research project, he concluded, but what? He needed time to think, time to ponder the frightening coincidence that Munro had apparently been working with the same sort of drugs and chemicals that had been used to murder two people in the hospital. He looked at Ferguson who was obviously thinking the same thing but was waiting for him to say something first. Fenton said, “I think it might be best if we didn't say anything about this for the moment.'
'Of course,' said Ferguson. 'Whatever you think.'
Fenton took out the one remaining bottle in the cupboard and looked at the label. Dimethyl-formamide.
'What's that?' asked Ferguson.
'A powerful solvent.' said Fenton.
Jenny came to the lab at five thirty hoping for a lift home. Almost as soon as she entered the downstairs hallway she became aware of the absence of Susan Daniels who, in the past, had always come out of her lab to chat to her. A junior went to find Fenton leaving her looking at the notices on the general information board by the staff lockers. Ian Ferguson saw her standing there and stopped to say hello. They spoke about the weather until Fenton appeared at the head of the stairs to say that he would be another ten minutes.
'She can come and speak to me until you're ready,' said Ferguson.
Jenny sat on a swivel stool in Ferguson's lab while he continued to add small volumes of a chemical to a long row of test tubes. She was about to ask what he was doing when Ferguson opened the conversation by asking how things were going on the wards. 'We're busy,' replied Jenny, 'We're at least a third under strength. People are frightened.' Jenny remembered what Fenton had told her about Ferguson applying for a new job and felt embarrassed at what she had said. As casually as possible she said, 'I understand from Tom that you are applying for an exciting new job?
'I was,' replied Ferguson. 'But I've changed my mind. Tom made me realise just what it would mean to the department.'
'But if it was a good opportunity…' said Jenny.
'There will be others,' said Ferguson.
'I see,' said Jenny, although she was not sure that she did. She hoped that Fenton had not been too hard on him, had not embarrassed him into changing his mind for in many ways Ferguson was very like Tom Fenton. He was tall and dark and very intelligent. She supposed that, in the classical sense, Ferguson was more handsome than Fenton for Fenton’s face was too open, too frank, too honest to be considered handsome whereas Ian Ferguson had the dark broody quality so beloved of women's magazines. There was an air of introversion about him but it was certainly not bred of shyness and there was nothing in his eyes to suggest any lack of confidence.
The sound of Fenton's voice outside the door prompted Jenny to get up and wish Ferguson good-night adding that she hoped her presence had not distracted him too much. 'Not at all,' replied Ferguson. 'It's always nice to see you.'
They had missed the worst of the rush hour traffic and were home in under fifteen minutes, both agreeing that they had had a hard day.
'Let's eat out,' said Fenton.
'Where?'
'Somewhere nice. We haven't been out for a meal in ages.'
'Queensferry?'
'Why Queensferry?'
'I want to be near the sea,' said Jenny. 'There is one thing…' she added tentatively.
'I know. No bike. We'll get a taxi.'
Fenton got out of the shower and towelled down. His body still bore signs of the tan that he had acquired during the summer and frequent exercise in the form of squash and running had kept the flab of sedentary occupation at bay. Wrapping the towel round his waist he padded through to the bedroom and opened the sliding wardrobe. He laid out his clothes on the bed, a plain blue shirt, navy socks, black shoes, dark blue tie, dark blue suit. He shrugged his shoulders as he put on the jacket and looked at himself in the mirror to straighten his tie. He flicked at his hair with his fingers but there was little he could do about it. It was curly and unruly and that was that. Dark curls licked along his forehead taking five years off his age. Fiddling with his cuff links, he walked through to join Jenny.
Jenny was sitting at an angle on the sofa, her stockinged legs crossed and her elbow resting on one knee with her hand supporting her chin. She was wearing a close fitting dress in royal blue, the very plainness of which accentuated her smooth skin and high cheek bones. Her silky blonde hair was swept back from her face and held tightly with a dark blue clasp. Round her neck she wore the gold pear drop locket that Fenton had given her for Christmas.
'You look good,' said Fenton.
'You're no slouch yourself Mr Bond. Did you call the cab?'
A thick sea mist lay on the still water of the Firth of Forth as they got out of the taxi in the village of South Queensferry, some eight miles from the heart of Edinburgh. The lights of cars high above them on the Forth Road Bridge twinkled in and out of the fog while the huge, red painted spans of the famous old railway bridge towered silently up into the damp air. The regular drone of fog horns was the only thing to break the silence as they crossed the road to look over the sea wall.
'It's creepy when it's like this,' said Jenny looking down at the unbroken surface of the water.
'But nice,' said Fenton.
They entered the bar of the restaurant to find it practically deserted. 'Thursday night,' said the barman by way of explanation. 'Nothing happens on Thursdays.'
'Except elections,' said Fenton as he and Jenny were drawn to a large coal fire like moths to a flame.
They finished looking at the menu and ordered before lapsing into silence for a few moments. Jenny held her drink between her palms. She said, 'A child died in theatre yesterday did you hear?'
'I heard,' said Fenton, feeling uncomfortable.
'Do you know anything about it?' asked Jenny.
Fenton stayed silent.
'Oh dear,' said Jenny, I see that you do.
'Jenny I…'
'Don't say anything. Just listen. Today at lunch I heard Rose Glynn, mention 'excessive bleeding' then later I heard someone else say that the haematology report wasn't available. I put two and two together and came up with four.'
'Three,' said Fenton, 'Timothy Watson was the third victim. I felt so awful just now when you asked and I couldn't tell you.'
'Relax, you didn't. I worked it out for myself. So the killer is not someone with a grudge against the lab?'
'No, it's someone who murders five year olds.'
Jenny noted the bitterness in Fenton's voice and was forced to ask. 'You didn't know the boy did you?'
'Well enough to be able to put a face to the name. He was running around the main corridor the day Susan Daniels was murdered.'
They left the restaurant just after ten thirty and crossed the road to take a last look at the water. Fenton picked up a handful of gravel and began to flick it idly into the water with his thumbnail. As they leaned on the railings Jenny said, 'You know, when you think about it, it's a strange way to kill people isn't it? Anti- coagulants?'
'That's how they kill rats.'
'Rats?'
Fenton flicked some more gravel into the water and watched the rings spread. 'That's how rat poison works. It knocks out the clotting mechanism in their blood; one scratch in the sewers and they bleed to death.'
A ship's siren sounded out in the Forth. They peered into the swirling mist but saw nothing. Jenny said, 'I just don't see how the drug could have been administered, can you?'
'Rats have to eat it, so maybe it was mixed into the victims' food or drink. I can't see anyone having an injection without knowing it.'
'Unless the victim was a patient who was having injections all the time, or a child who trusted anyone in uniform.'
'Susan wasn't a patient or a child and she wasn't having injections,' said Fenton.
