The Health of Strangers

by Lesley Kelly

  Maitland leaned forward. ‘Is he the virologist that’s always on the telly?’

  ‘No, he was Chairman of British Rail in the 1960s.’

  Paterson was turning purple. ‘Bernard . . .’

  It was time to speed up. ‘He was responsible for closing down lots of branch lines, and I think it might be a satirical reference in the diary, and if I was an eighteen-year-old looking for somewhere out of the way to hold an illegal meet-up I might choose . . .’

  ‘The old railway lines under the city!’ Mona broke in, and he nodded vehemently in agreement. ‘So, if Bernard is correct in his thinking,’ she went on, ‘these particular idiots are holding raves in the disused railway tunnels. Perfect, really, for a late-night meet-up. No-one in their right mind is going to be hanging around there after dark.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Paterson’s eyes flicked from Mona to Bernard, his expression exhibiting a degree of scepticism. ‘OK, let’s reread the diaries and see if Bernard’s outrageous suggestion has any merit. Mona, I take it you’ll be having another go at the flatmate today?’

  ‘Soon as I can, Guv, but you and I have that Parliament thing this morning.’

  ‘As if I could possibly forget. Maitland, you’re working on this case too now.’

  Maitland’s mouth fell open. Bernard savoured the look of intense annoyance on his colleague’s face.

  ‘What about my Defaulter?’

  ‘What’s the deal with your case?’

  ‘Pregnant lassie. Friend of the barman in Morley’s.’

  ‘Interesting. Morley’s angle to both these Defaulters that we need to follow up.’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying, Guv.’

  ‘But we need to find the German lassie first.’

  ‘Guv – things are at a pretty crucial stage with my Defaulter.’

  ‘Out of my hands. Orders from above. Mona, get Shagger here doing something useful on your case.’ He stood up. ‘OK, anything else?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Maitland, sulkily. ‘Where’s Carole?’

  ‘Out doing sterling work touring Edinburgh’s secondary education establishments.’

  Bernard left the meeting, with an unaccustomed feeling that he couldn’t quite place. Something that resembled, but wasn’t quite, satisfaction.

  2

  Maitland was behaving oddly. Mona had watched him pick up the phone three times, only to put it down again when the Guv loomed into view. Surmising that he was up to something, she settled back and waited. For the fourth time, he picked up the phone, checked that the Guv was safely contained in his office, and dialled.

  ‘Donny, it’s me, Maitland. Any word from Colette yet?’

  So, her colleague was still working on his old case.

  ‘Did you ring round her friends?’

  There was a brief pause, and Maitland’s face registered disbelief. ‘Really?’ Paterson’s figure appeared in the doorway of his office. Her teammate ducked down slightly in his chair. ‘Nobody? None of her friends? Not Kate, not Louise, not anyone?’

  Another pause.

  Maitland crouched down even lower. ‘You know what the mortality is for pregnant women that get the Virus?’ he hissed.

  He clocked Mona watching him, turned his back on her and lowered his voice further.

  ‘Without getting them into hospital where they can get the correct prenatal care, Colette stands an eighty per cent chance of dying or losing her baby, if she gets the Virus. Eighty per cent, for Christ’s sake. We’re not talking a slight chance of something going wrong here, we’re talking odds-on catastrophe. You want that on your conscience, Donny?’

  There was a brief silence, then Maitland swore. Mona guessed Donny had just hung up.

  Maitland shrugged on his coat and went over to her desk.

  ‘I need to tie something up on my Defaulter. Cover for me.’

  ‘Are you insane?’ She swung back on her chair. ‘Paterson’s going to freak if he finds out you’re not looking for Heidi.’

  ‘The cases are connected, we all know that.’

  Mona was unconvinced this would cut much ice with Paterson. ‘Yeah, but . . .’

  ‘The least streetwise twenty-year-old in the world is pregnant and on the run from us.’

  ‘Yeah, you said. The barman from Morley’s knocked her up.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ Maitland noticed Bernard looking over, and lowered his voice. ‘It looks like she was raped, by the Minister at the Church of the Lord Arisen.’

