Chapter 10

‘Detective Chief Inspector Nash,’ Dr Fendt said, shaking hands. His voice was hushed. ‘I’m sorry to call you this early, but we have a potential situation.’

Nash rubbed his eyes and nodded. Despite being woken at five thirty, he was impeccably dressed, but longing for a cup of coffee. ‘This is Sergeant Renshaw. Walk me through it.’

The doctor shook hands with Phil Renshaw and indicated chairs in a vacant visitor’s room while he talked. ‘A family of four were brought in overnight. Only three are symptomatic—severe vomiting, fever and internal bleeding. All three are in the ICU now.’

‘The message I received implied that you suspect poisoning. What makes you think that?’

‘When they were brought in, we thought it was just food poisoning, but the markers flagged higher than that. It’s not behaving like anything we’ve seen. There was talk of unnatural transmission.’

‘Unnatural how?’

‘We took bloods, but while we were waiting for them to be rushed through,  they all started vomiting blood—the daughter first. Because the mother seemed the most resilient, I decided to do an emergency laparoscopy.’ He rubbed his hand through his hair. ‘I’ve got to tell you, inspector Nash, I’ve never seen anything like it—and this thing’s aggressive.’

‘Go on.’

‘I had trouble getting the camera down. The throat and larynx had eroded, and I had to force the lens through the swelling. I needed to see what was going on, and it was clear that this lady was in serious trouble.’

Dr Fendt looked uncomfortable, but Nash was pleased to read sympathy as well as a level of professional interest at the presentation of something out of the norm. He carried on with his explanation, and it was clear that he saw the patients as human beings rather than test subjects. ‘What I found was shocking. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a miracle she’s hanging on. The state of necrotic breakdown was advanced.’

‘Are you saying she had sepsis? I’m not a doctor, so you’ll have to explain,’ Nash said.

‘All the major organs, including the heart, liver and lungs, were in the final stages of necrosis. There was no way this woman should have been walking around  twelve hours ago.’

‘Layman’s terms, please, doctor.’

‘Her insides were as rotten as in a three-week-old corpse.’

‘Jesus,’ Renshaw said.

Dr Fendt looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, that was unprofessional. We’re fighting to save three lives, but in all honesty, there’s no coming back from this. The children are having laparoscopies now, but I’m certain they’ll show the same level of damage. I need to prepare the father for the worst.’ Dr Fendt looked like the kind of man who could perform a heart transplant with one hand and stir his tea with the other.

‘What do you think it is?’ Nash didn’t expect an answer.

‘The closest guess we have is Colchicine poisoning. We’ve taken a biopsy of the lungs and liver, they are blackened and coated in decay with the appearance of a sheen of black oil. They liquefied in the space of a few hours. There’s a medication called Colchicine that would cause a similar effect, but to a lesser degree—it’s used very carefully for the treatment of gout. But even so, to react so quickly seems impossible. We’re testing specifically for this drug, and I’m expecting the results any minute now. However, it would take massive doses to cause anything near this, and even then, I don’t know that it’s possible to administer enough.’

‘Administered? You’re saying this couldn’t have happened accidentally?’ Renshaw said.

Nash already knew the answer.

‘In my professional opinion, I’d say that would be impossible. Public Health’s been looped in. And there’s a flag on the family’s records.’

Nash felt something shift in his gut and remembered Conrad Snow’s warning:

It’s not food. It’s family.

‘Shit,’ Nash said. ‘The husband?’

Dr Fendt shook his head and looked away. ‘I couldn’t say. I can give you temperatures, blood pressure and treatments, but I’m afraid accusations are on your side of the fence, inspector.’ Nash didn’t need a tox report to tell him something insidious had crept into that house.

The doctor looked exhausted, but Nash guessed he wouldn’t be leaving for home any time soon, even though nothing could be done to save them. Nash was about to shake the doctor’s hand and let him get back to his patients when there was a tap on the door, and an orderly handed him a folder.

Dr Fendt thanked him and smiled. He waited for the door to close before opening the file. He scanned the test results and looked perplexed. ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he said.

‘What?’ Renshaw asked, leaning forward to see.

Nash waited, studying the doctor’s face as he read the results. You couldn’t rush these things. They’d be told the findings when Fendt was ready.

‘Clear of all toxins and known poisons.’

‘What does that mean?’ Renshaw asked

‘There are trace elements of Aspirin in the boy’s blood, but other than that, nothing. No Colchicine, or anything else. But that’s impossible.’

‘Where does that leave us?’ Nash asked.

‘Up the proverbial creek, inspector.’

Nash and Renshaw left the hospital soon after. They didn’t interview James McAlister, and Nash agreed that he should be with his family, but only under strict observation. He’d introduced himself to James and said he’d need to speak to him at some point. McAlister was the prime suspect, though they had no idea of what. However, as he looked at the man, all Nash saw was a broken husband and father preparing to say goodbye to his entire family.

When they got back, the incident room buzzed to life as the team trickled in. They came with coffees in hand and were reasonably alert. Brown flipped through early case notes, and Norton leaned against the window, reading the faxed pathology updates that made no sense on paper.

Bowes stared at his laptop as if it had offended him.

‘Family of four,’ Nash said, cutting through the room as he entered. ‘Willow Crescent. Two kids in ICU. Not expected to make it. Mother deteriorating fast. Father untouched. There is no known poison in their systems and no indication of airborne toxins. At this stage, we have no idea if there’s a crime to be answered—but I’ll tell you something, guys, I hope there is a simple explanation. Because trust me, if this is another new virus, you don’t want to catch it.’

