by Lesley Kelly
His boss laughed. ‘Where to begin with that one?’ He rested his face on his hands for a second, and wearily rubbed his eyes. ‘Remember when we were in the pub the other day, and you were telling me about Spanish flu?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I think you got the wrong pandemic. What’s happening now is more like the Black Death. And you know how they dealt with that?’
Bernard opened his mouth to respond, then realised that the question was rhetorical.
‘People thought that the plague was being spread by cats and dogs, so they rounded up all the strays and killed them. Guess what happened then?’
‘The rats multiplied?’
‘Exactly!’ Paterson slapped the bedside table, nearly knocking Bernard’s grapes to the ground. ‘We concentrate on rounding up the junkies, and the people with mental health issues, and dragging them in for their Health Check, because that’s who the Daily Mail likes to think is responsible for all our Virus problems. And all the while the real villains, the rodents like Vic bloody Thompson, are out there making the situation ten times worse.’
‘So, is anyone out there rat-catching?’
Paterson shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Bernard. I really don’t.’
Mona locked the car, and wondered what she would say to Bernard. The inexplicable feelings of jealousy that she’d felt earlier had returned. She should have been the one doing the heroics. She was the Police Officer, trained to deal with life-and-death situations like that. Bernard was a health promotion officer, trained to take blood samples from old ladies.
She pressed her Green Card against the machine, and was admitted to the foyer. As she stuffed it back in her bag, she caught sight of a familiar figure disappearing into the WRVS shop.
Oh shit. She had to get to her colleagues. She ran round to the lifts and jabbed the button. After thirty seconds she decided it was taking too long and pushed open the door to the stairwell, and took the stairs two at a time. Arriving at the ward, she flashed her HET card at the nurse and, after a cursory look at the name board, ran down the corridor in search of Bernard’s room. She caught sight of her colleague and boss deep in conversation.
‘Guv.’ Her boss glanced over at her. ‘I need to . . .’
‘Mr Paterson, just before we go,’ said Bernard, ‘I want to say thank you for advocating for us with Mr Stuttle.’
‘Guv!’
They both ignored her, and she struggled to get her breath.
Paterson offered Bernard a hand out of the bed. ‘I didn’t. After the way you two behaved I’d let them sack you. But a certain German appears to have intervened and . . .’
‘Guv! Doctor Toller’s here to see Bernard.’
There was a gentle cough behind her, and she realised the German was standing there.
‘Thanks, Mona, I think we’ve grasped that now.’ Paterson turned to Toller. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘Nothing, nothing.’ Toller said. ‘I am merely here to check that Bernard is making a good recovery. I hope the helicopter flight was comfortable?’
‘Eh, yes, under the circumstances.’ Bernard edged round to look at Doctor Toller. ‘Do you know how Kevin is?’
‘I’m sorry to say he didn’t survive the journey to hospital. Despite your best efforts we found him too late.’ Toller studied a piece of hospital art on the wall of the room. ‘I am here to say that there will be no further action against either Mona or Bernard. I guarantee this.’
The three of them exchanged glances.
‘With all due respect, Doctor Toller, you are not in a position to make that kind of guarantee,’ said Mona.
Toller smiled. ‘No, but the Chair of the Parliamentary Virus Committee is, and I am happy to say she has given me that undertaking.’
Paterson leaned over to Bernard. ‘He probably caught Carlotta Carmichael’s man speeding on the Autobahn.’
‘Actually, Mr Paterson, there’s no speed limit . . .’
Paterson rolled his eyes and stepped away.
Toller continued to stare at what was obviously a fascinating watercolour. ‘And in return, there will be no public statement from either of you on the matter.’
‘No public statement?’ Paterson sounded amazed. ‘Mona and Bernard will have to go to court as part of the assault charges.’
‘What he means, Guv, is that we’ll not mention publicly his role in all this.’
Toller smiled at her. ‘A very astute deduction, as always. The German Government would prefer to be as little involved in this as possible.’
