Chameleon

TEN

'That is absolutely marvellous!' exclaimed Jamieson enfolding Sue with both arms and holding her tightly. He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

'You're sure you're pleased?' asked Sue, her voice betraying evidence of doubt.

'Pleased? How could you think anything else? I'm absolutely delighted! I can't begin to tell you how glad I am,' said Jamieson, letting Sue go and spreading his hands as if appealing for divine assistance. The look on his face now left Sue in no doubt about how he felt and their eyes met in one of these moments when two people in love achieve almost perfect communication. It made Jamieson think momentarily on the last time it had happened. It had been near the end of his time in hospital after the accident. It had been on the day he had realised just what an insufferable fool he had been and he had apologised to Sue for his behaviour.

For Sue, it had been the moment when she knew she had got her man back. The change in Jamieson's personality had not been permanent as she had feared in her worst moments. The self-pitying, sarcastic monster she had been putting up with for months had vanished. After Jamieson's apology they had looked at each other without saying anything but understanding everything. Sue had cried for the first time since the accident but the tears had been of relief and happiness.

A knock came to the door and Jamieson opened it. He found Clive Evans standing there.

'I thought I heard voices,' said Evans.

'Come in,' said Jamieson. 'Meet my wife. I've just had some wonderful news.' Jamieson's face was creased in smiles. 'I'm going to be a father.'

'Congratulations,' said Evans warmly. 'Is this your first child Mrs Jamieson?' he asked shaking Sue's hand.

'Please call me Sue. Yes it is.'

'What are you hoping for? Boy or Girl?'

Sue looked at Jamieson and said, 'Well?'

'Don't care,' said Jamieson putting his arm round Sue again and squeezing her shoulder. 'Mind you, if it should be a boy and if he should play wing three-quarter for Scotland, I can't honestly say that I'd be terribly disappointed.'

The laughter was cut short when Jamieson noticed the look on Evans' face and he realised that something was wrong. 'Something's the matter?' he said.

Evans nodded. 'I knocked on your door to tell you that one of the women in ward eight has died and two more are deteriorating fast. The antibiotics aren't working.'

'This is crazy,' said Jamieson. 'Surely we can't have a second infection immune to treatment. Are you sure it's not the Pseudomonas again?'

Evans shrugged apologetically and said, 'I can only say what I found on the slide. It definitely looked like a Staphylococcus infection. 'I suppose it's possible that the Pseudomonas is still lurking there. We won't know for sure until the morning.'

Jamieson sighed in frustration and said, 'I suppose we'll just have to bite the bullet until then.'

'Fraid so,' agreed Evans.

Jamieson thanked Evans for bringing him the news and showed him out.

'What does he do?' asked Sue.

'Clive Evans? He's the bacteriologist at the moment until they appoint a replacement for Richardson. He has the room next door.'

'It sounds as if your infection problem is getting worse not better,' said Sue.

Jamieson nodded and told her about the eight women who had developed infections in the last twelve hours.

'Eight!' exclaimed Sue.

'Within hours of each other.'

'Did they all have their operations on the same day?' asked Sue.

'I thought of that,' said Jamieson. 'No they didn't and so far I haven't uncovered any other common factor.'

Sue went through the options that Richardson and the ward sister had already considered and then lapsed into silence for a moment while she tried to think of another idea. Jamieson switched on the electric kettle to make coffee.

'Why has it taken so long this time for the infection to develop in these women?' Sue asked. 'I seem to remember you saying that the others developed the illness within hours of their operation.'

'They did,' agreed Jamieson. 'But this time Evans thinks it's another bug to blame.'

'This isn't a hospital,' said Sue. 'It's a septic tank!'

'But it's not,' replied Jamieson.

Sue looked puzzled.

'Everything is spotlessly clean and sterile and no one can find where the contamination is coming from. That's the real problem. It appears to come out of the blue.'

'No ideas at all?'

'One,' replied Jamieson a bit reluctantly.

'Well, I'm waiting.'

'It could be deliberate,' said Jamieson.

