What the Dead Want, page 21
Niamh O’Casey shrugged her shoulders. ‘Seems like a stupid protocol to me.’
‘A rule is a rule. Bio-security protocols must be followed. Some of the animal bodies in the store have been subjected to radiation or injected with viruses or pathogens such as anthrax.’
‘I am well aware of biosecurity protocols, Mr Richards,’ snapped Dr O’Casey, ‘I helped write the legislation.’
‘Just making it clear—’
‘So I understand,’ said Ridpath talking directly to the guard, ‘when Frank Desmond made these deliveries you didn’t go inside with him?’
He shook his head without saying anything.
Ridpath’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Chrissy.
According to DVLA, Frank Desmond’s licence doesn’t exist. It’s fake. Still looking for the Genepro info.
‘It looks like you have another problem, Mr Richards,’ said Ridpath quietly.
Chapter FIFTY-FOUR
Ridpath, Niamh O’Casey, and the manager of the TRACE facility entered into the changing areas next to the storage building. The bright yellow PVS hazmat suits were contained in sealed lockers against one wall.
‘These are decontaminated after every use. They provide the highest level of protection against vapours, gases, mists and particles. The hazmat we use consists of a chemical entry suit with a face piece and self-contained breathing apparatus. There are also heavy boots with steel toes you must wear.’ He glanced at Niamh O’Casey’s feet. ‘We may have your size. Finally, there are chemical-resistant gloves for an additional level of protection. If you would like to begin to get changed now, I will help you as necessary.’
‘No need,’ said Dr O’Casey already planting her legs into the bright yellow trousers of a suit.
‘These are Level A hazmat suits. Selected the make myself after rigorous testing, best on the market.’
Ridpath struggled into the large yellow trousers before fitting the heavy PVC overcoat with its built-in face mask over the top of his head, ensuring the wrists and waist were firmly secured.
Richards, already in his suit, stepped over and gave him a last check, adjusting the angle of the face mask. ‘Just breathe normally and you can fit the earpiece in your ear before you close the hood.’
The security guard was right, the suits were uncomfortable. Even in the dead of a Lancashire winter they were hot and stuffy. Ridpath had to continually resist the urge to scratch his arms and legs as the material itched unbearably. He put the earphone into his left ear.
Niamh O’Casey’s voice came in immediately. ‘The sound is voice activated. Speak normally and I will be able to hear you.’
‘Right, okay.’
‘Don’t shout, speak normally. The oxygen system gives us twenty minutes of working time inside the biohazard facility.’
‘What if we can’t finish by then.’
‘Make sure you do finish.’
After one last check by Mr Richards, Ridpath heard his voice through the system. ‘Right, you’re ready to go.’
Ridpath could taste the metallic tang of the oxygen, hearing the sound echo through the suit as he breathed in and out.
Behind him Niamh O’Casey had already finished dressing. She looked exactly like a preternaturally thriving Pokemon.
Richards’ voice was in Ridpath’s ear again.
‘Just a last run-through on safety protocols. The suits are positively pressurised so even if they are damaged, hazardous material cannot enter, but I would advise you to leave the area immediately if you do damage the suit. Secondly, breathe normally, there is enough air in the system for twenty minutes and finally—’
‘Let’s go and stop wasting time,’ interrupted Niamh O’Casey.
Richards opened the door to the biohazard facility. Inside, everything was clean and tidy, looking exactly like any other building in the TRACE facility. The one difference was the padlocked metal door with a large wheel in the centre.
‘That’s the entrance to the airlock and decontamination chamber before we enter the biohazard store.’
‘Why aren’t the bodies incinerated like all other bio-waste?’ asked Ridpath. His voice sounded strongly Mancunian in his ear.
‘Sometimes researchers want to retain the animals in case they need to re-test them again.’
‘And this was the case with Genepro?’
‘I don’t know, they never said.’
