Pandora's Helix

Fifteen

Charles Morse died at eleven next morning. Kate was with him. Neef was warned by Mark Clelland at University College that it was about to happen and took the opportunity of going over to be there for Kate if she needed him. When Kate came out of Charlie’s room and saw Neef standing there she came forward, put her hands on his chest and allowed him to wrap his arms round her. Her tears flowed freely.

“I am so sorry, Kate,” Neef whispered.

Kate nodded mutely against his shoulder. Clelland acknowledged his presence with a nod of thanks.

A nurse ushered them into a small sitting room and brought tea. Neef poured it and Eve gradually composed herself. “I still can’t believe it,” she said. “It’s all happened so quickly.” She got up slowly and walked over to the window, holding the cup in her hand.

“Look at them,” she said. “Buses, cars, taxis, people going about their business as if nothing has happened but it has. My Charlie is dead. Why don’t they realise?”

Neef got up to go towards her but Kate turned and stopped him. “It’s all right, Mike, really. I’ve been preparing myself for this. It doesn’t look like it but I have. Just give me a few moments.”

Kate took slow steady breaths in an attempt to compose herself but she failed; the tears started to flow freely down her cheeks. “Oh Mike,” she sobbed. “What am I going to do without him? He was everything to me, my whole reason for... being. What’s the point in going on without Charlie?”

“I know, I know,” soothed Neef, wrapping his arm round her shoulders. “You need time Kate. Hang in there.”

Kate eventually calmed down and took a sip of her tea. “Are they any nearer to finding out how Charlie got his cancer?” she asked in a voice she was struggling to keep the tremble out of. She flicked at imaginary dirt on her knee with her fingernails.

Neef shook his head. “No, it’s still being investigated.”

Kate was silent for a while then she said, “For God’s sake, tell me something happy.” She was half laughing, half sobbing.

Neef decided to take her at her word. “Thomas Downy’s cerebellar tumour has almost completely disappeared.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yup. No doubt about it.”

“I take back everything I thought about Dr Pereira,” said Kate.

Neef nodded. “Maybe we were a bit hard on him. Thomas Downy certainly owes his life to him.”

“Thank God there’s still some good news in the world,” said Kate, trying to smile through her tears.

“Come on, I’ll run you home,” said Neef.

When Neef got back to the Unit, Ann Miles told him that Tim Heaton had been trying to get in touch. “I thought he might be,” he replied. He returned Heaton’s call, hoping that he could sound surprised when he had to.

“Michael, I’ve got some good news for you. Peter Baroda has apparently changed his mind. Your application has gone in after all.”

“It has?” exclaimed Neef, suddenly realising an acting career wasn’t for him. “That’s marvellous.”

“I don’t know why he changed his mind but he did and that’s the main thing.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Neef. “Wonderful news.”

“Thought you’d be pleased. By the way, I forgot to ask yesterday about your brain tumour patient. Still progressing satisfactorily?”

Neef screwed up his face. It wasn’t Heaton who had forgotten to ask — as Heaton well knew, it was he who had forgotten to call Heaton and tell him.

“Tim, it completely slipped my mind in the excitement,” he said. “Progress has been more than satisfactory. The tumour has shrunk to the size of a pea. With a bit of luck it will be completely gone by next week.”

“Splendid!” said Heaton. “John Marshall has been working on a press release I asked him to draft, just in case.”

“Fine,” said Neef.

“This is just what the hospital needs,” said Heaton. “A cure for cancer.”

“Hang on...”

“It’s a start,” said Heaton. “You can’t deny that.”

“I suppose not,” agreed Neef.

“I’ll let you know the minute we hear anything about the application.”

Neef’s last call of the day came from David Farro-Jones.

“I’ve been through Eddie Miller’s autopsy records for the past three months, Michael. There’s absolutely nothing there to back up his story.”

“That’s a relief,” said Neef.

“I’ll say,” agreed Farro-Jones.

“And still no new virus?”

“No new virus. We’re going to have to stop looking. It’s taking up too much time.”

