The Hunt and the Kill Page 34

  ‘No.’ His voice was resigned. ‘That woman knew what she was bloody doing.’

  ‘But there might be … ’ Casey looked at him despairingly. ‘Why? Why did you do it all?’

  He made a weak gesture. ‘Don’t you see? I had to … ’

  The words ebbed as Casey showed him her phone. ‘I’m calling the police … Paramedics. They’ll help.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s no point.’

  She ignored him, dialling the emergency number.

  They responded in clipped, cool tones. Ambulance, yes. Police, yes. Right away, ma’am.

  She turned back to Bailey.

  He was dying, she could see that now.

  ‘They’ll be too late,’ he said, almost pleased.

  ‘Let me help you.’

  ‘No. Don’t you touch me.’

  ‘But why?’ The words burst out of Casey. ‘Why did you do it?’

  He stared up at her for a long time. Then he almost nodded, his tongue passing over dry lips.

  ‘I did it because we don’t need Corax—’

  ‘But we do,’ Casey interrupted, unable to let him carry on. ‘There are people out there dying right now who would live if they could use Corax. One girl, she had cystic fibrosis … ’

  ‘No.’ Casey was surprised by the strength in Bailey’s voice. Somehow, he was pushing himself upright, leaving a smear of blood on the floor. ‘You’re not listening. We don’t need Corax yet.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Casey stared down at him in disgust.

  ‘I was protecting it,’ he hissed. ‘I was keeping it safe.’

  ‘But we need it right now.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘We don’t. We still have antibiotics we can use for now. But one day – not that long away – we will need Corax.’

  ‘What?’ Casey shook her head. ‘That doesn’t … ’

  ‘One day, there will be millions and millions of people dying.’ Professor Jalali’s words echoed in Casey’s head as Bailey spoke. ‘Antibiotic resistance will make coronavirus or Aids or cancer look like a walk in the park. And that is when the world will need Corax. Not now.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You do. You just don’t want to. From the very minute that someone takes the first dose of Corax, bacteria will start trying to find a way round it. It will take a few years, a few decades maybe, because Corax is the best antibiotic … But the bacteria will find a way in the end. If I kept it back, it would buy more time in the future.’

  ‘That doesn’t … ’

  ‘Why do you think I kept the information at my house and not in the office?’ Bailey gritted his teeth, agony in his eyes. ‘If the Adsero board knew about it, they would get it out there at once. Get the profits surging in. I’d planned to tell them I was working on something after today’s interview, but not … ’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Think of a child on Christmas Day.’ Bailey sounded weaker. ‘If he has thirteen presents already, he’ll barely notice the fourteenth. But if you hold it back … ’

  ‘All those people,’ Casey murmured. ‘You killed all those people.’

  ‘It was to save the lives of millions,’ said Bailey. ‘Millions of people will live because five or six died now.’

  ‘But … you had Ed killed.’

  ‘I had to scare you off.’

  ‘And you killed Finlay Black,’ Casey said furiously. ‘You took his heart.’

  ‘Who could I trust?’ murmured Bailey. ‘Who could I trust to keep Corax hidden? Corax is my lifetime’s work. My gift to the world. It was my duty to stay alive for as long as possible.’

  There was a fanatical glow in his eyes now.

  ‘You did a whole trial,’ said Casey. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I knew everything about Finlay Black.’ Bailey’s mouth twisted. ‘Except for what his wife did for a living. I should have checked that.’

  ‘It’s how you’ve always worked, isn’t it?’ said Casey. ‘Hold back this drug. Hold back that medicine. It’s worth people dying so that you can carry on with your research. Keep the prices high, because the research is so crucial … ’

  ‘The end justifies the means?’ Bailey looked up at her. ‘I think you understand that.’

  The runaway train hurtling down the hill …

  ‘Flora Ashcroft couldn’t wait,’ said Casey. ‘She died waiting for that drug. And the babies in St Agnes. Those tiny babies … ’

  But Bailey’s breath was slower now, his eyes glazing over. ‘Tell … ’

  The words were lost. Casey leaned nearer. ‘What? What do you want me to say?’

