Ken McClure - Pandora's Helix

“Thanks Ann. By the way, Mr Beavis has pencilled Thomas Downy in for surgery on Thursday; I’d better see his parents beforehand. Could you have them come in tomorrow afternoon?”

“Will do.”

Ann Miles had scarcely left the room when she was back in again. She closed the door behind her before saying, “There’s a Doctor Lennon from the Public Health service outside. He’s come on the off chance of having a word with you?”

“Send him in,” said Neef. “I think I know what it’s about.”

A short, bald man in his late fifties, wearing a dark suit and carrying a briefcase with combination locks on it came into the room and held out his hand. “I’m Lennon,” he said in a West Country accent that belied his appearance. He spoke like a farmer but looked like a bank manager, thought Neef.

“I’m an epidemiologist. I’ve just been having a word with your Dr MacSween.”

“About Melanie Simpson?”

Lennon nodded. “A disturbing case. I understand from Dr MacSween that you were present at the post-mortem. You saw the girl’s lungs for yourself?”

“That’s right. Frank called me down when he came across the tumours.” said Neef.

“As you’re a cancer specialist, Doctor, I thought I would ask if you have had any thoughts on what might have caused Melanie’s condition?”

Neef shook his head slowly, “I’m afraid not,” he said. “As you know, it’s practically unheard of for a child to develop bronchial carcinoma. Apart from that, the tumours were present in such numbers that it couldn’t have been spontaneous. There must have been some highly carcinogenic agent involved.”

Lennon nodded his agreement. “No doubt about it,” he said. “The puzzle is that the cancer was confined to the lungs,” he added thoughtfully. “If a powerful carcinogen was involved one might have expected tumours throughout the body.”

“A good point,” conceded Neef. “And if it had been a radiation source we might reasonably have expected to see some signs of epidermal damage but as far as I could see, the girl’s skin was unblemished.”

“A puzzle,” agreed Lennon. “That leaves us looking for some powerful carcinogen that Melanie must have inhaled,” he said.

“Like a gas, or fumes of some sort,” said Neef. “Or maybe dust particles.” He remembered MacSween’s comments about asbestos.

“The lab didn’t find any evidence of fibrous material in her lungs,” said Lennon. “So I think we can rule out particulate matter. That just leaves chemical fumes.”

“So where will you begin to look?” asked Neef.

Lennon smiled and said, “Good question. Where would a perfectly ordinary little girl, living with her mum and dad in a semi on Langholm Crescent come across a highly toxic gas?”

“These days you hear so much about poisonous chemicals being dumped here, there and everywhere that I suppose we shouldn’t be too surprised when this sort of thing happens,” said Neef.

“Sad but true,” agreed Lennon, getting up. “Well, it’s my job is to find and identify the damned source before anyone else is harmed.”

“Are you working alone?” asked Neef.

“There will be three of us. My colleagues are interviewing Melanie’s parents at this very minute. With the information they collect, we’ll try to build up a picture of her movements over the past few weeks and from that we may get some clue as to where she might have contaminated herself.”

“I sincerely wish you luck,” said Neef.

“Thanks,” said Lennon. “I’ll keep in touch.”

Kate Morse appeared, holding the first edition of the Evening Citizen.

“How bad is it?” Neef asked her.

“Well they ran the story but it’s not nearly as awful as it might have been. She’s toned it down quite a lot.”

“Good,” said Neef.

“They’ve also included an interview with the director of the Randolf. He more or less says that it’s a chance in a million that Tracy is going to benefit from the treatment but of course, the paper has to point out that even a chance in a million must be taken if a child’s life is at stake. What price life?” she added in a deliberately pompous, self-righteous tone of voice.

“We can probably tell them that, right down to the last penny,” said Neef wryly.

“Anyway, I don’t think the nurses will lynch Ms Sayers if you decide to let her visit Neil,” said Kate. “It could have been a whole lot worse.” She put the paper down on Neef’s desk.

“I haven’t decided finally,” said Neef, “but thanks for the assurance. I’m meeting with the people from Menogen Research tomorrow morning so I should have some more gen about the trial.”

“Good,” said Kate. “I was just saying to Charlie last night, it would be a wonderful boost to morale if something good came out of this.”

“Wouldn’t it just,” smiled Neef.

Neef read the article for himself when Kate had left and agreed with her interpretation, it could have been worse. He drove home feeling much more relaxed than he had on the previous night.

Dolly was nowhere to be seen when he got inside the cottage but this in itself was not unusual. She had a number of favourite hiding places. He looked in each in turn. Third time lucky. She was in the linen cupboard, snuggled up on the highest shelf, peering down at him.

“Hi Dolls, how was your day?” he asked. He heard Dolly’s paws hit the floor gently behind him as he walked away. She had dropped from six feet with hardly a sound. He filled her bowl then had a drink while his microwave dinner cooked. He turned on the television, reassured by the thought that this evening no one he knew was going to be on the News. “A better day, all round, Dolls,” he said as he drained his glass and got up to open his brief case. He had a lot of paperwork to catch up on.

Neef arrived early for the meeting with Menogen next morning. He had been late for the last three management meetings and didn’t want to develop a reputation for it. Andrew D’Arcy arrived shortly afterwards and then Tim Heaton, immaculate as ever, being lobbied on the move by Carol Martin over nursing budgets. “Have a word with Phillip,” said Heaton, adeptly detaching himself from the nursing director and wishing the others good morning. The hospital press officer arrived with two strangers in tow. They were introduced as Steven Thomas, managing director of Menogen Research and Dr Max Pereira, research director.

Thomas looked like a businessman; he was conventionally dressed in suit and tie and sounded English but Pereira wore jeans, a striped tee shirt, leather jacket and a beret. He sounded New York American. Phillip Danziger arrived last and apologised for being late.

Tim Heaton took easy charge of the meeting, welcoming the men from Menogen and saying how pleased he was that St George’s had been approached. He hoped that everyone would benefit from the association. Neef wore a neutral expression. He was thinking that Heaton would have made an excellent diplomat, an ambassador even. He could hear him saying, “The ties that bind our two great countries... Valdovia has always had a special place in our hearts...”

“This is Dr Michael Neef, consultant in paediatric oncology,” said Heaton, breaking Neef’s train of thought. “It is his unit of course, you would be working with.”

Neef smiled at Pereira and got a nod in reply. Thomas was more effusive.

With the introductions over, Heaton said, “I suggest the following schedule. First, Mr Thomas outlines in broad general terms what he has in mind and what he would like from us. This should be in non technical terms as at least half of us here are neither medical nor scientific, then Doctors Neef and Pereira consult over medical matters while Mr Thomas and Mr Danziger discuss figures. We can then reconvene over lunch. If we’ve made progress we can go ahead with a meeting with the ethics and safety committee. The members have been warned about this possibility and would be ready to convene this afternoon if called upon.” Heaton looked at Thomas and Pereira and explained, “We are subject to scrutiny by a local ethics committee that oversees both St George’s and University College hospitals. It comprises lay people as well as selected medical staff from both hospitals. You will be expected to provide evidence of approval by the relevant safety bodies.”