Chameleon

FIFTEEN

Evans and Jamieson left Sue and walked over to the lab together, Evans to phone the county lab to warn them about the samples he would be bringing over and Jamieson to start work down in his old room in the lab.

'I've collected all the information I thought you might need about the contaminated saline,' said Evans as they reached the steps leading down to the microbiology department. 'I've left it on your desk but I don't think you will find anything there. I've already been through it pretty thoroughly. If there's anything else you need, just ask one of the technicians.'

Jamieson closed the door of the small room and took off his jacket. He sat down slowly on the swivel chair and felt depression settle on his shoulders like a lead collar. He had returned to the realms of a bad dream. There was a closed cardboard file lying on the desk in front of him; he flipped it open. He knew that he would have to examine all the files pertaining to the contaminated saline as a matter of routine but there was such a feeling of deja vu about it. He knew very well that all the paperwork would be perfectly in order, just as it always had in the past.

An hour later and Jamieson was proved right. The sterilization procedures had apparently been faultless; all the proper checks had been performed and there was no obvious way that the saline could have become contaminated with anything at all let alone a deadly new organism. This particular batch of saline had been delivered directly to the Gynaecology Department and of course, there could have been no interception by Thelwell this time. But despite all this, the saline had been contaminated and one woman had already died because of it.

In a search for alternative theories, Jamieson considered the possibility that the saline had been interfered with while it had lain in storage in Gynaecology. Was it even conceivable that the contaminated saline had been some awful legacy from Thelwell? Could he have infected it before he died? It had simply not been used at the time? Jamieson checked the dates of sterilization and delivery to the Department. It gave him a clear answer. It was not possible. Thelwell had already been dead for two days when the saline was sterilised and delivered to gynaecology. If it had been contaminated in the stores Thelwell had certainly not done it.

Jamieson turned his attention to the preliminary report on the new infection and decided that he needed to find out more about the organism. He went into one of the neighbouring labs and asked one of the technicians for some reference literature. The man reached up to the book shelf behind him and brought down a copy of McLennan's Microbiology in Medicine. 'You'll probably find all you want to know in here,' he said, handing it over.

'I'll bring it right back,' said Jamieson.

'No hurry.'

Jamieson checked the index and flicked through the pages to find what he was looking for.

" PROTEUS: — A Gram negative, non lactose fermenting organism often found in sewage, soil and manure. Commonly implicated in urinary tract infections but also found in other, often more serious, infections. Named after the Greek sea god, Proteus because of a tendency to display a variety of changing cultural characteristics."

The section went on to list the cultural and biochemical details of the organism. This was followed by a section on the treatment of the organism. Four antibiotics of choice were listed. Jamieson noted that the current hospital strain had already been shown to be immune to all of them. He was trying to recall what he knew about Proteus in Greek mythology when his bleeper went off; it was Chief Inspector Ryan.

'I heard you were back,' said Ryan. 'Perhaps I could have a word?'

'Of course,' replied Jamieson. 'I'll be in the lab for a while yet. Come on over.'

Ryan arrived within fifteen minutes and the two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Jamieson asked, 'How has the investigation been going?'

The policeman shrugged and said, 'If you mean have we been able to pin the ripper murders on Thelwell posthumously the answer is no. We still don't have one single piece of evidence to link him conclusively with the killings. But I understand you have got problems too?'

'The post-operative infections have started up again and we don't know why,' said Jamieson.

'And it can't have anything to do with Gordon Thomas Thelwell this time?' said Ryan.

'No,' replied Jamieson. 'That fact has not escaped me. Did you have any luck with the dates of Thelwell's choir practice nights?'

'We didn't come up with a perfect match of dates,' said Ryan. 'A couple of the murders were committed on nights when Thelwell did not have a practice but on the other hand he was out of the house.'

'Did you manage to trace his movements?'

'We did,' said Ryan. 'He was attending functions in the city on both these nights.'

'And?'

'He did attend,' said Ryan.

'So he couldn't have done the killings on these nights?' said Jamieson.

Ryan smiled and said, 'Unfortunately we can't say that. It would have been possible for him to slip away long enough to do them. Both venues were in range of the murder locations. Thirty minutes absence would have been sufficient. We can't prove that he did do this but we can't show that he didn't. It's all a bit inconclusive.'

