by Ken McClure
‘Nice and thick,’ said Bannerman. ‘This will do perfectly.’
Bannerman closed the door and saw that Shona was smiling broadly. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘That poor man was obviously wondering what we were up to,’ said Shona.
‘Really?’ said Bannerman. He turned and looked at the closed door, wondering if the clerk was outside listening. ‘Use the polystyrene!’ he said suddenly in a loud voice suffused with mock passion.
Shona had to cover her mouth.
‘Now the ice! Oh God yes, the ice!’ ‘More polystyrene! My God that’s wonderful.’ Bannerman moved around the room feigning the sounds of sexual ecstasy while Shona collapsed on the bed in fits of laughter. ‘You’re crazy!’
‘Not usually,’ said Bannerman, suddenly serious. ‘I think it comes with being happy.’
Shona got up and came over to him. Then long may you be crazy,’ she said softly. She reached up to kiss him.
‘Mind my nose,’ said Bannerman.
Bannerman fashioned the polystyrene packing into a container for the sheep samples and packed ice around it before sealing the package with adhesive tape. ‘Perfect,’ he said, admiring his handiwork. That just leaves Mrs Turnbull to deal with, then we can have a nice quiet dinner, a good night’s sleep and we’re off to Edinburgh.’
‘From what you’ve said, she’s not going to be very pleased to see you,’ said Shona.
Bannerman nodded and said, ‘I think I’ll try getting Angus MacLeod to approach her first. She was very upset yesterday but I’m sure she’ll be calmer today.’ He called MacLeod and asked for his help.
‘Are you going to try to persuade her that her husband’s body should be handed over for post-mortem?’ asked MacLeod.
‘No I’m not,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Apart from anything else, that would be accusing her of complicity in its removal. I just want to ask her a few questions. I promise I won’t upset her and there will be no mention of post-mortems.’
‘Then I’ll do my best,’ said MacLeod.
‘There’s one more thing Angus,’ said Bannerman.
‘What?’
Bannerman told him about the infected sheep which had escaped destruction in the lime pit. ‘Do you think you could make discreet enquiries to see if any more sheep “escaped” from Inverladdie and quietly warn people off?’
MacLeod said that he would.
Ten minutes later MacLeod called back. He said, ‘Julie Turnbull has agreed to talk to you. I will hold you to your promise not to upset her.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Bannerman. ‘When can I see her?’
‘Seven-thirty this evening.’
‘Her address?’
MacLeod read it out and Bannerman copied it down. ‘I’m grateful to you,’ he said.
‘Just don’t upset her,’ said MacLeod.
Bannerman left the hotel, assuring Shona that he shouldn’t be any longer than half an hour. He had dressed casually, hoping that this might help dispel Julie Turnbull’s initial impression of him as a ghoul, hell-bent on stealing her husband’s brain. Shona had suggested that a suit and tie might be deemed more respectful but Bannerman decided that Julie would have seen enough black ties in the last twenty-four hours. He wore a sweater, slacks and a leather jerkin.
Bannerman followed MacLeod’s directions and found the house in a quiet street three blocks north of the primary school where Julie worked. The blinds were half drawn. There was an air of nearness and order about the place, an air which extended to others in the row with one exception. The house which stood three doors away from the Turnbull’s cottage had two wrecked cars in its drive. Its garden was unkempt and a motor cycle with its back wheel missing was propped up against the front wall. There’s always one,’ thought Bannerman.
Julie Turnbull was wearing black. Her face was pale and her eyes were ringed with redness. She took a pace back to indicate that Bannerman should come in but didn’t say anything until they were in the living-room. ‘I really didn’t want to see you Dr Bannerman but Dr MacLeod persuaded me that I should.’
‘I’m grateful to you, Mrs Turnbull,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Please believe me when I say that you have my deepest sympathy. I met your husband on several occasions when I was last here and I liked him a lot.’
‘What is it you want to know?’ asked Julie Turnbull.
‘I want to know if Colin knew any of the other men who died recently in Achnagelloch and Stobmor.’
