Ken McClure - Pestilence

“It would,” agreed Saracen. “But I don’t see how Chenhui could have made that diagnosis in the circumstances and that’s what’s niggling me.”

Saracen was in the bath when the phone rang. His first thought, as always when the phone rang in early evening, was that it was Nigel Garten trying to unload his duty stint on some pretext or other so he was relieved to hear Jill’s voice.

“I’ve spoken to Mary Travers. She started her course of treatment on the thirteenth. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Thanks. You’re an angel.”

Saracen felt a weakness creep into his knees. He sat down as the blood began to pound in his temples. Myra Archer had died on the twelfth; the post-mortem would not have been done until the thirteenth at the earliest, more likely the fourteenth or fifteenth. To determine that Myra Archer had been suffering from a Salmonella infection would have required a lab examination of specimens taken from her body. The result could not have possibly been known until the fifteenth or sixteenth. Whatever reason Garten had had for putting Mary Travers and the others on treatment on the thirteenth it had nothing to do with anything discovered at post-mortem. He must have known beforehand.

The bath water had gone cold. Saracen dried himself and put on a towelling robe. He sat down to wonder how Chenhui and Garten could possible have made the diagnosis. From all accounts Myra Archer had been unconscious when the ambulance was called and had not regained consciousness. She had told them nothing and died of cardiac failure yet they had known that she also had a serious infection. It didn’t make sense. Not only had they been able to diagnose Salmonella but they had been able to determine that it was one of the more serious strains if Garten had deemed it necessary to contact the airline and to disinfect the mortuary. Could it have been typhoid? the ‘top’ of the Salmonella range. But if so why the secrecy? There were one or two cases every year. If only he could see a copy of the PM report, thought Saracen, perhaps he could work backwards from the exact cause of death and figure out how they knew. Wylie or no Wylie he would have to get his hands on that report.

Saracen rested his neck on the back of the chair and looked up at the ceiling for inspiration. He was tracing the path of a thin crack that radiated out from the light fitting when the telephone rang; it was Dave Moss.

“I’ve just had your Dr Tang on the phone,” said Moss.

“Oh yes.”

“She seemed to be in a bit of a state, ‘trouble is, I don’t really know what about. I only managed to pick up every fourth or fifth word. I think she wanted me to take a patient, maybe two, she kept saying ‘two’ then the line went dead.”

“I see,” said Saracen feeling anger rise within him, “And you are phoning to find out why a doctor who can barely speak English has been left in charge of A amp;E at Skelmore General?”

“More or less.”

“Well I’d like to know the answer to that too,” said Saracen getting out of the chair and gathering his clothes. “Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll get back to you.”

Saracen was furious. How could Garten do such a thing? How could he be so irresponsible? His toes got stuck in the heel of a sock in his haste and he cursed out loud as he disentangled himself then he lost a shoe which led to more cursing. He slammed the door behind him and ran downstairs to the car, making a conscious effort to control his temper and prevent its translation into sheer bad driving. With only partial success in that direction the front tyres squealed as he swung the wheel over to enter the hospital gates. In truth, this was due more to the fact that he had wrenched the wheel over sharply than to any excess of speed but it made the duty porter lift his eyes from his newspaper and half get out of his chair to glance out of the gate-house window. When he saw that it was Saracen he slumped back into inertia.

Saracen burst in through the swing doors of A amp;E and looked around for Chenhui, ignoring the smile of a junior nurse in his preoccupation. Sister Turner, the night sister, came out of the sluice room and looked surprised when she saw Saracen.

“I didn’t realise that Dr Garten had called you,” she said.

“He didn’t,” replied Saracen.

“Oh, I thought when I saw you there that he must have called you out to cover for Dr Tang…”

Saracen was puzzled. “Why should he? What’s wrong with Dr Tang?” he asked.

“She’s had some kind of nervous breakdown. She’s been admitted to the wards.”

Seeing that he had read the situation all wrong Saracen calmed down and felt rather foolish. “And Dr Garten?” he asked.

“He is with her right now.”

“So she wasn’t left on her own in A amp;E?”

“Good heavens no, she can hardly speak a word of…”

“Yes Sister,” interrupted Saracen. “What did you mean some kind of nervous breakdown?”

Sister Turner, a spinster clinging to late middle age and fond of tittle tattle, warmed to her task and said conspiratorially, “I’ve never seen anything like it. She was shouting and raving, ‘practically attacked Dr Garten when he tried to calm her down.”

“But why? What happened to upset her?”

The night sister looked perplexed. She said “The ridiculous thing is, we don’t know. She was raving in her own language.”

“But something must have triggered it off?”

“Not really. It’s not as if she hadn’t seen a dead body before.”

“Go on.”

“We had a ‘dead on arrival’ at around eight o’clock; Dr Tang was asked to certify the patient dead. When she came back she bust into Dr Garten’s office and started shouting and carrying on.”

“In Chinese?”

“Not at first.”

“Could you make out anything that was said?” asked Saracen.

“Not much. She has such a heavy accent but it sounded like, ‘six days, more then six days.’ But I couldn’t swear to it.”

“Then what happened?”

“She came rushing out of Dr Garten’s office and started telephoning. Dr Garten tried to reason with her but in the end he had to get the porters to restrain her while he sedated her.”

“And what did Dr Garten say about all this?”

“He said that Dr Tang had been under great strain recently and was suffering from nervous exhaustion. She would probably be as right as rain in a couple of days so it would be a kindness if none of us mentioned the incident outside A amp;E.”

Saracen nodded and said that he was going up to see Chenhui.

Away from A amp;E the corridors of Skelmore General had quietened as they always did around nine in the evening. The last visitors had gone and custody of the wards had been handed over to the night staff. Saracen had only the echo of his footsteps for company as he made his way along the entire length of the bottom corridor to reach ward eight. He disliked the hospital at night for it had a Dickensian dreamlike quality about it, an image intensified by the poor lighting in the corridors and the peeling green paint on the walls. To be admitted at night as a patient to Skelmore General, thought Saracen, must be an unnerving experience, being wheeled headfirst on a trolley with nothing but the cobwebs and dark shadows of the ceiling vaults to concentrate on while the trolley squeaked and echoed its way along a seemingly endless tunnel to an unknown destination Poor sods.

Saracen opened one of the two tall glass fronted doors to ward eight and went in. He winced as the door creaked loudly on its hinges but no one came out to investigate. He looked into the duty room and got a quizzical look from the staff nurse in charge. He said who he was and why he was there.

“She’s in the second side ward. Dr Garten is still with her.”