‘I didn’t mean the German Government, Doctor Toller, I meant you personally.’ She walked over and stood between him and the artwork. ‘I wanted to thank you for your honesty the other day.’
He stared at her.
‘You know, when you told us what people would do to protect their interests in Luprophen and Hyrdosol? You told us everything except the fact that the interest was yours. This will be news to you, Bernard, but Doctor Toller is a company director of the firm that manufactures Loopy and H.’
‘I told you almost everything.’ He smiled again, and stepped away. ‘I did not mention your own Government’s interest in my company’s research. It would be very foolish of you to incur the wrath of your own Government, as well as any other . . .’ He paused, looking for a word. ‘Any other parties. And neither you, nor your colleagues are stupid. In any proceedings related to a certain Amanda Harris, you do not mention me, you do not mention Heidi and you do not mention drugs.’ He nodded a goodbye to them, and pulled the door shut behind him.
‘The only positive thing that I can say about that man is that he pulled out all the stops to get Bernard out alive, with the helicopter and everything,’ said Mona.
‘Actually, I don’t think the helicopter was for my benefit. I heard the army guys talking about clearing up. I don’t think you’ll find any trace that Heidi and Kevin were ever in Dunblane.’ Bernard looked mournful. ‘I believed every word he said.’
‘I didn’t.’ The Guv snorted. ‘I knew the first meeting I had with him that he was dodgy.’
Bernard was frowning. ‘But he works for the German Government.’
The Guv laughed. ‘People like Toller don’t work for the Government, they work through the Government. All that shit he was giving about being so upset about Heidi, because he’d known Weber since they were at university together? First thing I did was check that out online. They were never at uni together.’
The Guv’s IT skills were better than Mona had given him credit for. Come to that, his detection skills were better than she’d thought. A suspicion was developing in her mind that her boss was a lot smarter at the politics of all this than he ever let on.
‘So, why didn’t you say anything to us, Guv?’
‘Because, Mona, all I wanted was Toller off my patch before any of my staff ended up dead.’
‘Dead?’ Mona shook her head in disbelief.
‘Yes!’ He looked from one to the other of them. ‘For God’s sake, Heidi ended up dead, Kevin ended up dead, Weber’s disgraced. Bad things happen around that one.’ He jerked his thumb in the direction of the door.
‘But, we should tell someone,’ said Bernard.
‘Who?’ said Paterson, throwing himself back in his chair. ‘Should we just drop a letter to the German Government? Dear Chancellor, your advisor Doctor Toller is a bit of a lively one, watch your back. Yours sincerely, A Wellwisher?’
‘Stuttle,’ said Mona, eagerly. ‘He’s mad at Toller. So is Carlotta Carmichael – she could raise it at a Governmental level.’
‘And the fact that people who annoy the dear Doctor end up deceased isn’t a problem?’ Paterson’s finger wagged between them. ‘You still think we should get involved?’
‘Yes!’ they said, in emphatic unison.
Paterson sighed. ‘You know, it has never occurred to me before, but you too are very much alike.’
Bernard and Mona looked at each other.
‘Really?’ She di
dn’t see the similarity.
‘Oh, yes, Mona. Both naïve, both idealistic, both going to get yourselves killed rather than give an inch to pragmatism.’ He looked at them again. ‘He wouldn’t need to kill you, Mona. All he needs to do is destroy your credibility. Anything in your past that he could rake up?’
She stared at Paterson. He knew perfectly well about her past. He had the good taste to look away, but he added, ‘Or, Mona, anything in your present?’ He turned his attention to her colleague. ‘And, what about you, Bernard?’
Bernard shifted nervously on the bed.
‘Anything in your private life you don’t want to see public? How is your wife taking your son’s death?’
Mona stared. Bernard had lost a child? He swallowed several times, then slowly and, it appeared, painfully got to his feet. ‘I’m not discussing that with you, Mr Paterson.’
‘If you want to keep your family life private, don’t annoy Toller.’
