Pandora's Helix

Six

After feeding Dolly, Neef settled down to read the Sunday papers he’d bought on the way back from lunch. He was interrupted by the phone. It was David Farro-Jones.

“Hello Mike, I thought I’d just call and wish you luck with the trial tomorrow.”

“That’s very nice of you, I appreciate it,” replied Neef.

“I also wanted to repeat my offer of help and facilities should you need them.”

“I’m most grateful, David. I’m sure Max will be as well.”

“About Max, Mike...” Farro-Jones began hesitantly.

“Yes? What about him?”

“God, this is difficult...”

“What is?”

“You and I have known each other quite a while, Mike. I’d like to say something to you in confidence.”

“Go ahead,” said Neef.

“I know Max Pereira.”

“Yes, I know you do.”

“I mean, I know him well; we worked together for two years in the States. He’s ambitious, ruthless and determined to get to the top. Nothing is going to stand in his way. This trial is important to Max and to Menogen, much more so than they’ve let on. They all stand to become millionaires if they get a good result.”

“And good luck to them too,” said Neef. “If they’ve come up with a Gene Therapy that destroys tumours, they deserve all the success that comes to them.”

“Agreed, but I just thought you should be aware of the pressures they’re working under. If their new vectors succeed, the sky’s the limit; they’ll have all the fame and fortune they ever dreamed of but if they fail, they could lose everything and the chances are that Menogen would be in real trouble. They’ve gambled so much in developing retroviral vectors that if they don’t work out, it’s doubtful whether they could get back in the race with an altered strategy. Someone else would almost certainly beat them to it.”

“So where does this leave me?” asked Neef.

“I just thought you should be aware of this,” said Farro-Jones. “Strong financial considerations are not entirely compatible with the care and concern for patients that you and I take for granted. I think you should be on your guard at all times. Question everything Max tells you, don’t allow him to take any short-cuts and if you’re unsure of anything, give me a call; maybe I can advise you. There’s one simple rule in all this at present; the more efficient the vector, the greater the potential danger to the patient.”

“Thanks David, I appreciate the warning but I think Max and I have an understanding,” said Neef. “He admitted at one point he would have liked to do some tracer experiments on the children to check out the spread of his vectors but I said, no. All the patients are to be treated therapeutically. Apart from that it’s either me or my medical staff who will be administering the viruses. Max won’t be allowed near the patients.”

“But you will be dependent on Max giving you what he says he’s giving you to inject into them,” said Farro-Jones.

“But the various safety committees have examined both the viruses and the strategy and passed them.”

“They examined what Menogen proposed on paper and examined the vectors Menogen gave them to examine,” said Farro-Jones.

“Surely you’re not suggesting that...’

“No I suppose not,” conceded Farro-Jones. “Maybe I worry too much and probably I’m doing it unnecessarily but if you do have any qualms at any time, I’d be happy to carry out a molecular analysis for you to verify anything you’re not sure of.”

“Thanks David, I can’t say you’ve exactly put my mind at rest but I appreciate your concern.”

“Good luck, Mike.”

“Thanks.”

Neef put down the phone; his good mood completely evaporated. He took little comfort in remembering the look on Max Pereira’s face the first time he heard that David Farro-Jones would be on the ethics committee. He had interpreted it at the time as being something short of pleasure. This also made sense of David’s behaviour when questioning Max Pereira. He didn’t trust the man an inch.

“That, Dolly,” said Neef, getting up from his chair, “is just about all I need.”

Neef was in early next morning. He examined the report from the night staff nurse and spoke to Tony Samuels who had been on call. There were no new problems. Max Pereira arrived at eight thirty. He had changed his Tee shirt but still wore jeans, a leather jacket and cowboy boots. He planked his brief case down on Neef’s desk and put his beret on top. He asked, “Any coffee?”

“I’ll have a look,” replied Neef. “I could do with some myself.”

Neef put his head round the door of the duty room and found the night staff nurse still there. “No Kate?” he asked.

“Not yet, it’s most unlike her.”

Neef frowned then asked, “I don’t suppose there’s any coffee?”

The staff nurse smiled and said, “It’s against all my feminist principles but I’ll make some while I wait for Sister.”

