“Let’s wait and see how it goes,” said Farro-Jones.
Neef discovered that Eve had been in to visit Neil earlier. He had missed her but she had left a message inviting him over for dinner. If he couldn’t make it, he was to leave a message on her answering machine. He could, so there was no need. It was something to look forward to for the next few hours while he waded through paperwork, most of which he regarded as unnecessary.
It was a pity, he thought, that someone in government couldn’t have foreseen what the laudably sounding phrase, accurately monitoring performance, actually meant in practice — assessments, appraisals, audits, endless form filling. The practice of medicine was now very much secondary to the administration of it.
Neef arrived at Eve’s apartment to find her hopping mad.
“What on earth is going on?” she asked.
“Hello to you too,” Neef replied.
“I’m sorry,” said Eve with a guilty look. “It’s just been such a frustrating day. I went down to Sutton Place to get an update on the story and there’s been some kind of coup. Lennon is no longer in charge and the men from the ministry are saying nothing. Has there been some dramatic new development?”
“Not that I know of,” said Neef. “The men from the ministry, as you call them, were sent in in response to some MP calling for action. They came to see me this afternoon and warned me to keep my mouth shut, especially where you were concerned.”
“And people call this a free country.” said Eve. “The more I see of government departments the more convinced I become that no one working in them actually knows what they’re doing. As soon as the spotlight falls on them, their knee-jerk response is to find ways of turning it off, rather than be pleased to show the public how well they’re dealing with things.”
“So what will you do?” asked Neef.
“I’ll write a protest story about unnecessary government secrecy; the other papers will do the same and the powers that be will end up in a worse mess than if they had spoken to us in the first place,” said Eve.
“I seem to remember hearing once that the government had powers to stop the press writing anything at all about certain things if the notion took them,” said Neef.
“We’re talking national security here,” said Eve. “They would really have to have a good reason to slap on one of these. They would have to know a lot more about this thing than they’ve been letting on. Do they?”
“I don’t think so,” said Neef. “But I got the feeling they think it’s a virus too. One of the fun, people I met today was from Porton Down.”
“The germ warfare place?”
“Defence establishment,” corrected Neef.
“Looking for new toys?” said Eve.
“My thought too,” said Neef.
“You shouldn’t be telling me this,” said Eve.
“We have an agreement as individuals,” said Neef. “I’ll tell you what I want.”
“They really did get up your nose, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
As they sat eating, Eve said, “I won’t be in to see Neil tomorrow. I told him today. He understands. I’ll be there the day after.”
“You’ve been in every day since you started,” said Neef.
“And I’ll be in every day until he gets better,” said Eve. “It’s just that tomorrow I have to do something rather special.”
“Oh?”
“The Express wants to talk to me face to face. I think they might offer me a job.”
“Wonderful,” said Neef. “Just what you wanted.” His voice betrayed disappointment.
“Don’t worry,” said Eve, softly. “We’ll work something out. Be happy for me?”
“Of course,” said Neef. “Best of luck.”
Neef had hoped that the next day would bring permission to start Neil Benson off on Pereira’s new vector but it didn’t. He asked Tim Heaton if he could hurry up proceedings with a few phone calls. Heaton said that he would see what he could do but there was still nothing by the end of the day. There was no word from Public Health about how the new regime was handling the investigation and Eve did not call to say how she had got on at her interview. A thoroughly unexciting and unsatisfying day, thought Neef as he left the unit.
Dolly was the only one to benefit from Neef’s quiet day. With nothing else on his mind, he remembered to go to the pet shop on the way home and pick up a supply of cat food and litter. He also bought her a new toy; her fascination with the orange fish had begun to wane.
If Neef had known what lay in store for him on the following morning he might have been well pleased to accept another uneventful day in lieu. He stopped off on the way to the hospital to pick up his morning paper when a picture on the front page of the Express caught his attention. He thought he recognised the building in the photograph. When he looked closer he saw that he was right. It was the Menogen Research building. Neef lifted the paper off the rack and opened it out. CANCER KILLER BUG ESCAPES FROM RESEARCH LAB screamed the headline.
Unsure of which emotion to heed first, shock, a sense of betrayal, fear, alarm, Neef bought the paper and returned to his car to read the rest. The story was credited to, Our Special Reporter, and said that unnamed official investigators were considering the possibility that the recent outbreak of cancer cases had been caused by a virus escaping from the Menogen Research Laboratories in Langholm Road. It noted that the first victim had been Melanie Simpson who had lived in Langholm Crescent. Official sources were refusing to confirm or deny the reports and had placed a news blackout on the story. It had come to the paper’s attention however, that one of the investigators brought in by the government was a virus expert from the Porton Down defence establishment. Steven Thomas, managing director of Menogen, had dismissed the claims as ‘ludicrous’.
Neef felt sick in his stomach. Had Eve’s career been so important to her that she’d done this? He felt stupid and hurt at the same time. He desperately tried to think of an alternative explanation. Was it conceivable that Klein and Waters had seen the Langholm Road — Langholm Crescent tie-up right away and had leaked the story to the papers? But why? They were actively trying to keep things out of the papers. Unless of course... they saw the opportunity to blame everything on Menogen and get Public Health and the Department of Health off the hook in one fell swoop.
Neef, surprised at the deviousness of his own thoughts, tried calling Lennon as soon as he got in. Not surprisingly the line was engaged. He asked Ann Miles to keep trying but it took about thirty minutes before he heard Lennon’s voice at the end of the line.
“I know the investigation is officially out of your hands,” said Neef. “But there is something I’d really like to know.”
“Shoot,” said Lennon.
“When did Klein and Waters first see the connection between Menogen’s address and Melanie Simpson’s?”
“When they read it in the paper this morning,” said Lennon acidly.
It was what Neef had feared hearing. “You’re sure they didn’t know?”
“Certain. Perhaps I can ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Did you?”
Neef closed his eyes. It was a reasonable question in the circumstances and he felt embarrassed at having kept Lennon in the dark. “I knew,” he confessed. “But there wasn’t a shred of evidence to suggest it was anything more than a coincidence. There still isn’t.”
“Someone obviously disagrees with you,” said Lennon. The word, ‘someone’ was pronounced in a manner to suggest to Neef that Lennon thought he knew exactly who.
“What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure I should tell you in the circumstances,” said Lennon.