Without looking at either of them, Bernard walked out and closed the door behind him. In the silence, they listened to Bernard’s footsteps disappearing down the corridor. For a man with broken ribs, he was moving pretty fast.
Mona stared at her boss. ‘So, Toller gets away with it then?’
‘Toller gets away with it. If she’s lucky, and Toller doesn’t track her down, Amanda gets away with it. Capitalism survives to fight another day, the multi-nationals go from strength to strength . . .the Government isn’t in charge anymore, Mona.’ The Guv stood up. ‘Whoever comes up with the cure for the Virus is going to have every Government in the world by the short and curlies. And people like Toller aren’t going to let anyone get in their way.’
He got up.
‘Drive Bernard home, Mona, and take the rest of the day off. Come in tomorrow ready to find some other poor sod that’s out there with a high temperature and a lack of friends.’
Mona drove a silent Bernard back to his flat. He refused any offer of assistance, so she left him there and turned the car in the direction of the office. Back at her desk she slid into her seat. In next to no time she could be out of here: five minutes tops while she logged off, and watched the screen fade to black. Then she could pick up her bag and head straight home.
Reaching for the mouse, her eye was caught by another e-mail from an unfamiliar address, a G-mail address with what appeared to be a random selection of numbers and letters in it. Her stomach turned over, and for a second the room span away from her. Amanda. What now? The threat, the blackmail, relating to her previous e-mail?
Her hand hovered over the mouse, then she gave in and viewed it in the preview panel. The message was only three words long.
‘Help us.
Amanda.’
The e-mail had an attachment. More blackmail? But who? She turned the volume control to its lowest audible level, double-clicked, and pressed play. The picture was shot at an odd angle (from a bag? a pocket?), and the film quality wasn’t good. Despite this, the figure in the picture was recognisably Heidi. She leaned her ear toward the computer’s speaker.
‘And this guy’s a friend of your dad’s?’
A woman’s voice, northern, probably Amanda, although possibly her sister.
‘A friend?’
A German voice, with the funny American-accented English she shared with her father. Heidi. She laughed.
‘Not really a friend, but more a work colleague of many years.’
‘So, he’s manufacturing the stuff?’
‘Yeah. The tests have all been very positive, but it’s all very quiet, hush-hush . . .’
‘Because . . .’
‘Because they want to make the big money from it, yeah.’
‘And if we had the money we could buy it over the Internet, simple as that, and save lives?’
There was a silence. Heidi stared, unknowingly, at the camera.
‘I have money. I can buy it.’
There was a rattling sound. She looked up to see Carole and Maitland come in. She muted the sound.
‘Oh, hello.’ Carole took her coat off. ‘How’s Bernard?’
‘Fine. Just dropped him home in fact.’
‘Coffee?’ Maitland pointed a thumb in the direction of the door.
‘Not for me. I’m about to head out. You two go.’
Maitland headed out the door. Carole lingered for a minute.
‘Sure you’re OK?’
‘Totally, yeah.’
Her colleague looked unconvinced, but headed off in search of caffeine. Mona watched her leave. As soon as she was out of sight, she reached for her bag, and raked through it until she found a business card. She paused for a second staring at it. Heidi’s story couldn’t end here, not with Toller walking away from the mess, or, worse pursuing Amanda.
Oh, God, Amanda. She closed her eyes and she could see her as she had been the first time they had met, when they’d got her out of bed. The tiny, naked figure had seemed so vulnerable. Her eyes snapped back open. She knew now that Amanda was anything but weak. But, still, she’d need more than her wits to keep ahead of Toller. Whatever she felt toward Amanda, she didn’t want her dead.
She picked up her phone. And if it all ended here, Bernard would get all the glory. Which was fine, he deserved it, but she’d spend the past few months as his bloody nursemaid, making sure he didn’t get hurt or cock things up. Wasn’t she entitled to a bit of credit? She dialled. ‘Cameron? It’s Mona Whyte.’
The voice on the other end of the phone, though surprised, was welcoming.
