The Secret

FIFTEEN

It was after ten when Steven finally managed to reach Tally. He phoned from his favourite chair by the window in his flat, watching the lights of the river traffic pass by through the gap between buildings across the street to the accompaniment of the dialling tone. He cheered up when she answered.

‘Busy girl?’

‘Don’t go there,’ Tally replied. ‘That was terrible news about Tom North. What are the police saying?’

‘They don’t know where to start.'

He told her about the torture angle.’

‘How absolutely awful… but maybe that will narrow things down a bit when it comes to motive?’

‘Only if you knew what it was the killer was after.’

‘I take it that means you’ve no idea either?’ asked Tally.

‘None at all but I suggested to John that it’s something Sci-Med should be involved in.’

‘Did he agree?’

‘I think he does in principle but he’s been under increasing pressure to stop me meddling in things that don’t concern me and have me investigate the ME problem which HMG see as a domestic problem that warrants Sci-Med’s immediate attention.’

‘Good,’ said Tally. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

‘Tally…’

‘I’m sorry, Steven, but, as I’ve said before, you can’t bring Simone back and the opposition to your involvement is scaring me every time I think about it. You should let sleeping dogs lie.’

‘I still feel the ME thing is a matter for the police not us but HMG are building it up and jumping on the tabloid bandwagon, saying that the protesters are now resorting to murder when they must know full well that that isn’t true. Professor Langley’s death was an tragic accident. I know that won’t be of any comfort to his family but it’s nevertheless true.’

‘Hmm,’ said Tally.

‘Having said that, you may well get your way. I don’t think John can see a way out of getting Sci-Med involved now that the tabloids are setting the agenda. I may well end up looking for tyre slashers and paint daubers instead of hunting down Simone’s killer.’

‘Steven… I didn’t mean… I mean, I just worry about you.’

‘Tally?’

‘What?’

‘I love you.’

Steven heard Tally give a slight sigh and the phone went dead. He looked at it, feeling uncomfortable that he hadn’t been totally honest with her. He’d given the impression that he was about to give up the search for Simone’s killer when that wasn’t true. He’d said that he had no idea why Tom North had been murdered when he was actually considering that there might well be a connection between North’s death and those of Simone and Aline Lagarde. That was something he hadn’t even mentioned to Macmillan. He poured himself a beer put a Stan Getz album on the stereo, switched out the lights and sat back down in his chair to see if he could spot any stars through the city’s light pollution.

Next day Steven found the members of Tom North’s research group sitting together in the main lab on a circle of stools and chairs. They were discussing future prospects — or rather lack of them from the worries he overheard being expressed. He apologised for interrupting and sympathised over the position they found themselves in. ‘Must be a worrying time for you guys. I take it you’ll be having meetings with the powers that be?’

‘Starting this afternoon,’ Liam Kelly confirmed. He didn’t sound optimistic. ‘One at a time when the police have finished with us.’

‘You’re obviously all highly skilled at what you do.’

‘It’s grant money that determines employment, not skill,’ volunteered one of the technicians. ‘The grants all died with Tom.’

‘I understand you have some questions about the lab work we do for the Med Sans aid teams in Pakistan and Afghanistan,’ said Dan Hausman, changing the subject.

‘If that’s convenient?’

‘Sure,’ replied Hausman. He turned to the others. ‘Why don’t you lot go get some coffee while I talk to Dr Dunbar?’ He waited while the others trooped out of the lab, then said, ‘So, what would you like to know?’

‘I’d like to know how the teams send samples from the field, what sort of things they ask for, what sort of tests you carry out,’ replied Steven.

‘We only get blood samples,’ said Hausman. He got up from his chair and walked over to a tall refrigerator to bring out a wire rack containing several plastic tubes with blood in them. ‘Like these. We supply the tubes, which contain a range of chemicals and anticoagulants which are used according to the tests being requested and they’re transported back to us in cool boxes. I have to stress that we don’t perform routine tests — they’re done on site — we carry out checks related to the polio vaccines the teams are using. Some are experimental so they have to know whether the kids are developing antibodies or not. Straightforward serology really.’

