transplant referrals had been financed. In fact, he was surprised that more had not been made of the hospital’s generosity, in terms of publicity. After all, the news of Medic Ecosse using large fees to finance expensive charity cases would have reflected very well on the hospital and particularly, as most of the costs would have been borne by the transplant unit, on James Ross and his staff. It would, of course, be at odds with a unit callously conducting animal experiments on some of their patients…
Dunbar thought he could see a way of asking Ingrid about the tests on Amanda Chapman without arousing suspicion. He looked down her list of transplant costs, then said jokingly, ‘It looks like you folks are short-changing Amanda Chapman.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘According to her costing file, she hasn’t had any of these tests you put on the list for transplant admissions.’
Ingrid came over to stand behind him and look at the screen. Dunbar brought up Amanda’s file. ‘See?’
Her face relaxed into a smile and she said, ‘Oh, I know why not. Amanda didn’t have these tests because she came here from the Children’s Hospital. She had all her immunology stats done over there. She didn’t need them. She’s already on the register.’
‘Of course,’ said Dunbar. ‘I should have thought of that.’
But her words raised new questions. Just what the hell had Medic Ecosse been doing, giving Amanda- Chapman a marrow puncture at night in the Omega patient’s wing? If Ingrid Landes, a secretary, realized that Amanda didn’t need further immunology testing, then so without doubt did the nursing and medical staff. Come to think of it, how did Ingrid know about immunology testing? She worked for Giordano in administration; she wasn’t even a medical secretary. It made him curious. The next time she was out of the room he would pull her personnel file.
In the meantime, he resigned himself to working his way through the accounts for the last financial year, while he waited for the answer to his request for the exhumation of Amy Teasdale. To offset some of the boredom, and check up on things that it might be useful to know in the long run, he’d try to find out something about the money allocated to Ross’s research.
Until the Scottish Office had pulled the plug on the previous arrangement, he recalled, Ross’s funding had been a proportion of transplant unit profits. As that was the case, the hospital accounts might hold itemized costings for the research. Dunbar wanted to know what the money was being spent on. He also thought he might find out where Ross’s research funding was currently coming from.
At first, the accounts seemed to have no reference at all to money being allocated to a research budget. Dunbar couldn’t understand it. It wasn’t as if it was secret. Ross was a widely acclaimed researcher. Everyone knew about his research programme. If the item he was looking for was not listed as research money, it must be listed under something else. He checked the file-names again, and his eye was caught by something called ‘Vane Farm Account.’ What was that?
He clicked it open and found what he was looking for. Ross’s research labs were located at a place called Vane Farm. Dunbar supposed it made sense if a lot of the work was concerned with experimental animals. Everything connected with Ross’s research seemed to be itemized in the Vane Farm account, from technicians’ salaries to rent for the property, from laboratory equipment to security expenditure. He also noted the purchase of pigs.
There was, however, nothing about alternative sources of funding in the current year. Dunbar had expected to find an increase in core funding from Medic International, which would have been the simplest explanation for Ross having stayed on after the withdrawal of unit-linked funding. But there was no sign of such an increase. He supposed, however, that this could still be the case. There would be no requirement to channel such funding through the hospital accounts, particularly as Ross’s research facilities were located elsewhere. That must be the explanation, unless Ross was funding his own research; and for that he would have to be awfully rich.
Dunbar knew what Ross earned. His salary was listed in the Sci-Med files. It certainly wasn’t enough to facilitate private research. On the other hand, Ross did have consultancy work in Geneva. Sci-Med hadn’t given details, merely noting that he had it. Was this because they didn’t know any more? He’d ask them when they finally got back to him about his earlier request. Why were they taking so long?
Ingrid went to lunch. Dunbar said he’d go later, in keeping with his policy of keeping his relationship with Ingrid on a strictly business footing. He still wasn’t sure about her. The possibility that she had been assigned to keep an eye on him was always in his mind, so the safest course of action was to keep her at arm’s length. While she was away, he pulled out her file.
Ingrid Landes was a fully qualified nurse, he discovered. Besides that she was a graduate in nursing studies from the University of Edinburgh. She had worked in several private clinics before joining Medic Ecosse on the administrative staff. Her last nursing position had been at the St Pierre Clinic in Geneva.
Well, well, well, thought Dunbar. It’s a small world. Had Ross been responsible for bringing Ingrid to Medic Ecosse?
His mobile phone rang and broke his train of thought. Thinking it must be Sci-Med with news about the exhumation, Dunbar snatched up the handset.
‘Steven? I’m sorry to bother you,’ said Lisa’s voice, ‘but I thought I’d better tell you where I am in case you tried my number and started to worry when there was no reply.’
‘What’s wrong? Has something happened?’ asked Dunbar.
‘It’s Mum. She took ill during the night. The doctor thinks it’s pneumonia. They’re taking her into the Western Infirmary. I’m going with her.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dunbar. ‘Actually I was going to call you,’ he began uneasily.
‘Oh yes?’
‘It’s about Amy…’
‘What about her?’
‘I’ve requested her exhumation. I didn’t tell you sooner because I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.’
There was a long pause.
‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ said Lisa. ‘It just took me by surprise. It shouldn’t have. I suppose it was the obvious thing to do.’
‘There’s no other way of finding out,’ said Dunbar gently.
‘I suppose not,’ said Lisa distantly. ‘Her poor parents. After all they’ve been through… They’re going to blame me for this.’
‘Why?’
Lisa broke off. ‘I’ll have to go,’ she said. ‘They’re waiting for me. I’ll talk to you later.’
‘Lisa-’ Dunbar heard the phone go dead. ‘Damn,’ he muttered. He sat for a few minutes, then decided to drive over to the Western Infirmary.
He parked in a side street at least a quarter of a mile away from the entrance, thinking that this would be easier than trying to find a parking space any nearer. If he tried, he’d probably fail and spend the next ten minutes kerb-crawling around adjacent streets before ending up where he already was. He walked briskly up to the hospital and followed the signs to the medical admissions ward. He found Lisa sitting on the edge of a plastic chair in the corridor outside, knees clamped together with her clasped hands caught between them. She was staring at the floor as if deeply unhappy.
‘Lisa?’
Lisa looked up and he could see that her eyes were red.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, although she did not seem disappointed.
‘You’re upset. I thought I might run you home.’
She smiled wanly. ‘A kind thought.’
‘So what’s upsetting you most? Your mother or Amy.’
‘Both I suppose, in their own ways.’
A plump nurse with flat feet in the ‘ten to two’ position, and holding a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other, appeared in the doorway. She asked, ‘Miss Fairfax?’
Lisa stepped forward. ‘Yes?’
‘Dr Campbell will see you now.’ Lisa turned to Dunbar.
‘Go ahead. I’ll wait here,’ said Dunbar.