Charles Morse’s death sparked off a new round of newspaper attention on the following day. Cancer Death Toll Rises as Authorities Continue to grope in the Dark was the headline in the Citizen and this tack was followed by virtually all the others. One of the papers had managed to corner the local Member of Parliament and put him on the spot. He assured his constituents that he had written to the Health Secretary demanding immediate action and that she had assured him that appropriate steps were being taken.

During the course of the day, Neef was to discover what this meant. Lennon called to say that he was no longer in charge of the investigation. A team of specialists had arrived from the Ministry of Health to take charge. They counted among their number a scientist from Porton Down, the government’s chemical and biological defence establishment.

“They’ve also removed Charles Morse’s body,” said Lennon. “They want to carry out their own pathological investigation”

“Can they do that?” asked Neef.

“Under their terms of reference, they can do pretty much what they damn well please,” said Lennon. “They’ve virtually taken over everything down here at Sutton Place and put an immediate ban on all Press briefings. I dare say you’ll be meeting them soon enough. A man named Klein is in charge.”

Two hours later Ann Miles announced that Drs Klein and Waters were outside.

“Send them in.”

Klein, a tall thin man with a prominent Adam’s apple that bobbed disconcertingly above a stiff Bombay-stripe shirt collar, appeared first and held out his hand. “John Klein.” He came across as being neither friendly nor rude, just business-like. His companion, a head shorter, with sloping shoulders and a downturn to the left side of his mouth that suggested a slight stroke in the recent past, introduced himself as Malcolm Waters. Neither man smiled.

“Thank you for seeing us at short notice, Doctor,” said Klein. “As you probably know already, we’re heading a team sent in by the Ministry of Health to deal with your problem.”

“I’d rather you didn’t call it mine,” said Neef, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

“Quite,” said Klein without a trace of humour. “I meant, you in the general sense of the area. We’re just acquainting ourselves with all the local medical and scientific personnel who have been involved in the investigation so far. I understand from Dr Lennon that it was you who raised the possibility of a virus being responsible for the cancer outbreak.”

“One of my colleagues suggested it,” corrected Neef. “I just passed it on.”

“This would be...” Klein paused while he thumbed through a sheaf of papers. “Dr Pereira.”

“That’s right.”

“What made Dr Pereira suspect a virus?”

Neef shrugged and said, “Case pattern, I think, failure to establish any other cause.”

“If all else fails, blame a virus,” said Waters with a smirk.

Neef and Frank MacSween had often made the same kind of comment but somehow, coming from Waters, Neef found it offensive. He took a dislike to the man.

“There were other things,” said Neef. “But you’ll have to ask Dr Pereira; he’s the expert on viruses, not me.”

“But you actually got as far as looking for this supposed virus, I understand?” said Klein.

“Not personally,” said Neef. “Another of my colleagues did some electron microscopy on lung samples taken from Charles Morse. He didn’t find anything.”

“That would be...” Klein referred to his notes again. “Dr Farro-Jones at the university medical school?”

“That’s right.”

“Is Dr Pereira here at the moment?” asked Waters.

Neef said not. “Dr Pereira is not actually on the staff. He’s an employee of Menogen, a commercial biotechnology company. We’re conducting a trial of their Gene Therapy vectors at the moment.”

“We know,” said Waters. “I just thought he might be here.”

“He only comes in a couple of times a week,” said Neef.

“Why was Dr Pereira’s opinion sought in the first place?” asked Klein.

“The subject came up in conversation I suppose,” said Neef

“In conversation?” said Klein. “Do you often discuss confidential medical matters with outsiders, Doctor?”

“I regard Dr Pereira as a colleague. He is also an expert virologist who had an opinion to offer at a time when no one else did. I’m sure Dr Lennon valued his contribution too.”

“Dr Lennon is no longer in charge of this investigation,” said Klein coldly.

Neef chose not to comment.

“We must point out that there a question of confidentiality at stake,” said Klein. “Dr Pereira is an outsider.”

