by Lesley Kelly
‘Yep. Very popular with your typical angst-ridden undergraduate looking to pull. Read him myself as a fresher. Did you?’
‘I studied Sport Science.’
‘My condolences.’ He leaned back in his chair and stared at Bernard for a minute. ‘Sport Science? Really? I wouldn’t have had you down as a meathead jock.’
‘I wasn’t typical. The other students called me “Prof”.’
‘Ah – a sensitive and literate soul in an army of philistines. How your life has changed.’
Bernard smiled. ‘Anyway . . .’
‘Anyway, Camus – as in the writer of “The Plague.”’
‘Nice. Very topical. Very literary.’
‘I thought so. Well, Heidi appears to be a signed-up member of this particular bunch of nutters.’
Bernard spun round on his seat. It was immensely pleasurable. ‘What do they believe in?’
Marcus laughed. ‘From what I can make out from the ramblings on their website, their main gripes are that the Government did not act quickly enough to tackle the Virus, that pharmaceutical companies know how to cure the Virus but are sitting on it so they can make an even bigger profit out of it, and that the Virus is the result of global warming. I have to hand it to them – they cover a lot of ground in the conspiracy field. Hold on – I’ll get it on screen.’
The two of them stared at the site in silence.
Bernard spoke. ‘Does it say anywhere what their plan of action is?’
This provoked a shaking of the head. ‘Not explicitly, but in my humble role . . .’
‘As a lowly IT backroom boy . . .’
‘Exactly. I would draw your attention to a couple of their gripes. Whinge Number One: the Man don’t want us kids meeting up in groups of more than twenty – I’m paraphrasing here – cos the Man don’t want no opposition to their policies.’
‘You think they’re organising illegal meet-ups?’
‘In my humble opinion. Little bit silly, but they’re not the only ones doing that by a long way. Whinge Number Two worries me a lot more. Read this.’
‘“Fact: everyone knows that there are a number of combinations of drugs that have been shown to work, but the Government has helped the pharmaceutical industry to suppress that information, to allow them to maximise future profits. Scientific research has demonstrated that a combination of the antidepressant Luprophen and anti-biotic Hyrdosol, when taken with high dose Vitamin C has proved an effective prophylactic.”’ He looked at Marcus. ‘Bonkers, but so what? People have been taking this kind of stuff preventatively ever since the Virus started.’
‘True,’ said Marcus, peering over the top of his specs. ‘But what makes Heidi a little bit special is the scale on which she’s operating. Check out this e-mail.’
Bernard read the correspondence in Heidi’s inbox. ‘She’s been buying Luprophen and Hyrdosol over the Internet?’
‘In massive quantities, at a cost of several thousand pounds.’
Bernard gave a low whistle while he took this in. ‘Where’s she getting the drugs from?’
‘Me-hi-co. And when that little Tijuana surprise arrives, young Heidi-Hi is going to have enough pharmaceuticals to kill herself, and all the other Children of Camus too.’
6
Mona made herself a cup of tea, read her e-mails, tidied her desk, and then, when she really couldn’t put it off any longer, opened the diary. Some of the pink fluff from the cover caught under her nail. She pushed the diary to one side of her desk, and opened the envelope she’d received from the German Consulate. She sorted through the pages until she had them in the correct order, and laid them next to the diary.
The first page of the journal was covered in hand-drawn hearts. This confirmed Mona’s suspicions about the content of the diaries. She prepared herself for an onslaught of hormonal angst, anticipating an outpouring of concerns about boys, exams, the Virus, perhaps even rants about the world. She turned the page.
The first page of the diary had the date written in the top left-hand corner, and a single line of text.
Morley’s. Alle waren da. Eine gute Zeit hatten alle. Gott segne K!!!
She flicked across to the translated pages.
Morley’s. Everyone was there. Good night had by all. God bless K!!!
She thought back to her visit to the pub earlier that day. Was Morley’s really where students went for a good time these days? When she was in uniform, a student would have been taking their life in their hands drinking there. She read on.
