“OK, I might do that.”
Neef called Clelland at University College Hospital. “It’s Michael Neef, here. How did Charles Morse respond?”
“There has been quite a marked improvement in his lung condition,” replied Clelland. “The inflammation has subsided; we’ve been able to get some decent X-rays.”
“And?”
“I’m looking at one right now,” said Clelland. “I’m afraid you were right, Doctor.”
“He has lung cancer?”
“He’s riddled.”
Neef let out his breath in a long sigh.
“Just what you didn’t want to hear,” said Clelland, apologetically.
“Quite so,” said Neef, feeling as if he’d just had the stuffing knocked out of him.
“You’ll tell his wife?”
“I’ll tell her.”
Kate Morse had her back to him when Neef found her talking to one of the nurses. He was waiting until they had finished but the other nurse looked at him over Kate’s shoulder and Kate turned round. Neef saw immediately that she had read what he had to say in his eyes. She finished with the nurse and followed Neef back to his office.
“You were right, Charlie has cancer?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Neef softly. “I’m so sorry.”
Kate put her hand to her mouth as if afraid to speak then she said hesitantly, “I suppose I’ve known all day yet I’ve been clinging to the hope that it was all some crazy mistake. Charlie would get better and we’d all be back to normal. I’ve watched so many other people do this in my time and yet when it happened to me, I’m no different.”
Neef nodded. “None of us are,” he said.
“I think I’d like to go see Charlie now if that’s all right?” said Kate.
“Of course,” said Neef. “If there’s anything I can do, you only have to ask. You know that.”
Kate nodded and said, “I know.”
Neef watched Kate leave his office and wished that there was something more he could do but there wasn’t. He called Lennon at the Public Health Department and told him that Charles Morse was the third case.
“One of the staff you say?” exclaimed Lennon.
“He’s chief technician in our Pathology Lab,” replied Neef. “He’s in his mid thirties and his wife is my head nurse here in the unit.”
“Good God,” said Lennon. “Of all the people in the city it could have been, the third case turns out to be someone on the staff of the hospital.”
“You’re not the first person to point this out,” said Neef. “My registrar, Lawrence Fielding made the same comment. What do you think?”
“Just coincidence, I suppose,” said Lennon. “But this could be the lead we need. There can’t be too many things that a thirty-five year old man and two teenage girls have in common in the way of habits and haunts. We must be able to discover where their paths crossed providing we can speak to this man?”
“Maybe not tonight,” said Neef. “His wife has just left to be with him. Maybe tomorrow when they’ve both had time to come to terms with it.”
“I’ll go up to University College in the morning then,” said Lennon. “Please God; we’ll discover the source this time. It’s driving us to distraction.”
“I can imagine,” said Neef.
“Do the Press know about this yet?” asked Lennon.
“Not from me and I don’t think Uni College will be saying anything. The truth is we’ve only found out ourselves in the last hour.”
“Good,” said Lennon. “We could use a bit of breathing space after last week’s attention.”
“I imagine it wasn’t too comfortable down there,” said Neef. “We’ve had our moments with the Press ourselves.”
“You wouldn’t believe some of the calls we got after the story,” said Lennon. “We’ve had reports of Martians landing on the common. It was the exhaust from their space ship that was causing the cancer.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” said Neef dryly.
“One woman thought the government were poisoning the water. Another thought it was the increase in dog shit that was the problem. She said it was the smell on sunny days that had given the kids cancer.”
“I hadn’t reckoned on calls from nuts,” said Neef.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Makes you worry what’s out there,” said Neef.
“You can say that again,” said Lennon. “God knows what we’ll get when the Press hit the panic button over number three.”
“Let’s hope they don’t get hold of it.”
“Chance would be a fine thing,” replied Lennon.
“Let me know how you get on. I’ll be off tomorrow but I’ll be back on Monday.”
“Lucky you,” said Lennon. “I haven’t had a day off since this thing started.”
Neef looked for the piece of paper with Frank MacSween’s daughter’s telephone number on it. He found it in the second pocket he searched in and punched up the numbers. There was no reply. He folded it up again and slipped it into the breast pocket on his shirt. He would try again later. It was time he went to find Max Pereira, assuming he was still around. He found Pereira in the duty room reading one of the nurses’ magazines.
“Sorry I was so long. Still fancy that drink?”
“Only reason I’m still here,” replied Pereira.
“What’s with Sister Morse?” asked Pereira as they left the hospital and walked over to the pub on the corner. The Two Dragoons was the local for the staff of St George’s. “She seemed kind of upset when she left.”
“She’s just found out her husband has cancer.”
“Shit. What kind?”
“Lung.”
“Shit. Heavy smoker?”
“Aged thirty-seven, never smoked in his life.”
“Lousy luck,” said Pereira.
“Luck had nothing to do with it. It’s the same thing as Jane Lees. Remember? You saw her scans.”
“The kid in your unit? Sure, I remember. A real mess.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this to yourself in the meantime. The Public Health people are having a hard enough time as it is.”
“Mum’s the word.” Pereira took a sip of his bourbon. Neef could almost sense what he was thinking. “You know,” said Pereira, “that sounds like some kind of weird coincidence.”
“That hasn’t escaped our attention,” said Neef. “But we can’t read anything into it. Can you?”
Pereira played with the leather band of his beret as he considered. “I guess not,” he said. “What kind of things have your public health guys been looking for?”
“Something that gives off a gas,” said Neef. “The cancer in all three cases is confined to the lungs and there are no signs of radiation burns.”
“How about asbestos?” suggested Pereira.
“There were no fibres in the lungs; that’s what makes PH think it must have been a gas or fumes of some sort. They’ve been looking for a chemical that’s been illegally dumped.”
“Must be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” said Pereira.
“They’re hoping that Kate Morse’s husband will help them narrow down the possibilities.”
“I wish them luck. Another drink?”
“Thanks, another gin,” said Neef.
Pereira returned from the bar with the drinks.
“So how are you going to spend your Sunday?” asked Neef.
“In the lab,” replied Pereira.
Neef smiled and asked, “When do you find the time to go diving?” He nodded at the motif on Pereira’s Tee shirt which advertised yet another diving school. This time it was an Israeli outfit on the Red Sea.
“Two weeks in February, every year.”
“What about summer holidays?”
“I don’t take any.”
“But you must go to scientific meetings and conferences. They’re usually held in pretty nice places.”