It was very unusual for Kate Morse to be late, thought Neef. He hoped she hadn’t been involved in a car accident. It had to be said, she wasn’t the best driver in the world. The last time she had given him a lift had been the equivalent of a white-knuckle ride on Blackpool Pleasure Beach. It was totally out of character but a fact nevertheless. Her husband Charlie had given up on trying to slow her down. “Born to be wild,” he had said, tongue in cheek.

“So where are the viruses?” Neef asked Pereira when he returned to his office.

“They’re in the unit fridge. I came in yesterday,” replied Pereira. “There’s also a back-up supply down in your Pharmacy department.”

“Anything else I need to know?”

“The hi-tec stuff has all been done back in the lab,” replied Pereira. “All you have to do now is administer the vectors, wait seven days then start the patients on Gancyclovir.”

“I made a provisional list of five patients I though suitable candidates under the terms of our open license,” said Neef.”

“Your houseman, Samuels showed it to me yesterday.”

“Any problems from your point of view?”

“I don’t think so.” Pereira opened his brief case and took out a series of tracings made on what looked like acetate sheeting but seemed infinitely more pliable. “I made up these,” he said, passing them over to Neef. “They are exact tracings of the tumours from all angles available on the scans. From these, I’ve done volume calculations and estimated the amount of vector suspension we need to inject.”

“Good. For my part, I’ve calculated the best angle of approach using the keyhole gear,” said Neef. “I’ve done that for four of them.”

“That just leaves the brain tumour kid, let me see... Downy.”

“Thomas Downy,” said Neef. He disliked anyone referring to the children by their last names.

“Yeah, Thomas Downy,” drawled Pereira. “Has a surgical team been briefed for that one?”

“Norman Beavis will be ready in theatre at two thirty,” replied Neef.

“Good, accuracy is going to be really important. We’ve got to hit the centre of the tumour.”

“I thought you said your vector would only infect dividing cells,” said Neef.

Pereira screwed up his face and said, “It’s possible we may get a bystander effect.”

“A bystander effect, Dr Pereira?” repeated Neef coldly, his features hardening.

“It’s just conceivable that normal cells situated right next to the tumour could be damaged.”

“So Thomas Downy is at some risk of brain damage after all?”

Pereira hunched up his shoulders and spread his palms as if wrestling with a difficult concept, He said, “Not really if the procedure is carried out correctly and the virus goes to the heart of the tumour. Let’s face it Mike, when it comes right down to it, this kid’s tumour itself isn’t exactly doing his brain a whole lot of good, as it is, is it?”

“Whereas you might kill his tumour but turn him into a brain-damaged idiot?”

Neef was struggling to keep his temper but the stress he was feeling wasn’t helping. He kept thinking about what David Farro-Jones had said. “You told me at the outset there was no risk of healthy brain cells being damaged.”

“And there isn’t, in theory,” soothed Pereira. “Normal brain cells don’t divide so they can’t become infected by a retrovirus. Our gene delivery system is based on a retrovirus therefore normal brain cells can’t become infected.”

“But?”

“In practice, it can happen... occasionally. It’s just a phenomenon, that’s all.”

Neef stared at Pereira as if he were looking through the back of his head. “How many more phenomena haven’t you told me about?” he asked.

Pereira held up his hands and tilted his head to one side. “None, Mike, absolutely none.”

Neef was trying to decide whether Pereira was capable of using a strategy which would destroy a tumour but leave the patient brain damaged in order to claim a technical ‘cure’. He thought of the old surgical joke: the operation was successful, the patient died.

“Have all the Menogen virus vectors been passed by the Medicines Control Agency?” he asked.

“Not all of them, no.”

“But the ones you’re using in this trial have?”

“Of course, that was a condition of the National Gene Therapy Advisory Committee.”

“You said that the viruses are in the unit fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“I am going to ask David Farro-Jones to come over here and take samples from all the vials. I would like to be assured that the viruses are what you say they are and that they are present in the concentration you say they are in.”

Pereira’s face darkened. His eyes flashed with anger but he kept control. “And if I refuse?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll stop the trial before it starts.”

“Then, in the circumstances, I have no option,” said Pereira. “Go ahead. Do what you have to.”

Neef made the call to Farro-Jones, saying that he’d like to take him up on his offer of help. Farro-Jones said he’d be there within ten minutes.

Kate Morse knocked and came in smoothing her uniform front and then her hair. She stopped when she saw Pereira sitting there and sensed the tension in the room. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t realise you were with...”

