Wildcard (27 page)

Kate Lineham had already come off duty and left for home by the time he got to St Jude’s, so he had to explain all over again – this time to the night staff – who he was and why he was there.

‘Dr Anderson’s not too well, I’m afraid,’ said one of the nurses. ‘She had a bad afternoon, according to Kate, but recovered some ground later on and she’s resting quietly at the moment. Kate left instructions that we should call her if there’s any change.’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t disturb her?’ asked Steven.

‘No harm in sitting with her for a while, if you’ve a mind to,’ said the nurse. ‘It often helps to wake up and find a friendly face there.’

Steven agreed that was what he would do and got changed into protective gear before moving through the airlock into the nave. When he saw Caroline, he was shocked at the change in her appearance since earlier that day. Her skin had taken on a yellowish pallor and her lips were thin and cracked, though beads of sweat were trickling down either side of her nose.

He squatted down, rinsed out a sponge in the basin beside her and gently wiped the sweat away. Caroline stirred slightly, so he stopped for a few moments, shushing her with ‘Sleep, my lady, sleep easy. Everything’s going to be just fine.’

Caroline moved again, as if she were in discomfort.

‘Think of sunshine … golden corn, white sails on blue water … the picnics we’ll go on in the summer …’

One of the nurses came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Everything all right?’ she whispered.

Steven nodded as he saw Caroline settle down again and heard her breathing become deep and regular. Once she was sleeping easily, his gaze drifted up to the memorial board above her bed and to the names of those who’d died in the ‘bloody slaughter of war’. As he read through them, he couldn’t help but think that they at least had had a tangible enemy, one they could see and fight against, unlike the poor souls in the church, who had been stricken by a colourless, odourless, invisible enemy. Its only function was to replicate itself and, in doing so, kill the body that harboured it. All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small …

Steven had been sitting with Caroline for about half an hour, holding her hand and soothing her, when she became restless again, as if in the throes of a bad dream. He tried shushing her through it, but this time to no avail. After a few more moments, he felt a convulsion ripple through her body and just managed to get a papier-mâché bowl up to her face in time to catch the bloody vomit that erupted from her mouth.

‘Easy, my lady,’ he soothed.

Caroline continued retching until there was nothing left in her stomach, her face reflecting her pain as the spasms racked her. When they at last stopped, her head flopped back on the pillow in exhaustion, blood trickling from her nose. He wiped it away and rinsed the sponge. Her eyes flickered open and recognition registered in them.

‘It’s you,’ she said. ‘God, I feel awful.’

‘But you’re winning,’ said Steven with every ounce of conviction he could muster. ‘Hang in there.’

She started to answer but another convulsion ripped through her and Steven held up the bowl again. Although her stomach muscles contracted so violently that her whole body heaved, she brought up only a trickle of bloodstained mucus.

‘Jesus,’ she complained, seeking relief from the pain of the spasms by wrapping her arms tightly round her stomach. Her nosebleed restarted with a vengeance and this time, when her eyes opened, Steven could see that conjunctival haemorrhages were turning the whites of her eyes red. He got up and waved his arm to attract the attention of one of the nurses. He asked her to stay with Caroline while he emptied the sick bowl and washed out the blood-soaked sponges at the sluice.

When he returned, the nurse said, ‘I’d better call Kate.’

Steven knew the crisis had come. He sank to his knees beside Caroline again and did his best to make her as comfortable as possible with tender words and loving care. When she had a momentary respite from the spasms, she said haltingly, ‘I remember telling you I hoped someone would be there to look after me if I ever needed them … I didn’t realise it would be you.’

‘I guess you drew the short straw,’ said Steven.

Her attempt at a smile was cut short by another convulsion.

‘I think I’m going to have to get some fluid into you, my lady,’ murmured Steven, reaching for a saline pack. ‘You’ve been losing too much.’

‘Be … careful,’ she cautioned. ‘I’m not … too responsible for … my actions … right now.’

‘Just try to relax.’

‘You’ve no idea … how ridiculous that sounds,’ said Caroline, grimacing with pain and drawing up her knees involuntarily.

A nurse appeared at Steven’s shoulder and whispered, ‘Kate’s on her way. Can I do anything?’

