Rat Runners by Oisin McGann Page A

him, so Brundle went out less. Here, what’s a health officer doin’ investigatin’ a death, then?”
    “It’s a regulatory requirement, because of the circumstances of the death,” Manikin replied. “I’m not really at liberty to give out any details. I do need to know who was in contact with Doctor Brundle. Who was this boy? A friend of Brundle’s? A relative? Why was he living alone? Why wasn’t he in school?”
    “Think he was a charity case,” Mrs. Caper said helpfully. “Just some kid. Think he was homeless before Brundle took him in. So, was our friendly neighborhood scientist doin’ some dodgy experiments then, eh? That why you’re here?” The woman gave Manikin an exaggerated conspiratorial look. “I can keep a secret. Was it summink dangerous? I saw in his door a couple of times, when I went up to tell ’im stuff—he had all sorts of stuff in there. Gadgets … tools … chemicals . I mind me own business, but he was up to some strangeness, I’ll be bound.”
    “I’m not at liberty to say,” Manikin said again. “Tell me more about this young man. Did he have a name? Can you describe him to me?”
    “Didn’t get his name. He didn’t talk much. He was about thirteen, fourteen, fifteen or sixteen or so, maybe a bit older. Normally wore a hat, but his hair was cut short. Not sure of the color. Average-looking. Not too tall, but not short either. He a suspect, is he? The police haven’t been around here yet, askin’ any questions. Brundle get his ticket punched, did he? Someone do him in?”
    “It’s under investigation.” Manikin pretended to enter the anonymous kid’s details on her console, as if they might be helpful. “Was he pale or dark?”
    “Pale. But not really white.”
    “Eye color?”
    “No, don’t know. Why’s this important?” Mrs. Caper was looking increasingly frustrated with her visitor’s refusal to share any scandal, twisting her mousy brown hair and narrowing her eyes. Manikin needed to ensure her cooperation.
    “It’s very important that I learn who was in contact with Doctor Brundle in the days before he died. It’s the only way we can hope to trace the source of the contamin—” Manikin pulled herself up short and her expression turned to one of embarrassment.
    “The source?” Mrs. Caper said. “The source of what?”
    Manikin’s apparent embarrassment quickly worked itself into a state of distress. “I … I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Nobody’s supposed to know.” She leaned forward, speaking in a lower, more urgent voice, vulnerability showing in her eyes. “If I tell you, do you promise to keep this to yourself? I’m … I’m still new in this job. I could get in terrible trouble.”
    “It’ll be safe with me, love.”
    Manikin shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, pausing for effect and to play on her host’s burning curiosity. She was very good at lying, but you had to choose the right time for it. Lies had a tendency to get out of control if not used with care.
    “Doctor Brundle contracted an infection, and we believe it was this that killed him. We don’t know where he picked it up, but we don’t believe there is any immediate risk to the other residents in the building, as it can only be passed by direct contact—person to person.”
    “What was it?” Mrs. Caper asked in a tone of morbid fascination. “That killed him, I mean. What was the infection?”
    “FX syndrome,” Manikin whispered. “It gets up your nose and causes a rot in your brain. It’s commonly associated with people who work with keyboards and pick their noses. If you don’t catch it early, the damage is irreversible.”
    “That sounds horrible.”
    “It is,” Manikin assured her. “So you can see, we need to track down everyone Doctor Brundle has had contact with in the last few days. It’s the only way we can trace the source of the contamination, and find anybody else who might have it, before they can pass it on. I’d be particularly