Sue looked aghast, as if she couldn't believe her ears. There was a long silence before she whispered, 'You can't be serious.'

'I wish I wasn't,' said Jamieson. 'But if we can't find the source of the infection after all the tests that have been done I have to consider the possibility of deliberate sabotage.'

'But how?' asked Sue, her mind rebelling against the notion. 'Why?'

'At the moment I'm considering the possibility that the instruments used in surgery have been deliberately interfered with.'

'But that is absolutely awful!' exclaimed Sue. 'Surely there has to be another explanation? Who in their right mind would do a thing like that?

'No one in their right mind,' said Jamieson, putting emphasis on the word, 'right'.

'You mean someone mentally deranged? On the staff?' Sue asked, her eyes wide with horror.

'Frankly I don't know what I mean right now but certain things need explaining.'

'Like what?'

'Like why does a consultant surgeon take it upon himself to collect surgical instruments from the sterilising department and keep them in his office overnight and why does the same consultant surgeon lie about going to choir practices in the evenings when he is doing no such thing.'

'You have been busy,' said Sue. 'I take it we are talking about Mr Thelwell?'

Jamieson nodded.

'Have you tackled him?'

'About the instruments, yes'

'And?'

'He said he took them to prevent them being interfered with.'

'Then he thinks the same as you?'

'Or he is doing the interfering,' said Jamieson.

'A surgeon?' exclaimed Sue. 'You think that Mr Thelwell is infecting his own patients?'

'I said that it's a possibility I'm considering,' replied Jamieson. 'I have to and apart from anything else, the man clearly has a problem. He's quite paranoid.'

'But that doesn't necessarily mean that he's psychotic,' retorted Sue.

'No,' agreed Jamieson. 'But he is a liar. He's been telling his family that he has been going to choir practises when he's not.'

'So, he's having an affair,' said Sue. 'I don't see what the missed choir practises have to do with the deaths in the hospital.'

'They haven't,' agreed Jamieson. 'It was the deaths outside the hospital I was thinking about.

Sue looked at Jamieson for a moment as if he had gone mad. She searched for words but remained speechless for a long moment until finally she managed to protest. 'You can't mean it! You are talking about the murders in the city?'

'He's a surgeon. The bodies have been dissected. He is paranoid to the point of being clinically borderline in my opinion and he lies about where he's going in the evenings. He interferes in the supply of sterile instruments to the theatre and the body of the last victim was found in the incinerator of this hospital. Food for thought?'

'Is he still operating?' asked Sue.

'No I had to suspend him when Richardson found the infecting organism in his swab but when he gets his final clearance from the Public Health Lab there's nothing I can do to stop him.

'If you're really serious about this, can't you have a word with the police?' asked Sue.

'I need something more than bad feelings before I go to the police about a consultant surgeon and pillar of the community,' said Richardson.

'But what about these choir practices he says he goes to?' said Sue. 'Where does he really go? '

Jamieson nodded and said, 'That's something I intend to find out very soon.'

'You mean you are going to follow him?' asked an astonished Sue.

'Exactly that. He doesn't know that I know about the choir practice lies. That gives me an edge.'

'You don't think you're taking this detective bit a little far?' said Sue. 'Maybe the professionals should do this sort of thing?'

Jamieson nodded and said, 'I know what you mean but it's a simple enough thing to follow Thelwell just once to see where he really goes. If I find out anything, I promise I'll hand the whole business over to the police.'

Sue smiled. 'All right,' she said. 'Just once.'

At Hugh Crichton's suggestion, Jamieson and Sue moved their things to a second floor room in the residency rather than have her move out into the apartment that Sue's father had arranged for her. Ostensibly this was so that Jamieson could remain on hand in the hospital at all times and still be with his wife but Jamieson's slight resentment of Sue's father's involvement in their lives had played a part in the decision. This was not mentioned. As yet, Jamieson had never openly complained to Sue about her father's constant involvement in their marriage because he knew that it would sound ungrateful after all Sue's father had done for them during his long stay in hospital but the potential for trouble in the future remained.