Wearing the heavy gloves, he fumbled for the right key, finally selecting the correct one on his chain. He unlocked the padlock, turning the wheel clockwise and lifting the locking lever.
The door swung open slowly, white mist drifting out of the entrance. Even through the suit, Ridpath could feel the bitter cold of the air.
‘We keep this storage area at a constant minus five degrees.’
‘Just like a Manchester summer,’ said Dr O’Casey.
As the mist cleared, another door similar to the first was revealed.
‘We’ll stay in here for five minutes as our suits are being disinfected from tiny aerosols set in the ceiling.’ Richards pointed upwards, revealing a steady stream of a thin, blue vapour. ‘The same procedure will be followed as we exit.’
‘Where is the delivery stored?’ asked Niamh O’Casey.
Richards checked his log details. ‘Palette 5, Stack 2. It’s on the left against the far wall.’
They stood there for five minutes, not saying a word to each other. Ridpath began to tap his fingers against the side of his hazmat suit. His throat was dry and he was desperate for a long cool drink of water. Then he realised he’d better not think of water. ‘What happens if you want to go to the toilet in one of these things?’
The answer came from Richards. ‘Hold it.’
He could swear Dr O’Casey was smiling broadly behind her glass face mask.
Richards took out a different key and unlocked the second door.
‘Are we ready?’
‘Ready,’ answered Dr O’Casey.
‘Ready,’ croaked Ridpath.
Richards turned the wheel, the door swung open and another cloud of cold air bellowed from inside the storage room.
Through the glass of the face mask, Ridpath could see paletted containers of various colours and materials; blue, white and purple bins, red square tins, large black barrels and grey cardboard boxes. All were shrink-wrapped in plastic and had bright yellow biohazard stickers prominently displayed.
He could hear his breathing become faster.
Richards beckoned them forward and closed the door as they stood in the room, turning the metal wheel in the centre.
‘Are you locking us in?’ asked Ridpath.
‘Protocol,’ was the one-word answer.
His rate of breathing increased even more.
Shivers ran down his spine as he followed Richards down to the far wall. Either it was the cold air or it was the knowledge untold diseases, poisons, pathogens, viruses and bacteria were contained in these crates.
He didn’t know which and he didn’t care. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Niamh O’Casey on the other hand, seemed to be in her element, staring all around her, checking all the labels attached to each pallet.
‘You have a treasure trove of research here, Mr Richards. I noticed a bin with a label saying it contained a rhesus macaque infected with bubonic plague.’
‘That would be from Oxford. They are researching a vaccine against the plague. They only started sending us their animals six months ago.’
Another shiver went down Ridpath’s spine.
Richards finally stopped in front of two pallets on the floor. ‘These are the Genepro deliveries.’
On each pallet, a blue plastic container about four feet long and shaped like a miniature coffin was shrink-wrapped and stickered in at least four places with the yellow biohazard marker.
‘We’d better get started,’ said Dr O’Casey, ‘no time to waste.’
‘I urge you not to open these containers, we should contact Genepro first to discover what is inside.’
‘No,’ said Ridpath, ‘I don’t want anyone in Genepro to know what we are doing.’
‘Your log says they contain pigs, Mr Richards,’ said Dr O’Casey.
‘But what did the pigs die from? You shouldn’t open these containers.’
‘These are approved hazmat suits?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then we should be safe. But Ridpath, if you want I could take them to a secure facility at my lab and X-ray them first?’
‘How long would it take, Niamh?’
‘That’s the first time you haven’t called me Dr O’Casey and you pronounced my name correctly. But to answer your question, about a week to organise the secure transportation and prepare the lab.’
‘We don’t have the time. Particularly as there might just be pigs inside.’
Dr O’Casey looked around her. ‘The safest place to open these is here. It is biosecure after all.’
‘If you are opening the container, I am not going to stay.’
‘Suit yourself, Mr Richards, please go ahead, Niamh.’
