‘One does what one can.’
‘The withdrawal of research funding must have been quite a blow to Dr Ross?’
‘Must have been.’
Dunbar didn’t ask any more. He accepted he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Hatfull.
The tour of the transplant unit took about thirty minutes, including the time taken by Hatfull to answer questions as monosyllabically as possible. Dunbar reverted to asking the kind of questions he thought he should be asking. They related to length of patients’ stay in the unit, numbers of staff involved in preoperative and post- operative care, in fact, anything he thought an accountant might be interested in. He made notes in a small leather-bound book he took from his inside pocket. There was very little to ask about the equipment and accommodation. The facilities were simply the best. When he’d asked everything he thought he should, they were re-joined by Ross, who asked if he’d enjoyed his tour.
‘Very interesting,’ replied Dunbar. He thought he’d risk trying a different tack and asked, ‘What actually happens when you hear that an organ has become available for one of your patients, Doctor?’
‘Quite a lot,’ smiled Ross. ‘And all at the same time! The procedure usually starts with a computer alert that a matching organ is available. We first double-check that this is the case and then contact the hospital or clinic holding the organ to establish personal contact and agree terms of transfer. A lot depends on where the donor organ is and how long it’s going to take to get here. At the same time, we alert our patient to the possibility of an operation and arrange for him or her to be admitted if they aren’t already in hospital. The operating teams are put on stand-by, round the clock if necessary. Time is always of the essence where live tissue is concerned.’
‘Of course.’
‘Apart from the actual theatre teams, we also need lab support and a supply of blood from the transfusion service available at exactly the right time. A lot of people are involved in a successful transplant. It’s a team effort and there are so many things that can go wrong. A flight gets delayed, a traffic jam, a driver takes the wrong turning. So many things, so many links in the chain, and all of them important.’
Dunbar nodded and pushed his luck. ‘And do they?’ he asked.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Do they go wrong?’
‘Very rarely,’ said Ross with a smile and a touch-wood gesture. ‘There have been a few close calls as regards time but we’ve always managed to get the job done.’
‘That’s interesting,’ said Dunbar. ‘I suppose the clock starts ticking as soon as the donor organ is removed?’
‘Absolutely. There’s only a finite time before it becomes useless for transplant purposes.’
‘I suppose the ideal thing would be to keep the donor on a life-support system until everything was ready?’
‘In a cold, clinical sense, yes,’ agreed Ross. ‘But of course the moral implications of such a procedure dictate that hospitals can’t actually do this — well, not overtly. There’d be a public outcry.’
‘Of course. So with time ticking away, and traffic jams and airline delays all playing their part, you must have to get the organ into your patient almost as soon as it comes through the door?’
‘Almost,’ agreed Ross. ‘The theatre staff are usually prepped and ready.’
‘No time for any last-minute checks on the organ itself?’ said Dunbar, feeling as if he’d just jumped into water without knowing the depth.
There was a tense pause before Ross said, ‘I don’t think I’m quite with you. What sort of checks are you referring to?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Dunbar, trying to appear off-hand and casual. ‘The usual things, blood group, tissue- typing, AIDS, Hep. B screening, that sort of thing.’ He had slipped his real question in at number two in the list, hoping it would nestle there without arousing suspicion. A glance at Ross as they proceeded along the corridor made him doubt whether he had succeeded: the smile had gone from his face.
‘All these things are usually done at the donor hospital,’ said Ross.
‘Of course. That would make sense,’ said Dunbar. ‘I just wondered whether, with an international donor network, standards might vary from country to country.’
‘All hospitals in the network work to the highest standards,’ said Ross.
‘I see,’ said Dunbar.
‘But when we have time to spare, we do carry out our own screening,’ said Ross.
‘I felt sure you would,’ said Dunbar.
‘And here we are back where we started,’ said Ross as they returned to the unit’s foyer. ‘Is there anything else we can show you or help you with?’
‘Your research labs,’ said Dunbar. ‘I didn’t see them.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ agreed Ross. ‘My labs aren’t actually in the hospital. As you’re not funding them any more, I didn’t think they’d come within your remit.’
Dunbar detected resentment in Ross’s voice. He decided on a conciliatory response. ‘You’re absolutely right. I was just personally interested. Did you manage to get alternative funding for your work, Doctor?’
‘Enough to keep going for the moment,’ replied Ross. ‘Medic International have been generous.’
‘I’m glad. It was all very unfortunate.’
‘Yes,’ replied Ross. He seemed wryly amused at Dunbar’s choice of word. ‘Most unfortunate.’
‘How is the research going?’
‘Quite well, thank you, but progress is never as fast as one would like.’
‘I suppose not.’
Dunbar shook hands with Ross and Hatfull and followed Ingrid into the elevator.
‘I wasn’t supposed to know about Omega patients, was I?’ he asked as they descended.
Ingrid smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. Dr Ross was just a bit surprised that you knew about them. We don’t get that many, and you’ve only been here five minutes.’
‘Why Omega?’
‘The last letter of the Greek alphabet for the last word in care and attention,’ said Ingrid. ‘Nothing’s too good for them. Nothing’s too much trouble.’
‘At a price,’ said Dunbar.
‘Of course. They’re used to being pampered. Most of our patients are. Do you know what they’re really paying for at Medic Ecosse?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Secrecy,’ she said. ‘Absolute discretion. People who come here for cosmetic surgery don’t want their friends to know they’re having it done. People who come here because they’re ill don’t want their enemies to know about it. Any suggestion of ill health at the top can trigger a coup or wipe millions off share values. Complete confidentiality is probably the most valuable commodity we offer.’
‘I’m surprised you told me about Omega patients at all,’ said Dunbar.
‘I just thought as you’re going to be going through the books you were going to find out everything that goes on anyway.’
‘True.’
‘I promise you, you are going to be sick of the word “confidential” before you’re through,’ said Ingrid. ‘People here think twice before they’ll tell you the time. They’re not being obstructive. Their job depends on it.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Dunbar. ‘But I do have the right to request any information I feel I need.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she mimicked. ‘Is there anything else you want to see?’
‘Not at the moment. I think I’ll make a start on the paperwork and maybe have a wander around later on my own if there’s time.’
‘Don’t forget your ID badge.’
Dunbar nodded.
‘So you won’t be needing me any more today?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ll make a note of any questions and maybe we can talk again in the morning.’
Ingrid looked at her watch and said, ‘It’s lunch-time. Would you like to try the staff restaurant or do you have other plans?’
‘No other plans,’ said Dunbar.