“It’s OK, Kate; we’ve finished for the moment.”

“I just wanted to apologise for being late. Charlie’s come down with flu or something and you know what men are like. I had to make sure a complete life support system was within arms length.”

“No problem,” said Neef.

David Farro-Jones arrived from the medical school. He looked uncomfortable and embarrassed. “Morning Max, Morning Mike. So, what exactly is it you chaps want me to do?” he asked.

“I would like you to take pre-treatment samples of the viral vectors that Dr Pereira has prepared for administration to my patients and analyse them... as a formality,” said Neef. “Can you do this?”

“Of course,” replied Farro-Jones. “I did say I would be happy to help you chaps with any lab work you feel necessary.” He smiled at Pereira who did not smile back.

“Look Max, I hope you and I won’t fall out over this?” said Farro-Jones. “It’s really just a sensible control measure when you think about it. Don’t you think?”

Pereira gave a small smile and nodded. “If you like,” he said.

“There’s no reason at all for you two to fall out,” said Neef. “This request is entirely down to me.”

“So where are these viruses?” asked Farro-Jones.

Pereira went to fetch them from the fridge. He returned with a wire rack containing five glass vials. He put the rack down with slow deliberation on Neef’s desk.

“I can’t open them here,” said Farro-Jones. “They could become contaminated with bugs from the atmosphere. I’ll have to take them back to the medical school. We have a laminar air-flow cabinet there. We can open them safely with full aseptic precautions.” He turned to Pereira and asked, “Is this OK with you, Max?”

“I’d be kind of pissed off if you’d tried to open them here,” said Pereira. “On you go.”

“I just thought, maybe you’d like to be present when I open the vials?” suggested Farro-Jones.

“That won’t be necessary, David,” smiled Pereira. “I trust you.”

Neef knew the comment had been made for his benefit but he remained unrepentant. When Farro-Jones had left he said, “We’ll continue with the trial when David confirms the contents of the vials.”

“As you like,” said Pereira wearily and getting up to go. “Maybe you can give me a call when it happens.”

“Of course,” said Neef. “And Max...”

“Yeah?”

“You and I don’t know each other so we don’t have a foundation for a relationship based on trust. Let’s not bother to pretend. We do have to work with each other however, so there should be some ground rules.”

“Like what?”

“If there’s a choice to be made between what I see as my patients’ interests and the possibility of offending you, I’m liable to offend you quite a lot. Is that understood?”

“I haven’t heard a line like that since Dr Kildare,” said Pereira and with that, he left. He brushed past Kate Morse on the way out.

“Was it something I said?” she muttered.

Neef didn’t comment. He waited for Kate to speak.

“I think you should take a look at Jane Lees,” she said. “Her breathing’s very laboured and she’s having a lot of pain.”

“I’ll be right there,” said Neef. He got up to put his white coat on.

“You haven’t said what you’ll need for the trial patients,” said Kate.

“There’s going to be a delay on the trial,” said Neef. “A technical hitch.”

“Oh,” said Kate, remembering the manner of Pereira’s departure. “I see.”

Neef examined Jane Lees and made a change to her medication to ease the pain. He saw that Lawrence Fielding had written her up for an antibiotic. He was sounding her chest when Fielding joined him. “You examined her this morning?” Neef asked.

“First thing, replied Fielding. “I thought the pneumonia might be coming back.”

“I agree,” said Neef. “That’s what it sounds like, but I’m not convinced it’s pneumonia.”

“That’s what she was admitted to East Side General with in the first place,” said Fielding.

“Viral pneumonia,” said Neef. “So the antibiotic wouldn’t do her any good.”

“I’m aware of that,” said Fielding, uncharacteristically curtly. “I prescribed the antibiotic as cover against secondary bacterial infection.”

Neef looked up at Fielding and said, “Sorry, Lawrence, I’m a bit on edge today. About this pneumonia...”

“What about it?”

“Supposing it isn’t pneumonia at all. Supposing it were some kind of inflammatory response to the cancer agent she was exposed to and it only looks like pneumonia.”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” agreed Fielding. “That would explain why there was no response to the initial antibiotic therapy.”

“Precisely. Let’s try her on a steroid, see if we can suppress the response. We’ve nothing to lose.”