Clive Evans gave them a hand with their luggage. 'No more heavy lifting for you,' Jamieson said to Sue.

'It's a bit early for that,' smiled Sue.

When they had moved everything upstairs and Evans had left them Jamieson noticed that Sue had become much more subdued. 'What's up?' he asked.

Sue looked up at him from the chair she was sitting on and said, 'I suddenly feel ridiculous.'

'Why?'

'It seemed the right thing to do to come here to be with you but now that I am here I feel like a silly schoolgirl. I should have stayed in Kent.'

'No you shouldn't,' said Jamieson softly. 'Its lovely having you near me. We belong together. But it's not going to be much fun for you. I've got to get to the bottom of this business.'

Sue suddenly burst into tears and put her head on Jamieson's shoulder. 'Oh dear,' she said. 'Does being pregnant mean behaving like this all the time?'

Jamieson held her and shushed her gently. 'Dry you eyes,' he said. 'We'll go out to dinner. The three of us.' He patted Sue» s stomach and she smiled.

They were half way through dinner when Sue suddenly laid down her knife and fork and looked at Jamieson, wide eyed.

'What's wrong?' asked Jamieson.

'The women weren't infected during their operations at all,' said Sue.

'I beg your pardon,' said Jamieson, taken aback at Sue's sudden statement.

'The infected women in the ward,' said Sue. 'They didn't pick up the infection during surgery at all.'

'Go on,' said Jamieson, putting down his knife and fork.

'The infection was caused by something in the post-op ward.'

'It's been cleaned and disinfected,' said Jamieson.

'I didn't mean that.'

'Then what?'

'Their dressings,' said Sue.

'Their dressings?'

'The chances are that the women all had their dressings changed during the same ward round. That's when the infection could have set in.' That's why they all developed the illness together. The bug was in the dressings.'

'Contaminated dressings?' said Jamieson quietly. 'God, you could be right.' He left the table to phone the hospital from the public phone at the side of the bar. He watched Sue play idly with her cutlery while he waited for the hospital to answer. It seemed to take an age.

'Kerr Memorial,' said the voice.

'Surgical gynaecology,' said Jamieson.

'They're engaged at the moment. Will you hold caller?'

Jamieson said that he would through gritted teeth. He shrugged as Sue caught his eye.

'Surgical, Sister Roache speaking.'

'This is Dr Jamieson, Sister. I need some information about the application of surgical dressings in the ward.'

'What exactly do you want to know?' asked the nurse.

'Tell me everything. I want to know your routine for changing them. I also want to know when you do it and the order in which they're done. I need to know who does them and how often the routine changes. Everything.'

'Let me see now,' said Sister Roache. 'New patients are treated on an individual basis so for them, it could be any time. After a couple of days on the ward patients would have their dressings changed after morning ward rounds, say some time from ten thirty onwards. It would be done consecutively.'

'All of them?'

'Yes.'

'But you have seventeen patients in the ward at present if I remember rightly?' said Jamieson.

'Seventeen, yes.'

Jamieson cursed under his breath. If all of the women had had their dressings changed consecutively why had only eight developed wound infections?

'Size!' whispered Sue who had come across to eavesdrop on the conversation. 'Ask about the size of the dressings!'

'What size of dressings were used in the changes Sister?' Jamieson waited while she went to check.

There was an excitement in Sister Roache's voice when she came back to the phone. 'I think you may have your common factor Doctor,' she said. 'The eight infected women were given 200mm dressings the others had various other sizes used on them.'

'Were the 200mm dressings all from the same pack?' asked Jamieson with baited breath.

'It would appear so,' replied the nurse.

'Are there any left from that pack?' asked Jamieson.

'I'd have to check.'

'If there are put them to one side. Don't let anyone near them. I have to get them to the lab.'

'Very good.'

Jamieson put down the phone. 'You were right,' he said to Sue. 'You're a genius. It was the dressings. An unsterile pack of dressings'

'But how did they get to be unsterile?' replied Sue.

