Pandora's Helix

Sixteen

Neef made Eve wait while he summoned Pereira back into the room. Kate Morse had gone off to deal with some problem in the unit.

Pereira looked at Eve as if she was a curious, alien life form.

“She didn’t write the story,” said Neef.

“And I’m playing quarterback for the Giants next season,” said Pereira softly.

“I’m serious,” said Neef.

“I didn’t write it,” said Eve. “I knew it was going in; they asked me to do the follow-up but I did not write the story that appeared in the paper this morning.”

“Then who did? How many closet journalists do you have on the staff in this goddam hospital?” asked Pereira.

“They didn’t get the story from a journalist,” said Eve. “Or they wouldn’t have asked me to carry on with it. An insider gave them the information and an Express staffer wrote it up.”

“So, who on the staff would want to put out a story like that?” said Neef, thinking out loud.

“And why?” added Pereira.

“Tim Heaton is always looking for press attention,” said Neef. “But this wouldn’t make sense. The story isn’t going to do St George’s any good at all. The Louradis article on gene therapy has already associated St George’s with Menogen in the public mind. This is going to be as damaging to us as it is to Menogen.”

“But maybe not so costly,” said Pereira. “You don’t think it could have been Louradis himself do you?”

“But why?” asked Neef.

“He called me up to ask a few things when he was writing his ‘plain man’s guide to gene therapy’ article. The man obviously craves press attention. He struck me as the kind who’d say anything to stay in the limelight.”

“I don’t think he knew about Melanie living next to Menogen,” said Neef. “Apart from that it’s hard to see how this story would help Louradis in his quest for stardom.”

“So we’re still looking for a motive,” said Eve. “Maybe someone wanted to seriously damage Menogen. Did you upset anyone that much, Max?”

Pereira shrugged.

“Or maybe it was some kind of deliberate diversion,” said Neef. He was thinking of Heaton’s tactics in the past of using a good news story to counteract the damage caused by bad publicity.

“But a diversion from what?” said Eve.

“That’s what we have to work out,” said Neef. “Let’s take it one step at a time. If someone wants Menogen blamed for the cancer outbreak it might just be that that same someone knows the real reason behind it and wants it covered up.”

“But no one has even thought of an alternative possibility, have they?” asked Eve.

“No,” admitted Neef.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could find out from the newspaper who gave them the story?” Pereira asked Eve.

Eve shook her head and said, “None at all. They’ll protect their source. Apart from that, we didn’t exactly finish up on good terms.”

“Why don’t we have a think about this and meet again tomorrow?” suggested Neef, looking at his watch. “We’ll be doing Thomas Downy’s last scan in the morning. You’ll probably want to be here for that anyway Max?”

“Yeah,” replied Pereira. “I’m looking forward to that.” He got up to go.

“What are your plans Eve?” asked Neef as the door closed.

“Right now I’m going down to Sutton Place. It’s my guess that this morning’s story will have forced the hand of Messrs Klein and Waters. They’re going to have to make some kind of press statement. I plan to make it an uncomfortable experience for them.”

“Good for you,” said Neef. “Will I see you later?”

“If you like.”

They arranged that Eve would come over to Neef’s cottage when she had finished writing up her piece for the Citizen.

Tim Heaton called shortly after four. He was not in a good mood.

“I’ve spent all bloody day trying to get sense out of these ministry people and I’ve failed. They admit that they were not investigating Menogen Research before the newspaper story broke but they refuse to kill the story. It’s as if they want the public to believe it!”

“It takes the heat off them,” said Neef.

“But St George’s is associated with Menogen!” exclaimed Heaton. “Just as we were about to capitalise on Mr Louradis’ groundwork and go public with our St George’s cancer cure success this has to happen! It’s all gone sour. University College Hospital Trust will think we’re a laughing stock. What GP fund holders in their right minds will refer patients to us now when we’re associated with a discredited company like Menogen?”

“The story’s not exactly done the company much good either,” said Neef. “They are absolutely adamant that nothing from their lab could have caused the outbreak. The trouble is no one is going to listen to them.”

“Bloody newspapers.”

“Before you ask, it wasn’t Eve Sayers who wrote the story.”

“That’s something, I suppose. You got my memo about the ban on Menogen products?”

“I did.”

“I know you were keen on trying out that last one but that’s how it goes.”