  Close to, Bailey smelled of blood: metallic and animal all at once. In the far distance, Casey thought she could hear the howl of the ambulance.

  In time for Zac, she thought. Just in time. But not for Bailey.

  ‘Tell Garrick,’ Bailey whispered. ‘There’s a file … upstairs … For him.’

  ‘You’ll be able to tell him yourself.’

  ‘And tell Loelia … ’ Bailey smiled, his eyes moving past Casey. ‘Tell Loelia that I always loved her. That I was stupid, but I loved her always.’

  ‘Hang on, Elias. Stay with me.’ Now she remembered with a surge of adrenalin. ‘The Corax, Elias. I need it. I need it for Miranda.’

  Bailey had turned his head away. ‘She wasn’t given anything,’ he said. ‘I just wanted you to … ’

  Relief, a wave breaking.

  ‘You bastard.’

  Something like a smile. ‘I would never have given you a dose of Corax anyway.’ His eyes were closing. ‘I would never have let it out of my sight.’

  ‘So Miranda is safe?’

  ‘You’ll write your story now,’ he murmured. ‘About me. In all its grim details.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I will.’

  ‘Make sure you get that prat Drummond in,’ he said bitterly.

  ‘No,’ said Casey, because it didn’t matter any more, ‘I won’t. We promised that we wouldn’t.’

  A gleam of teeth. ‘I recorded that bloody conversation in Wrocław too,’ he gasped, getting the words out one at a time. ‘I always record meetings with sodding politicians. My secretary has the tape, and she’ll know what to do with it. That bastard.’

  And Casey laughed out loud, the sound strange in the echoing house.

  Bailey’s eyes were on the hammered gold of the chandelier. It glittered in the sunlight, sending a thousand diamond glints dancing around the room.

  ‘So beautiful,’ said Bailey.

  ‘Yes.’

  His eyes were closing now. ‘I don’t think Garrick believed me,’ Bailey murmured, ‘when I told him I … ’

  The sirens were outside the house now. Casey heard a vehicle screech to a halt.

  ‘Stay with me, Elias. You’re not going to die.’

  ‘I am.’ For a moment, he smiled. ‘Oh, I am. That woman … That woman was aiming for her husband’s heart.’

  74

  Blue flashes seemed to fill the house. The sirens howled through the front door until it seemed as if the very house was screaming.

  Zac managed to smile at Casey as she sprinted down the stairs towards him, throwing herself to the ground next to him.

  ‘Zac? Zac, are you all right?’

  ‘Not really.’ A cautious grin. ‘But I’m not going to die either.’

  ‘Yes, do try not to.’

  She quickly told him what Bailey had said as paramedics flooded the room.

  ‘I suppose it’s what they have to believe,’ Zac murmured. ‘That it’s their right to control these drugs … ’

  His voice faded away.

  Thou shalt not kill …

  Unless.

  ‘He was quite used to choosing,’ said Casey, ‘who lives and who dies.’

  Zac was gazing towards the sea. The curtains were whispering in the breeze.

  ‘Is he dead?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Casey said. ‘He’s dead.’

  Zac’s eyes shifted to her fa
ce. ‘You love the hunt,’ he murmured, ‘but you hate the kill.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You’ll write the truth now?’ It took a lot of his concentration to look straight at her, she noticed.

  ‘Something like that.’ She took his hand, managed to smile. ‘A part of it, anyway.’

  ‘I think I’ll go back to being a doctor.’ The corners of his mouth lifted. ‘A bit more chilled out than this.’

  ‘You’ll be great,’ she said. ‘You’ll be brilliant.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  And a moment later, the paramedics scooped him up and rushed him away.

  As the ambulance cornered away around the smiling cupid, Garrick appeared in the doorway. Out of breath, eyes wild. Behind him, the bodyguards hovered, as if already sensing they were no longer needed.

  ‘Where is he?’

  Casey’s eyes went to the small group up in the gallery. Even as Garrick glanced up, Casey could see the defeated body language of the paramedics. One was pulling off his mask, turning away.