Jamieson shook his head as a black cloud swirled around inside his head.

When they got back to the residency Jamieson went immediately up to the Gynaecology Department and spoke to Sister Roache. She handed him a dressing pack with only two remaining in it. Jamieson was careful not to touch either of them.

'Staff Nurse Telfer says that this was the pack that was used,' said the sister. 'She and student nurse Barnes applied them.' Jamieson said that he would take them to the lab and asked about the condition of the infected women.

'Not good. I've never known such a virulent outbreak of wound infection before.'

Jamieson didn't tell her that this was an entirely new infection but he thought about it on the way over to the Microbiology Department. That two completely different organisms had caused such havoc in the same department only reinforced his growing suspicion that the contamination was not due to a quirk of fate. Something much more sinister was behind it.

Jamieson saw a light on in the microbiology lab and found Moira Lippman there. 'I didn't know you were on call tonight. 'This is a bit of luck,' said Jamieson.

'What can I do for you?' asked Moira.

Jamieson thought the girl sounded a bit distant but let it pass. He asked her about setting up some microbiological tests on the dressings.

'Of course,' said Moira Lippman. 'Just leave them there. I'll do them in a moment.'

The girl turned back to the bench to continue with the specimen she was dealing with and Jamieson felt compelled to ask, 'Is something wrong Moira?'

Moira Lippman put down the tubes she had been holding and laid her hands flat on the bench in front of her. 'My sister in law is one of the infected women,' she said quietly.

'I'm sorry. I didn't realise,' said Jamieson softly. 'How is she?'

'Very ill. They all are.' Moira Lippman swung round in her chair and looked directly at Jamieson. 'There's something crazy going on here,' she said.

'Go on,' said Jamieson.

'It's a Staphylococcus infection this time yet it's behaving in exactly the same way as the Pseudomonas. None of the usual antibiotics are having any effect at all. We are having to run a race to find alternative drug combinations. Two highly drug resistant infections in a row. How can that be?

'Infections that are resistant to treatment are not unknown,' said Jamieson.

'But two in succession? In the same department? There's something not right about this whole affair.'

'If it's any comfort I share your disquiet,' said Jamieson. 'I can't say more than that at the moment.'

Moira nodded and shook her head slightly. She returned to what she was doing.

Jamieson left the lab to return to the residency. As he crossed the courtyard he saw two porters emerge from the side door of Gynaecology. They were wheeling a covered trolley in the direction of the mortuary.

'Can't you sleep?' whispered Sue.

'I'm sorry. Did I wake you?' replied Jamieson in the dark.

'It's all right. What's on your mind?'

'Something Moira Lippman said when I spoke to her earlier. She said that there was something 'not right', to use her expression, about there being two such virulent infections occurring in the same department.'

'You mean the possibility of deliberate contamination has occurred to her too?' asked Sue.

'No I don't think she was going that far,' said Jamieson. 'Moira was talking purely about the organisms involved.'

'I don't see what you are getting at,' said Sue.

'How would you go about contaminating surgical instruments if you had to?' asked Jamieson.

'What a question. I suppose I would just break the sterility seal and expose them to the atmosphere for a while. Maybe drop them on the floor. Spit on them? I don't know really. Something like that.'

'And then they would be unsterile?'

'Yes of course, wouldn’t they?'

'Indeed they would but just think for a moment. Take it a step further. What sort of organisms would they be liable to attract?'

'Oh, I think I see what you mean,' said Sue. 'Your chances of picking up something really nasty are pretty remote?'

'Exactly. I'm not saying it’s impossible but it's not all that likely. If it were, all of us would be sick all of the time. Nasty pathogens are few and far between, thank God.'

'So doing it twice and on two separate occasions would be even more unlikely.'

'Yes,' said Jamieson. 'I think that there's more to it than just breaking the sterile seal on the packs.'

'If the criminal were a carrier of a virulent organism it would be possible for him to contaminate the instruments or dressings from his own secretions,' said Sue.