Railway Tavern. Eine tolle Nacht. Dr Beeching wäre stolz gewesen. K rocks!
Railway Tavern. The kind of night Dr Beeching would be proud of. K rocks!
Mona went into her drawer and pulled out a Yellow Pages. She leafed through it, then checked her suspicions on the Internet. Nowhere could she find any evidence that there was a pub in Edinburgh called the Railway Tavern. She searched further afield, and found Railway Taverns in Prestonpans, Lochgelly and Bathgate. She noted these down, but again, doubted that these would be regular haunts for students.
She worked methodically through the diary noting dates, but it appeared that the only places Heidi socialised were these two pubs. None of the entries was longer than two sentences, and there was little mention of friends or family. It was like reading a code. And who was K?
She closed the diary and sat staring at it. A thought occurred to her. She opened the first page of the diary and slipped her finger under the pink fluffy cover. With a bit of manoeuvring the cover came off. As she suspected, there was something written there.
So Wise So Young, They Say Do Never Live Long
Song lyrics? she wondered. Poetry?
‘All right if I . . .?’
Mona jumped at the sound of the voice. It was one of the cleaners, who was standing in the doorway brandishing a vacuum cleaner.
Mona looked at her watch. 6.05pm. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise the time.’
‘I could do next door and then come back, if you like.’
‘Thanks.’
Bernard still hadn’t returned to the office. She grabbed her phone and speed-dialled his number.
‘Where are you?’
It was noisy. ‘On the bus.’
‘Going where?’
There was a brief pause and in the background Mona could hear someone asking to get past Bernard.
‘Home. It was after five when I got through with IT.’
‘After five?’ Mona almost dropped the phone in frustration. ‘For God’s sake, Bernard, we’ve got a Health Defaulter here, you can’t just clock off at teatime.’
There was a long silence at the other end of the phone. She sat on her rage and asked a question. ‘So, what did you find out at IT?’
Mona listened in silence while Bernard updated her about The Children of Camus. ‘That sounds important, Bernard. If she is messing about with drugs it does make it more likely that she is in some kind of trouble.’ Mona was beginning to reconsider her earlier flippancy about the case. ‘I really think you need to come back to the office.’
There was another long pause before Bernard spoke. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Mona.’
Mona slammed the phone down and looked round for someone to complain to. She stared over at Paterson’s room. She didn’t want to drop Bernard in it but, Jesus, you couldn’t just clock off at five like you were working at Tesco or something. People’s lives depended on their work. She walked over and knocked on Paterson’s door. Without waiting for an invite she went in.
It was deserted. The L & B mug was washed and draining neatly by the kettle, and Paterson’s coat was gone.
‘Does anyone give a shit about this apart from me?’ she said to the empty room. In reply, her phone rang.
‘Mona.’ Paterson’s voice. ‘I need you and Bernard at HQ now. You-Know-Who wants to talk to us about this German lassie.’
‘Bernard’s gone for the day.’
‘What? At . . .’
She could picture the Guv look
ing at his watch.
‘Ten past six?’
‘Mm,’ she said, trying not to get her partner into any further trouble.
‘Though,’ the Guv sounded thoughtful, ‘possibly for the best. I can do without a Bernard indiscretion in front of our glorious leader. How quickly can you get here?’
‘Quarter of an hour?’
Paterson hung up, which she took to mean satisfaction with her proposed timescale. She picked up her coat and walked out the door, pausing only to turn out the light. She poked her head into the neighbouring office. ‘It’s all yours.’
The cleaner gave a wave of acknowledgement.
Paterson looked furious.
‘Fifty-five minutes I’ve been sitting here, and all he’s done is stick his head out and say, “I thought you’d have the HET officers with you”. He could have asked me to bring you when he phoned. Bloody mind games, this is. Arseho—’
‘John! Always a pleasure.’
The Chief Executive of the Scottish Health Enforcement Partnership appeared in the doorway of the room, and gave a smile of such insincerity that she could see the Guv fighting the urge to give his superior a swift right hook. Instead he smiled back and extended his hand in greeting.
