Crisis

by Ken McClure

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘They obviously didn’t want me poking around that area of Inverladdie Farm.’

  ‘Because it’s contaminated with radioactivity?’ said Shona.

  ‘I suppose so,’ agreed Bannerman. ‘But the truth is that I had found no evidence of that at all.’

  ‘What if you had?’ asked Shona.

  ‘I would have reported it to the authorities and presumably action would have been taken.’

  The station would be closed?’

  ‘I suppose that’s a possibility.’

  ‘Then it’s not difficult to see who wouldn’t want that,’ said Shona.

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Bannerman, with an attempt at a smile. ‘Half the workforce of Achnagelloch for a start.’

  ‘But finding radiation wouldn’t have cleared up the mystery of the cause of the men’s deaths would it?’ asked Shona.

  ‘No. I need the results of lab tests in Edinburgh for that, but if I’d found radiation then almost certainly that would have been specified as the cause for a mutation occurring in the virus.’

  ‘It seems that someone is going to extraordinary lengths to see that the nuclear industry doesn’t get the blame for that.’

  Bannerman shrugged but didn’t say anything. They were both considering whether or not these lengths included murder. ‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Shona.

  ‘I’m going back to Edinburgh. Lawrence Gill inoculated some experimental mice with brain material taken from the dead farm workers.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Shona.

  ‘To grow the infecting agent so that we would have a source of it to test and identify.’

  ‘You’ll be able to tell if it’s a new form of the virus?’

  ‘Yes. We’ll be able to find out everything about it. Its host range, its incubation time, its virulence, everything. It’s important to know your enemy.’

  ‘Will you be fit to drive back to Edinburgh?’ asked Shona.

  Bannerman had been wondering this himself. The thought of changing gear several hundred times with his injured left leg did not fill him with pleasurable anticipation. He moved his knee under the blankets and winced. ‘I’ll manage,’ he said.

  Shona smiled and said, ‘I’ll make a deal with you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If we can go to Inverness first, I’ll do the driving and take you back to Edinburgh.’

  ‘You’re serious?’ said Bannerman.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I want to,’ said Shona. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been in Edinburgh. What do you say?’

  Bannerman didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Of course, if you don’t want my company …’

  ‘Oh no, far from it,’ insisted Bannerman. He took Shona’s hand and said, ‘I think that would be absolutely great and thank you. Apart from that, I understand that I owe you my life.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ scoffed Shona. Tm sure the landlord would have raised the alarm on his own without any prompting from me.’

  Bannerman smiled. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but the fact remains that we’ll never know that for sure. You were the one who did it. Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ smiled Shona. ‘See you in the morning.’

  Bannerman felt his eyelids become heavy. The feeling of warmth, after having been so cold, was still a sensation to be savoured and relished. Angus MacLeod had given him some analgesic for his aches and pains, so they did not interfere with the feeling of well-being which was now being joined by another pleasurable thought; Shona MacLean was just next door.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Shona when Bannerman came down to the dining-room for breakfast. She was wearing a tight-fitting navy blue sweater with a white scarf at her throat and a pair of light blue ski pants. They were the only two guests in the hotel and there was a slight chill about the room at this time in the morning. This was partially off-set by the fact that the weather was bright and sunlight was streaming into the room through French windows. ‘I didn’t think you’d be up for ages yet.’

  ‘Good morning,’ said Bannerman, returning the smile and moving slowly across the floor to join her. ‘I never could lie in bed.’

  ‘Sore?’ Shona asked.

  ‘You name it, it hurts,’ replied Bannerman, easing himself painfully down into a chair.

  ‘Are you sure you want to leave today? Maybe you should take it easy. I can get the bus to Inverness.’

  Bannerman insisted that he felt well enough. There is one problem however,’ he added.

  ‘What?’

  ‘My car. I left it up at Inverladdie Farm yesterday. It’s still there.’

  ‘I could collect it?’ suggested Shona. ‘You don’t look as if you are in any fit state for a hike.’

