Crisis

Bannerman. ‘We were rather hoping to enlist your professional help with this affair.’

‘I would be happy to help you with the lab work if that’s what you mean,’ said Bannerman.

‘Actually, it isn’t,’ said Flowers. ‘What we would like, would be for you to investigate this whole matter.’

Bannerman was taken aback and left speechless for a few moments.

Flowers said, ‘We need a first-rate pathologist to go up to Scotland and report back. We have to know; one, if the men’s deaths were really due to Scrapie; two, what caused the disease to cross the species barrier; and three, whether or not we can regard this as an isolated incident.’

‘And it has to be done discreetly,’ added Allison.

‘Presumably no mention of Scrapie was made on the men’s death certificates?’ asked Bannerman.

‘No. The official cause of death was given as meningitis.’

‘What about the sheep in the area?’

‘The Scrapie-infected sheep were, of course, destroyed but there has been no general alert,’ said Allison. ‘That would have attracted immediate and unwanted attention.’

‘And you wouldn’t want to cause unnecessary alarm,’ added Bannerman, acidly.

‘You must see how delicate the situation is, Doctor,’ said Allison.

Reluctantly, Bannerman had to admit that he could. ‘But you must have a pathologist working on it already,’ he said. The man who reported the problem in the first place.’

That’s another thing, I’m afraid,’ said Flowers. ‘Dr Gill has disappeared.’

‘Disappeared?’ exclaimed Bannerman.

‘He left home nine days ago and hasn’t been seen since.’

‘Some domestic upheaval, we’re told,’ said Munro.

Bannerman shook his head in bemusement but didn’t know what to say. ‘Where is the pathology lab work being done?’ he asked.

‘Edinburgh, in George Stoddart’s department at the medical school,’ said Flowers.

‘Edinburgh is full of experts on Scrapie and slow viruses,’ said Bannerman, looking to Munro.

‘My people are scientists Doctor,’ said Munro. ‘We would give you all the back-up you required but the investigation calls for a medic.’

‘Insistent but discreet,’ added Allison. ‘I’m sure there’s no need to tell you what the press would make of this.’

Bannerman sighed and looked down at the well-polished surface of the table.

‘We appreciate that you will need a little time to think this over,’ said Flowers, ‘but you must know that time is of the essence and we would have to ask for your decision by say, ten o’clock tomorrow?’

‘You’ll have it,’ said Bannerman. ‘Perhaps I should add that we would provide the hospital with a locum in your absence,’ said Flowers.

Bannerman was about to say that he had intended to take some time off anyway but he thought better of it. His morale had been given an unexpected boost by what had been said about his professional reputation. He did not want to diminish the effects with talk of stress and strain.

‘Would you like me to call you a taxi, Doctor?’ asked the woman at the front desk as Bannerman prepared to leave. He looked out and saw that it had stopped raining. ‘I think I’ll walk for a bit,’ he replied.

The air was damp and fiercely cold after the heat of the offices; for a moment it made his eyes water. He grimaced and pulled up his collar as he made his way down Park Crescent to cross Marylebone Road and continue down into Regent’s Park. The grass stretched before him like a wet, green desert below a leaden sky. What the hell was he to do? He wondered.

An investigation of this importance was hardly a job for someone undergoing any kind of personal crisis but on the other hand the whole thing intrigued him deeply. It would be no picnic but at least, if he took up the investigation, he would be away from the pressures of the hospital and there would be no emergency diagnostic work for a while. He might even be able to do some winter climbing in Scotland after all.

Bannerman was suddenly aware of a woman standing in front of him. She was swathed in loose-fitting clothes which disguised her shape and consequently her age; she carried two bundles wrapped in what appeared to be bed covers. A head scarf was supplemented by a further scarf wrapped round the lower portion of her face. She hooked two fingers over the scarf round her mouth and pulled it down slightly. ‘Have you anything for a cup of tea?’ she mumbled.

Bannerman took out his wallet and gave her a five pound note.

‘Bless you, mister,’ said the woman clutching it tightly with gloved fingers which left the tips free.

‘You too,’ said Bannerman quietly. He turned to watch her shuffle off and began to see executive stress and strain in a new light. Until that moment he had planned to discuss the morning’s events with Stella before reaching a decision. Now he decided to accede to the MRC’s request.

Olive Meldrum handed Bannerman an envelope on Thursday evening. It contained, she said, his first-class ticket on the night sleeper to Scotland. Bannerman thanked her, saying that he would see her soon.

‘Good luck,’ said Olive. ‘Bring me back a haggis or whatever they call it.’

‘I promise,’ smiled Bannerman. He checked his watch and saw that he should be leaving. He wanted to get back to the flat and finish his packing before Stella arrived. They had arranged to have dinner together at a restaurant they both liked and then she would run him to the station in time for the train. He added a few last- minute notes to the file that he had prepared for Nigel Leeman who would take over in his absence. They had already had a meeting that morning but several things had occurred to him during the course of the afternoon that he thought Leeman should know about. He closed the file with a paper-clip, wrote Leeman’s name on it and left it on Olive’s desk. With a last look round, he switched off the light and closed the door.

‘Why don’t you have another brandy,’ said Stella. ‘You’re not driving.’

‘You’ve talked me into it,’ smiled Bannerman, summoning the waiter.

This has all happened so fast I’m not sure what to say,’ said Stella. ‘Are you absolutely sure you’re doing the right thing in taking this MRC thing on?’

‘No,’ admitted Bannerman, ‘but it’s important to find out the truth.’

‘Send me a postcard?’

‘Of course,’ smiled Bannerman.

‘And if you have time to pursue this crazy notion of heading off into the Scottish mountains in winter these may help.’ Stella reached into her bag. ‘I know you don’t need lectures about the right equipment and all that, but I got you a little present.’ She brought out a small package which she handed to Bannerman.

Bannerman opened it and pulled out a pair of gloves. ‘Goretex gloves!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll be the best dressed climber on the mountain.’

‘In January, you’ll be the only climber on the mountain,’ retorted Stella.

Thank you, that was a kind thought,’ said Bannerman.

‘I think we’d better go if we’ve to get you on that train,’ said Stella.

They arrived at the station with ten minutes to spare. Bannerman insisted that they say their goodbyes there and then, knowing that neither of them liked hanging around draughty platforms in order to wave at a moving train. He watched Stella’s back until she turned round at the exit, then he waved and walked through the barrier to board the train.

Bannerman woke at six. The train was crossing a particularly intricate piece of track, and the change from regular sound patterns to a series of irregular clacks and jolts had disturbed him. He opened the blind and looked out at a misty, grey morning with dampness clinging to the trees and fences bordering the track. Maybe a holiday in the sun wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all, he thought, but then he stamped on the heresy and got back into his bunk. He propped himself up so that he could catch occasional glimpses of the countryside. If the train was on time they must be soon approaching Berwick and the Scottish border.

As he got out on to the platform at Waverley Station in Edinburgh, Bannerman considered his options. The medical school were expecting him any time after nine so he still had some time to kill. He was hungry, but not hungry enough to eat in the station buffet. He walked up the hill, out of the station and up to Princes Street, where he admired the sight of Edinburgh Castle looming out of the morning mist before opting for breakfast at a large hotel. His third cup of coffee took him up to a time when he could hail a taxi and ask to be taken to the