‘Cameron. This is Mona Whyte, the HET officer working on the case.’
The SHEP boss looked at her for a minute. ‘Rab Whyte’s daughter, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your partner?’
‘Unfortunately he’s been detained, Sir.’
‘Perhaps for the best. Easier to speak freely amongst ourselves.’
Cameron was also a Police secondee. Despite the Government trumpeting the benefits of the fully integrated Police/Health interface of the HET, in reality most staff had brought their previous mindsets with them. Mona and Paterson had shared many raised eyebrows at the naïvety of their health colleagues, while she’d frequently seen Carole and Bernard huddled together moaning, usually about something politically incorrect Paterson had said. Small wonder, then, that the SHEP chief thought there would be a freer exchange without any health do-gooders involved.
Cameron held open the large oak door leading to his room.
‘Nice offices you’ve got here,’ said Paterson.
The SHEP boss looked round the wooden panelling of his office, as if he was seeing it for the first time. ‘Not bad, is it? We’re very grateful to the City Council for accommodating us.’ He motioned to them to sit, and walked over to the window and looked out. ‘I’m told it’s a bugger during the Festival though, after all, we’re right on the High Street here.’
‘My heart bleeds for you, truly it does.’
Cameron laughed and returned to his desk. Mona settled herself into a supremely comfortable wood and leather chair, and wondered what her chances were of smuggling it out of the building and back to the office.
‘So, John, this German lassie. When and where will she be turning up?’
Paterson leaned his head back and contemplated the ornate wooden ceiling. ‘2pm Wednesday on the top of Arthur’s Seat.’ He looked straight at Cameron. ‘How do I know?’
Cameron gave an icy smile. ‘I remember your penchant for sarcasm from the days when I used to work for you.’
‘And now you’ve leapfrogged over my head to the dizzy heights of Chief Executive of SHEP you don’t need to listen to it anymore.’
‘Certainly be harder to hear it if you get moved on to traffic duty.’
Paterson snorted. ‘Oh, don’t threaten me with being pensioned off. I’m already at the arse-end of policing in the HET. Traffic duty would be a step up from managing the team you landed me with.’ He smiled at Mona. ‘Present company excluded.’ Cameron laughed. ‘Who’ve you got?’
‘Aside from the undoubted talents of Ms Whyte here, I’ve got two health freaks, and a PC with eighteen months’ experience.’
There was a knock on the door, and a secretary entered carrying a tray with three cups of tea, and a plate of biscuits. She shot them both a cheery smile and left without saying a word.
‘China cups, Cameron. Nothing but the best.’
‘Well, I knew you were coming, John, so I requested them specially.’ Cameron poured tea into all the cups. ‘So, the German lassie?’
‘Now to answer the question you should have asked me, we’re not yet sure if this German lassie has run off with a boyfriend or is lying in a coma somewhere, but we’re working on it.’
‘But you are on top of it?’
Paterson leaned forward, and the leather chair creaked under his weight. ‘What’s the deal here? I thought you lot didn’t get involved in individual cases?’
‘We don’t. We’re not getting involved now, in fact. Just keeping an eye on the politics of the case.’
‘Granted the father’s a politician, but I’m not even sure that anyone in Berlin’s heard of him.’
Cameron laughed. ‘A little bird tells me that may be about to change, and I don’t want the Press over here making something out of it.’
‘Any chance you could share this tiny sparrow’s input with me?’
‘Nothing to tell, John, just backroom gossip. But just in case, get your staff focused on this, get her found, and get her into a Health Check before this turns into a diplomatic incident.’
‘Wouldn’t want to interfere with you getting your knighthood, Cam.’ He put his cup back on the table. ‘Why us?’
‘What do you mean, “why us?” She’s a Health Defaulter – it’s your territory.’
‘Granted. But a sensitive case like this could be dealt with directly by yourselves, or the Police. I mean, the HET’s just . . .’ He tailed off.
