‘Who is it?’ asked a female voice from inside.
‘My name’s Dr Dewar. I’m from the hospital. It’s about Michael Kelly,’ he lied although it was only a white lie.
The rattle of a chain guard gave way to a creak as the door opened against hinges that needed some attention. ‘Mike? What about him. What’s the problem?’ asked a short woman with spiky hair, wearing jeans and a tight white top.
‘Can I speak to Tommy?’ said Dewar.
‘He’s ill. Tell me instead.’
‘Ill? What’s wrong with him?’
‘None o’ your bloody business. Now, what the hell do you want?’ retorted the woman angrily.
‘If Tommy has the same problem as Mike, he’s in serious trouble. He could die. Is he here?’
‘Who wants to know? Here, are you polis?’
‘No, I’m a doctor. All I’m interested in is saving his life,’ insisted Dewar.
‘It’s just a bad trip, that’s all,’ said the woman. ‘He’ll get over it. It’s no’ the first.’
‘Can I see him?’
The woman considered for a moment then stood back slightly to allow Dewar inside. The flat smelt of onions.
‘He’s in here.’
Dewar entered a small bedroom where the bed, an old fashioned double bed with polished wood headboard and bottom panel, took up 90 percent of the floor space. The woman clicked on the light. It got a groan of protest from the man lying there. His well-muscled upper body was naked, white and had a film of sweat on it even though the room was cold. He put up his hand to shield his eyes from the light but Dewar could see enough of the eruption on his face to recognise the rash.
‘He’s very ill,’ he said. ‘He’s got to go to hospital right now. You may be in danger too.’
‘Danger?’ exclaimed the woman. ‘I don’t even take the bloody stuff. As for this silly bugger, he promised me he was coming off too and then what does he go and do to himself? Stupid bastard!’
Dewar called the hospital; on his mobile phone and arranged for one of the special ambulances assigned to the Wellcome Trust Suite to come for Hannan.
‘Is he going to die?’ asked the woman, suddenly regretting her outburst of temper.
‘Are you his wife?’ Dewar asked.
‘Aye, God help me. Three years.’
‘Mrs Hannan …’
‘Don’t remind me. My name’s Sharon.’
‘Sharon, this isn’t a drug reaction. Tommy’s very ill. You might be affected too. The people at the Western will do their best for him but we need your co-operation Will you come with us?’
The woman fetched a jacket and put it on without saying anything.
‘Maybe you could pack a few things for yourself? Night-dress, toothbrush, that sort of thing.’
Sharon looked at Dewar directly and suddenly he saw the fear and vulnerability in her eyes. All earlier feistiness and bravado had gone.
‘Right.’
As they waited for the ambulance to come, Dewar noticed that Sharon’s hands were shaking. ‘It shouldn’t be much longer. Are you okay?’ he asked kindly.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she put both hands between clenched knees and hung her head. ‘God, I’m scared,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do if Tommy dies.’
Dewar put his hand on her shoulder as somewhere outside, the wail of a siren started to get louder.
‘Well done,’ said George Finlay to Dewar as they met up in Finlay’s office after admitting Tommy Hannan and seeing Sharon settled for the night.
‘A bit of luck,’ said Dewar. ‘And a few whiskies. Apparently Kelly and Hannan were great friends.’
‘Why did you want to keep Sharon and Denise apart?’ asked Finlay. Dewar had made this request when he arrived in the ambulance with Tommy and Sharon.
‘I think Sharon trusts me. I hope she might tell us more about the movements of Kelly and her husband. She might not if Denise Banyon gets to work on her.’
‘Good point,’ said Finlay.
‘You know, it’s interesting, said Dewar thoughtfully. ‘Sharon Hannan though her husband’s condition was some kind of drug reaction too.’
‘Bizarre,’ said Finlay.
‘But interesting.’
SEVENTEEN
DAY THREE
Dewar was wakened at four in the morning. It took him a few moments to register the phone ringing and adjust to his surroundings. He’d forgotten where he was. Finlay’s voice brought him quickly back to reality.
‘Bad news. It looks like the lull is over. We’ve had seven admissions to the unit during the night. I’m pretty certain they’ve all got it.’
‘Shit,’ murmured Dewar. ‘All from Muirhouse?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s something I suppose.’
‘Not unless we get the vaccine very soon. Mary says there’s still no sign of it. She thinks she’s being fobbed off every time she inquires. What are these people playing at?’
‘I’ll try again to find out,’ Dewar assured him.
Dewar went next door to wake Hector Wright and tell him the news. Wright sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He cursed, ‘God damn it, I was hoping we might have got through one more day before this happened. We’re now too far behind on vaccination schedules. Chances are we could completely lose any possibility of control unless the vaccine comes today.’
‘I’ve told Finlay I’ll try and find out what the problem is. Mary Martin feelss she’s being given the run-around.’
Wright got out of bed to get dressed while Dewar returned to his room and called Sci-Med in London. He spoke to the duty officer on the night desk. ‘Any idea why the WHO vaccine hasn’t reached Edinburgh yet?’ he asked.
‘I don’t have details but I know Mr Macmillan spoke to Geneva earlier this evening. He was worried about that himself.’
‘What did they say?’
‘Mr Macmillan didn’t say exactly but he was in a foul mood after he’d finished the call, something about being fobbed off with an office boy.’
Dewar looked at his watch and said, ‘I’ll call him when he comes in at nine.’
‘I’ll leave a note for him,’ said the man.
Dewar found Hector Wright downstairs. He was sitting at a table with his city street map spread out in front of him, tapping his pen nervously on the table while apparently deep in thought.
‘Seven more means things have changed,’ he said. ‘I think we may be forced to admit that it’s smallpox we’re dealing with. If one gets you seven, seven will get you forty-nine.’
‘Actually, one got us eight,’ said Dewar. ‘You’re forgetting about Tommy Hannan.
‘We’re going to have to open up a second centre before the end of the week and come clean with the relatives. I don’t see how we can avoid it.’
‘I’ve got an awful feeling the vaccine isn’t going to be here today,’ Dewar confided. ‘I haven’t spoken to Macmillan yet but something’s wrong, I know it is.’ We can’t tell people anything if we haven’t anything to offer them. They’ll panic. Contacts could spread faster than bad news.’
‘If you’re really serious about the vaccine not coming then we’ll have to go for physical containment,’ said Wright. ‘There’s no other way.’
‘You mean seal the whole area off?’ asked Dewar almost agog at the notion of isolating an entire housing estate with thousands of residents.
Wright nodded slowly. ‘I can’t see any other way of stopping it spreading if we don’t have the vaccine and stop it, we must. If we just admit that it’s smallpox that people have been going down with there will be a pause of about two days while people talk about it and come to terms with the news then they’ll start moving out of the affected area. Trains, planes and automobiles will do the rest. Smallpox will be back to roam the planet just like the old times when it regularly killed two million a year.’
‘Well, you can try putting that to the team,’ said Dewar sounding less than confident of a positive outcome.