  ‘Perish the thought,’ said Bannerman, rolling his eyes upwards.

  The phone rang in the hall and they heard the landlord answer it. Bannerman heard his name being mentioned so he wasn’t surprised when the man came into the room and said, That was the police Dr Bannerman. They’re bringing your car down from Inverladdie.’

  That’s good of them,’ said Bannerman. ‘We were just discussing how we were going to deal with that problem.’

  The landlord moved his head uneasily as if embarrassed and said, ‘I think there’s some problem, sir.’ Without waiting to be quizzed on what he meant he made an excuse to leave the room.

  ‘I wonder what that’s all about?’ said Bannerman.

  Shona shrugged her shoulders.

  Bannerman’s car was not driven back from Inverladdie; it was delivered on the back of a police car transporter. When Bannerman and Shona went outside to meet it they could see why. The car’s tyres had been slashed and the bodywork had been defaced by copious amounts of red and black spray paint. There was a message to be extracted from the mess which Bannerman, by leaning his head this way and that, managed to read out a word at a time. Tuck off… bastard … leave … our jobs … alone …’

  Two policemen from an accompanying Panda car came to join Bannerman. ‘Sorry about this Doctor,’ said one of them. ‘If it’s any comfort we’ve got the pair who did it.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘It’s a small place. It didn’t take us long to find out who’s been buying spray paint recently. They still had it on their hands.’

  ‘Who are they?’ asked Bannerman.

  ‘Couple of local lads, Turner and Ferguson. They work at the power station. The story’s been going around that you are trying to close it down.’

  ‘I wonder who started that,’ said Bannerman, thinking of C. J. Mitchell.

  ‘These two cretins thought they would take matters into their own hands, make their own protest so to speak. I take it you’ll be pressing charges?’

  ‘It’s not my car,’ said Bannerman. ‘Ask Hertz.’

  ‘I see, sir, then presumably you won’t want it left here.’

  Bannerman shook his head, looking at the sorry state of the Sierra. He was wondering how far disgruntled workers would go to see off a threat to their jobs. Was that what was behind the shooting up on the shore yesterday? he wondered. ‘I’ll call the car company, Officer, and ask them to deal with it.’

  ‘Very good, sir. It’ll be in the police station yard at Stobmor.’

  Bannerman called the rental company and was pleased to hear that they weren’t at all put out by his tale. Would he like them to deliver another car to him from Inverness? Bannerman consulted Shona and they decided that they would travel down to Inverness by bus and pick up the new car there after Shona had completed her business. ‘I’ll have it waiting,’ said the clerk.

  ‘The bus will be here at ten-thirty,’ volunteered the landlord. ‘If you miss that you’ll be here another day.’

  This was a threat that Bannerman took notice of. He was packed and waiting at the stop with Shona shortly before twenty-five past the hour. Three other people boarded the bus at Achnagelloch bringing
the total aboard to eight. Two more were picked up from outlying farms on the twisting roundabout route the bus followed to reach the A838 before heading south.

  Bannerman collected his new car from the rental company while Shona visited the offices of the people responsible for promoting the craft fair she wanted to participate in. He gave her an hour before driving to the pick up point, where he waited a further fifteen minutes before she appeared.

  ‘How did it go?’ he asked.

  ‘Very well I think,’ said Shona. They’ll let me know by the end of the week.’

  ‘Does that mean you won’t be coming to Edinburgh?’ Bannerman asked.

  ‘Of course I will,’ insisted Shona.

  ‘Good,’ smiled Bannerman, and he meant it.

  They had missed lunch by being on the bus and they had made do with a snack when they finally got to Inverness. Bannerman asked if Shona was hungry or should they make a start and eat on the way south to Edinburgh.

  ‘Let’s get started,’ said Shona. ‘Move over.’ Bannerman relinquished the driving seat to her and settled down to enjoy the journey. He had always preferred being a passenger in a car to driving it. That way he never lost his temper. Thinking about that reminded him that he had forgotten to collect his tape of Gregorian chant from the damaged Sierra in Achnagelloch.

