Ken McClure - Wildcard

‘Fine, fine. I’ll explain later.’

The door closed and Spicer said, ‘You do realise what this will do to my wife? It will destroy her.’

Steven looked at Spicer as if examining a particularly uninteresting species of pond life. ‘My only concern lies in finding out where this virus came from,’ he said. ‘A lot of people have died. I need you to tell me everything you know.’

‘What can I tell you if I didn’t even know I had it?’ spluttered Spicer.

‘First, I need you to give me a blood sample so that it can be tested for antibodies to the virus. That will establish beyond doubt-’

‘That I was the cause of the outbreak?’ completed Spicer. He sounded shaken, as if realising the full implications for the first time.

‘Here in Manchester, yes,’ said Steven.

‘And if I refuse?’

‘That’s not an option,’ said Steven.

‘But it’s not conclusive yet, is it? It could be negative. I mean, it could still turn out that I had nothing to do with the outbreak or Ann getting the disease?’

‘Theoretically,’ agreed Steven, ‘in the way that six million people could suddenly visit the Millennium Dome in the next four weeks. You used to go hill-walking with Ann?’

‘I took it up last year. Ann was new to it, too. We both enjoyed it.’

‘You saw her on a number of weekends and then there was a long gap in her diary. That was when you went off to Nepal?’

Spicer nodded.

‘When you came back you had dinner with her on Thursday the eighteenth, and that was the last time you saw her?’ said Steven.

Spicer hesitated, as if searching for words. He said, ‘When I was close to death in Nepal I came to see just how much my wife and daughter meant to me. I decided to end it with Ann when I came back. You can understand that, can’t you?’

Steven nodded, then asked, ‘How did Ann take it?’

‘Very badly.’

‘But you still made love to her that night,’ said Steven flatly.

Spicer swallowed. ‘It was impossible not to,’ he said. ‘She was all over me. God, I’m only human.’

Once again, Steven did not concur. ‘That was the night you gave her the virus,’ he said.

‘Christ, I wasn’t to know,’ said Spicer. ‘How the hell could I?’

‘You made love to her, then you left her, and Ann took her life a few days later. Sound about right?’

‘Give me a break. I didn’t know the silly cow was going to do anything like that, did I?’

Steven’s right hand balled into a fist but he kept control. ‘I suppose not, Mr Spicer,’ he said. He let a few moments go by before saying suddenly, ‘So why did you kill Anthony Pelota?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ blustered Spicer.

Steven stared hard at him, suggesting total imperviousness to bluster. After a few seconds’ silence he noted with some satisfaction that Spicer’s expression was changing; his defiance was being undermined by a decidedly hunted look.

‘I know Ann ate at the Magnolia that Thursday,’ continued Steven flatly. ‘Pelota was about to tell me who her dinner companion was. It was you, wasn’t it?’

‘So what if it was? There must have been twenty other people there that night,’ retorted Spicer.

‘They didn’t kill Pelota, Spicer, you did, and you didn’t wear gloves when you stuck that kitchen knife in him, did you?’ Steven was taking a gamble; he saw from Spicer’s expression that he was right. ‘Was he blackmailing you?’ he demanded. ‘Was that it?’

All the fight went out of Victor Spicer and his shoulders sagged. Almost inaudibly, he said, ‘The little wop called me to say that someone had been making inquiries. He made a great play of how discreet he’d been and then suggested that I might care to show my gratitude.’

Steven nodded impassively.

‘We agreed on five hundred pounds but when I went along there he raised the price to a thousand, and I just lost it. I knew that that wouldn’t have been the end of it. The red mist came down. We argued and fought. I grabbed the knife. You know the rest. What happens now?’

Steven said, ‘If you answer all my other questions, I’ll give you some time alone with your wife to prepare her for what she’ll have to face, then I’ll have to call the police. You do realise that your wife has been at risk of contracting the virus too?’

Spicer’s eyes opened like organ stops. ‘What d’you mean?’ he stammered.

‘The virus remains in the body fluids of someone who recovers from a filovirus infection for some time afterwards; that’s how Ann got it. If you’ve made love to your wife since your return, well, you can work it out.’

Spicer took a few deep breaths before saying, ‘As it happens, I haven’t… because of my illness…’

‘No need to worry, then,’ said Steven, but to his puzzlement he noticed that Spicer’s expression was not one of relief.

Edinburgh

Karen Doig left Paul Grossart’s office feeling as if the bottom had fallen out of her world. She walked slowly down the stairs in a daze and out through the front door without really seeing anything or anyone. It was raining heavily but she didn’t notice as she walked hesitantly across the car park to where she’d left the car. Not even the deep puddle that lapped over her shoes as she unlocked the door seemed to register with her. She sat stock-still and stared unseeingly through the windscreen for fully five minutes before driving off.

Karen’s mother, Ethel Lodge, who had come over to baby-sit her granddaughter, Kelly, opened the door as Karen drew up outside her house, a smart semi-detached villa on the new Pines estate on the outskirts of Edinburgh.

‘You’re drenched, love,’ fussed her mother. ‘Give me your coat or it’ll drip all over the place. I’ll hang it up in the kitchen. Go and warm yourself by the fire. The kettle’s just boiled. I’ll make some tea.’

She brought through two mugs of tea and handed one to Karen. ‘Well, what did Mr Grossart have to say for himself?’ she asked. ‘Any news?’

Karen looked at her with tear-filled eyes. ‘Oh yes,’ she said quietly, ‘Peter’s left me. He’s run off with Amy Patterson.’

‘Who the hell’s Amy Patterson?’ exclaimed Ethel, sinking slowly into a chair.

‘The scientist Peter went to Wales with.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘That’s what Mr Grossart told me,’ said Karen. ‘He said he was sorry but there was nothing he could do about it. If Peter didn’t want to talk to me about what had been going on, that was his prerogative. The company couldn’t involve itself in domestic matters.’

‘But this is absolutely crazy!’ exclaimed Ethel. ‘You two are so happy together.’

‘That’s what I thought too,’ said Karen distantly. ‘I can’t… believe he’s done something like this.’ She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders heaved as she sobbed silently.

‘Oh, love, there has to be some mistake, Peter wouldn’t do something like this. You two have everything going for you and you know how much he dotes on Kelly. What did this man Grossart say exactly?’

‘I asked him if he knew why Peter had stopped phoning me and why there was never any answer from the number I’d been given for the Welsh field station. I was worried and angry… I demanded an explanation… and he gave me one. He said that the pair of them had gone off together and he’d no idea where. He’d only just heard about it himself.’

Ethel Lodge looked at her daughter, sharing her distress as only a mother can. ‘I don’t believe any of this,’ she said. ‘People don’t just do things like this without having anything planned beforehand. Peter didn’t give you any cause to suspect that anything was wrong, did he?’