‘How about kids who might be developing polio?’ asked Steven.

‘The diagnosis would probably be made on clinical grounds, but we would be able to confirm it if required.’

‘Would you isolate the virus?’

Hausman shook his head. ‘Definitely not. We have the capacity to do that but growing high-risk pathogens in the lab is something to be avoided if at all possible. Clinical diagnosis backed up by serology is usually enough.’

‘Remind me; why did you guys end up providing this service?’

‘Routine virology labs in the UK are not used to dealing with polio; we are. Although we’re a research lab, Tom thought it was the least we could do and we’re not called upon that often. Call it a PR exercise if you like.’

‘The age of the image,’ said Steven with a smile.

‘Everyone needs one,’ agreed Hausman. ‘To paraphrase Mr Shakespeare, very little that glisters is gold these days.’

Both men were laughing as the others started to return from their coffee break. ‘When was the last time you were called upon to do some tests?’ Steven asked.

Hausman looked thoughtful. ‘From the North West Frontier? Oh, I dunno, maybe three or four months ago. One of the teams asked us to check the antibody levels in some village kids they weren’t sure about.’

‘Nothing after that?’ asked Steven.

‘Don’t think so.’

‘Some bloods came in from Dr Ricard, Dan,’ a voice put in. Liam Kelly had overheard the conversation from the other side of an island bench, where a tall gantry containing bottles of chemicals shielded him from view.

For a moment it appeared to Steven that Hausman didn’t quite know which facial expression to adopt then he grinned.

‘Oh yeah,’ he agreed. ‘I forgot. Simone sent some bloods for analysis but we didn’t carry out the tests. She’d come across some sick village folk. Tom passed them on to another lab.’

‘Why was that?’

‘We don’t do general diagnostic work.. She didn’t know what was wrong with the people, it was better that the tests were carried out by a hospital or Public health lab.’

‘Do you happen to know if they found anything?’

‘No. I wouldn’t see the report, but I believe Tom said not — that’s probably why I forgot about it. That’s often the way with viruses. Labs often have to leave the diagnosis as "a viral infection" without being specific. GPs tell patients every day that they’re suffering from a virus without saying which one. They’re just guessing. It’s just too damned difficult to establish.’

‘I see,’ said Steven. ‘Which lab was this?’

‘I’m not sure… maybe Tom made the arrangements. It was probably the Public Health lab at Mill Hill. Is it important?’

‘Not really,’ said Steven with a smile. ‘Many thanks for your help. I hope things work out for you guys.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ said Liam Kelly.

‘No need,’ Steven replied, before realising that it was probably department policy to see visitors off the premises. He didn’t protest again and Liam came down with him in the lift. Steven thought he seemed more circumspect than usual but put it down to worry about whether or not he would be able to continue with his studies. ‘I hope they can fix you up with a new supervisor, Liam,’ he said as the doors opened.

‘Thanks, Dr Dunbar… Look, this is probably not important, but…’

‘Go on.’

‘It wasn’t Tom who sent off Dr Ricard’s blood samples, it was Dan: he must have forgotten.’

‘Oh, okay.’

‘I saw the package. He sent them to a Dr Neville Henson.’

He smiled. ‘Thanks for clearing that up, Liam. Good luck this afternoon.’

Steven kept up the pretence of taking on board an unimportant detail till he got into his car and put his head back on the restraint. ‘Sweet Jesus Christ,’ he whispered. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ Alarm bells had gone off in his head as soon as he’d heard the name Henson. Dr Neville Henson didn’t work for Public Health at Mill Hill; he worked at Porton Down, the UK’s germ warfare establishment or whatever they called it these days. It had been a while since Steven had checked. It was probably the institute for cuddly toys and happy songs by now. Neville Henson was the microbiologist whose name and affiliation had appeared in the list of participants at the Prague polio meeting.