Steven asked her to hold Caroline’s arm steady while he inserted the needle. When it was secured in place he looked around for something to hang the saline reservoir from and settled on a corner of the memorial board. He pinned it next to the name of one Sergeant Morris Holmes who had died for King and Country at the battle of Ypres. He said, ‘Just you hold that there for the time being, Morris.’

Steven’s spirits rose as Caroline’s spasms gradually became more infrequent and finally stopped, and she was able to relax into the margins between sleep and consciousness. But his optimism was short-lived: another wave of nausea overtook her and she started to retch all over again. When she at last settled again, she murmured, ‘I think something just snapped inside me. I could feel it go.’

‘What sort of feeling?’ asked Steven.

‘I think it was … my rubber band,’ replied Caroline with a smile so distant that it froze Steven with its poignancy. It was the moment when he knew that she was drifting away from him.

‘You’re going to be just fine,’ he said, although the words stuck in his throat and he had to swallow before he could say any more. ‘You’re over the worst now; the convulsions have finished and you’re on the mend. You must rest and build up your strength.’

He was aware that Kate Lineham had arrived and was standing there with one of the other nurses. She chose, however, not to move into Caroline’s line of sight or to say anything.

Caroline looked at Steven and he could read in her eyes that she was only minutes from death. He’d seen that look before in the eyes of fatally wounded soldiers. It was an almost serene acceptance of the inevitable. ‘Oh, my lady,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘Hang in there. Please hang in there.’

‘The joke, Steven.’

He looked at her questioningly.

‘Tell me … the joke.’

Steven realised what she meant and slowly removed his hood and visor. He lay down beside her and put his cheek next to hers on the pillow. He kissed her hand and began, ‘There was this little polar bear sitting on a rock, watching the ice floes drift by …’

As he delivered the punchline, Steven felt Caroline give his hand a tiny squeeze. He couldn’t risk looking at her, because of the tears running down his face. All he could do was squeeze her hand back and remain there motionless, hating the entire world and its ‘All things bright and beautiful’ philosophy. Why didn’t they understand what an awful place it was in reality? Not the fucking Disney theme park they kept pretending it was! Dog eat dog. Kill or be killed. Nature red in tooth and claw. Fucking nightmare!

The rolling tide of anger and grief that swept over Steven gradually abated, and he took a few deep breaths to try to get a grip on himself. Kate made the first move: she bent down and put her hand lightly on his shoulder. ‘She’s gone, Steven,’ she said gently. ‘Caroline’s gone.’

He nodded and got up slowly. He replaced his hood and visor and acknowledged Kate’s sympathy by taking her hands in his for a moment, before turning to head for the exit tunnel and the shower.

Back in his room, he managed to down the best part of a bottle of gin before sleep – or maybe it was unconsciousness – overtook him and excused him any more pain for one day. It was there waiting for him, however, when he awoke at ten the next morning with the maid wanting to do the room.

‘Okay,’ he said, his eyes closed against the light. ‘But just leave the bathroom.’ Suddenly fearing that the maid was going to use a vacuum cleaner, a sound he loathed even without a hangover – he felt sure that hell would be filled with the sound of vacuum cleaners – he opened one eye and saw that she was trailing an electric lead across the floor. This spurred him out of bed and sent him padding across the floor in his bare feet to seek refuge in the shower. He stayed there until he felt sure that the maid and her fearsome machine had gone, and then sent down for orange juice, coffee and aspirin. He got dressed while he waited.

Despite the distraction of a headache, he knew that this was going to be a crucial day for him. He wanted to grieve for Caroline – in fact, he wanted to wallow in grief, self-pity and sadness – but he couldn’t afford to. He had gone through one personal hell when he’d lost Lisa and the world had ceased to have any point or meaning, and he recognised some of those signs and symptoms in himself at the moment. He couldn’t let himself go down that road again, or he might end up in an institution staring at a blank wall. He would have to deal with Caroline’s death by blocking it out of his mind as much as he could. Throwing himself into his work was going to help: he had to decide what to do about Greg Allan’s list.

The hospitals probably wouldn’t hand out the information he needed about the new names, so he asked Sci-Med for help. He hoped that once he had established who the donors were he might be able to see something they had in common.

The information when it came through left Steven speechless.