‘There it is again, music to my ears, Ridpath.’
‘Please do not open it.’
Dr O’Casey took a scalpel from her bag and cut through the plastic wrap surrounding the first blue container.
Richards spluttered and stamped his foot, before shouting, ‘I’m leaving, I’ve told you not to do it, you don’t know what it contains.’
He strode back towards the entrance, almost running in the hurry to get out of the building. He turned the wheel on the door, took one glance back at them, opened it and fled through. Ridpath watched as the wheel turned anticlockwise as if by magic, locking them in.
‘Ye man seems a bit worried, you still want me to go ahead?’
‘It has to be done.’
‘Famous last words, Ridpath.’ She held the scalpel close to the seal on the side of the container and with one swift stroke cut it.
She reached into her bag and produced a pair of forceps. ‘I usually use these to spread the rib bones during a post-mortem, but they’ll work for a lid as well. You still sure you want me to proceed?’
Ridpath felt his mouth go even dryer. Of course, he wasn’t sure. Was this the right thing to do? Should he have waited? What happened if there was only a pig inside, but a pig infected with an unknown pathogen?
He nodded anyway. They had to know now, not in a week.
Niamh O’Casey stepped forward, hooking the forceps under the lid and applying pressure upwards. ‘Well, here goes. At least whatever’s inside will be frozen.’
Her words didn’t comfort Ridpath very much. Actually, they didn’t comfort him at all.
‘A little more pressure. It is like opening the sixth and seventh ribs…’
Before she could finish the sentence, the black lid popped off and slid slowly onto the pallet.
They both leant forward to look inside.
‘Would you believe that?’ Dr O’Casey said after a moment of silence.
Chapter FIFTY-FIVE
Harold Lardner banged on the door of the cell.
‘Mr Francis, I need to see the psychiatrist now. I need to see Dr Mansell.’
The guard ambled over to Cell 23. ‘What is it, Harold? You know you’re all supposed to stay in your rooms till lunchtime. Just read a book.’
‘But I need to see the psychiatrist, Mr Francis, I’m having flashbacks.’
‘Relax, Lardner. Your appointment with him is this afternoon at four, wait until then.’
‘But I can’t wait. The flashbacks are getting worse. Please, Mr Francis, ask if he’ll see me before noon.’
‘I think you should ring the doctor, Alan.’ Harrison appeared out of nowhere. ‘He’s sounding agitated. Don’t want another person topping themselves, do we?’
‘But it’s my lunch break at noon, Bob.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll take him for you. I’ll bring him back before my shift finishes.’
‘If you think it’s a good idea, Bob.’
‘I do.’
‘Even if I ring Mansell, he might not see him.’
‘Please ask him. Tell him I’ve read his book and have a few comments.’
Mr Francis stood outside the cell wondering what to do. Lardner was an important patient in the hospital. The deputy governor had made it clear he was to receive special attention. If he didn’t tell Dr Mansell and something happened, he would be for the high jump. But if it was all a waste of time, the doctor would be reporting him. What to do? His thoughts were interrupted by Lardner again.
‘I have to see him this morning, Mr Francis, it won’t take long, promise.’
‘I’ll take him, Alan,’ said Harrison.
The guard remembered something his old boss in the army had told him long ago: ‘Remember, the motto of the Army is CYA, Alan.’
‘CYA?’
‘Cover your arse. If there is a problem, cover your arse. If there isn’t a problem, cover your arse. And if something looks like it might possibly become a problem in the future, what do you do?’
‘Cover your arse.’
‘Remember these words of wisdom and you’ll go far.’
The advice had given him a twenty-two-year career in the army but, even though he was out now, he still found it useful.
He picked up the phone on his desk and dialled the doctor’s number. ‘Morning, Dr Mansell, Harold Lardner has been banging on his cell door, shouting he wants to see you urgently.’
‘Has he had his medication?’
‘This morning at the usual time.’