  TEN

  They stopped at Aviemore to eat and chose a restaurant which appeared inviting by virtue of its orange lighting which suggested warmth. Inside, people in ski-wear were bemoaning the fact that there had been no snow. They were complaining about how much money it was costing them to find alternative things to do.

  ‘Last bloody time,’ said one man with a pronounced north of England accent. ‘I could have gone to bloody Zermatt for half of what it cost me to visit bonnie bloody Scotland.’

  ‘Maybe it’ll snow tomorrow, love,’ suggested his wife.

  ‘Piss wi’ bloody rain more like,’ said her husband.

  The general consensus agreed with the husband.

  ‘I’ve not had a single chance to try out my new skis,’ complained another woman clad in what appeared to be a purple-coloured second skin. It clashed violently with her pink lipstick. Sunglasses, perched high up in her hair, seemed as incongruous as sandals in Siberia.

  The northern man leaned towards her and said, ‘I tell you what, love, if that silly bloody tour guide comes round once more with his silly bloody talk about going for a nice walk in the hills, I’ll try out your new skis for you on him … sideways.’

  The skiers laughed and Bannerman noted that the Dunkirk spirit, so beloved by politicians, was still alive and well.

  ‘Do you ski?’ Shona asked.

  Bannerman said not. ‘You?’

  Shona shook her head.

  Despite the fact that it had rained for most of the way and the wind was forcing high-sided vehicles to double-up on the Forth Road Bridge, Bannerman was sorry that the journey was coming to an end. He and Shona had spoken practically non-stop and he had enjoyed every minute of it. There was something about Shona’s philosophy of life which he found intriguing and appealing. On the surface it appeared to be straightforward and uncomplicated — people should do what they want to do. It was only when you considered the difficulties of putting this into practice that the degree of achievement in actually doing it became apparent. As Angus MacLeod had pointed out, people liked to pretend that they were doing things their way, but it was seldom true.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Shona.

  ‘Life,’ smiled Bannerman.

  ‘Life is what happens to you while you’re thinking about it,’ said Shona.

  Bannerman turned his head to look at her. She was concentrating on the road ahead but there was no sign of stress or strain on her face, despite the appalling driving conditions. She seemed vibrantly alive and enjoying every minute of it. What was more, she looked beautiful.

  ‘What are you thinking now?’

  1 was thinking I would have to phone the Medical Research Council in the morning,’ lied Bannerman.

  As they cleared the brow of a hill the darkness ahead was suddenly speckled by a carpet of amber lights in the distance, denoting the outskirts of the city. Shona asked, ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘In the Royal Mile but drive to where you want to go and I can drive from there, really. How long are you staying?’

  ‘I’ll have a wander round tomorrow and look up some old friends. I’ll probably head back the day after tomorrow,’ said Shona.

  ‘You’re not staying with friends then?’ asked Bannerman.

  ‘No.’

  Bannerman felt awkward. He said, ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but the apartment they’ve given me has two bedrooms and if you would care to stay there while you’re here, you’d be most welcome.’

  Shona smiled at Bannerman’s awkwardness, thinking it belonged to another generation. Remembering what Bannerman had said to her on North Uist about the neighbours, she said, ‘Wouldn’t the good people of the university be outraged?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Bannerman.

  ‘Then I accept,’ said Shona.

  ‘Welcome back Doctor,’ said George Stoddart, when had informed Stoddart about the real fate of ‘poor Lawrence’. He was relieved to find, as the conversation progressed, that Stoddart was under the impression that Gill’s death had been an accident. This was good. Stoddart could contribute nothing useful to the investigation. The less he knew the better.

  ‘Such a promising career,’ crooned Stoddart, ‘and all sacrificed on the altar of Venus.’

  Bannerman looked at Stoddart sideways, wondering if he’d heard right. ‘Professor,’ he said, ‘Lawrence Gill’s running off had nothing to do with “Venus”. He did not run off to be with another woman as you all thought.’

