He nodded and put his hand on hers.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ demanded Amanda.
‘Nothing,’ said Kate.
‘Didn’t look like nothing to me,’ said Amanda.
‘Oh really, young lady,’ said Kate. ‘In that case we were discussing which one of us was going to tickle your tummy first!’ She made a mock attack on Amanda, who broke into a fit of giggles. Sandy grinned broadly at the sound. No symphony could have sounded sweeter.
Later, as she and Sandy walked to the car, Kate asked, ‘What do you think?’
‘Same as you. Bloody marvellous.’
‘You don’t think it’s just one of these remissions you hear about, when patients suddenly seem to get better but it’s only a temporary thing?’
Sandy shook his head. ‘No. Cancer patients get those. Amanda doesn’t have cancer. I really think it must be the improved dialysis set-up they have here. Now that they’ve got it right, it must have cleaned her blood better than the other machines, got rid of more toxins. That’s what’s making her more alert and energetic.’
‘She was just like she used to be,’ said Kate.
He agreed, adding, ‘Better dialysis means more time between sessions; that’ll give them more time to work on stabilizing her. They won’t be struggling to keep her alive all the time and then, if they succeed in stabilizing her, there’ll be more time for a kidney to become available.’
He put his arm round Kate’s shoulders and gave her a hug. ‘A good day,’ he said. ‘Let’s eat out this evening?’
Kate nodded and returned the hug.
When he got back to his hotel, Dunbar found a message from Sci-Med waiting for him. He was instructed to meet a man named James Douglas in a pub called the Crane in Salamander Street at eight o’clock. There was also an apology for the lack of information about James Ross’s interests in Geneva. They’d had difficulties in obtaining it at the outset and, having assumed that it wouldn’t be relevant to the Glasgow inquiry, they hadn’t pursued it further. They’d try again.
Dunbar decided to leave the car in the hotel car park and take a taxi to the Crane. That way he wouldn’t have problems with parking and he wouldn’t have to bother finding out where Salamander Street was. As he climbed into the cab, he gave the name of the pub to the driver and asked, ‘Do you know it?’
‘Aye. Do you?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Dunbar.
‘If you turn up at the Crane in a taxi you’re gonna stick out like a sair thumb. They’ll figure you as a DHS snooper. You’re no’, are you?’
‘Nothing like that.’
‘It’s nane o’ ma business like, but if you want some advice, pal, you’ll get oot the motor a couple o’ streets away and walk the rest.’
‘Thanks for the warning.’
‘Nae problem. Shame aboot the accent. Still, there’s nothin’ you can do aboot that.’
‘True.’
‘Mind you-’
‘I know,’ interrupted Dunbar. ‘I could keep my mouth shut.’
‘An oldie but a goldie,’ laughed the driver.
The cab stopped in an area where street lights seemed an alien concept.
‘Place is dyin’,’ said the driver. ‘Bulldozers will be comin’ in at the end o’ the year.’
Dunbar thanked him, gave him the six pounds for the fare and added four more.
‘Cheers. Your place is along there on the left. You canny miss it.’
The cab did an about-turns and clattered off, leaving Dunbar to think how quiet it was. He was in a street with high tenement buildings on either side and yet he could have heard a pin drop. No voices, no radio or television sounds, no dogs barking, no cooking smells, only the smell of diesel exhaust left on the air by the cab. There were no lights in the buildings, either. They were empty black stone monuments, harbouring nothing but the ghosts of families past. Something flitted across the pavement in front of him and disappeared into the dark mouth of one of the closes. He wanted to believe it was a cat but knew otherwise. He quickened his pace.
He was beginning to have doubts about a pub existing in this area at all when he saw light spill out on to the road a hundred yards ahead. As he drew nearer, he could hear male laughter. The Crane was the only inhabited property in the street. Its unimposing exterior suggested it had not always been a pub. It had the flat frontage of a double-windowed shop with clear glass windows. Behind the glass, thick darkgreen curtains, heavy with years of accumulated grime, hung from two round brass rails three-quarters of the way up. Above the curtain line Dunbar could see only the ceiling, which seemed to have been varnished with nicotine.
He had to stoop to get through the door and was surprised to find that there were three steps down to the floor of the bar. He paused at the top for a moment to look around the room. Several customers turned to look at him. Not knowing how to recognize and make contact with Douglas, he thought he’d better just wait, so went to the bar and ordered a pint of lager. The barman complied without comment and placed the glass in front of him. He took the fiver and brought the change.
‘Before you ask, I don’t know.’
‘Don’t know what?’ asked Dunbar.
The barman leaned one elbow on the counter and said, ‘Listen, pal, there’s mair chance o’ the Queen Mother comin’ in here than me pickin’ up passing trade. You have a reason for comin’ here and it’s no’ that piss yer drinkin’. You’re after information. I’m just tellin’ you in advance, ye’ll no be gettin’ it frae me. Straight?’
‘Straight,’ agreed Dunbar.
‘That’s no way to speak to a pal o’ mine, Harry,’ said a local voice behind Dunbar. He turned and saw a slim, wiry man dressed in black jeans, a dark polo-neck sweater and soft leather jacket. He had close-cropped ginger hair and looked as if he might have been a useful lightweight boxer.
‘How you doin’, Steve?’ the man asked Dunbar.
‘Just fine… Jimmy,’ replied Dunbar.
‘Sorry aboot that, Jimmy,’ said the barman. ‘Nae offence, pal,’ he said to Dunbar.
‘None taken.’
‘Fancy a seat?’ asked Douglas.
He led the way to a bench seat with the stuffing protruding in several places. They put down their drinks on a table that was awash with beer slops.
‘Why here?’ asked Dunbar as an adjacent door opened and the smell of urine wafted out.
‘I had to be sure you weren’t followed. You weren’t.’
‘I came by cab.’
‘I know. You gave the driver a generous tip.’
Dunbar didn’t inquire how he knew. ‘Why all the precautions?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know who you are or what you’re into. The people who employ me don’t tell me things like that. They figure I don’t need to know. It’s all done through intermediaries so the customers can pretend they know nothing at all about it if things go wrong. I have to treat everyone the same. You could be the most wanted man in Europe, for all I know.’
‘What do you know?’ asked Dunbar.
‘You’d like to gain access to a place where the door might be locked. I’ve to get you inside and then out again.’
‘It’s a research lab. They work on animals. It’s at a place called Vane Farm, three miles north of the city on the Lomond Road.’
Douglas had brought out a notebook and was jotting information down. ‘What are you after?’
‘Information about what they’re doing. I think it’ll be in computer files in the building.’
‘University or private?’
‘Private.’
‘A pity. Probably means they’ve got proper security. Know anything about that?’
Dunbar told him what he’d learned from last year’s research budget records.
