by Ken McClure
‘Very,’ replied Bannerman.
Bannerman phoned Morag Napier from upstairs. She sounded very subdued when she answered, saying, ‘I didn’t realize you were back.’
‘Last night,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’m sorry about Gill.’
‘He was a nice man,’ said Morag.
‘I’ve just been down to the animal lab,’ said Bannerman. The mice that Gill inoculated are looking very sick. I think they should be killed soon and brain samples sent to Hector Munro’s lab.’
‘Did you find out anything about the deaths while you were up north?’ asked Morag.
‘Very little, but I think the mice results will tell us for sure. I’m going to kill them tomorrow.’
‘Would you like me to do it?’ asked Morag.
‘Are you coming back soon?’ asked Bannerman.
‘I’ll be in tomorrow,’ said Morag.
‘Why don’t we both do it. We’ll be able to get the samples to Munro’s lab, by lunch-time and I thought we could make a few microscope preps for ourselves? If we see evidence of degenerative disease we’ll virtually have the answer. Munro’s people can fill in the technical details about incubation times and infectivity titres later.’
‘Very good,’ said Morag. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Bannerman called Milne at the Medical Research Council to say that he was back in Edinburgh and to give a progress report.
After initial pleasantries Milne asked Bannerman how the investigation was going.
‘Before he died Lawrence Gill inoculated some experimental mice with brain material taken from the three men who died. I’m going to kill them tomorrow, if they’re not already dead, and give the brains to Hector Munro for full Scrapie testing. That should prove beyond all doubt whether or not the men died of Scrapie and we can get started on characterizing the agent fully. The circumstantial evidence that Scrapie was involved is already overwhelming.’
‘Is there anything we can do at our end?’
‘You can arrange for radioactivity monitoring along the foreshore of Inverladdie Farm. I tried to do it myself but I ran into some opposition.’
‘Opposition?’
‘I was seen as a threat to jobs in the area.’
‘No violence I hope?’
‘A little,’ said Bannerman. ‘My car was vandalized and somebody took pot shots at me on the beach.’
‘Good God, Bannerman. You’ve had an exciting time.’
‘I managed to monitor the boundary ground between Inverladdie and the nuclear station and it was clear, but there is a chance that contamination came in from the sea further along the shore. If so, that might have caused the sheep virus to mutate.’
There has been no further incidence of brain disease in the area I take it?’
‘None,’ agreed Bannerman.
‘So there’s a chance that this may have been a single isolated incident which may never happen again,’ said Milne.
‘It’s possible,’ agreed Bannerman, thinking that it was also possible that the new virus had already been spread to every corner of the country and was waiting to infect new flocks before slipping through the food chain to the Sunday lunch tables of the land. He had a mental picture of a crow on the wing, its beak dripping with blood from the sheep carcass it had just gorged itself on.
‘I’ll ask Allison to brief the Health and Safety Executive. They’ll carry out a full inspection,’ said Milne.
‘What about Gill’s death?’ asked Bannerman.
‘Not much to report I’m afraid. I understand from Allison that the only lead they have is a description of the man who called at the post office in Cairnish pretending he was Gill, and it wasn’t particularly helpful.’
‘Not a one-legged Chinaman with a scar?’ said Bannerman.
‘Afraid not. Quite tall, medium build, fairish, good-looking, and the post mistress thought he had some kind of an accent but she couldn’t place it.’
‘As you say, not much to go on,’ agreed Bannerman.
‘What are your plans after tomorrow?’ asked Milne.
‘Once I’ve got the brain samples off to Munro and done the microscopy I’ll return to London and get back to work at the hospital while we wait for the results.’
‘We’re very grateful to you Doctor,’ said Milne.
‘What is Mr Allison saying to all this?’ asked Bannerman.
‘I think the official line is to treat this whole affair as an isolated incident.’
‘It’s a bit early to conclude that,’ said Bannerman. ‘And if it should turn out that the men died of Scrapie, we will have to face up to the fact that the disease can pass to man.’