“I suppose,” said Neef. Now was not the time to tell Heaton what he’d done. Unauthorized treatment of a patient at St George’s with an experimental product from Menogen Research was not exactly the light relief he was looking for. The fact that the patient was a young boy without mother or father to look after his interests would make him an exploited helpless guinea pig as far as the tabloids were concerned. Truth wouldn’t get a look in.

Eve arrived at the cottage around eight.

“Are you hungry?” asked Neef.

“I had some pasta before I wrote up my report,” replied Eve.

“Did you pick up anything useful at Sutton Place?”

“Klein spoke to us. He said their inquiries were continuing. Everyone wanted to know about the killer virus and how it had escaped from Menogen’s labs. Klein and Waters went into a bullshit routine; they didn’t have the decency to admit that they had no evidence of this at all so I gave them a hard time.”

“How so?”

“I asked them publicly if they knew about the Langholm address link before it appeared in the papers. Klein talked round the question for a bit but in the end, I pinned him down and he admitted he hadn’t. The staffer from the Express then saw his chance and tried to get Klein to say that his paper had therefore been instrumental in providing a valuable lead in the investigation. I pointed out that, as there was no evidence at all to back up their claims, the Express story had been malicious rather than helpful.”

“Good for you,” said Neef.

“The Express man wasn’t too pleased,” said Eve. “Asked me whose side I was on. I then asked Klein if he had shut down a perfectly responsible company solely on the say-so of an unsubstantiated newspaper report. He said not so I asked what his reasons were. He said he couldn’t divulge them at present. It would not be in the public interest.”

“You mean, he hasn’t thought of any yet.”

“That would be my guess too,” said Eve. “Just for good measure, I asked him if it was true that Menogen Research were taking legal action over the closure.”

“Are they?” asked Neef.

“I’ve no idea but I would if I were them. Friend Klein turned a whiter shade of pale and said that he couldn’t comment.

Neef poured two gin and tonics and handed one to Eve. “Sounds like you’re been at war with everyone,” he said.

“Feels like it too,” said Eve, taking a sip of her drink. “You know, something’s been bugging me all day.”

“What?”

“You said that only three people knew about the Langholm address link?”

“Yes.”

“You, me... and David Farro-Jones?”

“Yes.”

“Supposing it was David Farro-Jones who leaked the story to the papers.”

Neef looked at her in silence for a moment. “You can’t be serious,” he said.

Eve shrugged. “I know he’s a friend of yours but if it wasn’t you and it wasn’t me, that only leaves him.”

“But why would he do that?” protested Neef.

“That’s what I’ve been wondering about,” said Eve. “David Farro-Jones is a molecular biologist like Max, making Gene Therapy vectors like Max... but maybe not so good?”

Neef’s eyes widened. “You’re suggesting that David wanted to damage Menogen because of jealousy; they were more successful than he was?”

“I’m not sure of his reasons,” said Eve. “But it’s a thought. You said yourself there’s a lot of money to be made out of successful vectors for Gene Therapy. Anything that damaged Menogen would benefit the competition including David Farro-Jones.”

Neef shook his head as if he was unwilling to contemplate Eve’s suggestion but he found he could not dismiss it altogether. “I suppose it’s a possibility,” he conceded.

It was a possibility that was to prevent Neef from getting a good night’s sleep. He lay awake in the small hours wondering if David Farro-Jones were capable of doing such a thing. It seemed so totally out of character. He always seemed to have the best interests of the patients at heart. David had been the one to warn him about Max Pereira’s driving ambition, suggesting that Max couldn’t be trusted. What if it was really him and not Max who was being driven by greed and ambition?

One thought led to another. If Farro-Jones had been intent on damaging Menogen, maybe he been prepared to go further than just leak information to the papers. The question now was, had he actually been prepared to impede the investigation of the outbreak so that suspicion would remain with Menogen? After all, David had been in charge of the hunt for the virus. He was also, as Neef suddenly thought, the investigator of Eddie Miller’s claim that there had been an earlier cancer case than Melanie Simpson. He gave up trying to sleep and got up to make some coffee.

Neef got in at eight next morning to discover that Neil had had a bad night. He went immediately to see him and find out for himself. Neil’s eyes were dull; the spark had gone from them. It was something he had seen so often before in terminally ill patients. Neil’s life had started to ebb away. “Hi Tiger, how are you doing?” he asked softly as he sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his forefinger along Neil’s forehead. Ostensibly it was an affectionate gesture but it told Neef something about the feel of Neil’s skin. He found nothing reassuring there.

