The Secret (Dr Steven Dunbar 10) (5 page)

Steven waited for a chance to speak to Mazarek. When it arose he found the tall Czech to be friendly and outgoing, the kind of person who wore his heart on his sleeve and the sort Steven usually liked instinctively. He said who he was and made polite conversation about how awful it all was before making his request for the list.

The smile faded from
Mazarek’s face and he looked worried. ‘Is there some problem?’ he asked.

Steven shook his head and said, ‘I’d just like to be clear about everything in my own mind. Call me a compulsive investigator. Come to think of it, was there an official police investigation into Simone’s death?’

Mazarek spread his hands and seemed slightly nonplussed. ‘Well, the police attended, of course, but we all knew what had happened. Normally visitors to the Strahov are not allowed up into the high gallery, but with it being a private showing for the delegates the rules were relaxed so that people could get a better look at the paintings on the library ceiling. Unfortunately Simone must have leaned out too far, so that she overbalanced and fell to her death; an absolute tragedy. Everyone loved Simone. Surely you can’t be suggesting anything else, doctor?’

Steven gave a dismissive shrug. ‘No, I loved her too. I’d just like to have a clear picture in my mind of what happened . . . Was anyone with her in the gallery when she fell?’

Mazarek said. ‘Lots of people were up there at the time but I think only two saw what actually happened – I guess they were all looking up at the ceiling. But Bill Andrews, an American administrator, and Dr Ranjit Khan, a Pakistani aid worker working in the Afghan tribal areas, were next to her when it happened: they were inconsolable. Bill needed sedation he was so upset. He blamed himself because Simone had been laughing at some joke he’d made just before she lost her balance.’

‘I can only imagine how he must have felt. Is Mr Andrews here?’

Mazarek looked around. ‘I saw him a few minutes ago.’

‘Maybe I’ll have a word if I come across him.’
Steven smiled and offered his hand. ‘Thank you for your help, Dr Mazarek. Oh, sorry, one more thing. You said Bill Andrews was an American administrator. What exactly does he do?’

‘He’s a field co
ordinator, doctor, one of the people responsible for the funding and setting up of vaccination programmes on behalf of several US charities.’

‘The same sort of job as Charles Edelman?’ asked Steven.

‘Yes,’ agreed Mazarek, ‘except that Edelman is responsible for distributing
official
US government money.’

Steven wandered off in search of Andrews, thinking that an American accent shouldn’t be too hard to pick up in present company. He found it coming from a
man in his thirties who was talking to Aline. Steven thought that he not only sounded American, he looked it too, the clean-cut product of an Ivy League university. He smiled at Aline and she ushered him into the conversation. ‘Have you met Bill Andrews, Steven?’

‘I was actually hoping we might have a word,’ Steven confessed, shaking hands with Andrews a
s Aline excused herself. ‘Dr Mazarek tells me you were with Simone when the accident happened. It must have been awful.’

‘God, it’s a moment I’ll never forget. Hell, I’d just made some stupid joke and I could hear Simone laughing. She must have been looking up at the time and I guess she couldn’t have realised how close to the parapet she was. She . . .’ Andrews paused as if to compose himself, ‘I guess she just toppled over. God, if only I could wind the clock back. The Pakistani doctor who was with us – Dr Khan, I think his name was – and I rushed down the stairs but there was nothing to be done. Simone was dead.’

‘What a nightmare for all concerned.’

‘I know it’s an awful cliché but Simone was . . . simply the best.’

Steven nodded. ‘I wonder, is Dr Khan here today?’

Andrews looked apologetic. ‘No, he had to return to
Pakistan right after the Prague meeting. Time off is a bit of a luxury for these guys.’

‘Of course.’

Someone entering the room caught Andrews’ eye and he put his hand on Steven’s shoulder and said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, doctor. There’s someone I must speak to while I have the chance . . .’

Seeing that he was adrift and on his own again,
Aline joined Steven a few minutes later and he thanked her for getting rid of Edelman earlier. ‘It was a bit of luck you knowing him.’

‘I don’t,’ said
Aline. ‘I’d seen him at meetings, of course, but I’d never actually met him before.’

Steven gave her an admiring glance.

‘The poor man was terribly embarrassed at having “forgotten” me. Did you find out what you wanted to know from Schultz?’