‘Mr Allison and his colleagues are taking the view that if a mutated Scrapie virus is to blame then it is no longer a Scrapie virus.’
That is outrageous!’ said Bannerman.
‘I think we must be positive Doctor, not alarmist. You said yourself that Scrapie has been around for a long time. If it had caused trouble before we would have been aware of it.’
‘Not necessarily,’ argued Bannerman. The reason you were carrying out the brain disease survey in the first place was because we have no real idea of its incidence in the population. A few deaths here and there don’t get noticed. It’s only when you know what you are looking for that things become clear.’
‘I don’t think we can realistically destroy our farming industry on the basis of a few unclassified deaths here and there which may or may not have been due to infected animals. Do you?’ asked Milne.
‘I don’t think we should cover it up either,’ said Bannerman.
Milne said, ‘Mr Allison has assured me that generous government funds will be made immediately available to investigate brain disease in the population.’
‘Right after you tell them what they want to hear,’ mumbled Bannerman under his breath.
‘Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that,’ said Milne.
‘It wasn’t important,’ said Bannerman with resignation.
‘Perhaps you would like to apply for an MRC project grant for your own department to carry out some of the work?’ said Milne.
Bannerman closed his eyes and kept rein on his tongue. ‘Perhaps,’ he said and put down the phone.
Bannerman was still in a bad mood when Shona arrived back at the apartment early evening.
‘Bad day?’ she asked, noticing Bannerman’s preoccupation.
‘You could say that,’ he smiled. ‘How about you?’
‘Oh, so-so,’ said Shona. ‘I seem to have spent most of my day listening to former friends speak of nothing but babies and mortgages and what Roger or Harry likes for his tea. They used to be interesting people!’ complained Shona. ‘Whatever happened to them?’,
The Age Fairy,’ said Bannerman.
The what?’
‘I have a theory. One night we go to bed and the Age Fairy comes and taps us on the shoulder. When we wake up we’re old and boring.’
Shona smiled and asked, ‘At what age does this Age Fairy come to call?’
‘No set age,’ replied Bannerman. ‘It can happen to some people when they’re in their twenties or in some cases not even by their sixties.’
‘Dare I ask …?’
‘I woke up one night and saw it there,’ said Bannerman. ‘It scared me.’
‘But it didn’t touch you. I can tell,’ said Shona.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Bannerman.
‘What made your day so bad?’ asked Shona.
‘Dealing with the establishment.’
‘What do you mean, “the establishment”?’ asked Shona.
‘People with power. The people who run things in this country. Sometimes their behaviour is little short of downright dishonest.’
‘Never,’ said Shona sarcastically.
Bannerman looked at her and said, ‘Oh I know it’s popular to suggest that everyone in power is corrupt and self-seeking but I never really believed it. A few maybe, but I thought that basically, truth, honesty and
integrity prevailed and operated in our best interests.’
‘And now you don’t?’
‘It’s what they perceive to be in our best interests that worries me,’ said Bannerman.
‘Such disillusionment calls for large quantities of medicinal alcohol,’ said Shona. ‘It’s my last night. Let me buy you a drink?’
‘No, no,’ protested Bannerman. ‘I’m indebted to you for driving me down here. I don’t think I could have made it otherwise. I insist on taking you out to dinner, unless you’ve made other arrangements?’
Shona smiled and said, ‘No, no other arrangements.’
Shona and Bannerman were on the verge of leaving the apartment; Bannerman was checking his pocket for the keys, when the doorbell rang. ‘Who on earth …’he muttered, pulling open the door. Lawrence Gill’s wife was standing there.
The department gave me your address; I hope you don’t mind, I understand you were the one who found Lawrence’s body?’
‘Er, yes, that’s so Mrs Gill and I’m very sorry, you have my deepest sympathy. I was actually going to come and see you before I left …’
Vera Gill was obviously waiting to be asked inside and Bannerman was acutely aware that Shona was standing just to the left of the door in the hallway. He felt embarrassed. ‘I was just on the point of going out,’ he said, uncomfortably aware of how callous he must appear.