“I don’t understand,” said Neef. “How is this a problem?”

“The ministry has instructed us to enforce a total information ban while we conduct our inquiry. No member of the hospital or university staff will be permitted to say anything at all to the press and you of course, will no longer be at liberty to discuss any aspect of the problem with Dr Pereira.”

Neef had to consider for a moment before the full implication of what Klein was saying dawned on him. “Or what?” he challenged.

“I sincerely hope it won’t come to that, Doctor,” said Klein. “It’s all for the best. I’m sure the last thing either of us wants is to create unnecessary fear and alarm among the general public.”

Here we go again, thought Neef. “So you think it’s a virus too,” he said, giving Klein a jaundiced look.

“I think we can do without rash statements like that, Doctor.”

“Are you here to investigate the problem or cover it up?” asked Neef, his hackles rising.

“The ministry has only the public interest at heart,” said Klein.

“A comfort,” said Neef.

“I had hoped we might have a better working relationship than we appear to be developing,” said Klein.

“All you have done since you came in is tell me to keep my mouth shut,” said Neef. “Why did you bother to come all the way over here to do that?”

Klein and Waters exchanged looks. “We understand you have an association with a journalist,” said Klein. Klein made the word sound obscene.

“Miss Eve Sayers,” added Waters, referring again to his notes.

“So what?”

“We just wanted to make sure you understood how important the ministry considers confidentiality in this matter and how seriously it would view unwelcome publicity should it arise.”

“Just so there’s no misunderstanding,” added Waters.

Neef had difficulty keeping rein on his temper but he managed. Instead of arguing, he looked at his watch and said, “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m rather busy.”

“We may want to speak to you again, Doctor,” said Waters.

“My secretary, Mrs Miles will arrange an appointment,” said Neef curtly.

Waters gave a lop-sided smile and Klein said, “Thank you for your time, Doctor.” They left.

Neef picked up the phone and called David Farro-Jones. “I’ve just been interviewed by the bloody Gestapo,” he said.

“Klein and Waters? They’re not exactly Laurel and Hardy, are they?”

“Pompous pricks,” said Neef. “What exactly are they?”

“Klein’s an epidemiologist from DOH. He’s been given charge of the investigation. Waters is a virologist from Porton Down.”

“Looking for his next ‘defensive’ weapon no doubt,” said Neef.

“Careful, the phone might be tapped,” said Farro-Jones in a joking whisper.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Neef. “You didn’t say anything about the Langholm connection, did you?” asked Neef.

“It wouldn’t have been fair to Max,” said Farro-Jones. “We didn’t come up with any evidence so I saw no point in telling them. They may of course, spot it themselves.”

“Well, if they alienate everyone as much as they have me they’re going to have to spot just about everything for themselves.” said Neef.

“Let’s wait and see how it goes,” said Farro-Jones.

Neef discovered that Eve had been in to visit Neil earlier. He had missed her but she had left a message inviting him over for dinner. If he couldn’t make it, he was to leave a message on her answering machine. He could, so there was no need. It was something to look forward to for the next few hours while he waded through paperwork, most of which he regarded as unnecessary.

It was a pity, he thought, that someone in government couldn’t have foreseen what the laudably sounding phrase, accurately monitoring performance, actually meant in practice — assessments, appraisals, audits, endless form filling. The practice of medicine was now very much secondary to the administration of it.

Neef arrived at Eve’s apartment to find her hopping mad.

“What on earth is going on?” she asked.

“Hello to you too,” Neef replied.

“I’m sorry,” said Eve with a guilty look. “It’s just been such a frustrating day. I went down to Sutton Place to get an update on the story and there’s been some kind of coup. Lennon is no longer in charge and the men from the ministry are saying nothing. Has there been some dramatic new development?”

“Not that I know of,” said Neef. “The men from the ministry, as you call them, were sent in in response to some MP calling for action. They came to see me this afternoon and warned me to keep my mouth shut, especially where you were concerned.”