He slapped the folder on the desk and pointed at Brown. ‘This thing eats you alive in twenty-four hours. Molly, I want you to get a warrant and have eyes on the house. See if forensics can pull anything—traces, irritants, even bloody mould spores. Have a look around, and see what they keep under the sink and in the garden shed.’

‘Sir,’ Brown said, casting a look at Norton.

‘Lawson, dig into the family. Any history of domestic calls, disputes, social services flags. Norton get onto the MOD. Break down any doors you need to and speak to the right people. Go through DCS Lewis to gain favour, and get the Chief Commissioner to grant clearance. See if they’ve heard of anything more widespread.’

Keeley raised an eyebrow, and Nash was pleased she didn’t bother scoring points off Brown. ‘Are we thinking biological agent?’ she asked.

‘We’re not thinking anything yet,’ Nash said. ‘But by Christ, we’re going to be ready if it is. At this stage, Dr Fendt is leaning towards it being a virus, and God help us if he’s right.’

‘So why have we been brought in?’ Brown asked.

‘Precaution. If it looks suspicious and walks like a suspicious duck, it needs investigating.’

‘And if Bob Fendt is wrong? Who’d target a family with kids?’ Bowes glanced at Norton to see if she was looking at him. She wasn’t.

Nash didn’t answer.

It’s not food. It’s family.

 The rest of the morning was busy, and they had to go back to the hospital that afternoon. Nash took his time making contact and stood back, observing.

James McAlister stood outside the isolation unit with a plastic cup of coffee. Nash had questioned the nurses and was told he hadn’t slept, and time must be moving like an oil slick for him. All three members of his family were barely alive.

Beyond the reinforced glass, Nash could see Alison lying beneath a cluster of tubes and wires. Her face was slack. A nurse adjusted the drip, and the machine beside her beeped, steady, but offering no comfort. Millie and Aaron were vanishing, one cell at a time.

If James had turned around, he’d have seen them, maybe he did from their reflections in the glass, but he didn’t move.

His son and daughter were in the same room. Dr Fendt saw no reason to separate them. Millie was unconscious, and Aaron had already been intubated.

James looked like a man waking from a nightmare. There was a police officer nearby. Not hovering—but carefully positioned. He was respectful, watching. They hadn’t said it, but McAlister knew. Nash saw it in his demeanour. They were deciding whether he was a grieving husband or something else, and the husband got it without the need for words.

Mr Fendt was a consultant. He wore a suit under his white coat and should have been addressed with the higher-ranking title of Mister. ‘But everybody calls me, Doc. I prefer it actually. Or just call me, Bob. That works, too,’ he laughed.

He strode down the corridor, flashing his ID at the guarding officer. He was a man in his mid-forties with a sensible build, and he was calm in a way that said he usually walked into chaos without blinking. But he was humble. He’d been working on the McAlisters for over eighteen hours and wouldn’t quit. Nash didn’t think he’d even taken a break. He made eye contact with James, then extended a hand and introduced Nash and Renshaw, even though they’d already met.

‘What’s happening. Why aren’t you doing anything?’

‘Hi James. To put you in the picture, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Nash, and this is Sergeant Renshaw. I’ve been assigned to your case,’ Nash said. He made a point of calling it a case. Not an incident or accident. A case.

James took the hand and nodded. ‘You think this was deliberate?’

‘We aren’t drawing any conclusions. But the hospital flagged it as an unknown variable. When three members of a family collapse overnight with unexplained symptoms—and one doesn’t, you must understand that it raises questions.’

Poking the bear didn’t cause an aggressive reaction. James spread his hands in supplication. ‘Anything. Please inspector. Ask me anything that will help my family.’

Nash thought back to when Max was suspected of murder and his gut had screamed at him that he’d been innocent. This man seemed just as open, but then so did half a dozen murderers that he’d put away.

James spoke lower than Nash expected. ‘I didn’t pass anything on, I can’t have. We ate the same food. It was just an ordinary night.’

Nash nodded. ‘That’s why we’re here. We have to get to the bottom of this. We need to find out what happened so we can leave you in peace with your family.’

James looked past him to the consultant. ‘Is there any change?’

‘We’re looking into every possibility. But at this point, James, as soon as the staff have finished, I want you to be with your family. If there’s anything you want to say to them, now is the time to say it.’ He patted James’ shoulder and then adopted a businesslike tone. They’ll finish their tests soon, and you can go back in.’ He glanced at Nash for confirmation.

 Nash spoke softly to James. ‘Just so we’re clear, James.  Until we know what happened here, we have to treat it as suspicious. We always start with the next of kin, but that doesn’t mean for a second that the buck stops with you. We’re going to cover every angle.’

‘I understand that, inspector. I want to help.’ 

‘With that in mind, I need to ask you—has anyone had contact with the family recently? Visitors? Deliveries? Anybody out of the ordinary?’

James shook his head. ‘No. Nothing stands out. Everything’s been normal; work, school, a takeaway treat on Friday nights.’

Everything was normal.

Until it wasn’t.

 

Xion Island Carrier is book 6 in the DCI Nash series. They're all on KU. Hush Hush Honeysuckle is Book One, and this is the Amazon link.

https://books2read.com/u/4EB0zg