“Mrs Little?”
“Who’re you?”
“I’m Dr Neef from St George’s hospital.”
The woman’s face took on a puzzled look. “What d’you want?”
“I’d like to talk to you about your daughter.”
“Susan? She’s dead. What’s there to talk about?”
“I’m sorry, believe me, but I’d like to ask you about her treatment. There are some things I have to know.”
“Susan wasn’t treated at your hospital. It was University College.”
“Could I come in for a few minutes, Mrs Little?” Neef asked. He was aware of neighbours beginning to take an interest in what was going on.
“Suppose so,” agreed the woman reluctantly. “I was doing my ironing.”
Neef was led into the living room where an ironing board stood with a blouse straddled across it. A wooden clothes horse stood beside it with various items, already ironed, hanging on it. There were no children’s clothes.
“Was Susan an only child, Mrs Little?” asked Neef.
Ann Little nodded. “She was all I had left. Her dad died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” said Neef. “And she had cystic fibrosis?”
“From the time she was born.”
“Was she looked after by University College Hospital from the beginning?”
“A wonderful place,” said Mrs Little. “They were all so good to her, especially the physios who cleared her lungs.”
“Was there ever any mention of a cure for Susan?” asked Neef.
“Last year,” replied Mrs Little, sitting down on the edge of a chair facing Neef. She shook a cigarette free from a packet that had been sitting on the mantelpiece and lit it. “They tried out a new treatment for people like Susan but it didn’t come to anything.”
“Was that the Gene Therapy trial?” asked Neef, excited at the prospect of making the connection with Farro-Jones.
“That was it,” agreed the woman, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “They were going to put some new gene into Susan’s lungs so she wouldn’t need the physio any more but something went wrong. It didn’t work out.”
“A pity,” said Neef.
“Everyone was so disappointed,” said Mrs Little, looking wistful. “Especially Dr Farro-Jones. I think he designed the new treatment.”
“Yes, he did,” said Neef, his pulse rate rising. “Did you see Dr Farro-Jones after that?” he asked.
“He came to visit. Ever such a nice man, a real gentleman. He really cared about the patients. He came to see how Susan was getting on.”
“He came here?” asked Neef.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The first time was just after the new treatment failed, about a year ago, I suppose. He said it wouldn’t be long before they had sorted out the problems and they’d have another go at curing Susan.”
“Did you see him again?”
“Two or three months ago.”
Neef felt his mouth go dry. “He came here again?”
“Yes, he had been working on a new treatment and was offering Susan first chance of it before they’d even started using it in the hospital. Susan was really pleased. She liked Dr Farro-Jones. He’s very good looking you see and her being of an age...”
Neef smiled. “What happened?”
Dr Farro Jones came here to treat her. It was our secret, he said.
“What sort of treatment?” asked Neef.
“It was very simple,” said Mrs Little. “Dr Farro-Jones just put a couple of small tubes up her nose and made her breathe deeply for a few minutes. There was no pain or anything.”
Neef swallowed. Here was the gas that Public Health had started out looking for only it wasn’t a gas, it was a virus suspension being administered by nebuliser, one prepared by an over-ambitious son of a bitch who had by-passed all the rules.
“Then what happened?” he asked.
“Susan didn’t get any better, in fact her illness took a turn for the worse and she had to be admitted to the hospital. Her lungs had filled up, you see. Dr Farro-Jones explained that the new treatment had come too late to save her. He was very upset. He even attended the funeral. Such a nice man, dedicated if you know what I mean?”
Neef nodded. He knew what she meant. He also understood what Pereira meant when he had called Farro-Jones a few other things.
“Did Susan know a girl named Melanie Simpson?” asked Neef.
“There was a girl called, Melanie; they were in the girl guides together. I don’t know if her last name was Simpson. Why?”
“Did Melanie ever come here?”
“She came to visit Susan just before she went into hospital for the last time. She had been sent by the Guides to wish her well. You should have seen the flowers they sent.”
“How about Jane Lees?”
“Jane came too,” said Mrs Little.
“How did Susan know Jane?”
“Jane lives next door to my mother. Susan used to play with her when we went over there on a Wednesday and Sunday. They were good friends, the two of them.”
“Did you know that Jane had died?” Neef asked.
Mrs Little nodded. “Cancer,” she said.
“Melanie too,” said Neef.
Mrs Little looked shocked. “I didn’t know about Melanie,” she said. “What an awful...” Her face suddenly showed confusion and uncertainty. “Why are you here?” she asked. “Why are you asking all these questions? What’s going on?”
The door bell rang. Neef stiffened. He listened as the door was opened.
“Dr Farro-Jones! What a surprise. We were just talking about you.”
“Really?” said Farro-Jones’ voice. “Can I come in?”
“Of course, Doctor. Maybe someone round here will tell me what this is all about.”
Farro-Jones entered the room ahead of Mrs Little. He smiled uneasily at Neef. “Hello, Michael, I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Really?” replied Neef with cold accusation in his eyes.
“What has Mrs Little been telling you?”
“Everything,” replied Neef flatly.
Mrs Little looked confused. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on,” she pleaded.
Neef and Farro-Jones ignored her.
“So what now?” asked Farro-Jones, still managing a smile, but Neef thought his eyes told a different story. He saw trepidation there. The smile was just bravado. “How deep shit am I in?”
“Terminally deep,” said Neef. “I know what you did.”
“I see.” Farro-Jones began to ring his hands nervously and run his fingers through his hair. “I don’t suppose it will do any good to point out that I did it for the best?”
Neef shook his head. “You did it for yourself, nobody else. And you’ve ended up killing several people.”
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It was just fate, just bloody bad luck. I didn’t know the vector virus was going to turn out to be carcinogenic for Christ’s sake and there was certainly no way I could have foreseen it becoming infectious through DNA repair. How could I? I thought when Susan got cancer, it was just a bit of bad luck and that was an end to it.”
“Cancer?” exclaimed Mrs Little. “My Susan had cancer?”
“Dr Farro-Jones’ new treatment gave her cancer, Mrs Little,” said Neef without taking his eyes off Farro-Jones. “She didn’t die of cystic fibrosis. Dr Farro-Jones just pretended she had.”
“I explained there was a risk,” said Farro-Jones.
“Was Eddie Miller just bad luck too?”
“Drunken sot,” said Farro-Jones under his breath.
“I think it’s time we spoke to the police,” said Neef.
“Face the music eh?” said Farro-Jones attempting to affect a smile again. “I think not.”
Neef felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he saw the look in Farro-Jones’ eyes. “You can’t seriously believe that you can get away with it?” he asked, sounding braver than he felt.