“That injection we gave you yesterday is going to make you all better,” said Neef. “Then we’ll go see Dolly at my place, would you like that?”

Neil did not respond. He continued to look into space with lacklustre eyes.

“Maybe we’ll even go on another picnic with Eve,” continued Neef. “We’ll eat too many pies again and race our boats in the river. You’re not going to win this time!”

Neef still couldn’t elicit a response.

Suddenly Neil said quietly, “Want Eve.”

“She’ll be here soon,” said Neef. “I promise.”

“Want Eve,” whispered Neil.

Neef got up and looked down at the boy with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Maybe Eve was going to be too late.

Neef hurried back to his office and tried phoning her. There was no answer so he left a message on her answer phone for her to call him urgently. He tried calling the offices of the Citizen but was told Eve wasn’t there.

Max Pereira came in at eleven and Neef told him about Neil.

“Shit,” said Pereira. “There was always a chance he was too far gone to be helped.”

Neef nodded.

“It may be a reaction to the virus we injected yesterday,” said Pereira.

“How so?” asked Neef.

“Although the virus wouldn’t do him any harm it would still challenge his immune system and make him feel under the weather. If he wasn’t feeling that great to begin with...”

“He wasn’t,” confirmed Neef.

“Then he would feel pretty bad.”

“I hope to God it’s just that,” said Neef, “but I fear not. I think he’s letting go, and I don’t think we can do anything about it. I tried this morning without success.” He looked at his watch. “He asked for Eve but I haven’t been able to contact her. I’ll never forgive myself if she doesn’t get a chance to see him one more time before...”

Lawrence Fielding came in with Thomas Downy’s CT scan in his hand. The expression on his face said it all. “He’s cured,” he announced. “No sign of the tumour at all.”

Neef took it and examined it before saying, “Bloody marvellous.” He handed the scan to Pereira, checked his watch again and swore under his breath.

“Something wrong?” asked Fielding.

Neef told him about Neil and his own failure to contact Eve.

“Have you tried Public Health?” suggested Fielding. “Journalists seem to hang out there these days.”

Neef was about to pick up the phone when it rang. It was Eve.

“I just called home to check my machine and found your message. What’s the problem?”

“It’s Neil. Can you come right now?”

“On my way,” said Eve without further question but Neef heard the alarm in her voice. She was there within fifteen minutes.

“What’s happened?” she asked anxiously.

“I think he’s having to give in to his cancer,” said Neef. “He’s just had too much to cope with for too long. It was such an unequal struggle and now he’s tired himself out. He was asking for you.”

“But what about this new vector thing?” asked Eve, her eyes pleading the case.

“I think it’s come too late,” said Neef.

Eve swallowed and took a moment to compose herself before asking, “Can I see him now?”

Neef nodded. “Go on through. I’ll join you soon.”

Neef waited until Pereira had finished checking Thomas Downy’s scan before saying, “I’d like to have a talk, if you could spare me a few minutes?”

“I’ve got all day,” replied Pereira. “They closed down my lab, remember?”

“That’s partly what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Neef.

“There were three people who knew about Melanie Simpson living next to the Menogen labs. Me, Eve Sayers and the man who spotted the link in the first place, David Farro-Jones.”

Pereira’s eyes widened with what Neef construed as dismay but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ve noticed from time to time that you appear to dislike David. Would you mind telling me why?”

“He’s full of shit,” said Pereira. “All front and no substance.”

“I’ve always found him a pleasant and extremely helpful colleague,” said Neef.

“You’ve never been in direct competition with him,” said Pereira. “Lots of people are pleasant and charming when you’re not standing in their way or going after something they want.”

“I take it you have stood in his way at some time?” said Neef.

“When we were post-docs together in the States we were both in the running for a medal that the science faculty awarded annually to the most promising young researcher. David wanted it badly. To cut a long story short, it went to me.”

“And David wasn’t very pleased?”

“Outwardly he couldn’t have been more charming but later at a reception, he had a bit too much to drink and I met the real David Farro-Jones, the one who called me a little Jewish bastard and accused the awards board of being infested with kikes. That, he explained, was how I really got the prize.”

