Ken McClure - Pandora's Helix

“He’s holding his own.”

Ann Miles came in with coffee and laid it on his desk. Neef smiled his thanks. It had been another busy day but all four children who had failed to respond in the initial Gene Therapy trial had been re-inoculated with vector viruses, this time from the stocks held in the hospital Pharmacy. Neef’s sense of satisfaction was tempered by the thought that he seemed to be getting potentially deeper and deeper into trouble. Neil’s current treatment was definitely illegal; there was a distinct possibility that re-instating the four trial patients on Menogen products was too. Neef let out a long sigh. His only defence was that he was doing everything with the best of intentions. This wouldn’t be enough to satisfy a medical investigation board should it come to that but it did keep his conscience clear.

He turned his thoughts to the Little child and how he was going to get information about her. It wasn’t just a case of getting information. He needed to do it without anyone knowing, especially David Farro-Jones. That immediately eliminated any kind of official approach to University College Hospital. He supposed he could make a request for a list of all teenage girls who had died in Uni College in the past few months but that might be a bit obvious. What he really needed was some other way, a way that would arouse no suspicion at all. After a few minutes thought, he had it. The local newspapers! The chances were that the girl’s death would have been listed in the columns of the local newspaper. He could check back issues without anyone being any the wiser. Feeling pleased with himself, Neef set off for the offices of the local paper. Once there, it didn’t take long to find what he was looking for: -

Susan Mary Little, beloved daughter of Ann Little and the late Charles Little. Aged thirteen years, after a long illness bravely borne. Grateful thanks to the doctors and nurses of University College Hospital for their devoted care.

Family flowers only. Donations to the Cystic Fibrosis Trust.

Neef stared at the words cystic fibrosis. This was Farro-Jones’ special research interest. Was this a link? Had Susan Little been one of the patients on the University College Hospital Gene Therapy trial? he wondered. Eddie Miller had said he had recorded the cause of death as lung congestion but she had really died of bronchial carcinoma. Someone hadn’t wanted it known. What did it all mean? Just how deep did Farro-Jones’ involvement go? There was no family address attached to the death notice. Neef resolved to look the Littles up in the phone book.

There were seven Littles within the catchment area for University College Hospital. Neef knew that this wasn’t foolproof in itself because cystic fibrosis patients would be referred here from all over the county but on the other hand, he had noted that the cremation was held locally. The first name ‘Charles’ narrowed the possibilities down to two. There were no numbers registered to an Ann Little.

Neef found a small package sitting on his desk. It had been delivered by the hospital van service and was addressed to him personally in black marker pen. He opened it and found a plastic specimen vial labelled, D. Cooper, bronchoscopy tissue. The slip wrapped round it read, From a well-wisher to an amnesiac. Neef mentally thanked Mark Clelland and wrapped up the vial again for storage in the fridge until Pereira came for it. He phoned Pereira to tell him and he was there within twenty minutes. He seemed both surprised and pleased that Neef had got him the sample.

“It wasn’t easy,” said Neef. “Public Health have put a ban on the movement of any pathological material from the victims.”

Pereira smiled wryly and said, “But you still got it,” he said quietly.

Neef looked puzzled. “Yes,” he replied.

“You’re saying it wasn’t easy, but it was. It always is for you guys. When the rules don’t suit you, a phone call here, a phone call there and you get round them. Anyone so much as removing a paper-clip from Menogen without permission would be in deep shit but it’s us they end up closing down.”

Neef reflected ruefully on what Pereira had said and understood his bitterness. “Does that mean you don’t want the sample?” he asked with an embarrassed smile.

“I want it,” replied Pereira. “I’ll be gone for a few days. I’ve called in a favour. One of these other awful commercial establishments has given me some lab space.”

Neef watched the door close and reflected that Pereira had every right to feel aggrieved... but people with a chip on their shoulder could be a real pain.

Eve came in to sit with Neil and Neef joined them after a short while. Eve was telling Neil of the latest exploits of Maxwell Gunn. His station had been given a brand new fire engine and Maxwell had been given the honour of driving it for the very first time to a fire. It had no less than three different sirens and Maxwell operated them from three buttons above the windscreen. On the way back from the fire and very late at night Maxwell had hit all three buttons by accident and woken up everybody in the city. Next day everyone was yawning because of this.

Neef saw a slight suggestion of a smile at the corner of Neil’s mouth but it was very weak. Eve yawned to punctuate her story and Neef followed suit. Neil looked as if he might do so as well but in the end he just closed his eyes.

Eve looked at Neef and Neef saw the pain in her eyes. “He’s still fighting,” he said. “You’re working wonders.”

“It’s not enough, is it?”

“No one could do any more. Every day he survives gives Pereira’s virus a little more time to do its job but he’s getting very tired. He has the heart of a tiger but he’s really just a little boy who’s been through more than any little boy should have to.”

Eve rested her head on Neef’s chest and couldn’t hold back her sobs any more. She apologised and sobbed alternately.

“Ssh,” soothed Neef. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Neef arranged to see Eve later at her apartment. As soon as she was gone he took out the paper he had written the two addresses down on and called the first, Charles Little. A woman answered.

“Mrs Little, it’s about your daughter, Susan.”

“You must have a wrong number.”

“I’m sorry.”

Neef dialled the other number. Again a woman’s voice answered.

“Mrs Little?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to trouble you; it’s about your daughter, Susan.”

“I don’t have a daughter named Susan or anything else for that matter.”

“I do apologise. Wrong number.”

Neef cursed. Where did he go from here? Either he was wrong about the family being local or they didn’t have a telephone. That was a possibility he hadn’t considered.

Before leaving the unit, Neef gave instructions that he was to be informed if there was any deterioration in Neil’s condition. He left Eve’s number for them to try if he wasn’t at home. His own number was on a list above the telephone in the duty room along with everyone else’s in the unit.

“I tried persuading my editor to take Menogen’s side in this affair,” said Eve.

“That was brave of you,” said Neef.

“Tell me about it,” said Eve. “He thinks we’ve been far too constrained as it is. Everyone else has been going for Menogen’s throat. He gave me a lecture about telling the public what they want to hear.”

“Where have I heard that before,” said Neef. “And right now they want to hear about a big bad research company that’s been manufacturing killer viruses.”

“More or less.”

“Thomas Downy no longer has a tumour in his brain,” said Neef.

“That’s wonderful,” said Eve.