Ken McClure - White death

It was about nine in the evening when Steven arrived in the outskirts of Edinburgh and decided to use the place where he had stayed last time, Fraoch House. He phoned ahead about a room and was told he was ‘in luck’. Keeping a low profile was still a good idea, he reckoned. The fewer who knew where he was and what he was doing, the better.

He hesitated before he phoned Scott Haldane’s widow, wondering if it might be too late to call, but then did it anyway, apologising for the lateness of the hour but asking if he might meet with her in the morning.

‘Is there really any point?’ snapped Linda Haldane. ‘Everyone still believes my husband committed suicide. In fact, I think I’m even beginning to believe it myself.’

‘But not really?’ said Steven.

‘No,’ she sighed.

‘If it’s any comfort, I’m not entirely convinced myself,’ said Steven. ‘That’s really why I’d like to talk to you.’

Linda gave another long sigh. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘The house was burgled three nights ago and I’m still in the process of clearing up. I really don’t have the heart for any more dealings with officialdom. I’m sick of policemen and endless questions.’

‘God, I’m sorry,’ said Steven. ‘That was the last thing you needed but I’m not really a policeman and frankly, I think I’m on your side. Maybe just half an hour?’

‘All right,’ conceded Linda, as if against her better judgement. ‘Come round at ten. You remember where?’

Steven said that he did.

‘Why don’t we sit outside in the garden while we have the chance,’ said Linda, glancing up at the watery sunshine when Steven arrived promptly at ten. ‘Apart from that, I still haven’t finished clearing up the mess inside.’

‘Did the police have any ideas about the break-in?’ asked Steven.

‘No, not really, just that it was probably drug addicts who knew that Scott was a doctor and imagined he kept cupboards full of heroin all over the house. They certainly gave the place a thorough examination,’ she added bitterly.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Steven. ‘Many people don’t realise what an awful experience it is to have your home invaded by strangers.’

‘I can still feel them in the house,’ said Linda with an involuntary shudder. She left Steven alone to enjoy the morning sunshine and blackbird song while she went back inside to make coffee.

‘Nice garden,’ he said when she rejoined him.

‘Mmm,’ agreed Linda. ‘Unfortunately we’re not going to be able to stay here much longer. We’ll have to learn to live within our means as my old gran used to say.’

‘I’m sorry, I thought…’ began Steven, feeling embarrassed.

‘Suicide tends to negate life insurance policies,’ said Linda with undisguised venom. ‘So, unless you know differently…’ She fixed Steven with a steely gaze.

‘I’ve no evidence,’ confessed Steven. ‘Only a feeling that there’s more to the green sticker children than I’ve been told. I suspect it was what your husband was concerned about rather than Trish Lyons’ accident.’

‘So you do now believe it was an accident and not the reason for some guilt trip that drove Scott to his death?’

Steven nodded and conceded the point. ‘Like your husband, I do believe it was an accident.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. How can I help you?’

‘You told me that Scott was very upset after making various phone-calls connected with the Trish Lyons case but wouldn’t say why. I just wondered if you’d remembered anything else since the last time we spoke, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. I desperately need something to point me in the right direction. I’ve got the same uneasy feelings your husband had but he obviously figured out more than I have.’

‘God knows I would love to be able to say yes to that question,’ said Linda. ‘But I haven’t. Scott wouldn’t tell me anything. He kept saying he had to be sure before he said anything.’

‘Didn’t you pick up the odd clue from his phone-calls? A name? An organisation? Anything at all?’

‘I think I already told you about him complaining that people were being downright obstructive.’

‘Nothing else?’

Linda looked doubtful. ‘I suppose I may have picked up the odd word here and there when he raised his voice on the phone… I think I once heard him ask, “Who made the bloody stuff?” but I’ve no idea what he was talking about.’

Steven repeated the quote. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said, thinking about the vaccine. ‘I think I may even know what he was asking about.’

‘Really?’

‘Trish Lyons isn’t the only child to have fallen ill after attending the camp in the Lake District. Apart from their attendance there, the one common factor among them was that they were all vaccinated with BCG vaccine.’

‘And you think Scott was suspicious about it?’

‘It’s possible. Not only that, I think he may even have worked out what was wrong with the kids. If you do happen to think of anything else please call me, any time, day or night.’ Steven handed her his card.

‘I will. I promise.’

Steven couldn’t have arrived at the children’s hospital at a worse time. Patricia Lyons’ mother, Virginia, was clearly upset and arguing with doctors having just been told they would have to amputate Trish’s arm to stop the infection spreading throughout her body. Raised voices meant that he could hear much of what Virginia Lyons was saying as he waited outside the room.

‘What infection?’ she demanded. ‘You haven’t come up with anything yet. You’re just guessing. How can something you can’t even grow be spreading throughout her body?’

Steven could only just pick up the muted murmur of reasoned response before Virginia Lyons broke down in tears and was led out from the office by one of the doctors to be handed over to a nursing sister who wrapped her arms round her and led her away for tea and sympathy.

Steven recognised one of the doctors as John Fielding, the man he’d spoken to last time. ‘I came to see how Trish was. I think I may already have my answer,’ he said.

Fielding shook his head in a gesture of hopelessness and said, ‘The lab still can’t grow anything and she continues to deteriorate no matter what antibiotics we give her. We’re fighting a losing battle here. Even if her mother gives us the go-ahead for amputating her arm, she’s still not out of the woods. The patches on other parts of her body are beginning to look as if they might go the same way.’

‘You mean the infection is not a result of her burns becoming infected?’ asked Steven, feeling some trepidation.’

‘That’s what we all thought at first of course,’ replied Fielding. ‘Burns are notorious for becoming infected but none of the usual suspects grew up in culture so we’re beginning to have our doubts. If only the lab could find the bug responsible, life could become a whole lot easier for everyone.’

Steven nodded, thinking he’d heard all this before from the doctors who treated Keith Taylor. It could not be a coincidence. ‘How about necrotising fasciitis,’ he said.

‘Without a cause?’

‘But not without a precedent,’ said Steven under his breath.

‘Would you like to see her?’ asked the doctor.

Steven nodded and was led to a small ante-room to don mask and gown before entering the room where Trish lay, heavily sedated.

‘The nurses removed the dressings so we could show her mother the extent of the problem and they haven’t been reapplied yet so you can see it for yourself,’ said Fielding. He removed the light gauze covering from Trish’s arm and Steven saw the damage and grimaced at the sight.

‘The flesh is just sloughing off,’ said the doctor. ‘There’s no chance of recovery and every chance of gangrene setting in if we don’t act quickly.’