Chapter Thirty
The revelation that there was no threat in the attack, no danger from the radioactive substance unless some poor soul actually swallowed it, was almost as dramatic as the equivalent bad news would have been.
One minute this had been a dose that could ‘kill a million’, the next it was perfectly safe unless you ate it.
On saying his last word – appropriately, ‘irradiated’ – Dr Gregson had sat back down, his bottom landing on Melody’s mobile. Before the scientist could be moved, he turned to Edward and said: ‘I think that went rather well, don’t you?’
Edward responded: ‘In news we call that “burying the lead”. Would you mind if I reached for my phone?’
People were moving around the church now, talking excitedly, and before the scientist could shift, or even realize what he had been asked to do, he was collared by an eager young couple in matching teal scarves who appeared in front of him with big, white-toothed grins.
‘What wonderful news! We were on the seafront at the time of the attack and we were wondering about testing ourselves. You can get a cheap Geiger counter on ,’ the woman said.
Dr Gregson put in: ‘Ah. That won’t work, I’m afraid. A Geiger counter measures becquerels not grays. You would need a blood test for that.’
The eager man said, ‘Thank God that’s not necessary!’
Beside Edward, the scientist suddenly yelled, ‘Yowsers!’ and jumped up, exposing the mobile phone on the wooden pew seat below him. It was buzzing against the dark wood. Edward took the phone and saw a messge:
CALL WENDY WRIGLEY ON THIS NUMBER.
Edward pressed ‘escape’ to remove the alert.
Could she not wait a few more days? This was the busiest period of his professional life.
Surely she would understand? The attack on Toppings was overwhelming.
His brain snagged on that single word again – could they call it ‘an attack’ now that the science said it was not?
And if what happened at the pizza parlour was not an attack, then what the hell was it?
What possible reason would any man have, sane or insane, to travel with those capsules?
If the pizza parlour was not the target, and the crash a genuine accident, what was he doing moving around a quiet Devon seaside town with enough radioactive material to kill – No, wait, he thought.
If the remaining ampoule had the capacity to kill a million people, and his bike had shed twenty of them, that could have taken out half the country. What the hell could be the reason?
Edward shook his head: how would they ever find the answers to these questions?
The phone rang again. Around him was a throng of locals wanting to ask the scientist questions.
Dr Gregson was retreating. Edward wanted to reach out and grab the man’s brown jacket to get his attention – wasn’t he at the front of the queue for follow-up questions? – but the phone vibrated insistently.
He answered.
‘Edward, it’s Wendy. I got this number from your friend Kim. I’m so sorry, but you didn’t reply to my text.’
‘Which one?’
‘A minute ago, the one saying call me.’ Her voice had a strange quality, almost an absence of any telephonic hiss or purr, as if it was coming through on an internet-quality connection.
‘I didn’t see it.’
She was, as always, polite. But for once her voice was insistent. ‘You looked down at your phone and shook your head and deleted it.’
‘You saw?’
‘I was five rows behind you. I could hardly miss you, arriving late like that.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Can you feel a person touching your elbow? That’s me.’