‘He knew the man who worked at the garage. Colin had his car serviced there.’
‘Were they close friends?’
‘No.’
‘How about the men from Inverladdie Farm?’
‘He didn’t know them at all.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘He may have known them to nod to in the street, but no better than that,’ said Julie. ‘He steered clear of sheep farmers whenever he could.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Colin was a clever man, Dr Bannerman. He worked as a labourer but he had a good brain. He was bored by constant talk of sheep. He resented the fact that so much of the life of the town revolved around sheep and sheep farming. I think that’s what made him decide to do a part-time degree. It exercised his mind. It gave him the stimulation he needed.’
Bannerman nodded. He asked, ‘Did you and Colin ever eat apart?’
Julie Turnbull’s face registered surprise at the question. She half shrugged her shoulders in bewilderment and said, ‘No, not that I can think of, except for lunch of course.’
‘Lunch?’
‘Colin took sandwiches to the quarry.’
‘Who made them?’
‘Me. What are you suggesting Doctor? That Colin was killed by something he ate?’
Bannerman was reluctant to commit himself to a straight answer. He said, ‘Mrs Turnbull it’s important that I establish certain details about Colin’s diet over the past two weeks or so. Please bear with me.’
‘What details?’ asked Julie Turnbull.
‘Sheep products in particular. Mutton, lamb.’
‘That’s easy, none.’
‘None?’
‘Colin disliked sheep meat. He never ate it at all.’
‘Never?’ repeated Bannerman, feeling failure descend on him like a lead yoke.
‘Never.’
‘Does this mean that Colin was vegetarian?’
‘No. He liked nothing better than a good steak. He simply didn’t like mutton or lamb.’
Bannerman tried desperately to think of another way that Turnbull could have contracted the disease. He knew he would probably not have another chance to question Julie Turnbull. He asked a broad general question, ‘Did anything change about Colin’s lifestyle in the past two to three weeks? Did he do anything out of the ordinary or different?’
Julie shook her head slowly as she considered. ‘No, I don’t think so, except for the geological survey of course.’
‘Tell me about that,’ said Bannerman.
‘He’s been doing geology for his degree. He thought he would impress Mr van Gelder if he carried out a survey of the land in the surrounding area.’
‘I remember him saying something about that the last time I saw him,’ said Bannerman. ‘He was hoping for a better job with the company.’
‘That’s right,’ replied Julie. She paused as she considered that this would not now ever happen.
‘When did he do this Mrs Turnbull?’
‘At the weekends.’
‘Was he out last weekend?’ Julie Turnbull nodded.
‘Do you know where?’
Julie shook her head but she got up and went over to a writing desk to open the drawer. She pulled out a series of charts and said, These are Colin’s notes on his work.’
‘May I borrow them?’
Julie handed them over without saying anything.
Bannerman got up to go. He thanked Julie, offered his sympathy again and said, ‘I’ll see that these are returned to you.’
>
‘How did it go?’ asked Shona when Bannerman got back to the hotel.
‘Not good,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Turnbull never ate mutton or lamb. He didn’t like it.’
‘What rotten luck,’ said Shona. ‘Just as it all seemed to fit together.’
Bannerman smiled wryly and said, ‘That’s the way it goes.’
‘Perhaps he ate it without knowing?’
‘How?’
‘In a stew or a curry or something.’
Bannerman hadn’t considered that possibility but he dismissed it after a little thought. Turnbull ate nothing but what his wife cooked except for lunch-times when he ate sandwiches prepared by her. She wouldn’t have given him something he didn’t like.’
‘I suppose not,’ agreed Shona. ‘Maybe a restaurant meal she forgot about?’
‘If infected meat had been served in a restaurant there would have been lots of cases,’ said Bannerman.
‘So how did he get it?’ asked Shona.
‘I wish to hell I knew.’
