Neef passed through the body vault room with its rows of heavy fridge doors on either side. He paused for a moment, feeling a strange compulsion to open one of the doors and examine the contents but then he fought the notion as being ridiculous and walked on. It was this place; it had put him on edge. He had had enough of wandering around it. He remembered the route back to Eddie’s office through the dissection lab and took it.
Half way across the room, he came to a halt when he heard a metallic clunk. After a few seconds it came again. “Is anyone there?” he asked. There was no reply. The sound came again and Neef started to move towards where he thought it was coming from. He was a consultant physician but he felt nervous in this place, almost like a medical student about to encounter dead flesh for the first time. The feeling irked him; he saw it as a weakness but on the other hand, he felt convinced something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones although it was his skin that gave an outward sign with goose-flesh coming up on the back of his neck.
There was a partition screen at the head of the room. The sound was coming from behind it. He rounded it slowly and came upon a row of what looked like bath tubs. They were formalin tanks for the preservation of corpses being used by the class students. As Neef looked along the row a sudden metallic clunk above the end tank caused his heart to miss a beat. He looked up and saw that the vent window above it was not properly fastened. The wind was catching it and rattling it against its retaining rod. This had been the source of the sound.
Feeling slightly embarrassed at his nervousness, Neef walked to the end of the row and looked around for something to stand on in order to close the vent. There was nothing suitable. Maybe the corner of the tank, he thought but as he looked down at it a sudden flurry of bubbles broke the surface of the formalin and made Neef catch his breath. When they settled he found himself looking down into the pale, dead face of Eddie Miller. Another burp of bubbles erupted from Eddie’s mouth. Air that had been trapped in his lungs was escaping to the surface.
“Jesus Christ,” whispered Neef, unable to take his eyes off the awful sight. The Dean’s words, “a long and happy retirement”, sprang to mind like some hellish joke.
Neef went quickly in search of Farro-Jones and told him what he’d found. They returned to the scene together.
“Christ,” said Farro-Jones. “What a way to go. But how?”
Neef looked up at the flapping vent, as the wind caught it again. He said, “Eddie must have climbed up to fasten it and lost his footing. He probably fell backwards into the tank and hit his head off the end.”
Farro-Jones nodded. “What awful luck,” he said.
“Where does this leave us?” asked Neef.
“Still wondering if what Eddie said was true,” said Farro-Jones.
“Right,” said Neef. “It would have been nice to confront him when he was sober. I can’t think why he would have made up something like that, even if he was stoned out of his skull.”
“No,” agreed Farro-Jones.
“Well,” said Neef, looking down at the floating corpse. “We’ll never know now.”
“Why don’t I take a look through Eddie’s PM records?” suggested Farro-Jones. “I could see if there were any likely candidates for what he was claiming. He didn’t give a name I suppose?”
“No, I kept asking him,” said Neef. “But all I could get out of him was that it was a girl around, Melanie Simpson’s age.”
“That should be enough,” said Farro-Jones. “It’s worth a try.”
It was after lunch time before Neef could return to his Unit, having answered all the questions the police had put to him and completed the necessary paperwork in the form of a university hospital incident form. Farro-Jones asked him if he wanted to go to lunch but he declined, saying that too much of the day had been wasted already. Lawrence Fielding was waiting to see him when he finally got back.
“Take a look at these,” said Fielding excitedly. “They’re Thomas Downy’s latest scans.”
Neef saw immediately why Fielding was excited. Thomas’ tumour was down to the size of a pea. “Absolutely bloody marvellous,” said Neef.
“To be quite honest,” said Fielding. “I didn’t really think this would happen. I hoped it would work of course, but I didn’t really believe it. But now...”
Neef smiled and asked, “What about the others?”
“A disappointment, I’m afraid. “Not one of them has shown any signs of improvement at all. I have to say again that I think we should return all of them to either conventional therapy or Antivulon where appropriate.”
“All right,” said Neef. “Let’s not delay any more. Let’s do just that.”
“You don’t have to confer with Max Pereira or the management board?”
“No, the patients’ welfare is my province and I say, we count our blessings on this one. We have had one success and four failures... but what a success.”
Fielding smiled. “At this rate,” he said. “The tumour will be totally destroyed by next week. I understand Thomas’ parents will be here this afternoon. Would you like to speak to them?”
“You do it,” said Neef. “It’s not that often we get the chance to impart some good news round here.”
“Thanks,” said Fielding. “It’s just so bloody good.”
Neef grinned. This was the first time he had ever heard Lawrence Fielding swear. “Max Pereira has come up with a new vector. He thinks it might help Neil Benson. The hospital is applying for an emergency license so we can use it.”
“I see,” said Fielding. His eyes betrayed his doubts.
“I know,” said Neef. “It’s a bit late in the day for Neil but I’m still going to try.”
Fielding nodded. “Right you are.”
“I haven’t told Eve yet. I didn’t want to raise false hopes. She’s going through enough as it is over Neil.”
“I’ll remember,” said Fielding.
“Any word from Kate Morse?”
“I spoke to her this morning. She was very down. I don’t think Charlie’s got long to go.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” said Neef.
“There’s a rumour going around that a staff member died up at Uni College this morning,” said Fielding.
“Word gets around,” said Neef. “It was Eddie Miller, the pathologist. He was closing a window in the dissection lab when he slipped and fell back into a vat of formaldehyde.”
“My God.”
“I was at his retirement dinner last night. He only came in to pick up a few personal belongings this morning,” said Neef.
“You never know what’s round the corner, do you,” said Fielding.
“I suppose not.”
Neef phoned Farro-Jones just after four to ask if he’d had any luck with the hunt for a virus.
“I’m afraid not,” said Farro-Jones.
“So Menogen are in the clear?”
“Not exactly,” said Farro-Jones. “Just because we haven’t found a new virus in the conventional sense doesn’t mean to say that there isn’t something there.”
“I don’t understand,” said Neef.
“It could be a different form of infectious particle.”
“Like what?”
“I was thinking of prions when I said it,” said Farro-Jones. “Bovine spongioform encephalopathy, or Mad Cow disease as the papers like to call it, is an infectious condition for which no bacterium or virus has ever been found. Current thinking says a new infectious particle, called a prion is responsible. You can’t see it under the microscope or culture it artificially but it’s there all right.”
“So you think it possible that Max Pereira has created one of these things in the lab and it got out?” asked Neef.