Neef nodded.
“Yet with the possible exception of Birmingham where the horse bolted some years ago, you and I both know that I could walk into just about any virus lab in the country and help myself.”
“So you feel you get a raw deal,” said Neef.
“On the contrary, said Pereira. “We get the right deal but it should be applied to the academic institutes as well. These jokers do what they damn well like and nobody says boo. Any mention of rules and regulations and they start throwing their hands in the air and screaming, infringement of academic freedom. Infringement my ass, but it always works.”
“Am I allowed to ask what you’re working on?” asked Neef.
“A new vector. I think it should work on melanomas. I’m also trying to figure out what went wrong with ones used on the four kids in the trial. I still don’t understand it.”
Neef picked up on the word, melanoma. “Do you reckon this new vector of yours could help Neil Benson?”
“That’s what Eve wanted to know when she stopped me this afternoon,” smiled Pereira. I’m just developing it. It isn’t licensed.”
“But would it work?”
“I reckon it’s got a good chance,” replied Pereira.
“Neil’s going to die within a month,” said Neef.
“I hope you’re not asking what I think you are,” said Pereira. “After what I just told you?”
“I suppose not,” said Neef. “It just seems like such a shame... How far along the way are you to getting it licensed?”
“It’s brand new,” said Pereira.
“So there’s no chance of rushing it through the licensing procedure?”
“Rushing it through? You have got to be kidding. This is Menogen, remember? A nasty commercial affair. The establishment puts up hurdles specially for us, it doesn’t take them down.”
“God, it’s so galling to know that there’s something that might help Neil and we can’t do anything.” said Neef.
“It might not work, Mike,” said Pereira kindly. “I would have put money on that other kid’s hepatoma responding but it didn’t.”
“Thanks, Max,” said Neef with a sigh. “I’d better go and let you get on.”
“I’ll see you to the door.”
Neef looked back at the Menogen building when he had crossed the street. He caught sight of Max Pereira through the lab window. He was gowning up to continue work.
Even after two gin and tonics, Neef was still on edge. He found it difficult to dismiss Pereira’s virus idea. In fact, it seemed to gain increasing credence the more he thought about it. He considered telephoning Lennon if he could get his home number from somewhere. But what good would that do? Charles Morse was in isolation already and he was the only living patient. There were no other steps they could take except look for the virus itself. He would contact the hospital lab in the morning and ask about the reports on Melanie Simpson and Jane Lees. He’d ask if they had noticed anything out of the ordinary. He remembered that Frank MacSween had said at one point that he had seen a virology report on Melanie Simpson. He also remembered that there had not been anything remarkable in it but he would take a look at it in the morning if it was still available.
First thing in the morning, Neef went down to Pathology to seek out Frank MacSween. He found him preparing for the first post-mortem of the day.
“Hello Michael, what can I do for you?”
Neef could not help but notice the change that had come over MacSween since the death of his grandson. It was as if he had no great interest in anything any more. He was going through the motions of life without having any heart for it.
“I was wondering if you still had a copy of the virology report on Melanie Simpson?” said Neef. “I’d like to take another look at it.”
“Should do,” said MacSween. He walked through to his office and opened a filing cabinet. He pulled out a pink cardboard file and flipped it open. He extracted a single sheet and handed it over to Neef.
“Okay if I hang on to this for a little while?” asked Neef.
“Feel free,” replied MacSween. He didn’t enquire why Neef wanted it. Neef didn’t bother volunteering the reason. He wanted to say something to Frank as a friend but he had difficulty in knowing where to begin. “Frank...”
“Uh huh.”
Neef saw that MacSween’s eyes were dull and his look was distant. “Oh nothing... I’ll catch you later.”
Neef returned to his office and read through the virology report on Melanie Simpson. Three types of virus had been found in her lungs. Adenovirus, Rhinovirus, and para-Adenovirus. None had been reported present in any great number which would have signified infection. They were just reported as being present. There was no mention of any unidentified virus being found. There was no need for Neef to look up a virus text book. Adenoviruses and Rhinoviruses were very common. They caused cold and flu like disease but lots of people carried them without any ill effects. There was nothing in the report at all to support Max Pereira’s notion of a new virus but it still worried Neef. He decided to call David Farro-Jones; he was an expert on the subject. He should have thought of that sooner.
“David? It’s Michael Neef. I was wondering if I might come over and have a chat with you?”
“Of course. Can it wait till about eleven?”
“Fine, see you then.”
Twelve
It was raining heavily as Neef looked for a place near the medical school to park. A mixture of condensate and water on the car’s windows made it difficult to reverse into the one space he had found being vacated on his third circuit of the block. It was very small; its previous occupant had been a Fiat Panda and he needed two attempts at getting the Discovery into it. This did not please the driver in the car behind who displayed growing impatience with a blast of the horn. Neef glanced to the side as the other driver passed and saw it was a woman. She gave him a sour look and a shake of the head; he smiled pleasantly in reply.
Neef hunched his shoulders against the rain and ran across the road into the quadrangle. He slowed down on the cobbled surface which looked treacherous but speeded up again when he came to the long flight of steps leading up to the tall, arched entrance, taking them two at a time. He paused just inside the doors to brush the rain from his hair and shoulders and then crossed the hall quickly past the Reception desk. There were two men on the desk but neither paid him any attention. He walked straight past and into the elevator. It made him think of what Pereira had said.
David Farro-Jones’ lab was on the fourth and top floor of the building which had been built during the latter part of the nineteenth century and modified many times since. It retained its original high ceilings, which tended to dwarf people and contents but the walls bore the bumps and scars of constant redesigning of internal partitioning. Neef found Farro-Jones talking to a young man with a straggly beard and glasses which made his eyes seem enormous. He was wearing a sweat shirt bearing the logo of a brewery in Devon and sandals over bare feet. Neef waited until they had finished before approaching.
“Ah, Michael, be right with you,” said Farro-Jones. He picked up a wire rack containing several rows of test tubes and said, “I’ll just put these away in the fridge.”