Steven shrugged. ‘I don’t think there was much to find out. I think I’d been reading too much into Simone’s letter. Schultz knew that Simone was planning to rock the boat by openly criticising another aid agency and I suspect he and his colleagues were probably a bit heavy
-handed in denying her the opportunity.’

‘WHO doesn’t care for internecine strife.’

‘Just out of interest, what was the name of the agency that was pi–annoying Simone so much?’

Aline
smiled. ‘The organisation that was pissing her off was Children First.'

Steven was embarrassed at his slip. ‘You speak English very well.’

‘My mother’s English,’ said Aline. ‘Children First is funded by Americans although they tend to disguise that as much as possible by using Pakistani associates. Americans are none too popular in the region where we work.’

Steven nodded. ‘I never realised getting aid to the needy was so difficult. It sounds like you have to tiptoe through a minefield of political sensibilities.’

‘That’s about right,’ agreed Aline with a smile.

‘So, when
d’you go back to the minefield?’

‘The day after tomorrow. I’ll be taking over Simone’s role as team leader and a new volunteer medic will join me at the end of next week
, but before I go I want to speak to my bosses. I’m not sure if Simone managed to make her concerns known to them. I think I should do it for her just in case.’

‘Good for you. You know, I can empathise with the woman at the service who said that Simone made her feel inadequate. I think you folk all make me feel that way.’

‘Nonsense, it’s just a job we choose to do,’ said Aline. ‘How about you? Are you flying home tonight?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘In that case . . . maybe we could share a meal this evening if you don’t have any other plans?’

‘No I don’t’ Steven confessed. ‘That would be nice.’ He had picked up on a hesitation in
Aline’s voice, thinking that she might be about to add something but nothing came of it. ‘I think I saw everyone I wanted to see this afternoon with perhaps the exception of Dr Ranjit Khan, but Bill Andrews was present at the scene and he seemed a reliable witness. Maybe I should have spent more time commiserating with Simone’s parents, but having everyone together in the same room was just too good a chance to miss when it came to asking questions.’

‘I’m sure Simone would have understood that you were doing i
t for her. She was lucky to have such a loyal friend. What now? Investigation over?’

‘I think so. I feel a bit happier in my own mind.’ Once again he got the impression that
Aline wanted to say something and this time she did.

‘Steven . . .Perhaps I haven’t been completely frank with you about all Simone’s concerns. She
actually telephoned me from Prague . . .’

She
paused, and Steven urged, ‘Go on.’

‘No, this is not the time or place. It can wait till later.’

‘All right,’ said Steven. He and Aline exchanged details of where they were staying and agreed to meet later at a restaurant situated midway between them that Aline knew and recommended, the Monsonnier.

Steven decided to walk by the
Seine for a bit before returning to his hotel. He felt uncertain about the conclusions he’d reached after what Aline had just said – or rather not said. Everything had been pointing to his having read too much into Simone’s letter but now . . . He wished that Aline hadn't left him hanging.

On impulse, he walked out on Pont
Neuf and leaned on the parapet to watch the river traffic pass by as he thought things through again. He paused and smiled as a
bateau-mouche
appeared then disappeared under the bridge, leaving a fading calling card of happy voices and piped accordion music. Another load of tourists were living the Paris dream.

Steven
acknowledged the possibility that he might be reading too much into Aline's behaviour. It was pretty clear that Simone’s assertion that something was very wrong had to do with the sloppiness of another agency in the field and their subsequent rudeness. Even if Aline were to tell him later that it was a bit more than sloppiness – maybe downright incompetence – it would be no big deal in the great scheme of things. Everyone gets hacked off with colleagues from time to time and probably even more so in the stressful situations in which the two agencies were working.

Simone had been annoyed about getting the run-around from the meeting organisers in
Prague but it was clear why it had happened. Schultz had been unhappy about her intention to criticise another agency openly and had stopped her by denying her a speaking slot. As for the fatal fall, an American aid worker and a Pakistani doctor had been in the gallery at the time of the fall and had witnessed the event. They were both distraught afterwards and one even blamed himself for having distracted Simone with a joke before she fell.

Steven had to consider why
Simone had sent the letter at all. Why had she wanted to see him? The letter hadn’t been a simple suggestion that old friends meet up and she would hardly have approached him about the ins and outs of an aid agency squabble, so why had she felt the need to call on the help of an ex-soldier – or an investigator?

