‘I learned quite a lot.’
‘Really? Then it wasn’t just a PR exercise?’
‘Apparently there’s a new weapon against pandemics.’
Tally’s eyes opened wide. ‘Do tell.’
‘Money,’ said Steven.
Tally’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. ‘Money,’ she repeated.
‘Apparently something called the Pandemic Emergency Financing Facility was set up after the last Ebola outbreak in West Africa. It has worldwide support with all the big bodies on board and has two parts, a cash element handled by the World Bank under advice from the World Health Organisation and an insurance element with capital being made available from investors.’
‘Investors?’ Tally exclaimed. ‘Are you saying that people like bankers are gambling on being able to stop a pandemic?’
‘I suppose you could put it that way. Twelve million dollars has been released to deal with the new threat in DRC but more will be made available to finance all types of expertise to contain the outbreak. Someone has calculated it will rise to over fifty million before they’re through.’
Tally shook her head. She said, ‘I’m finding it difficult to introduce money concerns into the threat of a pandemic.’
‘Me too,’ confessed Steven, ‘but they reckon that the 2014–2016 outbreak of Ebola ended up costing 11,000 lives and 3 billion dollars to bring under control because of a slow response at the outset. This time they’re going all out to nip it in the bud.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to concentrate on vaccination?’
‘That’s part of the plan, of course, but they’re being obliged to use the same experimental vaccine as last time. They’ll use ring vaccination, concentrating on immunising concentric circles of people round victims to stop the virus moving outwards.’
‘Makes sense on paper,’ said Tally. ‘Can the vaccine be used as treatment?’
Steven shook his head. ‘It has no effect on people who already have the disease.’
Tally thought for a moment before saying quietly, ‘I have such a bad feeling about this.’
Steven sighed and said, ‘It may come down to hoping for the best, but four thousand doses of vaccine are already in DRC and all kinds of health professionals are being recruited as we speak.’
Two
‘What do you think about yesterday?’ asked John Macmillan when they resumed their meeting after the interruption of the previous day’s COBRA meeting.
Steven smiled wryly and said, ‘I’ve often thought money to be at the root of everything we come across in life, but yesterday really brought it home in spades. Money versus microbes... and yet...’
‘And yet?’ Macmillan prompted.
‘Last night, when I was lying thinking about it in bed, I found myself concluding it might just work.’
‘I had a similar experience,’ said Macmillan. ‘Having lots of money and resources at your fingertips must be infinitely better than having nothing and depending on charity and selfless volunteers.’
‘Anyway,’ said Macmillan, changing the subject, ‘I was about to tell you yesterday about two eminent English medical scientists who have departed this life recently. I think Sci-Med should check it out.’
‘Did they work at the same hospital?’
‘No, different hospitals, different parts of the country... and now you are going to ask me what drew my attention to the everyday occurrence of two people dying in the UK?’
Steven agreed with a smile.
‘Both were murdered.’
Steven was taken by surprise. ‘Good God.’
‘The computer picked up on it.’
Sci-Med had computer software set up to monitor any unusual happenings in science and medicine. It had picked up on the fact that both men were senior medical scientists and leading lights in their fields.
Steven asked, ‘The same field?’
Macmillan shook his head. ‘No, one was an expert in palliative care, an advisor in pain management to hospices all over the country and a much sought-after international speaker on the subject, and the other was involved in the design of sophisticated prosthetic limb control mechanisms, working with both the UK and US veterans’ organisations.’
‘Doesn’t sound like they had too much in common,’ said Steven, ‘but I understand why the computer picked up on it. On the other hand, you said they were based in different parts of the country?’
‘One in London, the other in Leicester. One killed on Monday, the other on Wednesday.’
‘Have the police linked the killings?’
‘No, our computer did that through correlation of separate press reports that mentioned they were medical professionals.’
‘Did you pass this on to the police?’ Steven asked.
‘I did, and they gave me some details that they had withheld from the press. It turns out both men were murdered in identical fashion and were alone when they met their end. Nothing was taken from either house, despite a small fortune being available in both cases in the way of jewellery and the trappings of wealth.’
‘So, robbery wasn’t the motive,’ said Steven, ‘the killer wasn’t trying to get a safe combination out of them.’
‘No, and the police haven’t come up with anything else resembling a motive.’
‘Could be the killer was settling some kind of score with the medical profession,’ suggested Steven, ‘but that doesn’t sound right considering who and what they were.’
‘Agreed,’ said Macmillan. ‘Giving pain relief and designing artificial limbs don’t usually figure much in revenge crime against medics. Botched surgery and mistakes over drug doses are more usually in the frame.’
‘Bizarre.’
Jean has gathered some details at short notice on the two men. ‘Let me know what you think when you’ve had a chance to look at them.’
Steven left Macmillan’s office and sat down in front of Jean Roberts’ desk. ‘I hear you have some light reading for me?’
Jean smiled and looked over her glasses at him. ‘Slim pickings I’m afraid.’ She took out a file from her desk drawer and handed it over, saying, ‘The entirely uneventful lives of Dr Martin Field and Dr Simon Pashley. I felt as if I were compiling the CVs of two successful men without a stain on their characters or any suggestion of wrong-doing — not even running through a field of wheat. No suggestion of money worries, far from it, both men were wealthy. Medical consultants are usually pretty well off, but even by their standards, these two were top of the heap. Big houses in smart areas, holiday homes in sunny climes, children at universities without having to eat beans on toast every day.’
‘So, you didn’t spot any possible motive for the killings?’
‘Jealousy?’ joked Jean.
‘Me too,’ said Steven. He thanked her for the file and said that he would need to interview the widows of the murdered men, starting with the London based one. ‘Where does she live?’
‘Notting Hill.’
Steven spent the afternoon at home, reading through the notes Jean had prepared and coming to much the same conclusions. Neither man had ever put a foot wrong as far as he could see and there was no obvious connection between the two of them. They had grown up in different cities, gone to different schools, different universities and had worked in different hospitals as they rose quickly up the career pole. Likewise, there was nothing to suggest that their wives had any friendship or link. If there was anything connecting the two dead men, it must have happened after they had risen to the top of their respective fields, maybe very recently, maybe at a medical or scientific conference. He found that Jean had photocopied the most recent of the pair’s published scientific papers to give him a feeling for what they did and smiled. She thought of everything.