‘I just wanted to know something about the place where he died,’ said Vera Gill. ‘I know it must sound silly but I’d like you to describe it to me, so I could picture it in my mind.’
‘Hello Vera,’ said Shona quietly coming out from behind Bannerman.
‘You!’ exclaimed Vera Gill, her eyes filling with suspicion. ‘What the … Oh I see, you’ve lost Lawrence, you’re after him now!’
‘Nothing like that,’ said Shona, with what Bannerman thought was admirable calmness. ‘It’s true I was once in love with your husband and I did have an affair with him, but that was many years ago. Lawrence did not run away to be with me. He didn’t leave you Vera; he loved you; that’s why he broke it off with me.’
Vera Gill stared wild-eyed at Shona and said, ‘Lying bitch! He was overheard on the phone making arrangements to come to you just before he disappeared!’
Bannerman tensed himself, preparing to intervene between the two women should it become necessary.
‘He did phone,’ said Shona, ‘and he did come to the island, but it was because he wanted a place to hide! Lawrence didn’t leave you Vera. He ran away because he was frightened. He was in great danger.’
‘Frightened? Danger?’ scoffed Vera Gill. ‘What rubbish!’
‘It’s true,’ said Bannerman. ‘Your husband thought someone was trying to kill him.’
Vera Gill’s initial anger subsided and was replaced by confusion. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Lawrence was a doctor, why would anyone want to kill him?’
‘You had better come in Mrs Gill,’ said Bannerman, putting an arm round Vera Gill’s shoulders and guiding her gently inside. Shona went to the kitchen to make tea.
‘When your husband disappeared, Mrs Gill, he was looking into the deaths of three farm workers. We think that he found out something about their deaths that someone else was prepared to kill to keep secret. Somehow Lawrence knew that his life was in danger, so he contacted Shona and asked for her help in providing him with a place to hide out for a while.’
Vera Gill took a moment or two to digest what she’d heard and to consider the implications. Making an obvious effort to control her emotions, she said, ‘Are you saying that my husband’s death was not an accident?’
‘Lawrence fell to his death from the cliffs on Barasay Mrs GUI. That’s what we know for sure, but we have reason to think that he may have been pushed. We have no proof of this but the authorities are aware of our suspicions and will investigate.’
Shona came back into the room carrying tea on a tray. Vera Gill accepted a cup with a look that signalled peace between the two women. She sipped it slowly and deliberately, her eyes betraying that her mind was still reeling. ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,’ she said, half apologetically. ‘Lawrence didn’t leave me after all.’
‘No he didn’t,’ said Shona.
‘Who told you about your husband’s call to Shona?’ asked Bannerman. ‘Morag Napier.’ Bannerman nodded.
By the time she had finished her tea Vera Gill had regained her composure and was ready to leave. She thanked Bannerman and Shona and even shook hands with them both, although she diverted her eyes when taking Shona’s hand.
Shona let out a long sigh when Bannerman returned from seeing Vera Gill to the door. ‘I didn’t reckon on that,’ she said.
‘Me neither,’ agreed Bannerman. ‘I thought you said that it was you who broke up the affair with Gill?’
‘It was,’ said Shona.
‘You’re a nice person.’
‘Can we eat?’
The confrontation with Vera Gill put a bit of a damper on the evening for Bannerman and Shona. Up until Vera’s arrival it had seemed that the pair of them might be able to forget the deaths for a while to relax and enjoy each other’s company, but now the subject of Gill’s death and those of the men of Inverladdie was again uppermost in their minds.
‘Have you still no idea at all why Lawrence was murdered?’ asked Shona.
‘I’ve thought about it a lot,’ said Bannerman. ‘But I end up going round in the same circles. Gill was desperate to send off the package which we presume contained the missing, infected brains. From what he told you, he thought he would be safe as soon as that happened. That must mean that whoever received the package would know all there was to know about the deaths. It was addressed to the MRC, so presumably he meant the MRC to analyse them. But he’d already sent samples of the brains to the MRC! And they had already been analysed! We knew about the Scrapie involvement!’
