Ken McClure - White death

Macmillan pressed his intercom button and said, ‘Code Red on Steven’s assignment, please, Jean.’

‘What do you plan to do?’ Macmillan asked Steven.

Steven thought for a moment before saying, ‘I’m going up to Leicester to visit Anwar Mubarak. I want to see the boy; I want to see the cultures they grew and I want to see the drug sensitivity results from the lab. I need to be absolutely certain we’ve been told the truth.’

‘And if we have?’

‘Assuming the London lab dealing with the Keith Taylor specimens fail to grow anything, we’ll have to accept the possibility that we’re dealing with a new infection — probably viral as it seems to be resistant to antibiotics and nothing’s coming up on bacteriological culture media.’

‘And the first thing to do with a new infection…’ intoned Macmillan.

‘Is to establish the source of it,’ completed Steven.

Steven drove up to Leicester, hoping that at least, by the end of the day, one of the variables would be removed from the investigation, giving him a clearer sense of direction. There were just too many possibilities floating around at the moment: he was beginning to feel as if he’d been dropped in the ocean and wasn’t sure in which direction to swim. The receptionist at the children’s hospital didn’t help much.

‘We have no one here by that name,’ she replied after a brief examination of her screen, apparently not at all concerned that she couldn’t help. Steven wondered what it was about the British that so many people who disliked dealing with the public ended up in jobs entailing constant contact with them. He asked her to check again.

‘Still nothing,’ said the woman, peering over the top of her ornate glasses at the screen.

Realising that Mubarak’s name not being on the admissions register might have something to do with the authorities’ desire for secrecy over the affair, Steven showed her his ID and asked to speak to the Medical Superintendent.

‘Professor Lang is away until tomorrow. He’s at a conference in Geneva.’

‘Well, his deputy.’

The woman sighed and picked up her phone.

Steven was shown to a bright, modern room on the second floor. The name on the door said Dr N. Simmons. ‘Dr Simmons will be with you shortly,’ said the junior assistant who had led him up. ‘Please take a seat.’

Steven sat down, feeling slightly ill-at-ease staring at an empty chair on the other side of the desk. As the minutes passed, he thought about picking up and flicking through the copy of the British Medical Journal that lay there but then thought better of it. It might be construed as an invasion of personal space. As the wait extended to eight minutes, he considered getting up and going over to look out of the window but finding someone wandering about your office could also be intimidating. He sat tight until the door opened behind him and he turned to see an attractive dark-haired woman standing there. She seemed out of breath. ‘Hi, I’m Natalie Simmons, Professor Lang’s senior registrar. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. My bleeper went off as I was coming along the corridor and I had to go back to the ward.’

Steven smiled and shook hands with the woman. ‘No problem. I’m Steven Dunbar.’

Natalie Simmons plonked herself down behind her desk and pushed her hair away from her face. She took a moment to examine Steven’s ID card before saying, ‘Well, Dr Dunbar, I’m afraid I’ve never heard of the Sci-Med Inspectorate but I’m sure you must have every right to be here and this all seems terribly official so what can I do for you?’

Another push of the hair and a big smile revealing even white teeth accompanied this.

Steven decided that he liked her. Natalie Simmons seemed open, friendly but blessed with beautiful green eyes that also somehow suggested an understanding of just how the world worked — a quality that could ultimately lead to cynicism or, as he suspected in her case, to a comfortable acceptance and amused detachment regarding the workings of the human race. He assured her that she wasn’t alone in not having heard of Sci-Med and told her briefly what they did.

‘I see, and where do we come into that?’

‘I need to speak to someone about one of your patients, a boy named Anwar Mubarak.’

‘Doesn’t ring a bell.’

‘He’s got TB.’

‘Really?’ exclaimed Natalie, sounding surprised. ‘I wasn’t aware we had any TB patients.’

Steven considered, but only for a moment, whether or not he should take Natalie Simmons into his confidence before saying, ‘He’s a recent immigrant. He attended a school camp up in the Lake District before they found out he had TB. The authorities are keen to keep this under wraps.’

‘I can see why — taking our houses, our jobs and giving our kids TB. Well, the authorities seem to have done it very well because I know nothing about this child at all.’

Steven felt that familiar sinking feeling come on. ‘Is there anyone else who might?’

‘I’d be pretty annoyed if there was,’ said Natalie. ‘I’m acting head of the Infectious Diseases Unit while Ralph is away. I’m supposed to know about these things. Bear with me.’

Natalie made a succession of phone-calls, which all ended in negatives. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Dunbar. None of my colleagues knows anything about this either.’

Steven shook his head. ‘Bizarre,’ he said. ‘There seems to have been some sort of misunderstanding but it’s my problem, not yours.’ He got up to go. As a last resort he asked, ‘I don’t suppose Professor Lang could be treating the boy somewhere privately because of the circumstances?’

Natalie made a face. ‘Frankly, I’ve never come across circumstances like this before,’ she said. ‘So your guess is as good as mine. He certainly didn’t mention it to me.’

‘Maybe I’ll call back tomorrow and ask him.’

‘Will that involve you making an overnight stop you didn’t plan on?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Look,’ said Natalie. ‘I have a number for Professor Lang. It’s supposed to be for emergencies but I’ll ring and ask him.’

Steven said he was grateful. He waited while Natalie called Lang but without success. ‘His phone’s turned off. Look, leave me your mobile number and I’ll try again later. I’ll let you know what he says and if it’s not too late you can still get off back to London.’

‘I’m much obliged,’ said Steven.

Steven didn’t know Leicester. He drove around for a while, getting a feel for it before finding somewhere to park and going for a walk. He found it easier to think on the move. He decided to save some time and phone John Macmillan before he left the Home Office for the night. He asked him to double-check on the whereabouts of Anwar Mubarak.’

Natalie called him at 5.30 p.m. ‘I’ve just spoken to Ralph; he was in a meeting earlier. He doesn’t know anything about this boy. At least, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘My fault, I’m afraid. I didn’t think you’d want me blurting out the question over the telephone in view of its sensitive nature so I got into rather a mess, asking about possible recent immigrant children being admitted with a disease starting with “t” that I didn’t know about but he might.’

Steven had to put his hand to his mouth to avoid laughing.

‘I think Ralph must have thought I was drunk at first but then I told him that it was an inspector from Sci-Med asking the question and he caught on. The bottom line is that he knows nothing at all about it.’

‘Thank you very much,’ said Steven. ‘I’m very much obliged to you.’

‘Not at all. I suppose there must have been some kind of mix-up somewhere?’

‘There’s not another children’s hospital in Leicester, is there?’