Eve Sayers appeared at two thirty. She was carrying a parcel that Neef would have bet a month’s salary, contained a fire engine.

“You got one then?” he asked.

“I got one,” smiled Eve. “It wasn’t easy. The shop assistant told me they’re not as popular as they used to be but I got one.”

Neef suddenly realised that she was nervous and it pleased him. He took this as a sign of concern for Neil. “Why don’t you just go right in then,” he suggested.

“If that’s all right.”

Neef nodded. “You remember where he is?”

“I remember.”

Neef followed Eve to the side ward and watched as she entered and said hello to Neil. Neil, who had been looking through a large picture book of animals that the nurses had given him, looked up and stared at Eve. Neef thought for a moment that he didn’t recognise her but suddenly his eyes sparkled and he made a sound of pleasure. He put down the book and looked around for his fire engine. He picked it up from the floor and held it out to her. Eve nodded, obviously relieved and pleased that Neil had remembered. The pair of them settled down to play and Neef left them to it.

An hour later Kate Morse put her head round Neef’s door to say that Jane Lees’ parents were demanding to see him. He asked her to show them in.

“I want to know what the hell’s going on!” said the small, pugnacious man wearing blazer and flannels who entered first. His wife, much more timid in demeanour, trailed in behind him looking apologetic rather than angry. She fiddled with the catch of her handbag that was draped over one arm.

Neef indicated they should both sit down.

Lees sat down but did not take his eyes off Neef. “First the other hospital tells us our Jane has pneumonia then they decide that she’s got cancer and now we’ve had the Public Health at the door asking us all sorts of personal questions. What’s going on?”

Neef’s first thought was to wonder why the hell Lennon had not explained all this properly to the man in front of him. But maybe he had, he considered. “As Dr Lennon probably explained to you, Mr Lees...”

“I didn’t see any bloody Dr Lennon. The wife tells me some joker from public Health has been round. There’s nothing wrong with our house dammit. Who sent him? The wife’s right upset over it.”

Neef looked at the mousey woman who had clearly failed to understand what Lennon had told her. She was looking down at the floor. A visit from anyone saying, Public Health, obviously, in Mrs Lees’ book, implied some criticism of her house and her capacities as a mother.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” said Neef.

“I’ll bloody say there’s been a misunderstanding,” said Lees, launching himself on another offensive which Neef tried to halt by holding up his hands.

“Please, Mr Lees,” Neef appealed. “Give me a chance.”

Lees paused and took a breath. He rubbed the back of his neck and hunched his shoulders a few times.

“Dr Lennon’s visit had nothing to do with any supposed shortcomings on your part.” said Neef. He said it firmly and conclusively and it appeared to have the desired effect. He sensed Lees begin to relax.

“We’re agreed about that then,” said Lees.

“Jane does have cancer, I’m afraid and Dr Lennon and his colleagues are trying to find out how she got it?”

“What do you mean, how she got it?”

“We think Jane was exposed to some highly carcinogenic substance and that’s how she got the disease in the first place. The Public Health people are trying to establish what it was before anyone else is affected.”

“Lees’ eyes opened like organ stops.” He looked mutely at his wife and then back at Neef. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Are you telling me that Jane’s getting cancer was somebody’s fault? It wasn’t just one of these things?”

Neef suddenly wondered what he was getting himself into but it was too late to withdraw. “We think that Jane came into contact with some gas or chemical that gave her the disease.”

“Gas or chemical?” repeated Lees slowly. “Bloody hell.”

Mrs Lees spoke for the first time. She said to Neef, “You can do a lot with cancer these days can’t you, Doctor? I mean it’s not like it used to be, is it?”

“Course they can,” interrupted her husband, “They’ve got all sorts of drugs these days.”

Neef looked at them both and felt his heart sink. That bloody awful moment was here again. “I’m afraid Jane has lung cancer,” he said. “She has extensive lesions on both lungs. The outlook is very poor.”

“Are you telling us our Janey is going to die?” asked Lees as if he couldn’t believe he was uttering the words.

“I’m afraid so.”

Lees shook his head mutely, his mouth opened and shut without any sound escaping as he struggled to find words. His wife buried her face in a handkerchief that she took from her handbag. Anger surfaced in Lees like an erupting volcano. “If what you say is true, why the hell are the police not out looking for this chemical or gas or whatever it is? They’re covering it up aren’t they? That’s what they’re bloody well doing!” Lees had risen from his chair and was leaning on Neef’s desk, accusing him.