“Farro-Jones said that?” said Neef.

“It’s not the sort of thing you forget,” said Pereira. “Next morning he was back to being his charming old self again, behaving as if nothing had happened.”

“I see,” said Neef. “So you would have no problem with the notion that it was David Farro-Jones who leaked the story to the papers?”

“None at all,” said Pereira.

“Then the question is, how far has he been prepared to go to ensure that suspicion stays on Menogen,” said Neef.

“What d’you mean?”

“David was in charge of the hunt for the virus. When I suggested that his failure to find one put Menogen in the clear he brought up the possibility of a new kind of infectious agent, one you couldn’t see under the microscope. I think he called it a prion?”

“No chance,” said Pereira dismissively. “That was a red herring. Prion disease is nothing like we’re seeing here. If the agent is invisible, it’s invisible for another reason. Either it’s not there or... maybe it’s because we can’t see the wood for the trees...”

“What are you thinking of Max?”

“David wasn’t the only one looking for the virus was he?” asked Pereira, ignoring Neef’s question.

“No, he had a team working on it.”

“And none of them noticed anything out of the ordinary... Interesting. Was the original virology analysis on the early patients done by Farro-Jones’ lab?” asked Pereira.

“No, the hospital lab did it,” said Neef.

“Could you get me a copy of the reports on any of the patients? Preferably all of them.”

“I think so. Why?”

“I’ll tell you when I’ve seen them,” said Pereira. “I don’t suppose you can get me some lung samples?”

“From the cancer patients?”

“Yeah.”

“I can try.”

Neef arranged for copies of the virology reports to be sent up to the main office. Pereira was told he could pick them up on the way out. “Call me later about the lung samples,” said Neef.

Neef went along to join Eve in Neil’s room. When he entered he was amazed to see that there was a tiny spark of life in Neil’s eyes. Eve had captured his interest. She was telling him a story about Maxwell Gunn.

“Now if you are going to grow up and be a big strong fireman like Maxwell you are going to have to concentrate on getting better,” said Eve. “Isn’t that right?”

Neil nodded and Neef smiled. She was getting through to him.

“Get some rest now,” said Eve. “I’ll see you later and we’ll have another story.”

Neil nodded and closed his eyes. Eve stood up; Neef could see that there were tears starting to form in her eyes. She followed Neef outside.

“I could feel him slipping away from me,” she said. “I could reach him but I couldn’t hold on to him. It was as if he was being pulled away from me by some... power. It wasn’t malevolent just insistent and I didn’t know how to fight it.”

“You did really well,” said Neef. “You made contact. I couldn’t get near him at all.”

“I’ll be back later,” said Eve. She kissed Neef on the cheek.

When Neef returned to his office, he sat for a few moments in thoughtful silence before turning his attention to Pereira’s request. With Frank MacSween away on leave he had no idea how he could lay hands on any pathological material taken from victims of the outbreak. Apart from Frank, the only other person he had known in Pathology was Charlie Morse, and he was now a victim himself. After a few minutes he realised that the pathology department was not the only source of infected material. The electrician up in University College Hospital was a possibility. With any luck Mark Clelland, the physician who had looked after Charlie would be involved in the case.

Neef called University College and asked to speak to Clelland.

“Mark? It’s Michael Neef at St George’s.”

“Hello there,” replied Clelland. “I’ve been meaning to call you. I wanted to thank you for coming over the other day when we lost Charles Morse. I appreciate it. I’m sure his wife did too. What can I do for you?”

Neef hadn’t realised that Clelland had considered his going across a favour. This made things easier. “Mark, I was wondering if you could get me a lung biopsy from the electrician who was infected at the same time as Charlie?”

“Douglas Cooper? Hmmm, that could be a bit difficult. Normally it would be no problem but these ministry chaps who’re heading the investigation have put a ban on any pathological material being sent to any lab other than their own.”

“I see,” replied Neef. He hadn’t considered this difficulty. “Oh well,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping to have some new slides made for teaching purposes and the carcinoma in these cases is just so widespread that I thought they would be ideal. Still... if it can’t be done, it can’t be done.”

There was a pause before Clelland took his cue from Neef’s disappointment. “Leave it with me; I’ll see what I can do.”

‘Thanks Mark. I’ll owe you one.”