  ‘No!’ Garrick screamed. ‘No.’

  He ran up the stairs, racing around the gallery until he was held back by two policemen. ‘We’re sorry, sir.’ The compassion was polite. ‘You can’t go that way. Not this minute.’

  Casey thought about Delphine Black, wandering down the drive. The police storming up alongside her, wrestling her into handcuffs, forcing her to the ground.

  She walked up the stairs behind Garrick. ‘Come this way, Garrick.’

  He looked around, bewildered by her appearance. ‘You … ’ His mind seemed stuck on the word. ‘You … ’

  He was unable to take her in, mouth slack with confusion. Before the policeman had time to react, she led him up the second staircase, to the office at the top of the house. Tears were running down Garrick’s face, and his shoulders shook.

  ‘My name is Casey,’ she said. ‘I work for the London Post.’

  ‘My father … ’

  ‘I’m sorry, Garrick. I really am.’

  ‘We’ll never … Not now,’ Garrick managed. ‘We’ll never … ’

  They stood in the room, the bright sunlight in squares on the floor. Garrick stared at the rows of grey files, stunned.

  ‘He was my father,’ Garrick said quietly. ‘He called me last night. But I wasn’t sure … I didn’t know if he … ’ He paused, the realisation choking him. ‘I never told him that I loved him.’

  There is forever, Casey thought. And suddenly there is nothing.

  She carried on pacing around the room, then stopped and crouched down, pulling a file from the shelf.

  ‘What’s that?’ Garrick was irritable. ‘I’m … ’

  ‘Fili mi.’ Casey read the back of the file. ‘My son. He labelled it for you, like the file you found before. Open it.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Garrick opened the file and leafed through the pages. He looked up sharply. ‘It’s about Corax.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Garrick sat down on the sofa, clutching the file to his chest. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Bailey wanted you to have it,’ said Casey. ‘He told me, just before he died. You’ll have to decide what happens to Corax, Garrick. You’re the one he entrusted with it.’

  ‘But I don’t understand.’ He was still hugging the file close. ‘How can I … ’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Garrick stared into the distance. From downstairs, Casey could hear official voices making brisk decisions.

  ‘What would you do?’ There was a pleading note in Garrick’s voice. ‘What the hell should I do?’

  ‘It’s Pandora’s Box,’ said Casey.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Out flew disease and misery and evil,’ said Casey. ‘Despair and misery.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And all that was left was hope,’ Casey said. ‘The only thing left was hope.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘So what should I do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Casey, and she almost laughed aloud.

  And then she thought of Flora, waiting and waiting and dying, and her smile was gone.

  Garrick turned towards her, still holding the file. ‘I told him, you know?’ he said. ‘I told him you were investigating him.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘Saepio will be an important drug,’ said Garrick. ‘He did a lot of good. In the middle of all the bad.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And Corax … ’

  ‘Yes.’

  The big French doors leading out to the balcony were unlocked. Casey pulled them open.

  She gripped the chrome railings as the wind roared. The sea pounded against the huge granite boulders, endless and beautiful. Far above her head, a seagull screamed in the wind.

  Another police car was creeping up the drive towards the house. She would have to leave soon, the legal procedures unfolding relentlessly.

  And, in parallel, there would be a blast of stories. Headlines and outrage and big, angry photographs. Lawyers, arguing over every word. PRs, with their pert messages: just so we’re clear. Adsero, cornered, raging back.

  She would transform the hunt and the fear and the chaos into neat little words: black and white and mostly right.

  This is the truth or this is our truth and this is what you should know.

  Half the truth, lost forever.

  But for a moment, it was as if Ed was there.

  Ed, laughing. Ed, smiling down at her. Ed, waiting to say I love you.

  Casey’s eyes filled with tears, and for a moment she let them spill over. The sunlight glittered on the sea, so joyous, and it was as if the ocean was dancing.

  He was gone.

  She rubbed away the tears with her wrists. Moving slowly, she sat down on a bench and typed out a message.

