Ken McClure - Dust to dust

‘Thank you,’ said Steven, collaborating in the restoring of normality. ‘Black, no sugar.’

As they grew comfortable in each other’s company, Steven tried to inject some encouragement into his words. ‘Now that the hospital know what the problem is with John, they’ll be better placed to come up with treatment,’ he said.

‘There’s really nothing they can do right now,’ said Cassie. ‘Dr Miles has withdrawn from the case and the toxicologist I spoke to admitted it’s down to life support and good nursing at the moment. He thinks John must have inhaled a massive dose.‘

Steven nodded. ‘That’s what I heard from the Public Health people too,’ he said. ‘But their lab failed to find any spores in the dust. They were quite embarrassed about it.’

Cassie shrugged but didn’t respond. Steven continued: ‘I was puzzled, so I asked the Sci-Med lab about it. The other possibility is that it wasn’t a massive dose but that John was in some way hypersensitive to the Amanita toxin. Was he the type to suffer from allergies?’

Cassie moved her head one way and then the other, as if suspecting this line of inquiry was not going to go anywhere. ‘Cats,’ she said. ‘He liked them but he started itching if he was in their company for any length of time. If he patted one, he had to wash his hands afterwards, but that was all.’

Steven continued undeterred. ‘Another possibility would be stress. I’m told that that can render people more susceptible to the effects of toxins. Was John under any pressure? Had he had any problems in his life recently?’

Cassie shook her head slowly as she thought. ‘I really don’t think so. Opening up the chamber at Dryburgh has been the single thing uppermost in John’s mind for weeks — ever since he got the letter from Oxford.’

Steven nodded to indicate he knew about the Balliol connection.

‘I suppose you could say he was a bit stressed when Health and Safety got involved and delayed the start of the excavation, but that didn’t last long. He was more pissed off than stressed.’

‘They get up everyone’s nose.’

‘And had to make a trip to London. I suppose that was a bit out of the ordinary for him but hardly stressful. Everything seemed to go all right.’ Steven’s expression invited further elaboration so Cassie continued, ‘He was called down to a hospital in London to screen a man who was due to donate his bone marrow to a patient with advanced leukaemia.’

‘Why John if it was a London hospital?’

‘It was a quid pro quo for the funding John got for the excavation at Dryburgh. Under the terms of the agreement, the funding body had the right to call him in as a consultant. He was just away the one day and then he had some work to do in his own lab on the samples he brought back with him. But it seemed quite straightforward, no stress or pressure involved.’

Steven nodded.

‘Actually, it’s probably nothing, but there was one odd thing that came out of that trip…’

‘Yes?’

‘Some time after John came back, there was a report on television about a young marine who’d died in Afghanistan. When he saw the picture on the screen, John was convinced he was the donor he’d seen in London.’

‘And was he?’

‘It turned out to be a case of mistaken identity. The marine had been wounded in Afghanistan on the very day John saw the young man in London.’

‘Ah,’ said Steven.

Steven called Tally in Leicester.

‘Steven! Where are you?’

‘I’m up in the north. I’m just about to start back to London. I thought I might stop off at your place tonight unless you have other plans?’

‘No, that would be great. I’ve been wondering how you were getting on. I kept getting your answering service.’

‘And I yours,’ said Steven. ‘Let’s go out to dinner and catch up.’

‘So, I’m a romantic at heart,’ said Steven as he drew up outside the French restaurant where he and Tally had eaten together shortly after meeting for the first time. His investigation had led him to the children’s hospital in Leicester where Tally worked.

‘It’s nice to be back,’ said Tally, looking at the Provencal posters on the walls. ‘I think I was a bit hard on you earlier in the week. I didn’t really mean to suggest there was some kind of competition between Jenny and me for your affections.’

‘I never imagined that having two women in my life would be easy,’ said Steven with a grin that suggested he knew he was embarking on a dangerous course.

‘As long as the other one’s called Jenny and she’s nine years old,’ said Tally with an icy glance.

‘You know how I feel about you.’

‘Pretty much how you feel about your Porsche is probably the best I can hope for,’ said Tally. ‘How did you find the new one, by the way?’

‘Not a patch on you,’ said Steven.

‘Is the right answer. But pretty pathetic, Dunbar. Still, I suppose I should be grateful it’s not on fire in some field somewhere and bullets aren’t coming in through the windows of the restaurant as we speak.’

‘That was an exception,’ Steven insisted. ‘Sci-Med investigations are usually quite straightforward and often very dull.’

‘So how’s the current one going? Or can’t you tell me?’

‘Of course I can. I’ve been up to Dryburgh Abbey in the Scottish Borders where an academic went off his head and started attacking his colleagues after entering a seven-hundred-year-old tomb which was home to sixteen Black Death victims.’

‘I read something about that in the papers,’ said Tally.

‘Sci-Med were worried in case the academic’s condition had anything to do with the contents of the tomb.’

‘And had it?’

‘The tomb contained nothing but dust and bones, which was a big disappointment for everyone, but unfortunately for the chap in question the dust contained a large quantity of poisonous fungal spores. He breathed them in and ended up with severe mycotoxin poisoning: it’s touch and go whether he’ll recover. But now that the panic’s over, Public Health will disinfect the chamber and that’ll be an end to the investigation. See, I told you you were exaggerating the dangers of the job.’

‘Mmm,’ said Tally, not convinced. ‘So, what’s next?’

‘Don’t know yet. I’ll make out my report on Dryburgh when I get back to London and see what John Macmillan has lined up for me.’

‘Exciting.’

‘Probably mundane and boring,’ said Steven with a one-up smile.

‘All right, Dunbar. Don’t over-egg the pudding.’

‘What have you been up to?’

‘Working my socks off in an under-staffed, under-funded, over-administered excuse for a hospital where management — and I use the term humorously — are more concerned with ticking boxes than they are with treating sick children.’

‘So no change there then.’

‘NHS, the envy of the world? It’s as fucked as the banking system. People just haven’t realised it yet.’

‘Obviously time for a change,’ said Steven. ‘How does the idea of being the full-time mother of a nine-year-old girl sound?’

Tally fixed him with a stare. ‘Don’t be flippant, Steven. We’ve been through all that. I have a career; it’s important to me. I love medicine; I love the kids; it’s the crummy system I hate.’

Steven nodded. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I know and, believe me, I do understand.’

‘Do you?’ asked Tally, searching his face for the truth.

‘Yes,’ Steven assured her. ‘But it’s also true that I love you… and it’s unconditional.’

Tally was about to say something when Steven’s phone went off. He apologised but said he had to take it. Switching off his Sci-Med mobile was never an option. He left the eating area to take the call in a small cocktail bar adjoining the restaurant which was currently empty, and perched on a bar stool with one foot on the ground.