Saracen felt uncomfortable, even unclean. He felt as if he had just been bought. “If you will excuse me now?” he said.
“Of course,” said Saithe getting to his feet. He held out his hand and Saracen shook it. The policeman did likewise. Saracen felt even worse.
“Do you mean she’s getting away with it?” asked an incredulous Jill when she heard the news.
“It’s for the best,” said Saracen. “The sooner we get back to normal the better.”
Jill sipped her drink. She seemed angry. Saracen ran his fingers lightly through her hair and she put her hand up to hold his. “It just doesn’t seem right,” said Jill.
“The main thing is that it is over,” said Saracen.
“I suppose you’re right,” conceded Jill but her voice still harboured doubts. “About your suspension?” she began.
“It’s over. I’ll be back on duty tomorrow.”
Jill smiled for the first time and said, “Well that’s one good thing.”
“Maybe we should celebrate. Go out to dinner?”
“Chinese or Indian?” asked Jill.
“Neither. How about the Station Hotel?”
Jill’s eyes widened. “Little ol’ me at that big ol’ Station Hotel,” she mimicked. “Won’t I have to dye my hair blue and dress up like a Christmas tree?”
“It might help,” agreed Saracen. “But if we talk posh they might let us in.”
“I’ll have to change.”
“I’ll run you round. But first I’ll phone for a table.” Saracen walked over to the phone but it started to ring before he had reached it. It was Dave Moss at the County Hospital.
“I know this is going to sound ridiculous but I had to talk to someone,” said Moss.
“Shoot.”
“One of my patients died this evening.”
“Go on.”
“He died of pneumonia only four hours after admission.”
“Old people often succumb quickly, you know that,” said Saracen.
“But he wasn’t old. He was a strong, thirty year old man. I gave him a million units of penicillin on admission and expected him to be stable by this evening but he went downhill like a lead balloon. The cyanosis was something to behold. By the end his skin was almost black.”
Saracen felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. He had an awful sense of foreboding. “I agree, it’s unusual,” he said slowly.
“I know it sounds crazy and I know you will laugh but I think he died of…pneumonic plague.”
Saracen closed his eyes. It wasn’t over after all. Plague was still in Skelmore.
“James? Are you still there?”
“I’m here. Did your patient live in Palmer’s Green?”
“One moment.”
Saracen heard the receiver being laid down and paper being shuffled.
“No, he didn’t. Why do you ask?”
“Where did he live?” asked Saracen.
“Madox Road. But why?”
“Christ almighty,” said Saracen softly on hearing an address that was on the other side of town from Palmer’s Green.
“What are you not telling me?” demanded Moss.
“Myra Archer and Leonard Cohen both died from plague. Garten covered up the deaths believing that they were isolated cases and that would be the end of it. They lived in the flats on Palmer’s Green. If you have had a case from the other side of Skelmore we could be in real trouble.”
Moss spluttered in disbelief. “How in God’s name did we come to get plague in Skelmore?” he exclaimed.
“Myra Archer had newly arrived here from Africa. She must have brought it with her. Cohen was one of her neighbours down at Palmer’s Green.
“And Garten covered it up?”
“He thought the press coverage would destroy the Skelmore development plans. He thought the Japs might pull out and his father in law would go bust over his housing investments.”
“Good old Nigel,” said Moss. “Self, self, self.”
“Have you told anyone else of your suspicions about your patient?” asked Saracen.
“I wanted to try it on a friend first.”
“Lab tests?”
“I sent them off in the usual way, giving severe pneumonia as the provisional diagnosis.”
“Maybe you should warn the lab about the specimens?” suggested Saracen.
“I will do. I’ll arrange for the staff to have cover too. Any idea what the recommended drugs are?”
“I think it’s streptomycin and tetracycline but we had both better check. All I can remember for sure is that penicillin is no use at all against plague.”
“That would explain my patient’s failure to respond,” said Moss quietly.
“You weren’t to know. We would all have gone for penicillin in the circumstances,” said Saracen.
“Thanks.”
“Will you notify the health authorities or will I?” asked Saracen.
“I will. We will have to get to the family quickly.”
“I’ll inform the powers that be here at the General and then I’ll get back to you.” Saracen put down the phone then picked it up again and called Saithe.
“And Moss is quite sure?”
“He doesn’t have the results of the lab tests yet but it sounds like the real thing.”
“Damnation,” muttered Saithe. “But we must be careful not to cross our bridges until we come to them. We don’t want to cause unnecessary panic.”
“No sir, but Dr Moss is calling the Public Health people anyway.”
“I see,” said Saithe distantly as if he were thinking about something else. “I think what we must do,” he said slowly, “Is set up an ad hoc committee to monitor the situation.”
Saracen raised his eyes to the ceiling. “If you say so.”
“Now who should we have on it…” continued Saithe as if Saracen were no longer there.
“An expert on plague,” interrupted Saracen.
“What was that? What did you say Saracen?”
“I suggested that we find an expert on plague for your committee. None of us know anything about it bar what we read in our text books years ago.”
“Good point,” said Saithe. “There can’t be too many experts on plague around.”
“And certainly not in Skelmore,” added Saracen.
Two hours later Saithe called back to say that an emergency committee had been decided on. Saracen was invited to join. The committee was to comprise Saithe himself, Braithwaite, the medical officer for the county, Chief Superintendent Carradyce, David Moss, John Laird, the medical superintendent at the County Hospital, the hospital secretaries of both the General and County Hospitals and their senior nursing officers. In addition, and more importantly to Saracen’s way of thinking, a man named MacQuillan would be coming up to Skelmore from the government’s research establishment at Porton Down. He was due to arrive in the town at around eight fifteen. The first meeting of the committee was scheduled for nine pm. Saracen said that he would be there.
At ten minutes to nine Saracen left A amp;E where he had called in to see Alan Tremaine and inform him that he would be coming back on duty in the morning. He was thinking about Tremaine as he pulled his collar up against the drizzling rain and waited for an ambulance to pass before crossing the quadrangle to the East wing of the hospital. Tremaine was looking tired, too tired thought Saracen, unless anything came up at the meeting to prevent it he would go back to A amp;E and work the night shift. Tremaine could go home and get some sleep. Saithe had said something about getting locum housemen for A amp;E; Saracen made a mental note to remind him; the matter was now urgent.
Dave Moss was getting out of his car as Saracen reached the East door. He held it open for him and asked, “How are things?”
“Not good. The dead man’s wife has been admitted.”
“Same thing?”
“Looks like it.”
Saracen cursed softly.
“It gets worse,” said Moss. “She worked as a cook at Maxton Primary School.”