Crisis

brain to Munro in Edinburgh. Searching for Turnbull’s body would only delay matters. He and Shona would set off for Edinburgh first thing in the morning. Events in Stobmor could take their natural course.

Shona returned with the brandy and the information that the man with van Gelder was his son, Peter.

‘His son?’ exclaimed Bannerman. ‘I asked the barman,’ said Shona. Then I must have been mistaken,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ve never met his son.’

‘Good looking chap. How are you feeling?’

‘Much better.’

‘You’d better get some sleep.’

Bannerman nodded.

‘You look all in,’ said Shona, coming over to him. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘See you in the morning.’

For once the weather was kind to them. The sun shone down on Stobmor from a blue sky and fluffy white clouds raced each other in a stiff breeze. There was a strong smell of the sea in the air as Bannerman loaded the polystyrene box containing the samples into the boot of the car and checked that it wasn’t leaking. He had opened it earlier to replace the ice.

Shona and Bannerman made good time on the journey down to Edinburgh, stopping only twice on the way. Once to have lunch and fill the tank with petrol and the second time to have coffee and stretch their legs in mid- afternoon. Bannerman phoned the Medical Research Council to keep them appraised of his whereabouts.

Once in Edinburgh, they booked in to a small hotel on the south side of the city and Bannerman called Hector Munro at the Neurobiology Unit.

‘Can I bring the samples over?’ he asked.

‘We’re all waiting,’ replied Munro. He gave Bannerman directions on how to find the unit which was situated in the university’s science complex at Kings Buildings in West Mains Road. Before he left, he thought it polite to call Morag Napier at the university medical school and tell her that he had succeeded in getting some infected brain samples.

That’s good news,’ said Morag. ‘How did you manage it?’

Bannerman told her about the sheep carcass that had escaped the lime pit.

‘What a piece of luck,’ said Morag. ‘Will you set up the tests yourself?’

Bannerman said that he was giving them to Munro at the Neurobiology Unit but if she would like some to complete the mouse experiments that her department had started then he would see to it that some tissue was sent to her.

‘Thank you Doctor,’ replied Morag. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what tests you are asking Dr Munro to do so that we don’t duplicate our efforts?’

Bannerman said that a stained brain section was a first priority. Subsequent tests would depend very much on that.

‘Call me when you know,’ said Morag. Bannerman said that he would.

Bannerman spoke into the grille at the side of the entrance door and said who he was. The electric security latch was energized, arid he was allowed to enter. At the top of the stairs he met Hector Munro, who was waiting to greet him.

‘Whatever happened to you?’ exclaimed Munro, when he saw Bannerman’s face.

‘A long story,’ said Bannerman, ‘and it would do me no good to relate it. This is what you’ve been waiting for.’ He handed over the polystyrene package containing the sheep samples.

This is exciting,’ said Munro. ‘Will you wait for the brain section report?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ smiled Bannerman. The samples were taken away by two technicians who had been briefed on what was to be done to them.

‘Coffee?’ asked Munro. ‘Please.’ As the two men sipped their coffee in Munro’s office, Bannerman broached the subject of the MRC report on brain disease. He told Munro what Milne had said about classifying the Achnagelloch agent as a new virus. Munro smiled and said, ‘I suppose he’s right in a way. We can hardly classify this thing as a slow virus if it has an incubation time of two to three weeks.’

‘But the point is that it is a form of Scrapie’ insisted Bannerman.

‘We’ve yet to prove that,’ said Munro.

‘Agreed,’ conceded Bannerman. ‘But if your tests show that to be the case, can I count on your support in making the point forcibly to the government?’

Munro looked at him thoughtfully over the rim of his coffee cup. Take on the government?’ he said. ‘And the farmers? You’re not asking much are you.’

‘All I’m asking is that we tell the truth,’ said Bannerman.

‘Ah yes, the truth,’ said Munro slowly. ‘Wouldst it were so simple.’

‘Isn’t it?’ asked Bannerman.

‘I don’t think it is. We have to consider what is right in this case as well as what the truth of the matter is. We are talking about half-a-dozen deaths here, probably as a result of some freak, biological accident. Against that, we have the whole future of the meat trade in this country.’

‘But if it has happened once it could happen again.’

‘Maybe,’ said Munro, looking down at his desk.

‘Then I can’t count on your support?’

‘Look around you, Doctor; this unit exists on government grants …’

Bannerman smiled ruefully.

‘Let’s wait and see what the tests tell us,’ said Munro.

Bannerman nodded with an air of resignation.

The buzzer on Munro’s internal phone sounded. He answered it and held a brief conversation before saying to Bannerman, ‘Excuse me, there’s a problem.’

Munro returned ten minutes later and stood in the doorway of his office. He said, ‘I don’t quite know how to tell you this.’

Bannerman turned to face him.

‘My people have done a couple of brain sections …’

‘And?’ asked Bannerman.

‘They’re quite normal. No sign of Scrapie damage at all.’

‘But that’s impossible!’ protested Bannerman. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

Munro led the way through to a laboratory where one of the sections was set up under the microscope. Bannerman sat down and examined the preparation for himself. It seemed perfectly healthy. ‘I just don’t believe it,’ he murmured.

‘We’ve also carried out an antibody test for Scrapie associated fibrils. It was negative.’

‘Shit,’ said Bannerman, feeling utterly deflated.

‘Sorry,’ said Munro, removing the slide from the microscope. ‘Back to the drawing-board.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ stormed Bannerman.

‘I think you have to,’ soothed Shona. ‘Unless you are going to suggest that Dr Munro is part of the conspiracy to cover this thing up.’

Bannerman looked at her and Shona regretted having said it when she saw Bannerman was seriously considering the possibility. ‘The other samples!’ he said.

‘What other samples?’ asked Shona.

‘I kept some back to give to Morag Napier at the medical school for ethical reasons. I could do some preps myself!’

‘Aren’t you being a little paranoid about this?’ ventured Shona.

Bannerman thought for a moment before saying, ‘I just cannot believe that three men died after eating this sheep and the sheep had nothing to do with it.’

Shona conceded that he had a point. ‘Do what you have to do,’ she said.

It was just after eight in the evening when Bannerman drove into the quadrangle at the medical school. He was counting on the fact that most of the staff would have left by now and probably only the duty technicians and perhaps a night security man would be around. He did not want to explain why he was repeating tests that Munro’s