I take it Thelwell did not own or rent a flat in the building I followed him to in the city?'

The policeman shook his head, 'Unfortunately not. We checked out all seven apartments, interviewed their owners and tenants but there was no connection with Thelwell that we could establish. I would have told you sooner but we had to wait for one of the owners to return from abroad to be sure. I just got the report this morning.' Ryan illustrated his point by showing Jamieson a folded piece of paper.

'Pity,' said Jamieson. 'So we still have no idea what he was doing down there that night.'

'None.'

'Maybe it's difficult looking for logical behaviour from a deranged mind?' suggested Jamieson.

'You can say that again,' said Ryan. 'Nutters are a police nightmare. They have no form and often no motive apart from some vague crusade that makes sense to them. By nature they tend to be loners so there's no family or friends to shop them. And above all else, they are clever.'

'Clever?'

'They are cunning and devious; they enjoy what they see as a contest, a game, a battle of wits. Ironically, it's that that usually leads to their downfall. Eventually they become too arrogant; they get over-confident, push their luck too far and that's when they slip up and we get them. But waiting for that to happen stretches everyone's nerves to breaking point.'

'I see what you mean,' said Jamieson.

'I would have thought that we would have had a note by now but nothing as yet.'

'What sort of note?'

'Psychos like to have a dialogue with the police. They like to give us little hints and clues so that we can get closer but not too close of course. They get some kind of kick out of it. It adds excitement to the game.'

'I hope you get him soon,' said Jamieson.

'We'll get him all right,' said Ryan. 'But I wouldn't like my salary to ride on it being soon. There could be a lot more heartache in this city before that happens.'

'What about the other head case?' asked Jamieson.

'The other one?'

'The man who kidnapped my wife?'

Ryan said, 'No joy there either. It looks like a one-off thing and we don't even have a motive for the crime. Have you come up with anything yourself?'

Jamieson said not. 'Sue came back up with me,' he added.

'I didn't realise that,' said Ryan, his face showing surprise. 'Would you like an eye kept on her?'

'Unobtrusively,' said Jamieson.

'I'll see to it.'

Jamieson made a mental note to tell Sue and shook hands with Ryan as the policeman got up to go.

Jamieson was pondering on what he should do next when a piece of paper lying on the end of his desk caught his eye. He remembered Ryan putting it down there after he had taken it out of his pocket. Jamieson picked it up and read it. He recalled now what Ryan had said it was. It was the transcript of an interview with the last of the apartment owners to be questioned, the one who had been abroad.

The woman's apartment had been unoccupied for the entire month she had been abroad in Tenerife. There was nothing remarkable in that or in any of the answers but Jamieson found his heart thumping and his skin prickling as he read the name of the owner at the end of the report. It said, Jennifer Blaney!

It was too much of a coincidence, Jamieson decided. Blaney was not that common a name. There just had to be a connection between Jennifer Blaney and Charge Nurse Blaney who ran the Central Sterile Supply Department at Kerr Memorial. Jamieson thought about Blaney and with each passing moment he felt more and more as if he was opening a Pandora's Box. Blaney had been hostile to him when he had inquired about Thelwell's interest in CSSD but he had assumed at the time that it was just professional resentment on Blaney's part. He had not considered that there might be some kind of relationship between Blaney and Thelwell. It still seemed rather ridiculous but then he was only familiar with the public persona of both men.

Jamieson was musing about it when another thought brought ice to his spine. Blaney was a large, well built man. The man who had abducted Sue had been a large, well built man. Blaney was the only large well built man he knew in Leeds.

Jamieson's pulse rate started to rise as he saw how certain facts might fit together. If there had been some 'association' between Blaney and Thelwell, however unlikely this might seem, then it was just possible that Blaney might hold him personally responsible for Thelwell's death. If this was so he had uncovered a possible motive for Sue's kidnapping. Revenge, the man had said. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A lover for a lover?

Jamieson called the front office and asked for Chief Inspector Ryan. He was told that Ryan had just left. He put down the receiver and rested his hand on it while he thought it through. Adrenalin was coursing through his veins and a maelstrom of ideas and motives was swirling inside his head as he saw himself on the very brink of solving the whole affair.