  ‘Christ!’

  Bernard looked over. ‘What’s going on?’

  They ignored him.

  ‘I said . . .’ Bernard’s phone rang before he could pester them any further.

  ‘How do you know this happened?’ asked Mona.

  Maitland looked a little defensive. ‘The barman from Morley’s told us.’

  Mona laughed in disbelief. ‘He doesn’t entirely sound like a reliable source.’

  ‘Well, maybe not, but I still want to know that Colette is OK.’

  Mona absent-mindedly doodled a row of question marks on the edge of her paper while she thought. ‘She might have gone to a refuge or something?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Maitland. ‘In fact, probably. And I think her friend knows where she is. Cover for me – an hour tops?’

  She sighed.

  ‘Come on, Mona, if this was the Police we wouldn’t be pissing about after some rich German lassie who’s probably off with her boyfriend somewhere. We’d be looking for the vulnerable rape victim.’

  A large part of her agreed with Maitland. She looked over at her boss’s office. Paterson was standing by his desk, frowning at the document he had in his hand.

  ‘OK. The Guv’s going to be out all morning at some Parliamentary thing he wants me to carry his bags at. He’ll probably not even notice you’ve gone. But Maitland . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Take Bernard with you.’

  His mouth fell open. ‘You are kidding, aren’t you?’

  ‘No. This is serious stuff you’re talking about. You need a witness for any conversation you have.’

  Maitland looked irritated, but the logic of what Mona was saying got to him, and he nodded.

  ‘And make this the last thing you do on this case until Heidi is found.’

  ‘Are you ready?’ Paterson stuck his head out of his office.

  ‘Coming, Guv.’ Mona got to her feet and shot Maitland a smile. ‘Later.’

  She followed her boss, who was charging down the stairs muttering to himself. He held the fire door open to let Mona through.

  ‘I hate the Parliamentary Virus Coordination Committee.’

  ‘Understandable, Guv.’

  Now they were out of the building, Paterson’s pace had slowed to a crawl.

  ‘I mean,’ said Mona, ‘I totally get that you hate having to stand up and justify the HET’s work in front of the likes of Carlotta Carmichael . . .’

  ‘Bitch.’

  ‘Obviously, Guv, but I just don’t understand why you need me there.’

  ‘Because, Mona,’ Paterson ground to a complete halt. ‘I turned up to my first Coordination Committee meeting, six, or was it seven, months back on my own, only to find Cameron Stuttle waiting for me with some twelve-year-old desk-hugger laden down with his papers. Turns out all the politicians bowl up with flunkies and researchers, and all manner of Bright Young Things. So the HET can’t go in there without a bag-carrier each. We’ll be shown up.’

  ‘Yeah, I see but why . . .?’

  Paterson stuck out his hand and hailed a cab. ‘Why you? Because last time, when I took Marguerite from the Admin team, they were filming proceedings. She caught a brief glimpse of herself on the Scottish teatime news, and talked of nothing else for a week.’

  Mona laughed, and climbed in after her boss. ‘I suppose it is quite exciting, isn’t it? Watching all those decisions being made about the Virus.’

  Paterson snorted. ‘I can assure you, Mona, that nobody ever made an actual decision
at this Committee.’ He stared out of the window. ‘Every single decision that is made about the Virus is done behind closed doors, by people who actually know what they are talking about.’

  ‘So, why do they bother holding them?’

  ‘Because they’re politicians!’

  The taxi braked sharply at a mini-roundabout, narrowly avoiding a car that was turning right. Paterson regained his balance and continued.

  ‘They need a platform where they can grandstand about everything they are doing, and give a kicking to people like me who are doing their best to sort out the mess the MSPs have made of this all.’

  Mona smiled, trying not to laugh at her boss’s cynicism. ‘So, are you all prepared for this, Guv?’

  He grunted. ‘Well, I missed the briefing meeting yesterday due to that fiasco with Vic Thompson, and I should probably have spent a bit longer reading the papers. I’m sure I can wing it, though.’