Neef’s thoughts strayed back to Neil Benson; he was losing his battle for life and the prospect of his death filled him with dismay. In spite of his constant professional denials, Neil was as special to him as he was to Eve. He was only a little boy but he was a symbol of courage in the human spirit. He deserved to win his battle not lose it. But he was going to die and it seemed so unfair, the sort of injustice that came dangerously close to making him lose heart for the struggle. Neef saw the danger in this line of thought and broadened his horizon. Neil wasn’t the only one on the danger list who needed consideration; the four kids on the Menogen trial who hadn’t responded to Gene Therapy were also fading.

This last thought made him wonder why? It seemed strange that Thomas Downy had done so well on the new treatment when the others had done so badly. It was almost as if four of the five had received no therapy at all... Neef felt a thin film of cold sweat break out on his brow as an awful thought crossed his mind. There had been a difference in their treatments! Thomas Downy had been treated with a back-up supply of vector because of the accident in theatre with the original vial. All the other children had received the original preparations... the ones taken away and tested by David Farro-Jones!

Neef tried putting his suspicions down to paranoia brought on by stress but they persisted. If Farro-Jones had really wanted to discredit Menogen he could easily have done so by making sure their vectors wouldn’t work. He could have inactivated them while ostensibly he had been screening them for safety... “At my request!” though Neef, putting his head in his hands. If the nurse hadn’t dropped Thomas Downy’s vial in theatre there would have been no need to use the back-up vial from Pharmacy and there would have been five failures out of five!

Neef hesitated about what to do. Should he think about this a bit longer, maybe discuss it with someone? Or should he jump right in and act on instinct? His earlier conversation with Max Pereira swung things in favour of the latter. He called in Lawrence Fielding.

“I’m putting our four failures back on the Gene Therapy trial,” he said.

“You’re what?” exclaimed Fielding.

“I want you to fix up theatre bookings as soon as possible. We’re going to start all over again using the back-up vials from Pharmacy.”

“But why?” asked a bemused Fielding. “What’s going to be different this time?”

“I think there was something wrong with the vials the first time,” said Neef.

“What exactly?” asked Fielding.

“I’m not sure but we had to use a back-up vial on Thomas and it worked.”

Fielding looked doubtful. “I hope you know what you are doing,” he said. “Any results obtained will be invalid because of the digression from agreed protocol. You won’t be able to publish the results.”

“I don’t give a damn about publication,” said Neef. “I want the kids to have a chance.”

“Yes sir.”

“What a perfectly bloody awful day,” sighed Neef as he rested his head on Eve’s shoulder as they sat together on the couch in her flat. “I talked to Max about your Farro-Jones idea.”

“And?”

“He wasn’t in the least surprised. He seemed to think it would be typical of the man.”

“So?”

“How could I have been so wrong about him?” said Neef.

“It can happen to the best of us,” said Eve.

“I keep thinking about the damage he could have done.”

“To Menogen?”

“Not just that. I keep wondering just how far he was prepared to go to discredit Menogen.” Neef told Eve about his suspicions over the vials for the trial.

“Do you really think he would do that?” exclaimed Eve, her voice betraying disbelief.

“I don’t know what to believe,” confessed Neef. “Having been so wrong about him once it’s difficult for me to judge.”

“We don’t know that you were wrong,” Eve reminded him. “It was just an idea.”

“It’s one that I feel obliged to follow up after talking to Max,” said Neef. “And I don’t like where it’s taking me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I keep wondering whether or not he would be prepared to interfere with the Public Health investigation to stop them finding out the real truth about the cancer outbreak.”

“How so?”

“He was the one I told about Eddie Miller’s assertion that there had been an earlier case than Melanie.”

“So?”

“The next morning Eddie had an accident and was dead before I could ask him any questions.”

“Surely you are not suggesting that...”

Neef held up his hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just know that it happened that way and then it was David who checked Eddie’s records and said there was nothing to worry about.”

“I can see him leaking a simple story to the papers to show Menogen in a bad light but to go to these lengths just doesn’t seem real somehow,” said Eve.

“Agreed,” said Neef. “If it’s true, it suggests that he wasn’t just out to damage Menogen. There was a completely different reason for his behaviour, something we haven’t even considered.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while until Eve broke it. “Are you absolutely sure Eddie Miller didn’t mention this first patient’s name at any time?” she asked.