“And people call this a free country.” said Eve. “The more I see of government departments the more convinced I become that no one working in them actually knows what they’re doing. As soon as the spotlight falls on them, their knee-jerk response is to find ways of turning it off, rather than be pleased to show the public how well they’re dealing with things.”

“So what will you do?” asked Neef.

“I’ll write a protest story about unnecessary government secrecy; the other papers will do the same and the powers that be will end up in a worse mess than if they had spoken to us in the first place,” said Eve.

“I seem to remember hearing once that the government had powers to stop the press writing anything at all about certain things if the notion took them,” said Neef.

“We’re talking national security here,” said Eve. “They would really have to have a good reason to slap on one of these. They would have to know a lot more about this thing than they’ve been letting on. Do they?”

“I don’t think so,” said Neef. “But I got the feeling they think it’s a virus too. One of the fun, people I met today was from Porton Down.”

“The germ warfare place?”

“Defence establishment,” corrected Neef.

“Looking for new toys?” said Eve.

“My thought too,” said Neef.

“You shouldn’t be telling me this,” said Eve.

“We have an agreement as individuals,” said Neef. “I’ll tell you what I want.”

“They really did get up your nose, didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

As they sat eating, Eve said, “I won’t be in to see Neil tomorrow. I told him today. He understands. I’ll be there the day after.”

“You’ve been in every day since you started,” said Neef.

“And I’ll be in every day until he gets better,” said Eve. “It’s just that tomorrow I have to do something rather special.”

“Oh?”

“The Express wants to talk to me face to face. I think they might offer me a job.”

“Wonderful,” said Neef. “Just what you wanted.” His voice betrayed disappointment.

“Don’t worry,” said Eve, softly. “We’ll work something out. Be happy for me?”

“Of course,” said Neef. “Best of luck.”

Neef had hoped that the next day would bring permission to start Neil Benson off on Pereira’s new vector but it didn’t. He asked Tim Heaton if he could hurry up proceedings with a few phone calls. Heaton said that he would see what he could do but there was still nothing by the end of the day. There was no word from Public Health about how the new regime was handling the investigation and Eve did not call to say how she had got on at her interview. A thoroughly unexciting and unsatisfying day, thought Neef as he left the unit.

Dolly was the only one to benefit from Neef’s quiet day. With nothing else on his mind, he remembered to go to the pet shop on the way home and pick up a supply of cat food and litter. He also bought her a new toy; her fascination with the orange fish had begun to wane.

If Neef had known what lay in store for him on the following morning he might have been well pleased to accept another uneventful day in lieu. He stopped off on the way to the hospital to pick up his morning paper when a picture on the front page of the Express caught his attention. He thought he recognised the building in the photograph. When he looked closer he saw that he was right. It was the Menogen Research building. Neef lifted the paper off the rack and opened it out. CANCER KILLER BUG ESCAPES FROM RESEARCH LAB screamed the headline.

Unsure of which emotion to heed first, shock, a sense of betrayal, fear, alarm, Neef bought the paper and returned to his car to read the rest. The story was credited to, Our Special Reporter, and said that unnamed official investigators were considering the possibility that the recent outbreak of cancer cases had been caused by a virus escaping from the Menogen Research Laboratories in Langholm Road. It noted that the first victim had been Melanie Simpson who had lived in Langholm Crescent. Official sources were refusing to confirm or deny the reports and had placed a news blackout on the story. It had come to the paper’s attention however, that one of the investigators brought in by the government was a virus expert from the Porton Down defence establishment. Steven Thomas, managing director of Menogen, had dismissed the claims as ‘ludicrous’.

Neef felt sick in his stomach. Had Eve’s career been so important to her that she’d done this? He felt stupid and hurt at the same time. He desperately tried to think of an alternative explanation. Was it conceivable that Klein and Waters had seen the Langholm Road — Langholm Crescent tie-up right away and had leaked the story to the papers? But why? They were actively trying to keep things out of the papers. Unless of course... they saw the opportunity to blame everything on Menogen and get Public Health and the Department of Health off the hook in one fell swoop.