  The cab turned into Holyrood Park, and the two of them sat in silence until they pulled up outside the Parliament building. Cameron Stuttle was waiting for them, as predicted, with a young man holding a stack of papers.

  ‘Cutting it a bit fine, John,’ muttered Cameron. He set off at a brisk walk. ‘Prepared for this, I hope?’

  ‘Yes,’ Paterson snapped back. ‘But I don’t see why it’s always up to me to represent the HETs.’

  ‘Which of your colleagues do you suggest I send? The drunk, the over-promoted one, or the one who doesn’t exist?’

  ‘Maybe you could throw the net a bit wider than just Edinburgh? Maybe . . .’

  Paterson broke off as a placard appeared in front of his face.

  ‘No vaccine testing on animals!’

  The protester was small, green-haired, and female. Mona watched in amusement as her boss tried to work out how to continue on his way without pushing her. He opted for a wide sidestep, and she followed him, refusing the leaflet that the animal rights protester thrust at her.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind if there was actually a vaccine,’ Paterson muttered. He caught up with his superior. ‘Will we hear anything about that today?’

  ‘It’s all commercially sensitive, John. You know that.’ Stuttle pulled open the door to the Parliament building. ‘We’ll hear as soon as one of the pharmaceutical companies has something to sell to us, believe me.’

  ‘And exactly when will that be?’

  ‘As soon as the bastard Virus stops mutating, I assume. I’m not a bloody scientist.’ He held the door open and gestured them through. ‘Hurry up.’

  Mona and Paterson exchanged a glance. They showed their Green Cards to the security guard, and surrendered their bags and coats for scanning. As Paterson went through the metal detector the machine beeped, and he was pulled to one side by a guard who frisked him. Cameron pointedly tapped his watch.

  In the Chamber Mona slid into a row of seats behind Cameron Stuttle, with her boss following her. The seating arrangements struck Mona as gladiatorial. The politicians sat in a row at the front looking out to the massed rows of workers involved in fighting the Virus. Behind the assembled staff, in a small gallery, sat the Press.

  The MSPs were already in place. There were a couple that she recognised from previous meetings, both of them non-entities from minor parties. The Labour member was well known for his opposition to the Virus policies, and had built a fairly successful media career on the back of it. Her eye went past him to the Chair, Carlotta Carmichael. She had her back to them and was deep in conversation with one of the civil servants responsible for organising the Committee. From the expression on the bureaucrat’s face, it wasn’t a pleasant conversation.

  She turned to look at the journalists who were filling up the back row. The Committee still got a reasonable turnout from the Press, with both national and local papers sending reps, as well as the broadcast media. Paterson followed her gaze.

  ‘Don’t know what they get out of these meetings,’ he said to her, in a low voice, ‘nobody says anything interesting.’

  She saw a face she recognised from CID Press briefings and waved to him. She kept scanning along until she caught sight of Jonathon Carmichael, Carlotta’s husband.

  ‘Guv,’ she said quietly. ‘Jonathon Carmichael’s here.’

  Paterson sighed, and she smiled sympathetically. He had arrested Carlotta’s other half on suspicion of drink-driving several years back. Despite Paterson’s best attempts, it hadn’t gone to court.

  ‘Has he forgiven you?’

  ‘No,’ said Paterson, slumping in his seat, ‘and neither has his missus.’

  On cue, Carlotta walked to her seat and motioned to everyone to quieten down. A hush spread quickly across the auditorium. The men on the Committee took up their places on either side of her. ‘OK, everyone, let’s make a start.’

  Carlotta nodded to a man in the audience, who took his cue, stood up, and introduced himself as the Enterprise rep. His report was depressing listening: Scotland remained in recession for the fourth consecutive quarter, High Streets were ‘facing a fundamental challenge to pre-existing business models’ as people refused to go out or spend money, absenteeism was at an all-time high . . . Mona drifted off, her attention returning only when a young woman in the row in front of her stood up. She announced herself as the Health Communications rep, in a slightly quavering tone, her papers shaking in her hand. Mona winced. She suspected Carlotta didn’t have much truck with nerves.

  ‘The H1N1-variant is a zoonotic virus originating in chickens . . .’