Jamieson nodded but said, 'Again, the chances of him carrying two deadly organisms are so remote as to be ridiculous. And how would he separate them?'

'I see the problem,' agreed Sue. 'So how did he do it, assuming that there is a 'he'? Any ideas?'

'None,' admitted Jamieson.

'You said that you thought Dr Richardson had some notion about the first organism?' said Sue.

'But he never told me what it was,' said Jamieson.

'Maybe he told someone else?'

'Like who?'

'His wife maybe?'

Jamieson turned and kissed Sue on the cheek. 'Now I know why I love you,' he whispered. 'You're pure dead brilliant.'

Jamieson was surprised to find Moira Lippman in the lab again when he arrived at eight. 'You're back early!' he said.

'I didn't go home. It wasn't worthwhile. There was so much to do last night.'

'You must be exhausted,' said Jamieson.

'I'm OK. I couldn't have slept anyway knowing what Marion is going through.'

'How is your sister-in-law this morning?' asked Jamieson.

'She's very weak and the new drugs are not having much effect.'

'I'm sorry,' said Jamieson. 'Have you looked at the cultures yet?'

'Dr Evans was right. It's a Staphylococcus all right. It's immune to all the penicillins, even the pen'ase resistant versions. Erythromycin is out as well. But I have come up with something.'

'Really? What?'

'Some months ago the hospital took part in a clinical trial of a new antibiotic from Steadman Pharmaceuticals; it was called Loromycin. I carried out the lab work for the trial and I still had some of the drug sitting in the fridge. I tried it out on the Staphylococcus and it worked. The medics could use it if they can get some more from the company.'

'Well done,' said Jamieson. Have you told them?''

'I called the ward ten minutes ago. They still have a few dozen injection vials left over from the trial. Mr Morton has started the women on them while Mr Crichton gets in touch with Steadman for further supplies.'

'What a bit of luck,' said Jamieson. 'I only hope it's not too late.'

Moira nodded.

'Did you recover the organism from the dressings?'

Moira Lippman nodded. 'You were right about that. The dressings were heavily contaminated with the Staphylococcus. There's no doubt that they were to blame for the outbreak this time.'

Jamieson admitted that the idea had been his wife's.

'She's a doctor too?' asked Moira.

'A nurse.'

'Smart lady,' said Moira.

'She's here in the hospital,' said Jamieson. 'She arrived yesterday.'

'Not so smart,' said Moira.

Jamieson checked his watch, got up and said that he was going over to CSSD to check on the sterilisation record of the dressings. He met Clive Evans coming into the lab as he was going out and told him that he had been right about the infecting organism. Evans nodded and said that the microscope slides had been clear. Jamieson told him that Moira Lippman had been on duty all night and obviously needed some rest.

'I'll make her go home,' said Evans.

'Did you know her sister-in-law is one of the infected women?' asked Jamieson.

'No I didn't,' confessed Evans.

'She's very ill,' added Jamieson. He told Evans about Moira's success in coming up with an effective antibiotic. 'With a bit of luck, we can beat this damned thing after all,' he said.

'We could do with a bit of luck,' said Evans.

'We deserve it,' said Jamieson.

Once again Jamieson felt the humidity in the air engulf him like an all-embracing cloud as he walked through the swing doors to the CSSD department. It reminded him momentarily of visits to the hairdresser when he was young. Whatever the weather outside, it was always warm and moist inside the little shop in the town. To get to the back shop where the men and boys were dealt with, he had to pass a row of curtain screened cubicles. Gaps in the curtains had afforded him glimpses of women reclining in complicated chairs while their hair was rinsed in white enamel basins. Others had metal umbrellas over their heads.

Charge Nurse Blaney was in the sterilising hall talking to one of the attendants. He stopped when he saw Jamieson approach and waited for him to draw near. He didn't smile.

'I need some more information,' said Jamieson.

Blaney did not say anything. He just nodded and waited for Jamieson to continue.

'A pack of unsterile dressings reached the post-op ward in Gynaecology. Ten 200mm dressings. Here is the reference number I took from it.' He handed Blaney a note of the number.