“There’s no question of anyone covering anything up, Mr Lees,” said Neef calmly.

“Then why aren’t they all out looking for it? One poxy drain inspector? A lot of bloody good that is!”

“Dr Lennon is an epidemiologist, Mr Lees, not a poxy drain inspector. He’s an expert in tracing the sources of disease. Policemen aren’t. Dr Lennon came to ask your wife personal questions about Jane because he is trying to establish some common factor between Jane and the first girl.”

“First girl!” exploded Lees. “You mean there’s been another?”

“Jane is the second victim,” admitted Neef, feeling as if he’d just stepped deeper into the mire.

Lees took his wife’s arm and led her towards the door. He opened it and turned round to say, “Do you know what I’m going to do now, Doctor?”

“Tell me,” said Neef.

“I’m going straight to the bloody papers, that’s what I’m going to do. They’ll get some bloody action. It’s a bloody disgrace, kids getting cancer from some bloody gas and nobody’s doing a blind thing about it!”

The Lees left, brushing past Eve Sayers who was waiting there. “Can I come in?” she asked, tapping lightly on the door.

Neef realised that she must have heard what Lees had said. “Of course,” he said.

“I won’t ask,” said Eve.

“Good,” smiled Neef. “How did you get on with Neil?”

“Like a house on fire.”

“Appropriate for someone with two fire engines at his finger tips,” smiled Neef. “Did he like the new one?”

“He certainly did. Can I come back tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Eve hesitated as she got to the door. “You said something about starting a new Gene Therapy trial this week?”

“We’ve had to delay it,” said Neef.

“Will Neil be one of the patients?”

“No. Neil is in remission at the moment. His tumour has stopped growing so we’re leaving well alone. Apart from that there’s some doubt about whether Neil would be suitable for this kind of therapy.”

“I see,” said Eve. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Neef saw the disappointment on her face. He said, “You’re probably the best medicine for Neil right now.”

“Me?”

“The state of mind of a patient can often be an important factor in the prognosis of cancer cases,” said Neef. “Happy, positive people do better.”

“It must be quite hard to be happy and positive when you know you’ve got cancer,” said Eve.

Neef nodded and said, “Neil is too young to know what he’s got. That’s an advantage.”

“I’ll do my best.”

At four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon David Farro-Jones appeared in Neef’s office. He was carrying an ice box containing the Menogen viruses.

“Well?” asked Neef.

“They are exactly what Max said they were,” said Farro-Jones.

“I see,” said Neef, feeling a bit foolish.

“If it’s any comfort, I think you did the right thing in asking for a check. You were only acting in the best interests of your patients.”

“Thanks,” said Neef. “That doesn’t make it any the less embarrassing, I’m afraid.”

“The right road is sometimes the hardest to travel,” said Farro-Jones. “I don’t think you should become any less vigilant because everything was OK this time. It’s no bad thing for Max to think we’re keeping an eye on him.” He got up to go, adding, “If there’s anything else just give me a call.”

“Thanks David,” said Neef.

Neef put the virus vials in the unit fridge and looked up Max Pereira’s phone number on the desk pad. There was no reply. He called an alternative mobile number.

“Pereira.”

“Max, it’s Michael Neef. Your viruses have been cleared by the medical school people.”

“No kidding,” said Pereira.

Neef winced but kept his resolution. He wanted to apologise to the man but he still felt that he’d done what needed doing in the circumstances and Farro-Jones had been right, it was no bad thing for Max to believe he was being watched. “We could start tomorrow if I can get theatre facilities,” he said.

“Fine by me,” said Pereira.

“It’s probably too short notice to get Mr Beavis for Thomas Downy but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Whatever,” said Pereira dryly.

Neef put down the phone and went in search of Kate Morse. He found her with Thomas Downy and told her about the start of the trial. “Do you think we can be ready?”

“Of course we can,” replied Kate. “What about theatres?”

“I’m on my way to see about that. I thought I’d check with you first.” Neef thought that Kate was looking pale and drawn. He took her gently to one side and asked, “Is everything all right?”

Kate put her hand to her cheek nervously and said, “I’m sorry. It’s Charlie. He’s still off work. We got the doctor in yesterday. He said it was flu but I’m worried it might be more serious.”