  It’s all over, Miranda. It’s all over, and you’re safe, and I’m coming home.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Zentetra, saepio and Adsero are fictional, as are Corax and Pergamex.

  Drug dumping, including the consignment of antibiotics, was a serious issue for many years. After the flooding in Mozambique in 2000, 2 million ampoules of gentamicin with a shelf-life of four months were sent to the refugee camps. It is believed that most of this donation was destroyed.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ‘Why did you decide to focus on antibiotic resistance?’

  ‘Because it’s going to kill you.’

  It was yet another jolly conversation in a random pub in London, this time with Ronan Doyle, a leading specialist in infectious disease.

  We were out celebrating my brilliant friend Felicity Fitzgerald gaining her second (second!) PhD, and over the course of the evening I ended up in a long discussion about antibiotic resistance with Ronan, who is now based at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine.

  The rest of the conversation was much jollier, but Ronan’s bleak sentence stayed with me. I gradually became fascinated with the whole issue of antibiotic resistance – and eventually that interest turned into The Hunt and The Kill. Naturally, I stole Ronan’s line for Noah Hart.

  As part of my research, I ended up visiting Great Ormond Street, St George’s Hospital in Tooting – where I was lucky enough to meet the brilliant Professor Mike Sharland – and the Public Health England site in Colindale, so I’d like to thank those organisations for allowing me access. I also visited a friend at the Royal Brompton Hospital, who was incredibly generous in explaining life with cystic fibrosis.

  The painting described in early pages of The Hunt and The Kill – Island Collaborations – is a real painting by an artist called Kate Hughes, whose fascinating work was displayed in the Royal Brompton at the time of my visit.

  I was lucky enough to see the work of Neotree – neotree.org – in action during a visit to Harare. Neotree is focused on harnessing technology to reduce newborn deaths in low-income countries, with
a group of brilliant doctors and scientists working in extremely complex environments.

  Life has changed in a hundred different ways since I wrote To The Lions, the first book in this series. The Pearce family – I can’t name them all, this book is quite long enough already – have been especially wonderful, particularly Andy Pearce, Emma Faraday, Eleanor and Jessie, and Oscar and Evie Beamish (I know that is a confusing list of names given they’re all coming under the ‘Pearce family’ category, but there we go). I feel that if I can survive Storm Francis in a tent, I can survive most things the Pearces throw at me.

  A huge thank you to my lovely new Devon friends, especially Alex and Bertie Readhead, Nishanthi Silva and James Goodhand, Tess and Rory Hardick, Charlie Llewellyn and so many others.

  Thank you in particular to James for reading this book before publication despite his very busy work at the RD&E – and flagging up some of the more egregious errors. Thank you, Flic, for reading it too. Both of these eminent doctors would like to make it clear that the remaining mistakes are very definitely all mine.

  I wrote most of The Hunt and The Kill in early 2020, as the world changed with the most extraordinary speed. I knew that this book was due to be published in the summer of 2021, and eventually – with the help of my wonderful editor at Bloomsbury, Alison Hennessey – we had to try and guess where the world would ‘be’ by 2021. As I write these acknowledgements at the beginning of 2021, it is starting to look as if I was over-optimistic. Still. I am glad I approached the pandemic with optimism. It kept me going.

  The usual thanks to the usual suspects. Sarah Mahmud, Jasmine Miller, Laura Millar, Cressida Pollock, Laura Roberts, Alex Marrache: you all continue to be fab. Collette Lyons and Paul Vlitos, now better known as Ellery Lloyd: it’s been an utter joy watching People Like Her triumph. Claire Newell and Robert Winnett: thanks for being great. Alice Ross: thank you for general uplifting. Hooray too for Team VHS and the Author Support Group – Francesca Hornak and Kate Kingsley. Thank you to Vanessa and Harty for being the most fabulous fun in Mauritius. Justine Moxham and Toby Darbyshire, you’ve continued to entertain me and fill my life with pink plastic horror. As I write this list, it seems absolutely bizarre that I haven’t even seen most of you since the pandemic began, although in Toby’s case, that’s definitely an improvement.