Blaney was in charge of CSSD. That gave him every opportunity to interfere with sterilised packs of instruments, dressings or whatever. Maybe he was a willing accomplice to Thelwell? That would explain how the dressings and the saline could have been contaminated after apparently having been properly sterilised. Blaney could have contaminated the packs before distribution to the wards! Or maybe it was just Blaney all the time? Maybe Thelwell had had nothing whatever to do with the infections!

Jamieson's mind was running on overdrive. He needed something to slow him down and he found it when he tried to work out how Blaney could have gotten hold of the deadly organisms to carry out the contaminating procedures? Jamieson's theory ground to a halt as he failed to solve this part of the puzzle. But one thing was for sure, he had some questions for Mr Blaney to answer and if it should turn out that Blaney was responsible for what had happened to Sue there was a personal score to settle.

Jamieson knew that he was doing the wrong thing in deciding to tackle Blaney on his own. He knew that emotional involvement was not a sensible basis for action and what he should be doing was waiting for Ryan to turn up so that he could be presented with all the facts. Despite all this, he found the personal motive too strong. He got up from his desk, put on his jacket and set off for CSSD.

Jamieson marched towards CSSD with cold determination. He thought about what Sue had suffered and of the baby they both had lost. He had no real idea what he was going to say to Blaney but this did not make him alter his pace at all. He pushed open both swing doors and entered the steamy heat of the approach corridor.

The preparation benches where the attendants packed instruments were deserted. Jamieson looked at his watch and saw that it was lunch time. Perhaps Blaney would be out at lunch too. He walked past the row of gleaming sterilisers and up to the door of Blaney's office. He pushed open the door.

Blaney was sitting there, eating sandwiches. He stopped as he saw Jamieson, a sandwich suspended in mid air between his desk and his mouth. His eyes displayed a mixture of disbelief and surprise as he saw Jamieson standing there. 'Yes?'

Jamieson just stared at Blaney. He was picturing him with a wig and false moustache. He looked at the fat podgy hand that had slid under Sue's skirt with the object of increasing her terror and it had.

'What do you want?' stammered Blaney.

Jamieson could read the guilt on Blaney's face and he felt the anger rise inside him. 'You bastard!' he said with cold deliberation.

Blaney had started to get up slowly from his chair and back away but there was nowhere for him to go. 'What are you talking about?' he said as he looked out of the corner of his eyes for an escape route.

'It's over, Blaney. But before the police can have you I want a piece of you for what you did to Sue.'

Blaney stopped all pretence of innocence. His bottom lip quivered. 'You killed Gordon Thelwell!' he accused, 'You drove him to it! You hounded him until he took his own life. You killed him! You are responsible! He meant everything to me and you took him away. You deserved to suffer! You deserved to go through what I went through.'

Fired by his own rhetoric, Blaney threw the contents of the coffee cup he was holding directly into Jamieson's face. The coffee wasn’t very hot but the liquid temporarily blinded Jamieson and Blaney took the opportunity to rush past him to the door.

Jamieson stuck out his foot and Blaney crashed headlong out of the door into the sterilising hall. But by the time Jamieson had cleared his eyes and could see properly again Blaney was back up on his feet and had picked up a steel dish full of instruments lying in antiseptic solution.

Jamieson put up his hands to protect himself as a hail of scalpels and forceps flew through the air towards him. Several small cuts opened up on the backs of his hands and on his scalp but he ignored them as he again moved towards Blaney. He stopped when he saw that Blaney had picked up a post-mortem knife. Jamieson found himself mesmerised by the long blade which swept out from the black, bone handle held tightly in Blaney's fist.

The fact that Jamieson had stopped in his tracks gave Blaney a surge of confidence. He gave a half smile and said breathily, 'Come on then Dr bloody smart-arse Jamieson. What are you waiting for? Changed our tune, have we?'

Jamieson had indeed changed his tune. The folly of his angry headstrong action in confronting Blaney alone had now come home to roost. He stared at the razor sharp blade in Blaney's hand, a blade that was no stranger to the insides of a human being.

'Who did it Blaney?' he croaked. 'Who contaminated the instruments and the dressings and the saline? You? Or was it Thelwell? Maybe it was both of you? You sick bastard.'

A look of puzzlement crossed Blaney's face. 'What the hell are you talking about?' he demanded.

'Is that how you two got your kicks? A couple of old queens against a world of women eh?'