‘I’m sending you something electronically. Can I come and see you?’ Her mouse hovered over the ‘send’ icon, misgivings suddenly entering her mind. She doubted that Paterson would take kindly to her involving Stuttle in the affair. Continuing to work for him after going over his head would probably be impossible.
Her finger remained static above the mouse. Would she miss the HET? The Guv, definitely. She’d miss the compassion of Bernard and Carole, although not their lack of understanding of how the world really worked. And Maitland, well, she could live without the arrogance and sexism, but he was sharp, and not afraid to get his hands dirty. But if she did nothing, if she let Toller cover all this up, then what was the point of the HET, or the Police, or any of the other agencies that worked to stop the Virus? They might as well all go home, and accept that the Government wasn’t in charge any more.
Her finger finally found the mouse. She turned off her computer and picked up her car keys, then spent a minute or two emptying her few personal possessions out of her desk drawer and into her bag. Taking a last look around the office, she picked up her coat.
She wouldn’t be back here.
Acknowledgements
Huge thanks are due to everyone at Sandstone Press for all their support in producing this book, particularly Moira Forsyth.
I was very grateful for the beta reading of the manuscript by Sophie Milne. Her fine eye for detail sorted out many an inconsistency.
A number of very scary books were consumed while mulling over the plot lines of The Health of Strangers. If you want to know more about influenza, I recommend the definitive work on the subject Flu: A Social History of Influenza by Tom Quinn. If you are want to give yourself the screaming heebie-jeebies about all the different ways animal infections are going to end up killing us all, Spillover by David Quammen is the book for you. And if you want to know what it feels like to live through the birth of a new disease check out And the Band Played On: Politics, People and the Aids Epidemic by Randy Shilts.
Thanks to friends, both old and new, who have been hugely supportive of my writing.
And finally, thanks to my husband and sons, whose ability to occasionally leave me in peace meant that the damn book actually got written.
Turn the page for an exclusive first look at Songs by Dead Girls, the second book in the Health of Strangers series.
MONDAY
NAUSEA
1
It was a horrible noise, the kind of unnatural hig
h-pitched squeal that Bernard often found punctuating his nightmares. The fact that he was currently wide awake didn’t make the noise any less excruciating. It took all his self-control not to stick his fingers in his ears. Mona, the creator of the ungodly noise, pulled the remaining bits of shrink-wrap off the stab-proof vest provoking yet more shrill squeaks.
Bernard shivered. ‘Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.’
‘What?’ Despite her question, Mona’s profile radiated a certain degree of indifference which made it difficult for him to work out if she did actually want to know more. He decided to venture further down the path.
‘It’s a quote from Henry David Thoreau. You know – the nature writer? Advocated simple living? Spent years in a forest?’ The look of annoyance on his partner’s face clarified that she wasn’t interested in updating her knowledge of woods-based philosophers at this point in time. ‘Never mind. Can I have a look at it?’
She passed the vest over to him. It was a solid torso-shaped affair, rigid, although lighter than he was expecting, with a strange rubbery feel to it.
‘I don’t know what you are complaining about.’ Mona’s blonde bob covered her face as she set about unwrapping the second vest. ‘This is about keeping us safe. Remember that HET officer in Aberdeen who tried to retrieve a health defaulter from a crack den and got a knife in the balls for his troubles?’
‘Not exactly the body parts that will be covered by these.’
She tutted. ‘Oh, well, put in a special request for a reinforced rubber codpiece.’
A fug of depression settled around his shoulders. He’d been in the car with his partner for all of ten minutes and already she was annoyed with him. It wasn’t unusual for them to spend the best part of a working day trapped in a car together. As members of the North Edinburgh Health Enforcement Team it was their job to find people who’d missed their monthly health check, a front-line attempt to stop the spread of the Virus. This involved a lot of driving, knocking on doors, being lied to, sitting in wait, and eventually catching up with the defaulter. On the days when he had inadvertently irritated Mona, eight hours of close contact with her could feel considerably longer.
