his brain!’ ‘Jesus,’ said one of the men with open disgust. ‘No one is going to touch Colin,’ said the other man, holding Julie close to him.
Bannerman and MacLeod exchanged uneasy looks. MacLeod shrugged his apologies.
‘Mrs Turnbull,’ began Bannerman. ‘Believe me, no one is going to cut…’
The man holding her interrupted him with a stream of abuse. ‘Fucking doctors! What fucking use have you been, huh? Why don’t you just piss off and leave us all alone!’
Bannerman backed off, sensing that the situation was beyond saving for the moment. Van Gelder stepped forward diplomatically and intervened. ‘My dear Mrs Turnbull,’ he said, ‘perhaps you would allow me to drive you home? My car is just outside. Or perhaps there is somewhere else you would rather go? A relative or friend?’
Thank you,’ replied Julie, recovering her composure. She turned to MacLeod and said, Tm sorry Doctor … but I meant what I said.’
MacLeod nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. Julie made a point of ignoring Bannerman completely and left the hospital, supported by van Gelder. The two power station workers followed behind. Both of them gave Bannerman looks that suggested he might be wise to steer clear of them on dark nights. One said, ‘No one touches Colin’s body. Understand?’ Bannerman did not dignify the threat with a reply. He just stared at the man balefully until the man broke eye contact and left.
‘I’m sorry,’ said MacLeod. ‘I made a complete mess of it.’
‘It was my fault for rushing you into it,’ said Bannerman. ‘It would have been better to wait until the morning. The question now is, what the hell do we do?’
‘You can enforce it legally,’ said MacLeod.
‘I know,’ said Bannerman, ‘but I’m not insensitive to what that would mean for you.’ He knew that if MacLeod did not sign the death certificate Turnbull’s death would be classed as ‘sudden’ and would therefore merit a post- mortem examination as required by Scottish law, whether his wife gave permission or not. The locals would construe this as treachery by their GP since he knew of Julie Turnbull’s wishes.
‘Thanks,’ said MacLeod.
‘What would you say to a compromise?’ asked Bannerman.
MacLeod raised his eyebrows. ‘A compromise?’
Despite the fact that he trusted MacLeod, Bannerman still felt a little wary of making his suggestion. He said cautiously, ‘I could make do with a needle biopsy.’
MacLeod looked at him as if he hadn’t heard properly.
‘I could insert a wide gauge needle into Turnbull’s brain and get the samples I need without doing the full PM head job. I could do it so that it wouldn’t be noticeable to laymen. That way no post-mortem will have been carried out and Mrs Turnbull’s wishes will have been respected. You can sign the death certificate and your standing in the community will remain undiminished.’
‘But surely the authorities and the MRC will insist on a full autopsy being performed?’
The “authorities” will be only too happy to see this affair kept as low key as possible. They won’t make waves if we don’t.’
‘I see,’ said MacLeod thoughtfully. ‘Well, if you’re sure that you can get enough material I think you should go ahead. What do you need?’
Bannerman gave him a short list of his requirements.
‘When will you do it?’
Bannerman walked over to the window. He could see the two power workers standing across the street watching the building. He said, ‘Not now. I think I had better be seen to leave soon. If it’s all right with you I’ll come back later and do the biopsy, when the “guard” has been lifted.’
MacLeod joined him at the window and took his meaning. He said, ‘I’ll give you a key and show you where everything is. Could I be of any assistance later?’
Bannerman said not. ‘It really shouldn’t take long. I’m assuming these two aren’t going to squat over there all night.’
MacLeod said, ‘Why don’t you go back to your hotel; I’ll stay on for a bit and telephone you when they leave.’
Bannerman agreed. He went to his hotel and had a bath before getting something to eat. He had just finished his meal when MacLeod phoned. ‘Sorry,’ said MacLeod. They’re still across the street and I’ll have to leave now myself.’
Bannerman thanked him and said that he would wait for a couple of hours. He couldn’t believe that the men would mount an all night vigil over the body. As he said it, the words, ‘unless someone put them up to it,’ came into his head.
Bannerman dismissed the thought for the moment and phoned Shona who, as he thought, was stuck on the island because of the ferry cancellations.
The wind has dropped a good deal,’ said Shona. There’s a good chance I’ll get to the mainland tomorrow.’
That is the nicest thing I’ve heard all day,’ said Bannerman.
‘How’s the patient?’
‘He died shortly before I got here.’
‘I’m sorry. That must alter your plans.’
Bannerman was wary about mentioning anything about a post-mortem examination of the body over the phone. He couldn’t be sure that the hotel switchboard was ‘safe’. ‘I’ll be going to Edinburgh next, to see the people at the Neurobiology Unit,’ he said. He didn’t say what he would be taking there. ‘Come with me?’
‘All right,’ said Shona, without taking time to consider. That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all day.’
‘Good,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Bannerman came downstairs to the hotel bar. He felt a chill come over him when he opened the door and saw Mitchell, the head of security at the power station, sitting there with another man. Mitchell looked up and smiled in a way that put Bannerman on edge. ‘Well Doctor, still looking for nuclear skeletons in the cupboard?’ he asked.
The smug look on Mitchell’s face brought Bannerman’s dislike for the man almost to boiling point, but he remained outwardly calm. The cupboard smells of detergent,’ he replied.
Again the smug grin on Mitchell’s face. ‘Just a routine precaution Doctor. We do it every so often.’
‘Of course,’ said Bannerman, leaving Mitchell and going up to the bar where he ordered a tonic water. He stood with his back to Mitchell, indicating no further desire to continue their conversation. Mitchell returned to the conversation he had interrupted when Bannerman had come in. Bannerman watched them in the mirror behind the bar and deduced from the head movements in his direction that he was the current subject of their talk.
Was Mitchell’s presence here a coincidence? he wondered, or was there something more sinister behind it? Could it be that
Bannerman slid on to a bar stool and passed the time of day with the barman to create the impression of being a normal guest in the hotel. He was simply having a couple of drinks before going upstairs to his room for the night. There was no reason for Mitchell to know that he was only drinking tonic water, to keep his head clear. There was no reason for anyone to suspect that he was going to sneak out later, go to the cottage hospital under cover of darkness and perform an illegal autopsy on Colin Turnbull. But every time he glanced at Mitchell in the mirror he found that Mitchell was watching him.
Could the feeling possibly be prompted by paranoia? Bannerman wondered. It was true that Mitchell did seem to look a lot in his direction but that could be a legacy of their previous meeting. Having come to blows with someone in the past did tend to make one hyper-aware of their presence on subsequent occasions. He decided on an experiment. He would go to the lavatory down the hall to see if he would be followed. As he prepared to move he suddenly saw the door to the bar open and the two power workers who had been watching the hospital came inside. Mitchell nodded to them and one stopped to speak while the other came up to the bar to order drinks. He stood at Bannerman’s elbow.
‘Thought you’d be on your way by now,’ said the man.
‘Really?’ said Bannerman dryly.
There’s nothing here for you to do,’ said the man.