'That's impossible,' said Blaney, shaking his head.

'It happened,' said Jamieson. 'I want to see the recorder chart from the steriliser run.

Blaney shrugged his shoulders and, still shaking his head he said, 'It won't do you any good.' He went off to his office to return a few moments later with a circular chart in his hand. 'Perfect,' he said. 'See for yourself.'

Jamieson traced the line on the chart and saw that Blaney was right. The steriliser run appeared to have been perfectly normal in every way. 'So it didn't happen here,' he said with a sigh of frustration.

'I told you it was impossible,' said Blaney.

'How are the dressings delivered to the wards?' asked Jamieson.

'A porter takes them up.'

'Always?'

'What do you mean?' asked Blaney.

Jamieson caught the aggression in his voice and knew that his allusion to the Thelwell making his own collection had rankled the charge nurse. 'It's a simple enough question, try answering it.'

The edge to Jamieson's voice put an end to Blaney's own aggression. 'Yes, always,' he said.

'Would it be possible to determine exactly what happened to that dressing pack when it came out of the steriliser?' asked Jamieson.

'Up to a point,' said Blaney.

'Let's do it,' said Jamieson quietly and fixing Blaney with a look that suggested any obstruction on his part might not be such a good idea.

Blaney led the way to his office and started leafing through a pile of papers. He pulled out a yellow sheet of paper and matched it against the chart he still held in his hand and said, 'This is the commissioning form that went with that particular steriliser run. There are three signatures on it. John Hargreaves because he was the attendant who loaded the dressing packs into the autoclave and who started the run, Dr Evans' because this was one of the monitored safety check runs and mine because I checked the chart afterwards and passed the load fit for distribution to the wards.'

'Then what?' said Jamieson.

Blaney read some more from the form and said, 'The load was held in the clean store until the following Friday when it was signed out and taken to Gynaecology.'

'By whom?'

'One of the general porters. I don't know who but the dressings were signed for by Staff Nurse Kelly on arrival in the ward.'

'On the same day?' asked Jamieson.

'Yes.'

So there had been no delay between the dressings leaving CSSD and them reaching their destination, thought Jamieson. If they had been interfered with it must have been in the three day period before they were used when they had been stored on the ward or alternatively at some time in the two days they had lain in the clean store in CSSD. The latter was something he had not considered before. Supposing the instruments and dressings had been contaminated before they had even left CSSD? The thought chilled him. He looked at Blaney's eyes and saw nothing but sullenness.

'Who looks after the clean stores?' asked Jamieson.

'I do,' said Blaney.

'I'd like to see them.'

Blaney shrugged non-committally and led Jamieson to a long narrow room filled with free-standing metal racks bearing instrument and dressing packs. There were no windows in the room and above them a fluorescent light tube buzzed intermittently. Blaney stood mutely in the doorway while Jamieson walked up and down the narrow gangways. Jamieson had not expected to find anything amiss. He had merely wanted to observe Blaney's reaction to his being in the store. He was alert for any sign of nervousness but Blaney remained inscrutable throughout.

'Will that be all?' Blaney asked when Jamieson had finished his inspection.

'For the moment.'

Jamieson obtained Claire Richardson's telephone number from Hugh Crichton and called her just after half past eleven. He said that he would like to have a chat with her if at all possible.

'What about?'

'About your husband.'

There was a short pause then Claire Richardson said with more than a trace of bitterness in her voice and a slight slurring. 'Now there's a novelty. I got the impression that everyone in that damned place was pretending that John never existed. Apart from Clive Evans and Moira Lippman no one even turned up at his funeral. Bunch of bastards. Clive gave twenty years to that damned slum.'

'I'm sorry,' said Jamieson and meant it. He had liked John Richardson.

'What do you want to talk about?'

'I'd rather tell you personally.'

'What the hell,' said Claire Richardson. 'When did you have in mind?'