The answer wasn’t to be found in the sluggish, muddy water of the Seine or on any of the canvases being studiously worked on by artists on the bridge as he sauntered slowly back to the left bank. He returned to his hotel and showered before calling
home.

A breathless Tally answered. ‘I’m just in,’ she said. ‘How’d it go?’

‘I’m glad I came. There weren’t that many people.’ Steven explained why he thought this was.

‘A pity. Did you find out what was worrying her?’

‘It seems that she felt another aid organisation wasn’t doing its job properly and she’d decided to blow the whistle on them.’

‘So her death coming immediately after the letter was a coincidence?’

‘I think so,’ Steven agreed. ‘Another fine Dunbar conspiracy theory ruined by a nasty little fact.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I suspect
Sci-Med are going to be fully occupied with other things pretty soon.’

‘Really?’

‘We admitted two children from a refugee family a few days ago. The lab haven’t confirmed it yet but we think they’re suffering from polio.’

Steven let out a low whistle. ‘That’s a bit of a show-stopper,’ he murmured. ‘We were only talking about this sort of thing before I left. Where are they from?’

‘Afghanistan.’

‘That fits. I’m told it’s one of the few places where it’s still endemic. How bad are the kids?’

‘They’re both displaying lower limb paralysis. One of them looks as if she might be getting worse. Her breathing’s becoming affected and if that happens . . . poor mite.’

‘This sounds like a nightmare from the past, the days of iron lungs and all that. Are the press on to it?’

‘Not yet.’

‘I take it you’re under pressure to keep it under wraps?’

‘You can say that again. I’m going back to the hospital tonight. An expert is coming up from London to speak to medical and senior nursing staff about the disease and how we should handle things.’

‘Not Tom North?’

‘The very same. Do you know him?’

Steven told her that he’d been to see North to get a briefing about the work Simone had been engaged in.

‘Well, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow when I can tell you all about it. You are coming up?’

‘You bet.’

‘So what are you going to do with yourself this evening, all alone in the city of romance?’

Steven cleared his throat. ‘Actually
, I’m having dinner with a young lady.’ He closed his eyes, waiting for the expected ‘What?’ to arrive. It did. He explained who Aline was.

‘Well, don’t get carried away with her selfless dedication, will you?’

‘No chance,’ Steven assured her.

Steven arrived at the
Monsonnier at five to eight and sipped kir while he waited. At fifteen minutes past, the waiter asked if Monsieur would like another. Steven said not; his friend wouldn’t be much longer. At half past he decided that Aline wasn’t coming. He apologised, paid for the drink and tipped well before leaving to walk up and down outside for another ten minutes until he felt absolutely sure she wasn’t going to turn up.

Aline’s
hotel was only a five-minute walk away so Steven thought it might be an idea to go there and check that she was all right. He had almost reached the entrance before impulse gave way to consideration and he decided that this might not be a good idea after all. It might look as if he were annoyed that she hadn’t turned up and was looking for an explanation when it was a lady’s prerogative to change her mind, he seemed to remember from some way-back code of manners. They had exchanged contact details so presumably she would be in touch to explain at some point – or not.

Steven smiled, thinking how pleased Tally would be when he told her his ‘date’ had stood him up. He smiled again when he considered that Tally was the best thing that had happened to him for years and then felt the familiar pang of
guilt before adding the rider
since Lisa of course
. He had loved Lisa dearly and their time together had been all too short. Maybe that was the reason why loving someone else still felt as though it had elements of betrayal about it. Silly after ten years but still undeniable.

He was passing a bar when he thought how inviting it looked, typically French with the kind of effortless atmosphere that business people back home tried and failed to emulate by calling their place a bistro
,
leaving bare boards on the floor and kitting it out with tables and chairs reclaimed from derelict churches. He went inside and ordered
un
ballon de rouge
. It was served quickly and efficiently but without comment, making him reflect on the dislike the English had for the French and in particular for Parisians. It was a view he didn’t share. He preferred to see their perceived rudeness as sophistication. They spoke when they had something worth saying: they listened when there was something worth hearing. Steven ordered a
sandwich
tunisien
and had another glass of wine before deciding on an early night.

In the morning he was on the first flight out of Charles de Gaulle to Heathrow and was sitting in John Macmillan’s office by eleven thirty. Jean Roberts brought in coffee and Steven reported briefly about the
Paris trip before Macmillan told him about the two cases of polio in Leicester. Steven had to admit he already knew.

