One of the four, a street-wise youngster in grubby Tee shirt and jeans and with a mop of curls, seemed less affected than the others so when things were under control Saracen came back to him and asked some questions. He asked the boy his age.
“Twelve,” came the sullen reply.
“Why do you do it?”
“Nothing else to do around here.”
“Crap!” said Saracen.
The boy seemed taken aback. “It’s true,” he mumbled.
“And I’m telling you it’s crap! Don’t you think I’ve got enough to do without dealing with a bunch of cretins who stick plastic bags on their heads?”
“You can’t say that! You’re a Doctor!” protested the boy.
“I just did” said Saracen. Where did you buy the glue?”
“Ain’t sayin’”
Saracen looked at the police constable who had brought the boys in but the man shrugged his shoulders. “I asked you a question,” said Saracen turning back to the boy.
“And I said I ain’t sayin!” replied the boy aggressively.
Saracen eyed him up for a moment and then said, “In that case my son I think a nice enema is called for.”
“What’s that?” demanded the boy.
Saracen leaned over and whispered in the boy’s ear. “First the nice nurse will take this big tube and then…”
The explanation had the desired effect. The boy’s eyes opened wide and aggression changed to panic. “No one is gonna do that to me,” he spluttered.
Saracen nodded gravely. “Oh yes they are,” he said. “And with ice cold water too…”
The boy began to shrink away but was restrained by the constable’s hand.
“Now perhaps if you were to answer my question I might just be able to reconsider your treatment,” said Saracen calmly looking at his fingernails.
The truth dawned on the boy. “This is blackmail!” he stammered.
“I believe it is,” agreed Saracen.
The boy gave in. “Bartok’s in Weaver’s Lane,” he said. “He said we weren’t to tell anyone.
“I’ll bet,” said Saracen quietly. He looked at the policeman and asked, “Mean anything?”
The officer nodded and said, “We know old Bartok. Tight as a cat’s arse.” Realising too late what he had said the policeman began to colour and offer his apologies to Sister Lindeman. “We’ve heard worse,” said Lindeman.
“You’ll have a word with him?” asked Saracen.
“We’ll lean on him a bit but he’ll swear blind that he thought the kids were building model aeroplanes.”
“See what you can do anyway.”
The constable got to his feet and replaced his helmet. “Can I take it these four rogues are going to be all right?” he asked Saracen.
Saracen nodded and said, “This time.”
“Are you keeping them in?”
“These three better stay overnight, this one can go home,” said Saracen lightly shaking the shoulder of the boy who had provided the information.
“Right then. You come with me,” said the policeman to the boy. “I’ll take you home and have a word with your dad.”
“Don’t do that Mister. He’ll kill me!” said the boy.
“Where do you stay?” Saracen asked the boy.
The boy gave an address in the roughest part of the Maxton estate and Saracen looked at the constable. His shrug was a plea for mitigation. The policeman smiled and said, “Perhaps in view of the help this young man has given us and taking into account the fact that he is never going to do anything like it again…”
“Never, I promise Mister.”
“Right then. Wait here while I get some details from Reception.” The officer left the room.
“What were you doing on the building site anyway?” Saracen asked the boy.
“Playing.”
“You came all the way down from the Maxton to play?
The boy hung his head and Saracen played the waiting game. “A bloke at school said you could get treasure at the site.”
“Treasure?”
“That’s what he said.”
“What kind of treasure?”
“Gold.”
“Gold on a building site?” asked Saracen.
“It’s true!” said the boy defiantly. “Edwards had a chain, a gold chain; he got it on the site.”
“Where about on the site?”
“He wouldn’t tell us.”
“So you thought you would investigate on your own?”
The boy nodded.
“Find anything?”
“Not yet.”
Saracen smiled at the defiance. “Building sites are dangerous places. If Edwards found a chain there it probably belonged to one of the workmen; he should have handed it in.”
“No, it was different. It was treasure!”
“Treasure or no treasure you stay away in future. Understand?”
The boy said yes but avoided Saracen’s eyes when he said it. The constable returned.
Saracen was called to a special meeting of the emergency committee on Thursday morning and guessed rightly that this was to discus the results from Porton. The meeting was delayed while they waited for Dave Moss to arrive from the County Hospital but when ten minutes had passed with still no sign of Moss Saithe decided to start without him and handed over to MacQuillan immediately.
“Not to beat about the bush,” said MacQuillan, “Porton agrees with the findings of the local laboratory. There is, in fact, a problem.” MacQuillan paused to let the murmur die down. Saracen was only too aware of the inflection that MacQuillan had put on the word ‘problem’. It made him uneasy.
“The bacterium appears to have undergone some alteration to its outer membrane affecting both passive and active diffusion.”
Saithe said, “Perhaps for the benefit of those among us who are not scientists?”
“I’m sorry. Of course,” said MacQuillan. “The outer wall of the bacterium has changed, mutated in some way so that it has become impervious to certain agents.”
“Does ‘certain agents’ include antibiotics?” asked Saracen.
“Among other things yes,” replied MacQuillan quietly. The buzz in the room grew loud and Saithe had to ask for quiet.
“So there is no way of treating the disease?” said Saracen.
“Antibiotics do have some effect,” said MacQuillan. “Tetracycline in particular slows the growth rate of the organism markedly.”
“But in the end?” persisted Saracen.
“In the end the outcome is inevitable. The prognosis for treated cases will be the same as for untreated. One hundred percent fatality can be expected.”
Braithwaite interrupted. “This is all academic of course,” he said. “If my people have moved quickly enough to isolate the contacts, as I believe they have, there is nothing at all to worry about.”
“I disagree,” said Saracen flatly.
The room fell to awkward silence before Saithe said, “Perhaps you had better air your views Dr Saracen.”
Saracen stood up and said, “We must not be complacent. I suggest that steps be taken immediately to isolate Skelmore from the rest of the community.” Even before he had got the last word out Saracen was aware of the murmurs of disapproval. These murmurs spawned a small supercilious smile on Braithwaite’s lips. He said, “I am sure the good doctor should be commended for his caution but this is not mediaeval England. Isolating a modern day town is not a matter to be taken lightly. It would do untold damage to the economy of the town not to mention putting an end to Skelmore’s development hopes for the future. I think most of us here would agree that there is certainly no call for such a drastic measure at this juncture.” Sounds of agreement greeted Braithwaite’s words.
Saracen continued his losing battle and said, “This may not be mediaeval England but what we have here in the town is mediaeval plague and from what Dr MacQuillan has said we are no more equipped to deal with it in this time than we were then.”
Silence met Saracen’s comments until MacQuillan said, “I am afraid that there is a deal of truth in what Dr Saracen is saying.”
“But surely you don’t think that we should isolate the whole town too?” said Braithwaite.