FIFTEEN
Bannerman and Shona were sitting in the hotel bar just after ten o’clock when the barman came over to say that Banner-man’s car had been bumped in the car-park by a leaving customer. He didn’t think the damage was great but would he mind taking a look? The driver concerned was waiting for him in the car-park.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Bannerman. The hire company will have me black-listed if this goes on.’
‘Don’t lose your temper,’ cautioned Shona with a smile.
‘Won’t be long,’ said Bannerman.
He walked round to the hotel car-park and over to his car. The car-park wasn’t well lit — a single lamp was mounted on the back wall of the hotel — but he should have been able to see anyone waiting there. There was no sign. He took a look round the car for signs of damage and failed to see anything. After a second inspection he thought he detected a small scrape on the rear bumper but when he bent down to touch it he found that it disappeared when he rubbed it; it was dirt. He stood up and took another look around the car-park; it remained silent and empty.
Bannerman shrugged his shoulders and decided that the man must have left when he saw that there were no real signs of damage after all. Modern plastic bumpers could take much more in the way of impact than the old metal ones without showing signs of damage. He started to walk back up the lane leading to the front of the hotel when, suddenly, he was gripped from behind and pushed hard up against the wall of the building. His broken nose came into contact with the rough stone and he let out a yelp of pain. Tears welled up in his eyes. ‘Where is Colin Turnbull’s body?’ rasped a voice behind him.
‘I’ve no idea,’ gasped Bannerman, as he fought against having his arms twisted up his back.
‘You were told that Julie Turnbull didn’t want the body interfered with, weren’t you?’ said the voice. The statement was punctuated with another painful jerk on his arms. ‘But that wasn’t good enough for you was it?’
Bannerman let out a gasp of pain and tried to lean forward to take some of the pressure off his shoulder sockets. As he did so a knee came up and caught him between the legs. He cried out and the grip on him was relaxed, allowing him to fall to the ground.
‘Where is the body?’ repeated the voice.
Bannerman thought he recognized it despite the fact that the man was angry and rasping rather than speaking. He turned over and saw his attackers. There were two of them. Mitchell, the security chief, and one of the two power workers who had been plaguing his life. ‘You should bloody know!’ he replied through his pain.
‘What does that mean?’ demanded Mitchell, drawing back his foot as if to kick Bannerman on the ground. Bannerman curled up defensively. When the kick wasn’t delivered he said, ‘What’s this pantomime all about Mitchell? Your lot took it away last night. How do you think I got a face like this?’
Mitchell took a closer look at Bannerman’s face and saw the black eyes and damage to his nose. He seemed lost for words for a moment. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t have Turnbull’s body removed for pathology?’ he said.
‘Of course I didn’t,’ gasped Bannerman. ‘And you were the only ones interested in preventing me doing that. You have interfered with my work here through every step of the way because you imagine I’m trying to close you down, so what is all this crap about me taking the body?’
‘We haven’t got it,’ said Mitchell. ‘Jesus,’ gasped Bannerman, overloaded with pain and frustration. ‘I don’t believe this place …’ ‘Who else would want it?’ said Mitchell. ‘You,’ accused Bannerman. ‘Why do you keep saying that?’ demanded Mitchell. ‘Julie Turnbull didn’t want you quacks getting your hands on Colin. We’re just seeing that her wishes are respected.’
‘Like hell you are,’ rasped Bannerman. The power worker, the man Bannerman had the run in with in the hotel washroom on the previous evening, moved as if to strike him but Mitchell put out a restraining hand.
Bannerman looked up at the man and said, ‘All the sheep aren’t on the hills are they Mitchell?’
The insult proved too much for the power worker who lashed out with his foot and caught Bannerman in the solar plexus.
Bannerman brought up the contents of his stomach and curled up in agony. Through his pain he heard Mitchell berate the man then turn his attention back to him. ‘If it’s any comfort Doctor,’ he said, ‘I believe you. Perhaps you will believe me when I say that … we haven’t got it either.’ The men left, leaving Bannerman lying on the cobbles.