‘And he knew that you knew,’ added Shona.
‘Exactly,’ said Bannerman.
‘So there must have been something else in the brains that wouldn’t have appeared on the slides,’ suggested Shona. ‘Something else that he wanted you to know about.’
‘Like what?’ said Bannerman slowly. He was addressing the question to himself.
‘If radiation had caused the virus to change, would that show up in the brain samples?’ asked Shona.
‘No,’ replied Bannerman, shaking his head. ‘No it wouldn’t.’ Did that mean that any connection between the nuclear industry and Gill’s death could be discounted? he wondered.
‘So the people at the power station would have nothing to gain by stopping any further analysis on the brains?’ said Shona as if she had read Bannerman’s mind.
‘Agreed,’ said Bannerman.
‘I think you’re up against something much bigger than a few bully-boy workers afraid for their jobs,’ said Shona.
Bannerman who suddenly felt afraid said, ‘I think you’re right.’
Shona put her hand on top of Bannerman’s and said, ‘It’ll be out of your hands after tomorrow. You can go back to your hospital and this will all be just a bad dream.’
Bannerman looked at her and gave a little nod. ‘It’s not all been such a bad dream,’ he said. ‘Some of it has been very nice.’ He took Shona’s hand and held it to his lips.
‘Come on,’ said Shona softly, ‘drink up, andlet’s go home.’
In the morning Bannerman drove Shona to the station where she would catch the train to Inverness, on the first leg of her journey home. He found himself very reluctant to say goodbye and insisted on seeing her on to the platform where they stopped by an open carriage door.
‘I can’t thank you enough for driving me down,’ said Bannerman.
‘It was nothing,’ said Shona. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve been in Edinburgh and it was nice to see how my friends were getting on.’
‘I’ve enjoyed being with you,’ said Bannerman, his eyes saying more than the awkward words.
‘I’ve enjoyed it too,’ said Shona. ‘I wish you luck.’
‘You too,’ said Bannerman. ‘Safe journey.’ Shona climbed on board as the guard blew his whistle and doors began to slam along the line. ‘Keep in touch. Let me know what happens.’
I will,’ said Bannerman. He waved as the train slid away from the platform and waited until it was out of sight. Feeling strangely vulnerable, he turned and walked to his car. The last time he had felt like this was, he recalled, when he had been fourteen years old and a holiday romance in the Lake District had come to an end.
As he walked up the hill out of the station he felt full of impotent anger; it was directed at himself. Why hadn’t he said what he felt to Shona instead of coming out with guarded little phrases that were designed not to leave him exposed. Fear of rejection? Reluctance to make a fool of himself? He had wanted to tell Shona that for whatever reason — and he didn’t understand it himself- he felt hopelessly attracted to her and wanted to see her again. But he couldn’t do that could he? That would be totally out of keeping with his job, his circumstances and his age.
Bannerman got into the car and drove away without looking behind him. A red saloon announced its presence with a long blast on its horn. ‘Shit!’ said Bannerman, thumping down on both feet on brake and clutch and getting an agonizing reminder from his left knee that it would rather he didn’t do that too often. He raised his hand in apology to the driver of the red car and shrugged off the tirade of abuse he saw being mouthed.
As he neared the medical school, the traffic came to a halt in a long queue. The road up ahead for some reason had been reduced to a single carriageway and police were controlling the traffic flow. After a wait of three or four minutes the line started to move and Bannerman could see that several fire engines and police cars were parked outside the medical school quadrangle. Hoses snaked across the ground and firemen in yellow waterproof trousers were reeling them in. He signalled his intention to turn into the car-park but a policeman waved him past. He had to park nearly a quarter of a mile away and walk back.
Bannerman showed his ID to the policeman at the entrance who requested it. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘Nasty fire, sir,’ replied the officer. ‘Bloody lunatics.’ The policeman moved away to stop a car that looked as if it might be turning into the quadrangle.