“I see,” said Neef. “What makes you think that?”

“Charlie’s never ill. He gets the occasional cold and makes a meal of it but he’s never really ill if you know what I mean.”

“Maybe that’s the problem then,” said Neef. “This time maybe he really has come down with a dose of the flu. There’s a world of difference between what people call flu and the real thing. You can really be quite ill with it.”

“You’re probably right,” said Kate.

“Why not give it until the morning and if you’re still not happy, call your GP again. Tell him you’re a nursing sister if he doesn’t know that already. You know what you’re talking about.”

Neef managed to book enough theatre time for the following day to start three patients off on Gene Therapy. He decided that the first two would be Rebecca Daley who had liver cancer and Martin Liddle, a pancreatic tumour patient. They would only require the small theatre. The big theatre was available in the afternoon. He booked it, hoping that Norman Beavis would be free to carry out the operation on Thomas Downy. Beavis’ secretary confirmed that this was so. Beavis was operating at University College Hospital in the morning but would be free in the afternoon. The remaining two patients were booked into the small theatre, both on Friday morning.

Feeling that he was on a winning streak, Neef telephoned the Pharmacy department. “Has my Antivulon arrived yet?” he asked.

“Half an hour ago, Dr Neef. It’s on its way up to you now.”

Neef sought out Lawrence Fielding and told him the good news. Fielding said he’d get the relevant patients started on the drug as soon as it appeared.

Neef was walking back to his office, feeling better than he’d done for a few days, when he bumped into Eve Sayers. She had been visiting Neil and had just come out of his room.”

“Everything OK?” asked Neef.

“Just fine,” replied Eve. “I was hoping I might bump into you. I have a problem.”

Neef led Eve back to his office and closed the door behind them. “What’s up?”

“A man named Lees called my newspaper yesterday and the editor has asked me to check up on his story. I think he was the man who was in your office yesterday when I arrived?”

Neef nodded. “His daughter has cancer; he was very upset.”

“I told my editor that I had an agreement with you and couldn’t break it. He said he understood but that it was an important story of great public interest if true. If I didn’t feel I could take it on he would ask another reporter to cover it. I’m sorry.”

“I see,” said Neef. “Well, Mr Lees approached your paper directly so if it has to be anyone it might as well be you. What do you need to know?”

Eve related what Mr Lees had told her editor. “Is this substantially correct?” she asked.

“It is true that Jane Lees has cancer and we think she must have been exposed to some carcinogenic gas or chemical. She’s the second within the space of a week.”

“Good Lord,” said Eve.

“Mr Lees feels that not enough is being done to trace the cause but I suspect it is. The Public Health people are investigating and they are the experts. Mr Lees would prefer lots of uniforms combing the streets.”

“Wouldn’t that help?” asked Eve. “I mean if it’s a chemical spillage or something dumped illegally?”

“I don’t think so,” replied Neef. “It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. This sort of thing calls for clever detective work. With any luck the PH people will have pinpointed the source by the end of the week.”

Eve nodded and said, “In that case I’ll do my best to stall for a couple of days to give them a chance.”

“Thanks,” said Neef.

Eve got up to leave and Neef escorted her to the door. As he turned the handle Eve suddenly said, “Have dinner with me this evening?”

Neef was taken aback. “Eeer... all right,” he said.

“Good. Come around eight.”

Neef sat in his chair for a few moments doodling on the phone pad while he thought about the invitation; it had come as a complete surprise so his first reaction was to look for an ulterior motive. When he failed to see one he concluded that he should stop being paranoid and just look forward to spending a pleasant evening with Eve. He picked up the phone and called Lennon at the Public Health Service. Luckily, he was in his office.

“Any joy with the investigation?” he asked.

“Nothing yet,” replied Lennon. “I thought we’d be sure to crack it when we got two cases but it hasn’t turned out that way. We haven’t found any factor that links them at all. Still, I suppose we should be grateful that we only have two cases. The cancer source can’t be too accessible or we’d have more.”

“There is one problem on the horizon, however,” said Neef.

“What?”

“Jane Lees’ father has gone to the papers, demanding action over what he sees as some kind of cover-up. The story has been stalled for a couple of days but probably not more.”

“Damnation,” sighed Lennon. “Thanks for the warning.”

“How is the girl, by the way?”

“Not good,” replied Neef.