Bannerman got to his knees and paused for a moment with one hand against the wall of the hotel. He could hear the engine of an approaching car. It slowed and turned into the lane leading from the main street to the hotel car-park. As its headlights swung round they caught him in their glare and the car came to a halt. Bannerman shielded his eyes and heard a car door being slammed as the driver got out.
‘My dear Doctor. What on earth happened?’ asked a friendly voice. It was Joop van Gelder.
‘I was mugged,’ replied Bannerman.
‘This is awful,’ exclaimed van Gelder. ‘Are you hurt badly? Can you stand? Let’s get you inside and then I’ll call the police.’
‘No, no police,’ said Bannerman.
‘But …’
‘Really, no police. It’s personal. Just leave it.’
‘Personal?’ exclaimed van Gelder. ‘You mean you know who did this to you?’
‘Just give me a hand up will you.’
Van Gelder helped Bannerman to his feet and supported him on one side, up the lane leading to the front of the hotel. As they passed the Dutchman’s car, Bannerman saw that there was a man sitting in the front passenger seat. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, alarm bells started ringing in his head. He felt sure that he knew the man but in his present state he couldn’t think clearly enough to put a name to him.
Shona came rushing over as soon as he was through the front door. ‘I was just coming to find you. Just look at you! What happened?’
‘Let’s say there was a misunderstanding over the fate of Colin Turnbull’s body,’ said Bannerman.
‘Come upstairs. Can you manage?’ Shona took over from van Gelder and helped Bannerman upstairs. Van Gelder called after them, ‘I still think you should let me call the police.’
‘No,’ said Bannerman. Thanks for your assistance.’
Shona closed the room door and said, Tell me. What happened out there?’
‘It was Mitchell from the power station and one of his pet monkeys. They thought I had stolen Turnbull’s body to carry out an autopsy.’
They thought you had taken the body?’ exclaimed Shona. ‘But you were sure that they had taken it!’
That’s about the size of it,’ agreed Bannerman, holding his stomach. ‘What hurts most?’ asked Shona. ‘I’d rather not say,’ said Bannerman. Shona smiled sympathetically. She said, ‘You don’t believe in taking the easy way do you Ian?’
‘Character-build
ing stuff,’ said Bannerman through gritted teeth.
‘So who did take the body, and why?’ asked Shona.
‘An embarrassing question,’ said Bannerman.
‘Embarrassing?’
‘Because I haven’t a clue.’
Bannerman changed out of his soiled clothes and cleaned himself up. Shona helped by applying cotton wool soaked in antiseptic to some new superficial cuts and grazes.
‘Will you be fit enough to travel in the morning?’ asked Shona.
‘Yes … if you’ll drive?’
‘Don’t I always?’ said Shona.
Bannerman smiled. It turned out to be more of a grimace.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Brandy.’
‘Large?’
‘Enormous … and Shona?’
‘Yes?’
‘If you get the chance, try to find out who van Gelder was with this evening, will you?’
‘Still playing detective?’ smiled Shona.
‘Not for much longer,’ said Bannerman. ‘But I feel sure I know the man who was sitting in his car. I just can’t place him and it’s bothering me.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Shona.
Shona left the room and Bannerman got to his feet to walk slowly round the room. His aches and pains were beginning to subside and the question of who had taken the body was now uppermost in his mind. Julie Turnbull could not have known about it or she would have raised hell at their meeting, unless, of course, she had arranged it! That seemed to be the most likely explanation. Julie Turnbull had arranged for her husband’s body to be removed from the hospital for safety. Perhaps he should let sleeping dogs lie. His first priority was to get the infected sheep brain to Munro in Edinburgh. Searching for Turnbull’s body would only delay matters. He and Shona would set off for Edinburgh first thing in the morning. Events in Stobmor could take their natural course.
Shona returned with the brandy and the information that the man with van Gelder was his son, Peter.
‘His son?’ exclaimed Bannerman. ‘I asked the barman,’ said Shona. Then I must have been mistaken,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ve never met his son.’
‘Good looking chap. How are you feeling?’