each of the slides. Morag Napier had prepared them. This section had been made from Gordon Buchan’s brain. Buchan had been the married sheep worker. He remembered seeing the cottage on Inverladdie where he and his wife May had lived. He wondered if May Buchan had come back from holiday yet and whether or not she was living with her parents in Stobmor as Sproat suggested she would. He scanned the brain section, looking at the cells which had once made the decisions in Gordon Buchan’s life.
A knock came to the door and Bannerman said, ‘Come in,’ without turning round.
‘Nice to see you back,’ said Charlie Simmons’ voice.
‘Hello Charlie, how are things?’ asked Bannerman, still without turning round.
‘No real problems. We had a bit of trouble with the freezing microtome but it’s been sorted out.’
‘What sort of trouble?’
‘It was cutting tissue sections too thick. It’s getting old. Maybe you could think about requesting a new one, or putting in a grant request to somebody?’
‘I’ll try Charlie,’ said Bannerman. He knew that hospital equipment funds had been used up for the current financial year and any request would just go into the queue for next year beginning in April. A grant request was a possibility however. Milne at the MRC had dangled that particular carrot before him, for whatever reason.
‘Are you taking back control of the lab immediately?’ asked Charlie.
Bannerman shook his head and said, ‘No, I’ll wait until Monday. I’ll ease myself back in gently.’
‘Karen’s leaving,’ said Charlie.
‘Why?’
‘She’s been offered a job in one of the private hospitals.’
‘More money?’
‘More money,’ agreed Charlie.
‘The hospital board will probably freeze the post,’ said Bannerman.
‘I was afraid of that,’ said Charlie, ‘but we’ll manage. We always do.’
‘I’ll press for a replacement as hard as I can,’ said Bannerman.
Charlie Simmons nodded and asked, ‘Anything interesting?’ He nodded in the direction of the microscope.
Bannerman got up and said, Take a look. Tell me what you see.’
Simmons adjusted the width of the eye-pieces and started to examine the slide. A few moments passed in silence then he said, ‘Extensive spongioform vacuolation … senile decay … and fibrils which I think might be SA fibrils … I’d go for Creutzfeld Jakob.’
‘Me too. This is the reason I went north. The slide was made from the brain of a thirty-year-old who died after a three week illness.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘That’s what I said when they first told me,’ said Bannerman. ‘In fact I still can’t get over it. That’s why I’m looking again.’
‘I’m glad it’s not April the first,’ said Charlie. ‘I’d never have believed you. I would have said someone had switched the slides.’
Bannerman put down his knife and fork; everything tasted like cardboard and the restaurant was unpleasantly crowded.
‘Not hungry?’ asked Stella who seemed not to notice.
It told Bannerman that there was nothing wrong with the food or the restaurant. It was the way he was feeling. ‘Not really,’ he replied.
‘You shouldn’t let it get to you like this,’ said Stella. ‘You did your best to get evidence. The main thing is that this mutant virus or whatever it was is now dead and gone.’
‘Like Lawrence Gill and the three men in Achnagelloch,’ said Bannerman.
‘From what you’ve told me, Gill could conceivably have slipped to his death. You don’t know for sure that he was murdered. As for the three sheep workers, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could happen to any of us.’
‘But the missing brain samples, the fire at the medical school — doesn’t that tell you something?’ asked Bannerman.
‘I agree that some skulduggery appears to have been going on but the fire could have been coincidence. Couldn’t it?’
‘I don’t believe it,’ replied Bannerman.
‘Maybe you don’t want to believe it,’ said Stella.
‘It’s not that simple,’ said Bannerman. ‘I didn’t imagine being assaulted. I didn’t imagine being shot at. The fairies didn’t slash the tyres on my car,’ protested Bannerman.
‘You said yourself that there was local feeling against you because of job fears,’ said Stella.
The local yobs wouldn’t have mounted a clean-up operation on the beach,’ said Bannerman. That would have required a management decision. You know the funny thing? I had almost written off any involvement of the power station until Milne told me about the clean-up this morning.’
‘You can’t read too much into that either,’ said Stella. ‘If the management at the power station thought you were going to make trouble they would be bound to clean up their act. That’s human nature. It’s like dusting before your mother-in-law arrives.’
‘So you don’t believe me,’ said Bannerman.
‘I believe, that you believe it,’ said Stella. ‘I’m just trying to get you to relax. It’s over. You did your best and from what you’ve told me there doesn’t seem to be a new disease to worry about, so why not let it drop?’
Bannerman nodded. He had no intention of letting it drop but he had no wish to continue talking about it.
‘So what else is new?’ asked Stella.
Bannerman smiled and said, ‘I met someone while I was away, a girl.’
‘Good for you,’ said Stella. ‘Is she special?’
‘I think so,’ replied Bannerman.
Then I’m happy for you,’ said Stella. Tell me about her. Is she young?’
‘Youngish,’ smiled Bannerman, thinking he detected a barb on the question. ‘Her name is Shona MacLean; she’s an artist. She makes me feel like I’ve never felt before. Alive, confident …’
‘Young?’ added Stella with an amused smile.
Bannerman shrugged his shoulders in disappointment at the question and Stella reached across the table to take both his hands. That was a joke silly,’ she whispered. ‘Really, I’m delighted for you. When do I get to meet her?’ ‘Soon, I hope,’ said Bannerman. ‘Very soon.’
Bannerman returned to his office and tried to stop thinking about Achnagelloch and its problems by concentrating on his work. Thinking it was about time that he make himself known to the locum the MRC had provided for the lab in his absence, he asked Olive about his whereabouts and was told that Dr Sherbourne was down in the PM room. That’s where I’ll be,’ said Bannerman.
From what Charlie Simmons had said on a previous occasion, Bannerman expected Sherbourne to be young. He looked like a schoolboy. He seemed totally out of place at work in the mortuary, looking like a first-rate advertisement for the land of the living. He was tall, good-looking, animated and exuded
‘I’m Dr Bannerman.’
‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ said Sherbourne, becoming flustered. ‘Please excuse me. I heard you were back but I thought I would carry on until you said not to.’
‘Please do,’ said Bannerman. ‘I just came to introduce myself and say thank you for your efforts in my absence.’
‘A pleasure,’ said Sherbourne, looking as if he meant it. ‘It’s been most interesting. I’ve enjoyed every moment of it and it’s all been valuable experience.’
‘You intend to make pathology your career then?’
‘I certainly do,’ smiled Sherbourne who was about to make the first incision in the cadaver he had on the table. ‘I find it absolutely fascinating, but then you must feel that way too.’
Bannerman nodded without comment. He watched Sherbourne complete the cut and then change to rib
