Despite the lateness of the hour, sleep did not come easily. The events of the day went round in his head like scenes on a fairground carousel. The more he searched for answers, the bigger the questions seemed to get. Even niggling little worries demanded his attention. He was thinking about how he would return the equipment he’d borrowed from Radiology when a thought struck him. At the hospital, when he’d seen the surgical team get into the lift with the child, they’d taken her up to the second floor. He’d thought nothing of it at the time but now he realized that that would have taken them up to the east wing of Obstetrics, the one being used for the Omega patient. Why were they taking the child up there?
TEN
Dunbar was up early in the morning. The first thing he did was check his coded computer mail file. It had already been updated with a list of phone numbers, which he noted down in the small notebook he always carried. They were special numbers for the police and other authorities in the area, and would get him whatever assistance he needed, at priority level. There were also two bank account numbers he could use to obtain emergency funding. There was a Sci-Med telephone number to be used at any time of the day or night in making special requests and, finally, a directive that he should make personal contact at his earliest convenience. It was the standard package for Sci-Med investigators in the field when they asked for full operational status.
For the moment, everything depended on establishing the origins of the radioactive source. He asked Sci-Med to get the radioactive sample couriered to London and to arrange laboratory analysis of it. The evidence, he warned them, was little more than radioactive dirt. Would they do their best to identify the unknown isotope and its source?
As usual, he was impressed at the way Sci-Med didn’t question his requests. They simply accepted them and asked if he had any more or if there was anything else they could do to assist. This is the way an administration should work, he thought. They smoothed the way for the real function of the organization. In many government institutions administration had become an end in itself. In the worst cases, roles were reversed. Front-line workers existed only as administration fodder, to be administered, to provide information, data and statistics for administrators. Their true function had been totally undermined.
From what he’d heard from friends and colleagues, the NHS was well on the way to this state already. More and more medical and nursing time was taken up with the filling in of forms, the answering of questionnaires and complying with audit and monitoring procedures — generally being subject to the whims of an administration seeking to justify and multiply its own existence.
Dunbar scrounged some cardboard and adhesive tape from Reception and used it to make a small parcel of the lead pipe containing the debris. He checked the outside thoroughly with the radiation monitor before taking the package downstairs to await collection. He brought some black coffee back up with him and thought about what he was going to do next. He was going to drive down to Helensburgh to see Sheila Barnes, ostensibly to return her journal to her. He had planned to do so anyway, but now his number-one priority was to ask her if she could remember who had installed the phone junction box on her living-room wall and when. Maybe she could come up with a description or even a name.
After much heart-searching, he had decided not to tell her about the radiation source. She was dying and had accepted her fate with good grace. Telling her of his suspicions would only bring bitterness to her last days. It might also oblige him to inform the police, he acknowledged. Was that the real reason he wasn’t going to tell her? Sometimes it was all too easy to fool oneself about true motivation. He hoped it really was for Sheila’s sake, but he couldn’t be sure.
He had not yet left the hotel when a courier arrived to pick up the parcel containing the isotope. The man was surprised at how much the small package weighed. ‘What you got in here then?’ he joked. ‘Lead?’
Dunbar took his time driving down to Helensburgh. Driving at moderate speed meant that he didn’t have to concentrate too hard on the road ahead. There was time to think of other things and he definitely needed time to get his thoughts in order. The question was where to begin. There seemed to be no logical starting-point. He had never felt so much at sea in an investigation. The only real crime to come to grips with was the planting of the isotope in Sheila Barnes’s house, but surely that had been done to keep her quiet about something that had gone before, the death of a child. So what were the real circumstances surrounding the child’s death — and presumably Amy Teasdale’s too — that warranted murder to conceal the truth?
The room was being kept shaded but Dunbar could see that Sheila was close to death. Her emaciated body was so fragile that it seemed that the slightest breeze coming in the window might turn her to dust. He watched her sleep for a few moments after the care assistant had gone, wondering whether it might not be better if he just left. If she was sleeping she wasn’t in pain and that was probably the most important consideration… but he needed to ask her about the junction box. A moral dilemma.
‘Sheila?’ he said quietly.
There was no response.
He tried once more, then turned on his heel to leave. He had almost reached the door when he heard Sheila stir behind him. ‘Peter? Is that you?’
Dunbar turned round. Her eyes were still closed. He was about to announce himself when Sheila continued.
‘I knew you’d come. I’m so glad you did. I know we didn’t part on the best of terms last time, dear, but I knew you’d come to say good-bye to your poor old mother. Everything I said was for your own good you know. You do realize that, don’t you?’
Dunbar found himself saying, ‘Yes, of course.’
‘I was just thinking about that holiday we went on when you were about eight. D’you remember? You and your father went out in that small boat and caught three fish and I cooked them for tea. The look on your face… you were so proud…’
‘I remember,’ whispered Dunbar. He retreated into deep shadow in case she should open her eyes.
‘I’m so happy you came, my dear. I do love you, you know.’
‘I know, Mother, and I love you,’ murmured Dunbar. ‘Get some rest now. We can talk later.’
‘That would be nice, dear,’ said Sheila distantly, and she drifted back into sleep.
Dunbar tiptoed out of the room and decided to have a word with matron about the exchange before he left. He explained what had happened and how he’d played along. ‘I hope I did the right thing, Matron.’
‘I think that was exactly the right thing to do under the circumstances. Sheila’s very near to death.’
‘I take it her son hasn’t come to see her or his father?’ asked Dunbar.
Matron shook her head. ‘I understand Peter is a bit of a black sheep. There was a serious family falling-out over money. Peter wanted funding for some new business venture but it was something he’d done before. Sheila and Cyril said no. These things happen I’m afraid.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Dunbar. He thanked the matron for her reassurance and left the hospice knowing that he would have no reason to return.
On the way back to Glasgow, he decided to fly down to London on the following day and report to Sci-Med. He’d go into the hospital this evening and leave a note for Ingrid. He’d leave it until late. He didn’t want to talk to anyone there.
All Sandy and Kate’s new-found optimism disappeared in one awful moment when a nurse showed them into Amanda’s room and they found her looking like a starving refugee from a Third World country. Her skin was deathly white and her eyes seemed huge. She was awake but she simply stared up at the ceiling. The white rabbit the hospital had given her lay beside her on the pillow, its colour not dissimilar to Amanda’s.
Sandy turned to the nurse, while Kate tried to make contact with Amanda. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked hoarsely.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ replied the nurse. ‘Amanda was kept off dialysis yesterday while Dr Ross ran some tests on her.’
‘What tests?’ asked Sandy.
‘There were a number,’ replied the nurse vaguely. ‘Would you like me to find a member of the medical staff? They’re actually a bit busy at the moment but I’m sure I…’