‘So he should be fine.’
‘He says he keeps getting flashbacks.’
‘Perfectly normal in a patient with PTSD. Tell him to use the meditation techniques I taught him.’
It was obvious the doctor didn’t want to see Lardner.
‘He also said something about reading a book and having comments…’
‘Did he?’ The doctor’s voice brightened on the other end of the phone. ‘I suppose I could make time at noon.’
He looked across at his colleague. ‘Mr Harrison will bring him at that time, doctor.’
The line went dead. The guard ambled over to Lardner’s cell and banged on the door. ‘He’ll see you at noon.’
‘Thank you, Mr Francis, I won’t forget this.’
‘Just doing my job. Mr Harrison will take you.’
‘What was that, Mr Francis?’
‘Nothing. Just keep quiet and don’t disturb the other patients.’
‘No problem.’
Inside his cell, Harold Lardner had a broad smile plastered on his face.
It had started.
Chapter FIFTY-SIX
They looked down into the open mouth of the containment coffin. Inside was another clear vinyl sheet.
‘Shall I cut it?’
Ridpath paused for a moment.
‘Shall I cut it?’ repeated Dr O’Casey.
‘Go ahead,’ he finally said.
She sliced through the vinyl sheet and peered inside.
‘There appears to be another plastic bag.’
She moved slightly back to allow Ridpath to look. Both of them stared inside the containment coffin.
It was the doctor who spoke first. ‘Doesn’t look like a pig to me.’
Ridpath didn’t answer.
‘If I was a betting woman, which I am, I’d say that was the top of somebody’s head.’ She shone her torch inside trying to get the light in as deep as possible. ‘A male, I’d say. From the grey hair, an older male.’
Ridpath snapped out of his torpor. ‘We need to get a scene of crime team down here as soon as possible.’
‘Do you want to open the second one now?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t want to destroy any more possible evidence. Can you put the lid back on?’
She did as she was asked. ‘You’ll need a specialised team, one with experience and training in handling biohazard material.’
‘I’ve heard of biohazard crime scene clean-ups but not biohazard investigations. I’ll check if we have one or if we have to bring in help from an outside force like the Met.’
‘I’ll hang around if that’s okay with you, I want to be here when they pull this man from inside the container. I presume I will be doing the post-mortem with Dr Schofield?’
‘I’ll clear it with the Lancashire coroner. I’ll leave one of the Didsbury sergeants with you.’ Ridpath moved to run his fingers through his hair, but stopped short realising he was still in the suit. ‘What a nightmare.’
‘What are you going to do next?’
‘Well the first thing to do is to get out of this bloody suit, it itches like mad and I’m starting to feel cold.’
He walked towards the now closed door and stopped suddenly, looking for a handle or an exit bar.
Nothing.
‘How the bloody hell do we get out of here?’
A crackle on the radio mike in his helmet before Richards’ voice came through. ‘Give me a second DI Ridpath, the door is a bit stuck.’
Ridpath glanced across at Niamh O’Casey. She was staring up at the ceiling. He looked down at her hands and the fingers were crossed. Had they omitted to tell him something before they went in?
The door was still not opening.
‘Mr Richards, what’s happening?’ A note of tension in her voice.
‘Just a second,’ came the reply.
Still no movement from the door.
Ridpath suddenly started to feel very cold. He thought about Andy Golding’s body, frozen for four years. Had he been kept here? He heard his breathing becoming faster and shallower. ‘Mr Richards, what’s happening?’
He glanced across at Niamh O’Casey. Through her helmet visor, she looked concerned. She stopped what she was doing and strode over to join him at the door. ‘Open the airlock now, Richards,’ she ordered.
‘Just a minute.’
Through their earphones, they heard the sounds of the man grunting.
‘It seems to be stuck.’
Niamh O’Casey stared at Ridpath. ‘Richards, we only have ten minutes left on our oxygen, you’d better get us out of here.’
