As they walked towards the restaurant he asked, ‘Which wing is the Omega patient in?’
‘The east wing of Obstetrics.’
‘Then she’s having a baby?’
‘That would be my guess too,’ replied Ingrid. ‘Here we are.’ She pushed open a swing door and ushered Dunbar in first. The staff restaurant at Medic Ecosse was a light, bright self-service facility which, judging by the crowd, was very popular. Dunbar opted for a tuna salad and looked around for a table while Ingrid collected her baked potato. He saw two nurses about to vacate a table by the window and timed his approach to coincide with their leaving. He waved to Ingrid, who had momentarily lost sight of him.
‘You’ve done this before,’ she said as she joined him.
‘London-trained,’ he replied. ‘Push or die. Is it always this busy?’
‘Most days,’ replied Ingrid. ‘There aren’t too many other places round here. Apart from that the meals are heavily subsidized.’
‘I noticed.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Ingrid.
‘The price of a tuna salad isn’t going to make much difference to government investment in Medic Ecosse,’ he assured her.
‘What is?’ she asked.
‘It’s quite simple really. You must either attract more paying patients or charge the patients you’re already getting a lot more.’
‘I think our prices are pretty well in the top of the range as it is,’ said Ingrid.
‘That’s my impression too,’ said Dunbar. ‘So it’s a case of developing a marketing strategy that will you bring you more custom, identifying your strengths and capitalizing on them.’
‘Our patients seem well satisfied with the treatment they get here,’ said Ingrid.
Dunbar smiled ruefully and said, ‘The trouble is they can’t tell anyone about it. You said yourself that they don’t want people to know they’ve been here. You’re selling confidentiality.’
‘I hadn’t considered the down-side of it,’ said Ingrid. ‘I suppose we can hardly ask them to tell all their friends!’
‘Apart from that, their friends will be pretending there’s nothing wrong with them anyway!’ said Dunbar with an extravagant shrug that made Ingrid smile.
‘Dr Ross mentioned an NHS patient getting plastic surgery here tomorrow?’ he went on.
‘That’s right,’ replied Ingrid. ‘It’s a face reconstruction, a young girl. She was born with a protruding jaw that disfigured her whole appearance. The surgeons are going to fix it so that she can lead a normal life.’
‘I take it the hospital has put out a press release?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Ingrid. ‘I’m told the results will be quite dramatic, so the before and after pictures should be spectacular.’
Dunbar nodded. ‘Especially as there’s no scarring with that particular operation. They do all the cutting from inside the mouth, even removing portions of jawbone from either side. It should be very good publicity for the hospital.’
Ingrid said quietly, ‘I don’t think that’s the only reason the surgeons are doing it.’
‘Of course not,’ he conceded. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded cynical. The hospital needs as much good publicity as it can get.’
‘You seemed very interested in Dr Ross’s unit this morning. Is transplant technology a particular interest of yours?’
‘Not really,’ he said, immediately on his guard.
‘You seemed very interested in the logistics of transplants and what happened to the donor organs when they arrived,’ she persisted.
Alarm bells rang in Dunbar’s head. If Ingrid thought that, the chances were that Ross and Hatfull must have thought the same. Damn it! Had he overplayed his hand on his very first day? ‘I was just curious,’ he lied.
SIX
Dunbar spent the afternoon looking through the computerized staff and accounting files provided by Leo Giordano’s office. He found it all extremely boring but felt obliged to identify some questions to ask in the next few days, in order to make his role in the hospital seem genuine. As for the real purpose of his visit, he was just looking and learning. So far, everything about the hospital, and the transplant unit in particular, seemed impressive. Its record in terms of successful transplants was second to none, it was staffed by people of the highest calibre, the equipment was state-of-the-art, it was led by one of the finest transplant surgeons in the country, if not the world, and the unit was not under pressure — the usual cause of things going wrong in a hospital. If first impressions were anything to go by, Ross’s unit was the last place on earth he was going to find evidence of mix-ups or sloppiness.
The thing that still bothered him, of course, was the same thing that had bothered the Sci-Med computer, the fact that the same allegation had been made not once but twice, by two trained nurses, who didn’t know each other. At least, he had assumed they didn’t know each other. Was it possible that they did? He took the Sci-Med personnel files from his briefcase and checked the dates. Sheila Barnes had left Medic Ecosse almost two years before Lisa Fairfax started work there.
He would have to talk to them, he decided. If he ruled out sloppiness or bad management as possibilities, he would have to consider alternative explanations for the women’s allegations. Those would include malice and hysteria. He would have a word with Staff Nurse Fairfax first, find out what made her tick. You could usually tell more from a two-minute conversation with someone than from reading a fifty-page personnel file.
Sci-Med had supplied Lisa Fairfax’s address and telephone number. He picked up the phone and then thought again. He stared at the receiver for a moment, wondering if the hospital operated a call-logging system. He wouldn’t like anyone to know he was calling a dismissed member of staff, particularly as Ingrid had noted his interest in how donor organs were handled when they arrived. Any suspicion that the authorities were giving credence to a totally unsubstantiated allegation against such a prestigious unit as the Medic Ecosse transplant unit, and he really would be asking for trouble. He decided to make the call using his own mobile phone.
Dunbar didn’t hold out much hope of Lisa Fairfax being in on a weekday afternoon. He thought she’d be out at work but, as it turned out, she wasn’t.
‘Hello,’ said a well-modulated voice.
‘Miss Fairfax? My name is Dr Steven Dunbar. I’m sorry to ring you out of the blue like this but I wonder if we might arrange a meeting? I’d like to talk to you about your time at Medic Ecosse Hospital?’
‘Why do you want to see me?’
‘I work for a government department. We investigate allegations of irregularity in patient care.’
‘Do you now?’ said Lisa. ‘You’re a bit late, aren’t you?’
‘Well, you know what they say about wheels that grind slowly: they grind exceeding small,’ said Dunbar. He immediately regretted it; it sounded flippant. ‘I know you must be very busy,’ he continued, ‘but I really would appreciate it if you’d agree to see me.’
‘Busy? I haven’t worked since I left Medic Ecosse,’ said Lisa.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Could we talk?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘I said all I had to say at the time and everyone ignored me. Look where it got me! It lost me my job and probably all chances of getting another, if those people at Medic Ecosse have anything to do with it.’
‘I’d like to hear your side of the story,’ said Dunbar.
‘So you can do what? File it under “Ramblings of a neurotic woman” like they did last time? Offer me sympathy and counselling? Patronizing bastards.’ The words were angry but controlled.
‘I can’t say what I’d do until I hear what you have to say,’ replied Dunbar. ‘But if I thought there was any substance to your claims, I promise I’d see they were investigated fully.’
Lisa sounded unconvinced. She said, ‘I really don’t think there’s any point in going through the hassle all over