‘You’re absolutely sure about that?’ he asked eventually. ‘All of them?’

‘Absolutely. They’re all recipients. There are no donors at all on that list.’

‘So what the hell were they given?’ Steven wondered out loud.

‘Heart valves,’ replied the duty officer, sounding puzzled.

‘Thanks, but that’s not exactly what I meant,’ said Steven. Then he suddenly saw the importance of what he’d just learned. ‘Oh Christ!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is Mr Macmillan there?’ As soon as he was patched through, he said, ‘The list that Greg Allan had. They’re all recipients.’

‘I know,’ said Macmillan. ‘I’ve just been told.’

‘But don’t you see? Eighteen people on that list have already gone down with the virus,’ said Steven. ‘The remaining …’ mental arithmetic was a challenge with this hangover … ‘thirty-eight have still to go down with it. Don’t you see? They’re all potential wildcards! They’re people who had the same surgery as the others but haven’t got the disease yet. We’ve got to isolate them. Once we’ve done that there won’t be any more unexplained outbreaks popping up all over the place.’

‘Yes, of course, I see what you mean,’ said Macmillan. ‘If you’re right, it means HMG can forget about calling a state of emergency.’

‘It certainly does. They can go back to worrying about fox hunting and the euro.’

‘And maybe the cost of official cars for travel to Manchester,’ countered Macmillan. ‘How is your friend, by the way?’

‘She died early this morning,’ said Steven flatly.

‘God, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me,’ said Macmillan.

‘You weren’t to know,’ said Steven.

There was a long pause; then Macmillan said, ‘Change of subject. I don’t suppose you’ve any idea about the relationship between the people on the list and the filovirus?’

‘Not yet,’ said Steven. ‘But Greg Allan knew. I’m sure that’s why he killed himself.’

‘Pity he didn’t think to tell us all about it before he did,’ said Macmillan ruefully, and he rang off.

Steven went back to thinking about the fifty-six people on the list. They had all been given human heart valves, and that fact alone had exposed them to the ravages of a terrible infection, although not immediately. The delay was a stumbling block in itself. The other stumbling block was that, if fifty-six people had received human-tissue valves, there must have been at least fourteen donors, people who had, presumably, died in accidents all over the country and who had no connection at all with each other, and yet had all been carrying the same strain of a brand-new filovirus … That was – absolute bloody nonsense, he concluded. There was no other word for it.

EIGHTEEN

He was relieved to have put the constraints of so-called logic behind him. The real question he should be asking was: what was wrong with the heart valves those patients had been given? A few moments’ consideration told him that there was only one way to find out for sure. He’d have to recover one of the transplanted valves from a wildcard victim and subject it to a whole range of tests.

This was going to be not only risky – a post mortem on a filovirus victim was a dangerous procedure – but difficult, because filovirus victims were cremated as soon as possible. He would have to move fast. He called Sci-Med back, asked them about the current condition of the wildcard patients, and told them why he wanted to know.

‘All dead and burned except two,’ said the duty officer.

‘How come the exceptions?’ Steven asked.

‘One’s a success story; it looks as if she might be one of the few who’ll recover.’

Steven closed his eyes for a moment and wished it could have been Caroline. He forced the thought from his mind.

‘The other one’s the nun, Sister Mary Xavier. She wasn’t cremated.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Steven.

‘They came up with a special dispensation for her – apparently, her order has severe religious objections to cremation. Because of the special circumstances and because the convent’s so isolated, the sisters were allowed to bury her in the grounds.’

‘I didn’t realise they made concessions over something like a filovirus,’ said Steven acidly.

‘A local decision in Hull,’ said the duty man. ‘I think they had to comply with strict conditions: sealed body bag, lead-lined coffin and all that. It’s a possibility, don’t you think?’

‘A good one,’ agreed Steven. He thanked the man for his help and rang off, already deep in thought. Requesting the exhumation of Sister Mary Xavier would be certain to meet with a lot of opposition on the grounds of insensitivity, but the only alternative was to wait until another wildcard case got ill and died. That could take another week or two, maybe even longer, and he needed to examine one of the heart valves as soon as possible. He decided to put in the request and get Sci-Med to fix the permissions and paperwork. He would deal with the flak as and when it came.