Dan Taylor got up and put his arms round his wife while maintaining eye contact with Sands. ‘The doctor’s right, love. Let’s just remember our lad the way he was, not as the victim of some…’ He searched for inspiration. ‘Bastard disease.’
The words ‘flesh-eating’ were still going round and round inside his head. He was praying that Marion wouldn’t stick to her guns. She looked up at him and finally acquiesced with a small nod.
‘Bloody bizarre,’ muttered pathologist Simon Monkton. ‘How come the lab can’t grow anything when he’s absolutely riddled?’
‘I think they’re quite embarrassed about that too,’ replied Sands, who had chosen to be present at the post mortem on Keith Taylor. ‘I spoke to the consultant bacteriologist earlier. He was very apologetic.’
Monkton gave Sands a look that suggested apologies were less than useful.
‘You are sure it was necrotising fasciitis?’ asked Sands.
‘What else could it be?’ replied Monkton. ‘It’s practically eaten the poor kid alive.’
‘So that’s what you will be putting down as cause of death on the death certificate?’
Monkton paused in what he was doing and looked at Sands over his half-moon specs. ‘Of course. Why do you ask?’
‘The boy’s GP told me that Keith Taylor was part of a monitoring study being carried out by the Department of Health. He is obliged to inform them immediately about any health issues that crop up.’
‘Health issues?’ snorted Monkton. ‘I suppose you could say dying of necrotising fasciitis was a health issue that cropped up… poor kid. I take it you are absolutely sure he wasn’t taking any antibiotics when he became ill?’
‘That was the first thing I thought of when the lab failed to grow anything from his specimens but his GP and his family assure me that he was taking nothing apart from his usual immuno-suppressant drugs.’
‘Ironically, I suppose that’s probably why the infection ripped through him so fast,’ said Monkton. ‘The drugs would severely compromise his natural defences. I take it the suppressants were stopped as soon as he was admitted?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, that’s it then,’ said Monkton, stripping off his gloves and dropping them in a pedal bin he opened with his foot. ‘When God throws a curve ball… you’re out.’
‘His parents are coming in later to be told the findings of the PM.’
‘Something no parents should ever have to do,’ said Monkton. ‘I don’t envy you dealing with the living.’
‘Horses for courses,’ said Sands. ‘I can’t say I envy you your job either.’ He was looking down at the open cadaver of Keith Taylor.
THREE
Edinburgh
March 2007
‘I don’t want to go to school.’
Virginia Lyons glanced at the kitchen clock on the wall. ‘Look, Trish, you have to go. There’s nothing wrong with you. Why have you started doing this to me? You’ve always liked school, you know you have.’
‘Don’t want to go,’ mumbled her daughter, looking down at the floor.
‘Forget the “don’t want to go” nonsense. There has to be a reason. Tell me.’
‘Just don’t want to, all right?’
Virginia stayed silent for a moment to let the spark of anger in her daughter die down. ‘Are you being bullied?’ she asked. ‘Is that it? Just tell me if you are because I’m not having that. I’ll go straight to the head teacher about it. We’ll nip this in the bud.’
Trish shook her head silently, still staring studiously down at the floor.
‘Then what?’
Silence.
Virginia looked at the clock again and felt her stomach tighten. She was going to be late for work again and, as a divorced single mother, she needed the job even if it was only as a filing clerk in an estate agent’s office. It was a busy office. ‘Please Trish, tell me.’ She tried to make eye contact by taking Trish’s hands in hers and pulling her to her feet.
‘They’ve started calling me Patch in the gym class.’
‘Patch? And this is what this is all about?’ exclaimed Virginia. ‘Some silly children calling you some silly nickname?’
‘I don’t like it. I want it to go away.’
Virginia back-pedalled on derision when she saw the tears start to run down her daughter’s face. In recent months Trish had developed a patch of white skin on her right shoulder which ran nearly all the way down her right arm. Since she was dark haired and sallow skinned, it was very noticeable. The doctor had said it was really nothing to worry about and probably the result of hormonal changes in her body — she had just turned thirteen. He was confident that, given time, the discolouration would disappear of its own accord but it had been three months now without much change if any.
‘Look, if it will make you any happier, we’ll go back to the doctor and tell him there’s been no improvement.’
Trish nodded. ‘Yes please, Mum.’
‘You go off to school now and ignore these ignorant people. I’ll call the doctor before I leave for work and try for an evening appointment. Okay?’
Trish nodded and kissed her mother goodbye.
‘I’m not sure what you want me to do,’ said Dr James Gault when Trish and her mother told him the rash wasn’t getting any better. He sounded irritable. ‘It’s not technically a rash,’ he corrected. ‘It’s just an area of skin discolouration and most probably psychological in origin.’
‘Whatever it is, it’s showing no signs of going away and some of her class-mates have started calling her names and it’s very upsetting.’
Gault shrugged. ‘It’s absolutely harmless and what’s a little name calling. Sticks and stones, eh Trish?’
Trish stared resolutely at the floor.
Virginia felt a wave of exasperation sweep over her at what she felt was Gault’s lack of sensitivity. ‘It’s not harmless if it’s making her so unhappy,’ she pointed out. ‘It’s only a matter of time before it begins to affect her school work. School kids can be very cruel.’
‘I’m reluctant to refer her to a skin clinic when it’s clearly just a harmless and almost certainly temporary loss of pigment. Frankly it would be a waste of time and resources.’
‘Then I’d like a second opinion,’ said Virginia.
Gault looked as if he might be thinking about arguing but then he changed his mind and conceded. ‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll see if one of my colleagues will take a look at her but I’m sure they’ll tell you the exact same thing. It’s impossible to predict how long these things will take to go away. The more you make of them the more likely they are to persist.’
‘Tell that to her class-mates,’ countered Virginia.
Gault excused himself, leaving Virginia and Trish alone in his surgery. Although he was probably gone for less than two minutes, Virginia found the seconds passing like hours as she and Trish sat in silence. Both were unhappy, Virginia because she hated coming into any kind of conflict with authority and Trish because it seemed that nothing could be done to help her.
Gault returned and said, ‘Our Dr Haldane will see you after his next patient… if you’d care to wait in the waiting room…’
Virginia found Gault’s manner was now even more curt and decidedly distant but this was not unexpected. He was clearly taking her request as a personal slur. Gault held the door while she ushered Trish out first. She neither made eye contact with him nor said anything.
Scott Haldane beamed broadly when Virginia and Trish entered and Trish took to him immediately. He was young, broad-shouldered and wearing a smile that suggested openness. ‘Hi, how are you doing?’ he asked Trish.
‘All right,’ she mumbled.
‘All right apart from the patch on your arm, eh? Let’s have a look at it, shall we?’
Trish managed a nod and the suggestion of a smile. She took off her blazer and cardigan before slipping off one sleeve of her blouse and holding out her arm for inspection.
‘How long have you had this, Trish?’ asked Haldane, closely examining the area of white skin running up Trish’s arm.