power. Suggestions by the powerful that Sci-Med might back off in certain investigations when they came too close to home were always met with refusal and expressions of support for his people. He never excused or ignored any wrong-doing among the rich and powerful of the land and had, as a result, made many enemies along the way. He had once confided in Steven that certain individuals would move heaven and earth to stop him being recognised for Sci-Med’s achievements so Steven had been tickled pink to see Macmillan’s name come up in the honours list. He hoped that his own success in thwarting a potentially disastrous attack by Al-Qaeda on the UK and US government infrastructures might have helped pave the way for the award because he liked and respected the man enormously and had on several occasions in the past good cause to thank him for his backing when he personally had ruffled the feathers of the establishment.
Steven had been on leave for the past two months, recovering from traumas suffered in his last assignment and regaining fitness at a military camp in North Wales through an arrangement with his old regiment.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fit and well,’ replied Steven.
‘Jean said you were up in Scotland when she contacted you?’
‘I was up seeing Jenny.’
‘How is she?’
‘I think I’ve just had a glimpse of the terrible teens to come.’
‘Oh dear,’ smiled Macmillan. ‘Girls are always so much more trouble than boys in my experience.’
‘So people keep telling me.’
Macmillan settled back in his chair, looking every inch the Whitehall mandarin, tanned, smooth skin belying his sixty odd years, silver hair swept back, confidence oozing from every pore. He looked at Steven for a moment before saying, ‘Nothing too serious I hope?’
‘Not in the great scheme of things, I suppose. It was just a bit of a shock to discover that she no longer sees me as her knight in shining armour who appears out of the mist from time to time bearing gifts and telling tales of fighting evil. She now sees me as a flawed human being who chose to abandon her in a far-off land.’
Macmillan smiled and said, ‘I’m sure that’s not true but it sounds like something all fathers in your position have to go through. The irony is that if you really had abandoned her and she never saw you at all, she’d regard you as a saint and make all sorts of excuses for you.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Don’t let it get you down. You’ve always had Jenny’s best interests at heart. She’s always been a much loved little girl. I remember celebrating her birth in this very office.’
Steven nodded, anxious that the conversation should move on.
Macmillan flipped open a file on his desk. ‘Dr Scott Haldane, aged thirty-five, general practitioner in a family practice in Edinburgh — at least he was until he took his own life, leaving a wife and two young children behind.’
Steven screwed up his face. ‘Thirty-five? No age at all. What’s our interest?’
‘I’m not sure that we have one but… it’s possible. His wife is absolutely adamant that he did not commit suicide.’
‘Not an uncommon reaction,’ said Steven. ‘It must be a very hard thing to come to terms with.’
‘Well, she apparently has no intention at all of accepting it. She insists that her husband was murdered and has been seizing every opportunity to say so in public. She insists that he was a devoted husband and father, a committed Christian, happy and settled in his work and with everything to live for.’
‘What do the police say?’
‘The body was found in woodland quite near where he lived — a place known as the Hermitage of Braid. He’d cut his wrists. There was nothing to suggest it wasn’t suicide apart from the fact that there was no note and the police failed to establish any reason why Haldane would want to end his life. He seems to have been everything his wife says he was. Perhaps for the same reason, they didn’t come up with any reason why someone would want to kill him either.’
Steven thought for a moment before saying, ‘This is all very sad but I’m sorry, I don’t see where Sci-Med comes in.’
‘Haldane’s wife is an intelligent woman: she’s a nursing sister at the new Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh. She insists that her husband was murdered over something to do with one of his patients.’
‘One of his patients killed him?’ exclaimed Steven.
‘Nothing like that,’ said Macmillan. ‘The practice was treating a child for a skin complaint. The mother wasn’t happy with the way her child’s case was being handled by their GP and a transfer was made to Haldane’s list. He referred the child to a skin clinic and something called vitiligo was diagnosed.’ Macmillan gave Steven an enquiring glance.
‘Not really my area but, as I remember, it’s a fairly harmless pigment problem leading to patches on the skin — more embarrassing than dangerous.’
‘That would fit with what I have here,’ said Macmillan. ‘Apparently the child, however, was very sensitive about her condition and her mother came home one day to find — in her opinion — that she’d attempted to remove the patch with boiling water.’
‘My God,’ said Steven.
‘According to Haldane’s wife, there was some disagreement about this. Haldane was sure the scalding had been an accident.’
‘What an awful situation,’ said Steven. ‘How is the child?’
‘She’s still in hospital and quite seriously ill.’
‘Was she able to throw any light on what happened?’
‘She’s hardly said a word since the “accident”.’
‘Poor lass. How old?’
‘Thirteen.’
‘A very self-conscious age,’ said Steven.
‘Any thoughts so far?’
‘Just from what you’ve told me, it’s not inconceivable that the girl did it deliberately, in which case Haldane may have felt guilt over not having referred her for psychiatric help earlier. Whether that might have tipped him over into taking his own life… well, who knows?’
‘Haldane’s wife is adamant that her husband did not believe for a minute that the child had done it deliberately. He was convinced it had been an accident.’
‘I think the popular term could be “in denial”,’ said Steven.
‘Mmm. On the other hand, his wife says that he seemed to be much more upset about some other possibility that he refused to discuss with her.’
‘You mean that someone else might have scalded the girl?’ asked Steven with wide eyes.
Macmillan flinched at the suggestion. ‘I don’t think that was what she meant at all. She says that her husband started making lots of telephone calls, demanding to speak to people about the case, but he constantly ran into some problem because the girl was on some monitoring list that she thinks was called “green sticker patients”. Apparently it made her notes difficult to obtain.’
‘What’s this green sticker business all about?’ asked Steven.
‘That’s where you come in,’ said Macmillan. ‘I’d like you to find out. Have a root around; see what you come up with but most importantly, don’t stand on anyone’s toes, especially not Lothian and Borders Police. They won’t have forgotten the last time you strayed on to their patch. I’ve asked Jean to find you somewhere discreet to stay while you’re up there. She’ll give you details on the way out along with the file.’
‘On my way.’
Jean Roberts smiled when Steven emerged from Macmillan’s office and brought out a folder from the top drawer of her desk which she handed to Steven. ‘All we have on the Edinburgh case. Feel good to be operational again?’
‘I guess,’ smiled Steven. ‘Sir John tells me you were arranging accommodation?’
‘Yes, he said he wanted it to be somewhere discreet where your presence would hopefully go unnoticed. I’ve booked you into a B amp;B in a lovely Victorian building just north of Edinburgh’s New Town called Fraoch House — Fraoch means “heather” in Gaelic. My sister and I stayed there last year when we went up for the festival. It has