‘Of course, that’s where Dr Simmons works,’ said Macmillan. ‘I should have remembered. How is she
, by the way?’

‘Just fine,’ replied Steven, once again noting that Macmillan always referred to Tally formally. He wasn’t quite sure why but suspected it might be because
Sir John saw her as the main obstacle to his agreeing to take over at Sci-Med one day. ‘I’ll be seeing her later. I hope to get more details.’

‘It seems straightforward enough,’ said Macmillan, leaning back in the chair, elbows on the arm rests, fingers interlaced in a steeple. ‘Recent immigrant family from
Afghanistan.’

‘Do we know which region?’

Macmillan searched briefly through some papers on his desk. ‘North West Frontier country . . . FATA if that means anything to you?’

‘Federally administered tribal areas,’ said Steven.

‘I’m impressed,’ said Macmillan. ‘I’m told polio is still rife there.’

‘Much to the chagrin of the World Health Organisation,’ said Steven. ‘I’ve learned quite a bit about this over the past couple of days.’

‘I remember now, that’s where Dr Ricard was working. Well, the Leicester situation is something we can’t do much about. It’s a straightforward case of importing a disease from the wilds of Afghanistan into our multicultural wonderland. God help us all.’

Steven smiled wryly. He was well aware of Macmillan’s views on modern
Britain. Multiracial was fine, multicultural was the death of all things British and the road to disaster. ‘I was thinking . . .’ he began.

Macmillan raised his eyebrows.

‘Well, I was wondering as things are a bit quiet for us at the moment if I might take some time off. I’ve been trying to persuade Tally to take a holiday. She’s been working so hard that I’m starting to worry about her, and if this polio business should become more than an isolated incident she might not get a chance again for quite a while.’

‘Makes sense
,’ agreed Macmillan. ‘It’s a while since you had any real time off too apart from the odd weekend here and there. Recharge your batteries, that sort of thing.’

‘Thanks, John. I’ll work on Tally this evening.’

‘Give her my best.’

Steven had a quick mental picture of Tally’s face when he passed on Macmillan’s regards. She saw him in mu
ch the same light as he saw her: a threat.

Steven was already at the flat in
Leicester by the time Tally got home. He hugged her and thought how tired she looked but didn’t say so. She slumped down in the sofa and swung her feet up on a footstool.

‘Would gin and tonic help?’ asked Steven.

‘You bet,’ sighed Tally, reaching behind her to release her hair, which was always tied back for work.

‘Coming right up, my lady.’

‘That sounds like guilt to me. What did you and the French dolly get up to last night?’

‘She didn’t turn up,’ replied Steven from the kitchen as he got ice from the freezer. ‘Are we out of lemons?’

‘Haven’t been to the supermarket,’ Tally replied. ‘What d’you mean she didn’t turn up?’

‘Stoo
d me up. No message. No apology.’

‘Must have been the pins I was sticking in that little doll last night,’ murmured Tally, eyes closed, her head back
as if to survey the ceiling.

Steven smiled as he returned with the drinks. ‘Did you ask about time off?’

Tally opened her eyes, made a face and looked guilty.

‘You didn’t,’ Steven accused.

‘I just can’t see how they could manage right now.’

‘Tally, you need a break
, and if you wait any longer . . .’

‘Yes, I know, there just never seems to be a good time. We seem to have an ever growing population in the city who’ve never had proper medical care in their lives.’

‘And now polio’s joining in the fun. How’s that situation developing?’

‘Public Health are hopeful they can contain it. There’s no treatment of course; it’s a case of vaccinating all around the epicentre. The British kids have all been vaccinated
already of course, but the immigrants . . . well, that’s a different story. Some have, some haven’t and in many cases, they don't know. But if everyone stays calm and vaccination is carried out in a systematic and methodical way, we should be all right. What we don’t need is any sort of panic. Any kind of story breaking about a killer stalking the streets and we’re in real trouble. We need people to stay where they are, not start running all over the place.’

Steven sat down beside Tally and put his head back on the co
uch beside hers. ‘You know, what you said just now –
there’s no treatment, of course
– you’d think there would be by now.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, we’ve known about viruses and studied them for over a hundred years but we still can’t treat them. From the common cold to smallpox or polio, we’re no more able to cure them than Florence Nightingale was in her day.’

‘But we have vaccination.’