  ‘Stop!’ Carlotta glared over the top of her glasses at the speaker. ‘Stop right there. Please tell me you are not going to rehash the whole history of the Virus for a room full of people who have been involved in Viral policy for the past two years? Please focus on the public health response, not the cause.’

  The back of the beleaguered health rep’s neck was bright red. She stumbled, extremely quickly, through an update of the success of the PHeDA adverts, the difficulties of effectively communicating Health Check information to the 18-24 demographic, and noted that the stocks of antiviral drugs, antibiotics and bacterial vaccines were now back at the levels they were prior to the Second Wave of the Virus.

  ‘Any questions?’ asked Carlotta of her fellow MSPs, before continuing almost in the same breath, ‘No? OK, local authority rep, please.’

  The woman sank gratefully back into her seat, and Mona turned to look at her boss. He looked a little pale.

  ‘You OK, Guv?’ she whispered.

  He leaned toward her. ‘She’s saving her energy for the next bit, when she lays into me.’

  Stuttle turned and glared at them, and held a finger up to his lips.

  ‘And is the Health Enforcement Team representative here?’ She made a show of scanning the benches. Mona doubted very much that she didn’t recognise Paterson, and hadn’t already seen him. Even if she didn’t recognise him from his last two appearances before the Committee, the length of time she’d spent trying to get him sacked for arresting her husband should have made his face stick in her memory.

  Paterson pressed the button that turned his microphone on. ‘John Paterson, Head of North Edinburgh HET.’

  ‘Well, Mr Paterson, perhaps you could tell us what the HET has been up to?’

  ‘I refer the Committee to Item 16 on the agenda, the report on . . .’

  ‘I am well aware of your report, Mr Paterson.’ She looked at him over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses. ‘I was rather hoping you could explain why the HET is now in the business of searching for international missing persons?’

  Mona saw Stuttle stiffen in his seat. He leaned forward and engaged his microphone. ‘The HET doesn’t deal with missing persons, Chair, that would be the responsibility . . .’

  ‘I was asking Mr Paterson!’ Carlotta cut him off. ‘I do believe he is the operational HET representative.’

  Stuttle and Mona looked at each other. Neither of them had any faith that Paterson could answer this question without sparking a diplomat
ic incident.

  ‘We’re waiting, Mr Paterson.’

  The silence was painful. Mona had an idea, and kicked her boss under the table. She put her hands onto her desk, one finger on her left hand extended, and four on her right.

  Paterson looked at her hands with a look of slightly panicked confusion on his face. She spread all ten digits out, balled her fingers, then extended four. This time her boss got the point, and again pressed the button to make his mike live.

  ‘As my colleague has pointed out to the Committee, we do not chase missing persons, we chase Health Defaulters. And as the Committee is well aware, under the terms of the Health Enforcement and Defaulter Recovery Act we are unable to release the names of any individual we are seeking until a full fourteen days after they have missed their scheduled Health Check.’

  He leaned back and smiled politely.

  Carlotta turned pink. ‘You do not need to remind us of the law, Mr Paterson, we were instrumental in drafting the legislation. But if the HET has stretched its remit to look for missing German nationals then this is something that should be brought to the attention of my colleagues.’

  Mona saw Stuttle look over his shoulder at the Press. A civil servant moved forward discreetly and said something to Carlotta. Mona assumed it was something along the lines of her breaking the law if she divulged any further information. Carlotta turned even pinker.

  ‘I’m informed that this session has run over time. Thank you to everyone for attending.’

  Everyone stood up except for Mona, Stuttle and Paterson.

  Paterson turned to his boss. ‘What was . . .?’

  Stuttle gestured to him to keep his voice down, but he leaned across Mona. ‘Will you tell the Right Honourable Member for Nippy Sweeties that that’s not how things are done?’ His voice echoed round the Chamber.

  Stuttle reached over and pushed Paterson’s elbow off the microphone button. ‘I think you just told her yourself,’ he hissed.

  3

  Maitland raised his fist and brought it down hard on Kate’s door. He repeated the action several times, but the hammering failed to provoke an answer.