'Would lunch be out of the question?' asked Jamieson tentatively. To his surprise he heard Claire Richardson laugh. She said, 'It's quite a long time since anyone asked me to lunch. I accept.'

They arranged to meet at a restaurant in town at one o'clock.

Jamieson had been waiting for only five minutes when Claire Richardson arrived. They shook hands and despite her smile, he noticed the air of sadness about her. She did not wear her grief like a badge but her eyes held a remoteness and detachment which told Jamieson that she had not yet come to terms with her loss. There was however, a basic intelligence and humour about the woman that was evident during the course of the meal and Jamieson decided that he liked Claire Richardson a lot. He guessed that she and John Richardson had been very happy together. They would have been good for each other.

Jamieson had feared that conversation might be difficult but this proved far from being the case and he enjoyed the meal from start to finish. When the waiter finally brought coffee Claire lit up a cigarette and said through a puff of smoke, 'Now, what was it you wanted to know?'

'Did John speak to you about his work much?' asked Jamieson.

'He told me everything.'

'Then you know all about the infection problem in Gynaecology at Kerr Memorial?'

Claire Richardson threw back her head and gave a humourless laugh. 'Know about it!' she exclaimed. 'I lived through every hellish moment of it with John. The agonies he went through over not tracing the source of infection, his elation when he found Thelwell was carrying the bug and then…'

'Then what Mrs Richardson?' asked Jamieson leaning forward slightly as a sudden cloak of sadness came over Claire Richardson and she stopped talking.

'I don't know. John began to have doubts. He seemed very troubled and clammed up totally which was so unlike him. We always shared everything. He locked himself away in his study and then… well you know the rest.'

'He took his own life,' said Jamieson softly.

Claire Richardson's eyes blazed. 'Oh no he didn't!' she hissed. 'Nothing on earth will ever make me believe that.'

'Then what?'

'He was murdered.'

Jamieson was a little taken aback at the matter of fact way that Claire Richardson had made the assertion. She seemed absolutely certain. 'But why?' he asked quietly.

'I don't know why damn it!' replied Claire Richardson delving into her handbag to find a handkerchief and quickly dabbing at her eyes. 'Why do you want to know all this?'

Jamieson pondered for a moment over how much he should tell her then he said, 'I think your husband found out something about the infection business. I think he knew something very important, something he never got round to telling anyone. I feel sure he was going to tell me on the night he died but I got there too late.'

New life came to Claire Richardson's eyes. 'A motive for John's murder? Someone killed him to stop him telling you something?' she said.

'Maybe,' agreed Jamieson.

'If you can prove that I will be forever in your debt,' said Claire Richardson.

'Then I will need your help. I have to find out what it was that your husband found out.'

'But I don't know,' said Claire Richardson raising her hands in a gesture of hopelessness.

'Think! Anything he said at the time when he became withdrawn might be important. Anything he wrote down. You said he spent a long time in his study. Maybe he left papers lying around?'

'I don't think so,' said Claire Richardson thoughtfully. 'But there was one thing…'

'Yes?'

'The night it all started he was pacing up and down in the study. I heard him repeat several times, 'No blisters. There were no blisters.'

Jamieson looked blank and Claire Richardson shrugged. She said, 'I know. It doesn't make much sense but that's what he said.'

'No blisters? No blisters on what? On whom?'

Claire shook her head.

'Think about it,' said Jamieson. 'And have a think about anything else John might have said. If you do come up with anything give me a call.'

'I will,' said Claire. She shook hands with Jamieson and they parted.

Jamieson had started to tell Sue about his meeting with Claire Richardson when the phone rang. It was Clive Evans.

'A second woman has died of the Staphylococcus infection but the others are beginning to respond to Loromycin treatment.' said Evans.

'Good,' said Jamieson. 'How's Moira Lippman's sister in law?'

'She was the second woman I'm afraid.'

'Damnation.'

'I thought you should know as soon as possible and I couldn't find you in the hospital.'

'I was having lunch with Claire Richardson.'

'Really. How is she?'

'Bearing up is the phrase I think.'

'I didn't know that you knew her,' said Evans.