Neef, surprised at the deviousness of his own thoughts, tried calling Lennon as soon as he got in. Not surprisingly the line was engaged. He asked Ann Miles to keep trying but it took about thirty minutes before he heard Lennon’s voice at the end of the line.

“I know the investigation is officially out of your hands,” said Neef. “But there is something I’d really like to know.”

“Shoot,” said Lennon.

“When did Klein and Waters first see the connection between Menogen’s address and Melanie Simpson’s?”

“When they read it in the paper this morning,” said Lennon acidly.

It was what Neef had feared hearing. “You’re sure they didn’t know?”

“Certain. Perhaps I can ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Did you?”

Neef closed his eyes. It was a reasonable question in the circumstances and he felt embarrassed at having kept Lennon in the dark. “I knew,” he confessed. “But there wasn’t a shred of evidence to suggest it was anything more than a coincidence. There still isn’t.”

“Someone obviously disagrees with you,” said Lennon. The word, ‘someone’ was pronounced in a manner to suggest to Neef that Lennon thought he knew exactly who.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you in the circumstances,” said Lennon.

“I see,” said Neef weakly. “If it’s any comfort, I’m as shocked as you are. I knew nothing about the story.”

“Klein and Waters are following up on it. I don’t suppose they’ll be too displeased if the public thinks it was them who worked this one out. It’s almost too good for them to pass up really.”

“I don’t understand,” said Neef.

“If they play their cards right, they’re going to come out of this looking like hot shots. They’ve cleared up the mystery within two days of arriving. They spotted something the bumbling local bloke — me, failed to see and Menogen will probably now be sacrificed to the flames of public anger.”

“But Klein and Waters didn’t spot anything!” protested Neef. “And the chances are that nothing has escaped from the Menogen labs at all!”

“You really don’t understand much about human nature, do you Neef?” said Lennon just before he put the phone down.

Neef reflected on what Lennon had said. The man was right. He really didn’t.

Neef’s first post of the day arrived and with it permission to try Menogen’s new vector out on Neil. He read the technical report that came with the official go-ahead and saw that both scientific reviewers had been enthusiastic about Pereira’s vector. One had called the work brilliant, the other highly ingenious. He wondered how Max Pereira was feeling right now. He called the Menogen number but there was no reply, not even an answer phone message.

Neef wanted to start Neil off right away with an injection of the vector. He went in to the duty room to tell Staff Nurse Williams, Kate Morse’s temporary replacement, and found Kate there herself. She was wearing uniform and smiled at him when he came in.

Neef raised his eyes.

Kate said, “I’m all right, Mike. I’d rather be here than sitting at home wondering when they will allow me to bury my husband.”

“I heard,” said Neef.

“Charlie’s gone and I’ve accepted it. I’ve got two kids, a mortgage and a career to pursue so I’m here to get on with it.”

“Good,” said Neef. “We’ve missed you.” He told Kate about the new vector for Neil Benson.

“Sounds good,” said Kate.

Neef suddenly realised that she hadn’t seen the story in the paper. The smile faded from his face. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Kate, there’s something I think you should read. It’s a newspaper story.”

Neef returned to his office and re-appeared with the paper. He handed it to Kate and stood by while she read it.

“Is this true?” asked Kate in a barely audible whisper when she’d finished.

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s not,” said Neef. “The only fact in that story is the coincidence of the addresses. It’s a totally irresponsible and highly damaging load of rubbish.”

Kate looked at Neef as if trying to make up her mind. “If I thought that little bastard was responsible for my Charlie’s death...”

“I know Pereira isn’t the most personable character in the world, Kate but I’ve come to trust him in spite of everything.”

“Very well,” said Kate. “Who wrote the story?”

Neef couldn’t reply. He looked away and made a gesture of hopelessness with his hands.

“Not Eve Sayers?” said Kate.

Neef shrugged.

“Oh Mike, I’m so sorry.”

Neef nodded. He smiled wryly and said, “About Neil Benson. Can you get him ready?”

