‘Influenza,’ said Steven. ‘I wasn’t lying. It really is flu.’
‘But not as we know it, Captain?’ suggested Ryman acidly.
‘It’s a strain called Cambodia 5,’ said Steven. ‘It’s a genetically engineered variant of an avian flu virus found in Cambodia last year and is very similar to the pandemic strain of 1918. Professor Devon of the Crick Institute was asked by government to design a vaccine against it because the World Health Organisation thinks that such a strain will evolve naturally in the very near future.’
‘Well, thank you for that, Doctor,’ said Ryman. She turned to Giles. ‘Now I can tell you, Inspector, that this man almost certainly died of Cambodia 5 virus infection although lab tests — which I suspect will not be performed in the circumstances — would be needed to confirm that conclusion.’
‘And the other two as well?’ asked Giles.
‘No,’ said Ryman. ‘They were murdered.’
Giles and Steven looked at each other, stunned and equally taken aback. ‘Murdered?’
‘Both were suffering from the same disease as the man who drowned in his own mucosal secretions and probably would have died anyway judging by the state of their lungs and airways, but this obviously wasn’t quick enough for the person who decided to help them on their way. They were both asphyxiated.’
‘Shit,’ murmured Giles.
‘I guess they became surplus to requirements,’ said Steven.
‘Whose requirements?’ asked Ryman.
‘We don’t know that yet,’ said Steven. It drew a doubting look from Ryman but she carried on with her work.
Steven and Giles left the mortuary together. It was already dark and frost was making the pavements sparkle under the street lights. ‘Anything back from forensics?’ Steven asked.
Giles shook his head. ‘They’re still working on the Land Rover although they did find three empty petrol cans in the back. It’s almost certainly the vehicle used in the murder of Robert Smith.’
‘So the three dead men were the murderers?’ said Steven. ‘It was three men your witness saw, wasn’t it?’
‘Yep, three, the woman was absolutely certain about that.’
‘Which now leaves us looking for at least a fourth,’ said Steven.
‘What was all this John Boy — Elizabeth stuff about?’ asked Giles.
‘Just an ongoing joke about real life versus Waltons’ Mountain,’ said Steven. ‘Dr Ryman has noted significant differences.’
‘She’s not alone,’ said Giles. ‘So how come these guys got infected with Cambodia 5?’
‘That’s something I’d like to know too,’ said Steven. ‘They must have come into contact with the missing monkey or with biological material obtained from it.’
‘Now there’s an unhappy thought,’ murmured Giles. His phone rang: it was Mark Morley. After a brief conversation he snapped it shut and said to Steven, ‘Shanks didn’t recognise any of the three men as being Ali.’
‘So Ali could be their killer,’ said Steven.
‘Strikes me that Ali is running the show,’ said Giles. His phone rang again. ‘Yes sir,… I think you can… Well, the neighbours saw what was going on anyway… yes sir, as you say, best to quash any wild rumours in the bud… no sir, no harm at all in suggesting that… Good bye, sir.
‘That was the Chief Super. He’s about to brief the Press about the three dead men. Wanted to know what I thought about letting it be known that they were prime suspects in the murder of Robert Smith. Thinks it would be good for public relations.’
‘Not to mention his career,’ said Steven.
‘Way of the world, Steven,’ said Giles. ‘Way of the world.’
The story was carried by the morning papers and came out exactly the way the police wanted it to: the murderers of Robert Smith had been traced to and found dead in a flat in Sefton Street. The police had got their men. The public had been spared the expense of a trial. There were no loose ends. End of story. Steven was reading it over breakfast when Giles rang.
‘I thought I’d give you an update on forensics,’ he said. ‘The lab has identified hair found in the back of the Land Rover as belonging to a monkey.’
‘Well done,’ murmured Steven. ‘Now we know how they were infected.’
‘Maybe Shanks was telling the truth about Ali going back to the institute after the initial raid, only he wasn’t on his own; he had these guys with him.’
‘And they stole the infected monkey directly from the institute using the Land Rover,’ said Steven. ‘That would make more sense. That monkey was never out in the wild at all. That’s why the army couldn’t find any trace of it.’
‘Then later, someone planted another monkey out there for them to find just to get rid of them,’ said Giles. His phone rang. ‘Shit… hang on… What is it, Morley?’
Steven waited while Giles spoke to Morley. He heard Giles say he would be ‘right with him’ before he came back on the line.
‘That was Morley with the final forensics report on the Land Rover. It was pretty clean apart from the petrol cans I told you about earlier and of course, the monkey hair but they did find a petrol receipt under one of the front seats. We’re off to check with the filling station. It’s a bit of a long shot but the cashiers might remember something.’
‘Good luck,’ said Steven.
‘Oh, and the Chief Super has just told me officially that the Intelligence Services are now operating on our patch. I’ve been instructed to give them every assistance should they request it. I hear they’ve already muscled in on our forensic people and taken away some of their samples.’
‘Well, we’re all going to the same party,’ said Steven.
‘I’ll try to remember that,’ said Giles.
Steven felt at a loose end. He tried to think of something constructive he could be doing to help but the game, as Sherlock Holmes might have put it, was afoot, and now he could only wait. The fact that the prospects of success did not seem to be good wasn’t helping. The police and security services had no leads at all as far as the man, Ali, was concerned and the only hope of finding out more about what the three dead men had been up to seemed to lie in a single petrol receipt and with the memory of a filling station attendant. Steven checked on his laptop for any messages from Sci-Med. There was one: it was the list of animal suppliers he had asked for when he’d first heard about Robert Smith’s doubts regarding the identity of the dead monkey brought in by the army. This was now largely redundant: Smith had been proved all too right. The real Chloe had been stolen by terrorists.
Wondering if there was anything else he could be doing, Steven remembered that DIS was investigating suppliers of fertile hens’ eggs. He called Colonel Rose.
‘We drew a complete blank, I’m afraid. No orders for fertile white leghorn eggs have been received by any of the suppliers from anyone other than accredited laboratories in the past six months. I suppose the opposition could be experimenting with cell culture instead of using eggs?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Steven. ‘That’s what everyone in the business would like to be doing but there are so many problems that they’ve always had to come back to hens’ eggs in the end. I can’t see terrorists succeeding in makeshift premises where the big boys of the pharmaceutical industry have failed.’
‘I can’t see them having their own chicken farm either,’ said Rose.
‘Fair point,’ agreed Steven.
Steven was pondering on what Rose had said when his phone went. It was Leila.
‘Just thought I’d see how you were,’ she said.
‘It’s nice to hear a friendly voice.’
‘I read that the police caught the men who murdered Smithy,’ said Leila.