'I didn't but I wanted to talk to her about her husband. I think John Richardson knew something about the infections that he didn't tell anyone. I hoped he might have mentioned something to his wife.'

'And had he?'

'No.'

'Pity. What sort of thing did you have in mind?' asked Evans.

'It's a bit difficult to say but when I had the Pseudomonas analysed at Sci-Med and they told me that it was resistant to all these drugs in its own right I was very surprised. John Richardson wasn't. It was almost as if that was the result he expected.'

'Strange,' said Evans.

'I suppose he never said anything to you about it?'

''Afraid not.'

Jamieson put down the phone and told Sue about the second death in Gynaecology.

'Surely the unit will have to close now?' said Sue.

Jamieson started to pace up and down. He said, 'In theory there is no need. There has been an outbreak of Staphylococcal infection. The cause has been identified. Two women have died but we now have the infection under control and there is every chance that the others will get better under Loromycin treatment. Tragic but one of these things that happen from time to time.'

'But more often in the Kerr Memorial than in any other hospital,' said Sue.

Jamieson nodded silently.

'What can you do about it?' asked Sue quietly.

'Nothing. All I have to go on is the suspicion that some head case is deliberately contaminating dressings and instruments. It's not the sort of thing you start saying without any kind of evidence to back it up.'

'On the other hand women have been dying.' said Sue. 'Three the first time and now another two.'

'You didn't have to point that out,' said Jamieson.

'I'm sorry,' said Sue. 'I didn't mean to…'

'No, I'm the one who is sorry,' said Jamieson coming over to her and taking her in his arms. 'This place is getting to me. I loathe it. I hate every stone of it, every evil inch.'

'But you are not going to give up. You are going to see it through and then we'll go home to our lovely cottage in Kent and we'll go back to being the people we were.'

'What a lovely thought,' murmured Jamieson, his cheek against Sue's hair.

The telephone rang and startled both of them. It was Claire Richardson. 'You did say I should phone you if I thought of anything that might be useful?'

'Of course.'

'I've been having another look through the things in John's study and I've come across something that John never mentioned at all to me.'

'Really?'

'It's a card with the name of a hospital on it and a telephone number.'

'A hospital,' Jamieson repeated feeling deflated.

'Yes. Apparently John was in contact with this hospital the day before he died. I've never heard of it and he certainly didn't say anything about it to me. Do you think it might have some relevance?'

'At this point we can't afford to dismiss anything Mrs Richardson.'

'Call me Claire.'

'Very well, Claire. Which hospital was it?'

'Costello Court Hospital. It's in a place called Willow Norton and that's in Norfolk. Do you want the phone number?'

Jamieson said that he did and wrote it down. 'I'll check it out Claire. Many thanks.'

'You will let me know if it's anything important?'

'Of course.'

'Sounds like an old folks' home,' said Sue as Jamieson started to dial the number. She waited patiently while Jamieson made enquiries. 'Well?' she asked as she saw him put down the phone and walk slowly over to the window.

'It's not a home for the old,' said Jamieson. 'It's a mental hospital.'

'Costello Court, a mental hospital,' repeated Sue.

'They don't have a laboratory service there so Richardson's call wasn't anything to do with the job.'

'So why would he be calling a mental hospital?'

'Maybe he had a friend or colleague who worked there?'

'If that was true his wife would have known about it. They told each other everything.'

Jamieson thought for a moment then said, 'Everyone said the strain was getting to him. Maybe he was going to have himself admitted for a rest before he had a real breakdown.'

'And then decided to kill himself instead?' said Sue.

Jamieson acknowledged the incongruity. 'Claire Richardson doesn't believe that her husband did kill himself,' said Jamieson.

'It would be difficult for her to do that under any circumstances,' said Sue. 'She was his wife. Suicide is always seen as a betrayal by the people who love you most.'

'I wonder what she would think about the idea of her husband having himself admitted as a patient at Costello Court.'

'Ask her,' said Sue.

'Tomorrow,' said Jamieson.