  Then why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Most peculiar,’ mumbled Stoddart.

  ‘I don’t see Doctor Napier,’ said Bannerman looking about him.

  ‘No,’ said Stoddart. ‘She took the news of Lawrence’s death very hard I’m afraid. I suggested she have a couple of days off.’

  Damn, thought Bannerman. He had hoped to hear news of the animal experiments from Morag Napier. Now he would have to glean what he could for himself.

  Bannerman was surprised to find the door to the animal lab unlocked. He opened it and knocked gently on the glass portion of the half open door; there was no reply, so he went inside. He followed the sound of music coming from one of the back rooms until he found signs of life. The animal technician on duty was not the same girl that he had seen on his last visit with Morag Napier. This was an older woman and she was carrying out a post-mortem examination on a rabbit. The animal was spread-eagled on a wooden board, its limbs secured to nails at the four corners by strong elastic bands. The first incision had been made, opening the animal from neck to crotch and the technician was presently taking samples of lung tissue. Music was coming from a small portable radio propped up on a corner of the table.

  Bannerman coughed quietly to attract attention.

  The woman dropped the scalpel she had been holding and caught her breath. The instrument bounced off the edge of the table and clattered to the floor. ‘God, you gave me a fright,’ she exclaimed. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name’s Bannerman. We haven’t met.’

  ‘Bannerman?’ repeated the woman, the tone of her voice indicating that the name meant nothing to her. Her whole demeanour suggested fear and uncertainty.

  Bannerman smiled in an effort to put her at ease. ‘From the MRC,’ he said. ‘I’m working on Dr Gill’s project. I’m sorry I startled you.’

  The woman relaxed. ‘My fault,’ she said. The door should have been locked but I forgot again. The Prof will have my hide if he finds out; you won’t tell him will you?’

  Bannerman shook his head. ‘No. Why the preoccupation with locked doors?’

  The animal rights people,’ replied the woman. They’ve been
active around Edinburgh recently.’

  Bannerman watched as the woman used Lysol to swab the areas of the table and floor that the dropped scalpel had come into contact with. She discarded the used swabs in a sterilizer bin.

  ‘Something nasty?’ asked Bannerman, noticing the meticulous care she was taking.

  TB,’ replied the woman. ‘It’s making a come-back in AIDS patients.’

  ‘Why the rabbit?’

  There was some question about this particular patient’s strain being bovine or human in origin so we did a guinea pig and rabbit inoculation. If it’s bovine it’ll infect both, if it’s human it’ll only go for the guinea pig, but I suppose you knew that?’

  ‘If I ever did, I’ve long since forgotten,’ smiled Bannerman. ‘I haven’t come across a case of TB in years.’

  ‘Lots of things are making a come-back in AIDS patients,’ said the woman. ‘People with no immune system are just what a whole lot of bugs have been waiting for.’

  ‘Not a happy thought Miss…?’ said Bannerman.

  ‘Cullen, Lorna Cullen. Have a look at the lungs on this animal. They’re riddled.’

  Bannerman took a closer look and saw the rash of buff coloured nodules over the rabbit’s lungs. ‘I see what you mean.’

  ‘How can I help you, Doctor?’

  ‘Lawrence Gill inoculated some mice before he disappeared. I just wondered how they were getting on. They were up here if I remember rightly,’ said Bannerman, moving to where the relevant mice boxes were on his last visit. He brought down the first one and looked inside. In contrast to the last time when he had seen nothing but healthy animals the two mice inside had lost condition and had little sense of balance or coordination. It was the same story in the other two boxes.

  ‘How are they?’ asked Lorna Cullen, continuing with her post-mortem. The words were muffled by her protective mask.

  ‘Sick.’

  ‘What do you want done with them?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m going to check with the Neuro-biology Unit first to make sure they are prepared to receive samples, then either myself or Morag Napier will kill the animals and remove their brains.’

  ‘Something nasty?’ asked Lorna Cullen, using Bannerman’s own expression.