‘Just for show?’ finished Cameron, with a smile on his face. ‘Just there to reassure voters that Health Defaulters are actually being tracked down? Just there as a nice piece of window dressing on the real work undertaken by the Health Service?’
Mona could see Paterson was gripping the side of his chair very tightly.
‘We provide a lot of reassurance for the public,’ said Paterson.
Mona wondered if he really thought that. She didn’t.
Cameron smirked. ‘I’m sure we all sleep easier at night, knowing that you’re around.’ His gaze fell on Mona. ‘Not the most exciting of career moves for you, Ms Whyte, I wouldn’t have thought?’
Damn right, thought Mona, but the Guv’s barely contained rage made her think better of agreeing.
‘I wouldn’t say that, Sir,’ she settled for.
‘Very diplomatic. We could use the talents of someone like you after all this Virus stuff blows over. Certainly would be good to get your perspective on how things are going at the HET, from time to time?’
‘We’re going.’ The Guv stood up. ‘That’s if you’re quite finished trying to get my staff to spy on me?’
Cameron waved in the direction of the door. ‘Be my guest.’ He smiled at Mona. ‘Don’t let your boss steal the china on the way out.’
7
Bernard put his keys into the door of his flat, and, quiet as the night, pushed the door open. He stood for a second, letting his eye bounce round the hallway, from the table to the floor, to the open door of their tiny kitchen. This was his nightly routine, surveying his room for clues, looking for anything that would give him a warning about his wife’s state of mind. He could hear the television playing in the lounge; this was good. She was out of bed, at the very least. There had been too many evenings when he’d come home from the HET only to find the house in darkness, and an inert figure under a duvet.
An object lying on the table caught his eye, its black plastic weighing down a small pile of unopened mail. A hairdryer! This was a positive sign. Doctor Sutherland had said that taking an interest in her appearance was a definite sign of recovery. Bernard leaned down, switched off the socket, and unplugged the device. He was glad his wife had started to blow dry her hair again, but he didn’t want to die in a hairdressing-related inferno.
Time to br
ave the living room. He had a final look at himself in the hall mirror, and practised a smile. A nervous-looking man, slightly balding at the temples, and holding a large bunch of yellow roses, smiled warily back. He reached for the door, and stepped through into the living room of their flat.
‘Happy Birthday, Carrie.’
Bernard’s wife didn’t look round from her seat in the middle of their stripy sofa. She seemed to be concentrating all her efforts on watching a celebrity chef produce a meal for four from a list of preordained ingredients. He shook his head. If Carrie had spent as much time cooking or eating over the last year as she had watching cookery shows she wouldn’t be such a bag of bones.
He hugged the flowers to his chest, and tried to guess her mood from looking at the back of her head. She didn’t appear to be crying, but he’d been caught out before. He took a step forward to get a better look and check that she wasn’t still wearing pyjamas. He could see a jean-encased leg and furry-socked foot resting on the coffee table. He tiptoed up behind her and held the blooms in front of her face.
She sat up in surprise, then laughed.
‘I didn’t hear you come in. These are lovely.’ She took the offering from him and sniffed the petals, then reached over and hugged him. ‘And to think I didn’t believe you when you said you’d be home at six.’
‘Don’t feel bad – I nearly had to go back to the office.’ He shivered at the thought of his partner’s fury on the phone. ‘But I told them your birthday definitely comes first.’
Carrie stood up and kissed him. There was the slightest smell of alcohol on her breath. Bernard flinched, and his mind flew back to his last meeting with Dr Sutherland, in his airless, book-filled office at the back of the Sick Kids. While Carrie had been with the nurse, Dr Sutherland had warned him about the possibility of relapse, then yawned. He’d been full of apologies, which Bernard had shrugged away, while yawning himself. It was a late-night appointment, and he’d guessed the doctor had been working since 9am, in a futile attempt to see every bereaved parent who required counselling. He’d wondered idly to Carrie what Dr Sutherland would do when they found a cure for the Virus. She’d shrugged.