‘Yes, we can stop people getting the disease but if they do get it . . . there’s zilch we can do about it. When you think about it, antibiotics came along quite quickly for treating bacterial disease: you’d think anti-viral drugs might have progressed much faster than they have. Don’t you think?’

‘There’s
Tamiflu.’

‘Which is more successful at making money for shareholders than it is for anything else.’

Steven’s phone rang before Tally could reply. It was John Macmillan.

‘Steven, do you know a Dr
Aline Lagarde?’

‘Yes, I met her in
Paris. She worked with Simone. Why?’

‘You’re wanted in connection with her murder.’

Steven’s exclamation brought Tally to full, sudden wakefulness. She saw him pale as he stammered, ‘Her murder?’

‘Dr
Lagarde was found dead in her hotel room this morning. She’d been strangled. The Paris police have established that she was meeting you last night but you were nowhere to be found.’

‘What do they mean
nowhere to be found? I’m here where I belong. This is crazy. I was due to have dinner with Aline last night at a restaurant called the Monsonnier but she didn’t turn up.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I went to a bar, had a couple of drinks and a sandwich, went back to my hotel and had an early night.’

‘The French police say they have witnesses who saw you outside Dr
Lagarde’s hotel.’

Steven rubbed his forehead in frustration. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘My first thought when I left the restaurant was to go along there to see if she was okay but when I got there I changed my mind.’

‘Why?’

‘God, I don’t know. It’s not as if we were frien
ds. Somewhere along the way it occurred to me that she might think I was annoyed about her not showing up when in reality I just wanted to know if she was all right . . . so I didn’t actually go into the hotel. I just turned away. You do believe me?’

‘Of course,’ replied Macmillan. ‘But I think you’d better get yourself back to
Paris of your own accord before any official requests start coming in.’

‘First thing in the morning.’

‘Good. I’ll tell the French to expect you.’

Steven took down details of where he shou
ld report to and ended the call. He turned to face Tally. ‘I take it you got the gist of that?’

‘Your date last night was murdered. The French police are hunting you down. Do they still use the guillotine in
France?’

‘Jesus Christ, what a mess. Poor
Aline. What kind of a sick bastard would do something like that?’

‘I hate to say it
, but maybe the same kind as killed Simone Ricard?’ suggested Tally tentatively.

Steven stared at her unseeingly for a few moments before
reluctantly conceding reluctantly possibility. ‘Not just a mess, more a complete can of worms.’

‘You never said why you were having dinner with her in the first place,’ said Tally.

‘She suggested it; I agreed. We were both friends of Simone; that was the reason we were in Paris. I was coming back to the UK in the morning, Aline was returning to Pakistan . . . actually she wasn’t. At least not right away.’ Steven had remembered that she was going to speak to her bosses at
Médecins Sans Frontières
.

‘What about?’ asked Tally.

‘She wasn’t sure if Simone had a chance to speak formally to anyone from Med Sans
before her death. Apparently Simone and her team had come across a remote village with lots of sick people in it and kids who hadn’t had their second dose of polio vaccine when they should have. When Simone contacted the agency officially covering that area, she was told to push off and mind her own business.’

Tally frowned in puzzlement.

‘I gather it was a demarcation thing,’ said Steven. ‘The village wasn’t in her designated area.’

‘Sounds like they have NHS managers in
Pakistan. Mind you, they would have noticed an unticked box in the vaccination schedules . . . For what it’s worth, Steven, that doesn’t sound like such a big deal to me. I mean oversights are bound to happen in that sort of environment. We’re talking Rudyard Kipling country here. The Khyber Pass and all that.’

Steven nodded. ‘You don’t have to convince me of that
, but Aline told me that Simone felt embarrassed that polio was still endemic there. She took it personally so I guess she’d be hypersensitive about any shortcomings she came across. She always gave a hundred per cent and expected others to do the same.’

‘Even so . . .’

‘There may have been something else,’ said Steven.

‘Like what?’

‘Aline was going to tell me that at dinner.’

Tally raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘And now you’re going to be hell-bent on finding out what it was?’

‘I would like to know.’

‘Well,’ said Tally. ‘It would appear that, yet again, I am to b
e denied the presence of my man because the fight for truth and justice must go on. You really must start wearing your underpants on the outside, Steven.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Steven, knowing how weak it sounded. He took Tally in his arms. ‘I love you, Dr Simmons. I love you very much.’