Neef was making some final calculations on how much viral suspension to inject, based on the current volume of Neil’s tumour, when Ann Miles announced that Max Pereira was outside.

“Send him in.”

Pereira had a copy of the morning paper in his hand and was clearly upset. “Have you seen this shit?” he stormed. “The bastards have shut us down! Would you fucking believe it?”

“Calm down, Max,” said Neef. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“The fucking authorities have revoked all our licenses. They’ve closed us down, pending a full inquiry. They’ve padlocked the gates. What killer virus for Christ’s sake?”

“I hate to remind you in the circumstances but you were the one who suggested a virus in the first place,” said Neef.

Pereira put his hands to his head as if he was close to breaking point. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I do think a virus is responsible but there is nothing in the Menogen labs even close to being a candidate and even if there were we have so many safety regulations to comply with that there is no way, NO WAY MAN, that anything could get out of there.”

“I believe you,” said Neef.

“Thank Christ somebody does.”

“Who writes this shit?” Pereira pointed to the paper again.

Once again, Neef couldn’t reply and looked away.

“You’re kidding,” said Pereira. “Not Eve. Shit, I thought she was a friend of mine.”

“Join the club.”

Kate Morse came in to confirm that things were ready for Neil’s injection. She froze when she saw Pereira sitting there but quickly recovered although her face was like a mask. Neef noted that there was no suggestion of guilt or embarrassment about Pereira.

“I was sorry to hear about your husband,” said Pereira.

“Thank you,” said Kate coldly. She turned towards Neef and looked him in the eye, saying, “If you’re quite sure about this, Neil will be ready when you are.”

Neef nodded.

“Neil?” exclaimed Pereira. “Neil Benson? The melanoma kid?”

“Permission came through this morning,” said Neef.

“Then I won’t kill myself just yet,” said Pereira. “That’s good news.” He caught sight of the way Kate Morse was looking at him and the smile faded. He said, “You read the story in the papers this morning, didn’t you? And now you’re wondering if I killed your husband. I didn’t nor did anyone else at Menogen. If you never believe anything else in your life, lady, believe that.”

“I’ll try, Doctor,” said Kate. She turned on her heel and left the room.

Pereira appeared totally preoccupied for a few moments before he turned to Neef and said, “I’d like to be present when you inject the kid, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” replied Neef. “It’s really your work we’re dealing with here.”

The virus had been brought out from the unit fridge and Neef and Pereira were putting on gowns when Ann Miles came towards them with a memo in her hand. “I think you should read this,” she said to Neef.

Neef read the note and swore. “It’s from Tim Heaton,” he said. “The health authorities have pulled the plug on all Menogen products,” he said. “A total ban.”

Pereira took the note from his hand and read it too. “Looks like we’ve been tried, convicted and sentenced before we even had a chance to say anything,” he said. He started taking off his gown. Neef followed suit but stopped half way through and put it back on again. “We’re going ahead,” he said.

“Are you out of your mind?” exclaimed Pereira. “You can’t do this. You’ll destroy your career, man.”

“I read the expert scientific reports that came with the license this morning,” said Neef. “They were excellent. These are the opinions that really matter, not the half-arsed, reflex action of some government-sponsored clown in response to a bloody newspaper story.”

“Don’t do it, Mike. Half-assed or not, the pen-pushing clerks of this world will destroy you.”

“If Neil lives, it’ll be worth it.”

“Wow,” said Pereira under his breath. “And I thought you guys didn’t really give a shit about your patients.”

“Am I doing this alone or are you with me?”

“Count me in,” said Pereira.

Kate Morse and one other nurse were in the side room with Neil when Neef and Pereira entered. Neil was lying on an examination couch, already sedated and seemingly peaceful. The grossly disfiguring tumour on the side of his face stood out like some horrible parasitic growth from a different world against the surgical sheeting enfolding him.

Neef took the virus suspension from the junior nurse and charged the syringe. He said to Pereira, “I calculated the volume on the same basis as last time, using the same formula. It worked out at 6.5 millilitres.”

