'He just shook his head and said it probably wasn't important.'
Fenton nodded. That would have been typical of Munro. Although he had been a friend, Neil Munro had been a loner by nature, never keen to confide in anyone unless pressed hard. He himself had not seen much of him over the past few weeks, in fact, since Jenny had moved into the flat, they had seen very little of each other socially although that would have changed when the fishing season had opened in April.
'You've been running the tests on the Saxon Blood Sampler I see,' said Fenton picking up the relevant papers.
'In conjunction with Nigel. He’s been showing us how to use it.'
'Nigel' was Nigel Saxon, the chief sales rep from Saxon Medical who had been attached to the department for the period of the trial. Like most reps, he had a pleasant, outgoing personality which, when combined with a generous nature and the fact that he had the financial clout of being the boss' son, had made him a popular figure in the lab.
'Neil seemed to like the machine,' said Fenton, looking at Munro's intermediate report.
'We all do,' said Susan.
'What's so special about it?'
Susan Daniels opened one of the wall cupboards and took out a handful of what appeared to be plastic spheres. 'These,' she said, 'These are the samplers. They are made out of a special plastic. You just touch them against the patient's skin and they charge by capillary attraction. All you need is a pinprick, no need for venipuncture.'
'But the volume?'
'That's all the machine needs to do the standard values.'
'I'm impressed,' said Fenton. 'What stage are the tests at?'
'They are complete. It just requires the final report to be written up and signed by Dr Tyson,' said Susan.
'Is all the information here?' asked Fenton.
'I've still got the data from the last set of tests in my note-book. I'll bring it up after lunch.'
'I'll come down; I'd like to see the machine working. Anything else I should know?'
'Neil was running some special blood tests for Dr Michaelson in the Metabolic Unit; perhaps you could contact him and have a chat.'
Fenton nodded and made a note on the desk pad. 'Anything else?'
'There are a couple of by-pass operations scheduled for next week Neil was supposed to organise the lab cover.'
Fenton made another note. He looked at his watch and said, 'Why don't you go to lunch? If you think of anything else you can let me know.' He got up as Susan left the room and returned to the window to check on the weather. It had stopped raining.
Fenton pulled up his collar as he felt the icy wind touch his cheek. He decided to give the hospital canteen a miss, knowing that it would still be buzzing with talk of Neil's death and a new day's crop of rumours. Instead, he walked off in the other direction, not at all sure of where he was going. He paused as he came to the entrance to a park and entered to find himself alone beneath the trees. The wide expanse of grass that would be crowded with lunch-time picnic makers in July was, on a cold day in February, utterly deserted.
A bird wrestled a worm from the wet, windswept grass and flew off with it in his beak. That's the awful thing about death, thought Fenton; life goes on as if you had never existed, the ultimate in searing loneliness. He reached the far end of the park and let the iron gate clang shut behind him as he returned to the street and paused to look for inspiration. He saw the beckoning sign of the 'Croft Tavern' and crossed the road.
A sudden calm engulfed him as he went in through the door and made him aware of the wind burn on his cheeks. He ran his fingers ineffectually through his hair as he approached the empty bar counter to pick up a grubby menu. The barmaid tapped her teeth with a biro pen in readiness.
'Sausage and chips, and a pint of lager.'
'I'm only food; you get your drink separately,’ said the sullen girl with an air that suggested she had said the same thing a million times before.
Fenton looked to the other barmaid. 'Pint of lager please.'
'Skol or Carlsberg?'
'Carlsberg.'
A plume of froth emanated from the tap. 'Barrel's off.'
'All right, Skol.'
Fenton looked behind the bar at a poster on the wall which proudly announced, 'This establishment has been nominated in the Daily News pub of the year competition.' By the landlord, thought Fenton.
'Hello there,' said a voice behind him. He turned to find Steve Kelly from the Blood Transfusion service. 'Didn't know you came here for lunch,' said Kelly.
'First time,' said Fenton.
'Me too,' said Kelly. 'I'm sitting over there by the fire. Join me when you get your food.'
Fenton joined Kelly in sitting on plastic leather seats in front of a plastic stone fireplace. They watched imitation flames flicker up to plastic horse brasses.
'The breweries really do these places up well,' said Kelly without a trace of a smile. Fenton choked over his beer. Kelly smiled.
Fenton's fork ricocheted off a sausage causing chips to run for cover in all directions; one landed in Kelly's lap; he popped it into his mouth.
'You can have the rest if you want,' said Fenton putting down his knife and fork.
'No thanks, I've just tasted it.'
'What brings you here?' asked Fenton.
'I was looking around for a nice quiet wee place to bring that nurse from ward seven to one lunch time.'
'You mean somewhere where the wife wouldn't be liable to find you?'
'You've got it.'
'Well this place seems quiet enough.'
'Aye, but it wasn't exactly food poisoning I was planning on giving her.'
'Point taken.'
They sipped their beer in silence for a few minutes before Kelly said, 'So who's the loony Tom?'
Fenton kept looking into the flames. 'I wish to God I knew,' he said.
'Munro was a friend of yours wasn't he?'
Fenton nodded.
'I'm sorry.'
Fenton sipped his beer.
'Who will be taking over his projects?' asked Kelly.
'Me for the moment.'
'Then you’ll be wanting the blood?'
Fenton was puzzled. 'What blood?'
'Munro phoned me on Monday; he wanted some blood from the service.'
'Better hold on that till I find out what he needed it for.'
'Will do.'
'Another drink?'
'No.'
They got up and moved towards the door. 'Would you mind returning your glasses to the bar?' drawled the lounging barmaid.
'Aye, we would,' said Kelly flatly. They left.
Fenton waited while Kelly finished buttoning his coat up to the collar. He hunched his shoulders against the wind. Kelly said, 'So you'll let me know about the blood?' Fenton said that he would and they parted.
Fenton was grateful that the wind was now behind him, supporting him like a cushion, as he walked slowly back to the hospital. This time he avoided the park and opted instead for the streets of Victorian terraced housing, black stone houses that looked cool in summer but dark and forbidding in winter, the bare branches of the trees
