One of Frank MacSween’s technicians moved forward to position the overhead projector and make the necessary electrical connections. Lennon put the first overhead in place with the palm of his hand and picked up a pointer.
“Melanie Simpson was our first case. Thirteen years old and a pupil at Longhill High School. She was admitted to University College Hospital with severe, bilateral pneumonia. The rest you know.”
Lennon changed the acetate, at first putting in the new one upside down then hastily swivelling it round.
“Our second case was Jane Lees, another thirteen year old and a pupil at Forest Green High School. She lived in the Polton Court flats which as you will see...” Lennon changed the acetate to a hand drawn map, “is nowhere near Langholm Crescent where Melanie lived. No common ground as far as we could determine so we were unable to pinpoint an area where both girls might have come across the carcinogen.”
“Our third case is of course, Charles Morse, chief technician in Pathology here at St George’s who, thankfully, is still alive and our fourth, Nigel Barnes, baby grandson of Dr MacSween, pathologist here at St George’s who died last week-end. We’ve been working on the assumption that these last two cases were secondary and caused by traces of the carcinogen still being present in the girls’ lungs when being examined pathologically. An extensive examination of the lungs however, has failed to confirm this. This begs the question, how can you contaminate yourself with a substance that doesn’t exist?”
“Was the search confined to path specimens taken from Jane Lees or have samples been taken from Charlie Morse as well?” asked Neef.
“We’ve had bronchoscopy samples taken from Mr Morse,” replied Lennon.
“Nothing found?”
“Nothing.”
The room fell silent.
“I’ve prepared summary files with all the pathology details for anyone who wants one. He held up a series of files bound in clear plastic. Help yourself later on the way out.”
“So what we are dealing with is an invisible, undetectable cancer causing agent that no one has ever come across before. Is that right?” asked Alan Brooks, Dean of the University Medical School.
“In a word, yes,” replied Lennon. “Unless anyone has a better idea.”
“No but I feel sure there must be one,” said Neef.
“I agree,” said Brooks. “It’s probably staring us in the face; we just can’t see the wood for the trees.”
“If anyone sees the wood, let me know,” said Lennon. It didn’t get much of a laugh.
The meeting broke up with Neef determined to probe how Eve had found out about Charlie Morse. Had she been asking questions around the unit when she had been visiting Neil? Had she been going through his private papers when his back had been turned? Neef rested his elbows on the desk and allowed his head to sink into his hands. His imagination was threatening to run away with him. The truth was that he was still smarting from some of the accusing glances he had seen at the meeting when Lennon announced the involvement of the Press. Eve had made an agreement with him that she would not ‘work’ when she was in the unit. He had no reason to doubt her word. Had he? He still felt he had to ask her. He had to know for sure. He dialled Eve’s home number. He was just about to hang up when it was answered.
“Eve Sayers.”
“Hello Eve, it’s Michael. I was beginning to think you were out.”
“I was in the shower,” said Eve.
“I’ve just been to a meeting with the Public Health people. They said you’d found out about Charlie Morse and planned to run the story.”
“That’s right,” said Eve.
Neef felt his throat tighten as he sensed they were about to fall out again. He heard the edge in Eve’s voice.
“We had an agreement,” said Neef. “You promised that anything you heard in the unit or from unit staff would be confidential.”
“We still have,” said Eve.
“How did you find out?” asked Neef.
“I don’t think I feel inclined to tell you,” said Eve. “It certainly wasn’t from you, was it? You lied to me about Nigel’s death. You knew perfectly well how he had died when I asked you.”
“I was in a difficult position,” said Neef awkwardly. “I didn’t want to put you in one.”
“Well, thanks for nothing.”
“So you won’t tell me?”
There was along pause before Eve sighed, and said, “The truth is, I worked it out for myself. Max Pereira let slip that Charles Morse was dying of cancer and that made me wonder why you hadn’t mentioned it earlier. I put two and two together and tried out my hypothesis on Dr Lennon. I told him I knew that Charles Morse was the third case and he confirmed it. He also admitted there was a fourth, Frank’s grandson, Nigel.”
“Max Pereira told you Charlie had cancer?” exclaimed Neef, “I didn’t know you knew him.”
“We sort of knew each other by sight. I bought him a cup of coffee this afternoon.”
“To get information out of him.”
“No damn it!” exclaimed Eve. “If you must know I wanted to know if he could do anything for Neil. I felt that desperate. I was prepared to get down on my bended knees and beg him, if you must know. It just slipped out somewhere along the way that Kate Morse’s husband had cancer and I suddenly realised why you hadn’t told me about it. You didn’t trust me enough.”
“I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position,” said Neef.
“Have you any idea how pompous you sound?” asked Eve.
“I think what you did was against the spirit of our agreement,” said Neef.
“If you people put as much effort into investigating this thing as you do in trying to hush everything up we might know just what the hell’s going on by now,” said Eve. She put the phone down.
Neef put the telephone slowly back on its rest and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes and wished he’d never made the call. He tried telling himself that he had every right to be annoyed but there was no satisfaction to be had from that. He even had to consider for a moment that Eve had been right in her assertion about keeping things quiet. Avoiding scrutiny or publicity was a way of life in British society and there was no doubt in his mind that secrecy was often used by the incompetent to protect themselves. At least half the envelopes arriving on his desk had the words ‘In Strict Confidence’ marked on them when there was no need for it. It was a case of the fewer who knew how the Health Service was run the better as far as the top echelons were concerned.
But surely allowing the Public Health Service to carry out their investigations without the full glare of publicity on them was a different case altogether. Wasn’t it? Neef couldn’t come to a firm view on that any more. The fact was that they had got nowhere in their investigations and things didn’t look like improving in the near future. He took the copy of the summary he had picked up at the meeting and put it in his briefcase along with other odds and ends off his desk. He would read it later. He was feeling low. He would go home, tell Dolly his troubles and have a few drinks before having an early night.
Neef’s plan lasted as far as the car then he changed his mind. One thing still niggled him about his conversation with Eve. It was her assertion that she had worked out for herself that Charlie Morse was the third victim. Was that really true or had she been protecting Max Pereira? There was a chance that Pereira would still be at the Menogen labs. He would drive over there and have it out with him before going home. He opened up his briefcase on the passenger seat and looked through his papers until he found something with a Menogen letterhead on it. Menogen Research was at 14, Langholm Road.
Neef parked the car in a side street off Langholm Road about two hundred yards from where the Menogen building was located. It was a modern low-rise building protected by a chain link fence with nothing much in the way of signing outside it apart from a green board that said, Menogen Research. This was repeated on a brass plate on the wall next to an entry phone system. Neef could see that there were lights on inside the building. He pressed the bell-push on the plate and waited. He had to do this a second time before the unmistakable sound of Pereira’s voice said, “Yeah?”