“Sounds about right.” said Pereira. “Are you really sure you want to go through with this?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then you may want the nurses to leave?”

Neef looked at him then realisation dawned on his face. “Of course,” he said, “I wasn’t thinking.”

Kate Morse who had been looking thoroughly confused turned to her junior nurse and said, “Thank you, Nurse. I don’t think we’ll be needing you any more.” The young girl left the room. Kate said, “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?”

Neef looked as if he was struggling for words. Pereira beat him to it. “Against my advice, your boss here is about to inject one of my virus vectors into this child, knowing that permission to use it has been revoked. If you stay in the room, Sister, you may be held responsible too should there be any come-back. That’s why I suggested the nurses leave.”

“Is this true?” Kate asked Neef.

“It is.”

“Then you must have good reason to do this. I’ll stay if you don’t mind.”

Pereira raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Don’t you guys know what you’re doing to a cynicism that’s taken me a lifetime to build?” he asked.

“Let’s get on with it,” said Neef.

After the injection, Neil was taken back to his own bed and Neef and Pereira returned to Neef’s office. Neef asked Kate Morse to join them.

“I feel as if we’ve just robbed a bank,” said Kate.

“It’s probably worse,” said Pereira.

“It was my decision, my responsibility,” said Neef. “I’m going to have Ann draw up a document stating that this was the case and that you assisted out of loyalty to me, Kate and that I did what I did against all your advice, Max. I’ll sign it.”

Any response from Pereira or Kate was cut short by a knock at the door. Ann Miles said, “Miss Sayers is here, Doctor.”

The three of them exchanged looks of total disbelief.

Pereira shook his head and said, “She’s got neck, I’ll give her that.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Kate.

“I don’t think I do either,” said Neef.

Kate and Pereira got up to go. Kate led Pereira out through the door that led into the unit rather than have them meet Eve in Ann Miles’ office. “We’ll be in the duty room,” she said.

A few moments later, Eve stood in the doorway. “Can I come in?” she asked.

“I’m not sure we have anything to say to each other,” said Neef. His features would have made the sphinx seem animated.

“So little faith, Neef?” asked Eve.

Neef saw that her gaze was level and unyielding. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t write the story.”

Neef’s face was a picture of disbelief. “Sure,” he said.

“I did not write the story,” repeated Eve slowly in an unvarying monotone.

Neef said, “Only three people knew about the Langholm address connection.”

“Someone else must have,” said Eve.

“Did you get the job?” asked Neef.

“I didn’t take it.”

“Why not?”

“They showed me the story they were going to do about Menogen and asked if I would do the follow-ups. I refused.”

“You refused?”

“I told them I thought the Menogen story was irresponsible journalism. They were going to destroy a company’s reputation without having any evidence against them at all. They showed me the door.”

“Why didn’t you call last night?”

Eve said, “It was late when I got back and my damned phone was out of order. I was feeling so low I didn’t have the heart to go out to a call box. I took a sleeping pill and went to bed.”

“Christ! What a day,” said Neef slumping back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.

“Can I go and see Neil now?” asked Eve.

“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” said Neef.

Eve looked suddenly vulnerable, as if he’d struck her. “You’re not going to stop me seeing him?”

“Nothing like that,” said Neef. “He’s just been injected with Menogen virus.”

“You got permission?” asked Eve, her whole expression changing.

“Yes... and, no,” replied Neef. He told Eve what he’d done.

“You injected him without a license?” exclaimed Eve, “but you said you’d never do that.”

“I said I couldn’t do it without the proposal being screened by experts. It was screened by them and approved. That was good enough for me. The ban was invoked by politicians in response to your... the story in the papers. That wasn’t good enough for me, or Neil.”

“Thank God,” said Eve.

“Max Pereira is out in the duty room with Kate Morse. They both think you wrote the story. This morning Kate thought Pereira had killed her husband. I think Max believes he’ll never work again.”

Eve closed her eyes. “What can I say,” she said.

“Nothing,” said Neef. “If you didn’t write the story.”