As he made to put the rack back in the fridge he noticed something odd about Tyson's specimen in the second tube. It was still unclotted. He withdrew both tubes and shook them gently, one should have remained quite fluid for the test tube had anti-coagulant in it but the other contained nothing save for the blood. It should have clotted. Fenton looked at his watch and saw that ten minutes had passed since he had taken the sample. Far too long! He raced along the corridor and burst into Tyson's room, getting a startled look from both Tyson and Liz Scott who was taking dictation. 'Your blood isn’t clotting,' he blurted out.
Tyson looked at the inside of his arm and said, 'It isn't bleeding. It stopped normally.' Fenton still looked doubtful. Tyson said, 'Probably a dirty tube…but just to make sure, pass me a scalpel blade will you.'
Fenton opened a glass fronted cabinet and removed a small packet wrapped in silver foil. He handed it to Tyson. Liz Scott screwed up her face and said, 'What on earth…' as Tyson slit through the skin of his index finger and watched the blood well up. He dabbed it away with the clean swab that Fenton handed to him and checked his watch. Fenton and Liz Scott watched in silence as Tyson continued to dab blood away. At length he said, 'There, it's stopping. See? Quite normal.'
Fenton let out a sigh of relief and said, 'Thank God, I thought for a moment that you were number five.' Now able to think of more mundane matters he realised that he was short of one blood sample and said so.
'Perhaps Liz?' Tyson suggested, turning to look at the secretary who screwed up her face before agreeing with more than a little reluctance. 'I hate needles,' she said as she rolled up the sleeve of her blouse.
'Look up,' said Fenton, before inserting the needle smoothly into the vein and drawing back the plunger. 'There now, that didn't hurt did it?' Liz Scott agreed that it hadn't. 'Just hold the swab there for a minute or so,' said Fenton placing the gauze over the puncture mark, 'then you can roll down your sleeve.'
Fenton brought the tubes back to his lab and held them up to the window. One of them remained fluid while the other was clotting normally. He put them in the fridge to wait with the others until later. He would run them through the Analyser in the evening when everyone had gone and Jenny had started her shift on night duty.
Fenton came downstairs to the main lab to see what lay in store for him and read through the request forms from the wards. 'I don't believe it,' he said out loud as yet another request for a lead count appeared in the lists. 'Twelve…fourteen…sixteen bloods for lead! What's going on?'
Alex Ross gave a thin smile and said, 'You've got Councillor Vanney to thank for that.'
'Vanney?'
'He's been opposing an extension to the ring road; his latest tack is to scaremonger about lead pollution from car exhausts if the new road goes ahead. You know the sort of thing; IQ will drop by fifty points if you walk too near a Volkswagen Polo. He's been calling for the screening of all children living near the first stage of the road.'
'What's his real reason?'
'The more cynical among us might suggest that the new road would screw up a development of luxury flats that Vanney and Sons are building on the south side.'
'Turd.'
'He's a powerful turd.' said Ross.
'Who are the 'Tree Mob' Alex?'
Ross was taken by surprise at the suddenness of Fenton's question. What was more, he seemed to Fenton to visibly stiffen. 'What made you ask that?' he stammered.
'The other night at the party you suggested that Saxon Medical had got special treatment because of the 'Tree Mob.' Who are they?'
Ross put his hands to his forehead and said quietly, 'One day my big mouth will be the death of me.'
'I don't understand,' said Fenton.
'I've said too much already,' said Ross.
'You can't leave me hanging,' Fenton protested.
Ross looked doubtful then took a deep breath and said, 'There's an organisation called the Cavalier Club which is currently trendy with the establishment. Their emblem is an oak tree. It's supposed to represent the tree that King Charles hid up when he was hiding from the roundheads.
'But what has that got to do with Saxon getting preferential treatment from the Department of Health?'
'There are a lot of powerful people in the club. They scratch each others' backs and what's more, they consider themselves to be above the law. Rumour has it their influence is growing all the time.'
'But a club?' protested Fenton.
'More a society really.'
'If you say so,' said Fenton. 'How come I haven't heard of it?'
'You were in Africa for a long while.'
Fenton found it hard to believe what Ross had told him but one thing stopped him from saying so. He had remembered that the medallion that had fallen from Nigel Saxon's pocket in the car park had had a tree motif on it. He said nothing to Ross.
Fenton nursed his dislike for politicians all through the procedure for lead estimation for it was the least popular test in the lab. True to form his hands got covered in blood; they always did with lead tests. He was washing them for the umpteenth time when the phone rang and Ian Ferguson said, 'Tom, it's Jenny.'
Fenton finished drying his hands and took the receiver. 'Don't tell me,' he joked, 'You just called to say you loved me?' The smile died on his face when he heard Jenny sobbing. 'What's wrong? What's the matter?'
'I'm at the police station…' said Jenny before she broke down again.”They're holding me…'
Fenton couldn't believe his ears. 'Holding you? What are you talking about? You're not making sense.'
'The murders, the police think I did them.'
Fenton was reduced to spluttering incredulity. 'Is this some kind of joke? What are you talking about? How can they possibly think you did them?' He heard Jenny take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself, then she said, 'My brother Grant's boy, Jamie, you remember, the one who was down in Edinburgh? He's dead. He bled to death! Oh Tom, I'm scared. Please come.'
The phone went dead before Fenton could reply; he clattered the receiver down on its rest then snatched it up again and called Jamieson.
'Nurse Buchan is at present helping us with our inquiries Mr Fenton,' said the gruff voice at the other end of the phone.
'Come on man! I'm not the bloody press. What's going on?'
'I am afraid I have nothing to add sir,' said Jamieson.
'Well, can I see her?'
'No you can't.'
'Is brain death a prerequisite for the Police Force?' snarled Fenton.
'I must warn you sir that…'
Fenton slammed down the receiver. His immediate thought was to rush round to the police station and demand to see Jenny but the fact that he was in the middle of the lead tests prevented him from doing something, which he realised after a few minutes thought, would have been pointless. The police would not be impressed by histrionics. What Jenny needed was expert help, the help a lawyer could give. He went to speak to Tyson.
Charles Tyson was as shocked as Fenton had been when he heard the news.
'Jenny needs a lawyer,' said Fenton 'I wondered if perhaps you could recommend anyone?'
'Of course,' said Tyson, opening his address book. 'Phone this firm.' He copied down a name and a telephone number on to a piece of scrap paper and handed it to Fenton. Fenton thanked him and said that he would keep him informed of developments. He returned to his own lab and dialled the number. They would send someone round to the police station.
Fenton found that lack of information was the main obstacle to his coming to terms with the situation. Jenny had said that Jamie was dead but he had to know more, he had to find out when, where and how and that might be difficult in the circumstances. The circumstances were that Fenton's contacts with Jenny's family were few and far between…and not that cordial. Her sisters-in-law regarded Jenny as something of a scarlet woman for living in sin, as they saw it. Her brothers, although a little more tolerant of the situation than their wives, did not have much time for a man who did not work with his hands and, therefore, did not conform to their notion of what a real man should be. He had detected a certain coolness in Grant Buchan when he had met him briefly the week before. But there was no alternative, Fenton decided. He would have to phone the Buchans; the number would be in Jenny's