“Not absolutely sure,” conceded Neef. “He was very drunk and his speech was slurred. His whole assertion took me so much by surprise that it threw me at the time. I know I asked him a number of times for a name but he always seemed to wander off at a tangent.”

“What else did you ask him?”

“Lots of things,” said Neef. “I asked him when he’d seen the ‘real’ first patient. He claimed it was a few weeks before Melanie. I kept pressing him for details but all I got out of him was that she was a girl about the same age as Melanie.”

“Nothing else?” asked Eve.

Neef shook his head as he tried hard to remember. “I asked him why he didn’t report it at the time.”

“And?”

“He gave me a lecture about telling people what they wanted to hear. He said this was the way to a quiet life. He said that someone didn’t want the tumours reported so he didn’t report them.”

“As simple as that?”

“He made it sound that way. He said the little kid was dead anyway. What did it matter? Making out a report wasn’t going to bring her back.”

“The little kid,” repeated Eve. “Were these his exact words?”

“As far as I remember. Why?”

“We are talking about a girl of thirteen or fourteen. Right?”

“Yes, I suppose so. What are you getting at?”

“Not so ‘little’ wouldn’t you say?”

Neef thought about this in silence then sat up with a start. “You’re right!” he exclaimed. “Eddie didn’t say the little kid, he said the Little kid. Little was her surname!”

“Well, what d’you know,” said Eve.

“If it’s true,” said Neef.

“Let’s be positive,” urged Eve. “Where do we go from here?”

“We’ll have to think about that,” said Neef. “Knowing the girl’s name would enable us to make enquiries but it’s odds on that her file has been removed. It would just alert people to what we were up to. We need another way.”

“But not tonight,” said Eve. “It’s late.”

Neef looked up at her and pulled her mouth down gently on his.

“No, not tonight,” he agreed.

“First, call the hospital. Find out how Neil is.”

Neef made the call.

“He’s holding his own.”

Ann Miles came in with coffee and laid it on his desk. Neef smiled his thanks. It had been another busy day but all four children who had failed to respond in the initial Gene Therapy trial had been re-inoculated with vector viruses, this time from the stocks held in the hospital Pharmacy. Neef’s sense of satisfaction was tempered by the thought that he seemed to be getting potentially deeper and deeper into trouble. Neil’s current treatment was definitely illegal; there was a distinct possibility that re-instating the four trial patients on Menogen products was too. Neef let out a long sigh. His only defence was that he was doing everything with the best of intentions. This wouldn’t be enough to satisfy a medical investigation board should it come to that but it did keep his conscience clear.

He turned his thoughts to the Little child and how he was going to get information about her. It wasn’t just a case of getting information. He needed to do it without anyone knowing, especially David Farro-Jones. That immediately eliminated any kind of official approach to University College Hospital. He supposed he could make a request for a list of all teenage girls who had died in Uni College in the past few months but that might be a bit obvious. What he really needed was some other way, a way that would arouse no suspicion at all. After a few minutes thought, he had it. The local newspapers! The chances were that the girl’s death would have been listed in the columns of the local newspaper. He could check back issues without anyone being any the wiser. Feeling pleased with himself, Neef set off for the offices of the local paper. Once there, it didn’t take long to find what he was looking for: -

Susan Mary Little, beloved daughter of Ann Little and the late Charles Little. Aged thirteen years, after a long illness bravely borne. Grateful thanks to the doctors and nurses of University College Hospital for their devoted care.

Family flowers only. Donations to the Cystic Fibrosis Trust.

Neef stared at the words cystic fibrosis. This was Farro-Jones’ special research interest. Was this a link? Had Susan Little been one of the patients on the University College Hospital Gene Therapy trial? he wondered. Eddie Miller had said he had recorded the cause of death as lung congestion but she had really died of bronchial carcinoma. Someone hadn’t wanted it known. What did it all mean? Just how deep did Farro-Jones’ involvement go? There was no family address attached to the death notice. Neef resolved to look the Littles up in the phone book.

There were seven Littles within the catchment area for University College Hospital. Neef knew that this wasn’t foolproof in itself because cystic fibrosis patients would be referred here from all over the county but on the other hand, he had noted that the cremation was held locally. The first name ‘Charles’ narrowed the possibilities down to two. There were no numbers registered to an Ann Little.