'You're mad,' said Blaney. He lunged at Jamieson with the knife. It was the angry reaction that Jamieson had been goading him into. Jamieson side-stepped smartly and grabbed at Blaney's knife arm as he lost balance. He twisted Blaney's arm up his back but Blaney remained upright as Jamieson tried to break his grip on the knife.

Jamieson was concentrating too hard on the knife to be prepared for Blaney's sudden drop to the floor. With his centre of gravity undermined it was all too easy for Blaney to tumble Jamieson over his shoulder and send him sliding across the tiles to crash into a table by the wall. The table was knocked over and steel dishes fell to the floor as Jamieson struggled to regain orientation.

Jamieson recovered in time to see Blaney rush towards him, knife held aloft, his eyes betraying an anger beyond reason. In a desperate last ditch attempt to protect himself Jamieson raised both feet and caught Blaney in mid lunge. The Charge Nurse's momentum took him clean over Jamieson's head and he hit his skull against the tiled wall with a sickening crack.

Jamieson lay still for a moment recovering his breath. There was no question of Blaney still being a threat. After such a blow to his head the nurse must certainly be unconscious if not dead. Jamieson got to his feet slowly and went over to where Blaney lay. He felt for a pulse and found one with ease; it was strong and regular. 'You've got a head like a rock Blaney,' he said to the unconscious man as he tied his hands behind his back using lengths of gauze. Satisfied that Blaney was secure for the moment he called the police.

Jamieson reckoned that he had at least five minutes before the police arrived, probably a bit more. He looked down at where Blaney lay and felt frustrated. There were so many things he wanted to know, things he felt that Blaney could tell him if only he were conscious. The steel dishes lying on the floor decided him. He filled one with cold water and, feeling like a baddie in a war film, he threw it in Blaney's face. Blaney did not stir so Jamieson repeated the operation until he did.

As Blaney uttered the first groans of consciousness, Jamieson started to question him. 'Come on Blaney, how did you do it? How did you contaminate the instruments and dressings?'

Blaney put a hand to his head and looked around him groggily. Jamieson repeated the question.

'Don't be ridiculous,' groaned Blaney. 'That was nothing to do with me.'

'You mean it was Thelwell?'

'You stupid bastard. Is that what you think? You think that Gordon and I murdered the patients?' Blaney snorted and gave a humourless guffaw. Christ, you must be desperate for an idea.'

'You gave all the instruments for Gynaecology to Thelwell instead of having them sent to the wards by porter. Why?'

'You know why, damn it! Gordon told you. He was worried about the possibility of the instruments being interfered with so he collected them immediately after they had been sterilised for safe keeping until such times as they were required.'

'Or until he had contaminated them with deadly bacteria,' said Jamieson.

'Deadly bacteria!' snorted Blaney. 'Where the hell would Gordon get deadly bacteria? He was a surgeon for Christ's sake!'

Jamieson avoided a question he could not answer. 'Tell me about Thelwell's missed choir practices.'

'Gordon and I used to meet once a week. It was all we could risk without avoiding suspicion. We used to drive out to a hotel but when my sister went abroad on holiday I 'borrowed' the key to her apartment and we used that for the month she was away.'

'Why did Thelwell kill himself if it wasn't because of the murders?' asked Jamieson.

'Because he thought it was all going to come out about us! When you followed him to my sister's place he thought it was inevitable. There was just no way a man like Gordon could have faced the scandal and ridicule. He was a very sensitive man you know.'

'Really, said Jamieson dryly.

The mist faded from Blaney's eyes and they turned to flint. 'Yes you bastard! Nobody really understood him!' Blaney struggled at his bonds but to no avail; the police had arrived.

Blaney was formally charged and taken away, in the first instance to have X-rays taken of his head injuries. Chief Inspector Ryan stayed behind to talk to Jamieson.

'Well that's one mystery solved,' said Ryan. 'At least we know now why your wife was attacked and once we've had a chat with Mr Blaney we might be able to clear up everything.'

Jamieson nodded but he was deeply troubled.

'Is something the matter?' asked Ryan, conscious of the fact that Jamieson was not sharing his euphoria.

'Before you arrived, I talked to Blaney about Thelwell's involvement in the hospital deaths,' said Jamieson. 'Blaney maintains that neither he nor Thelwell had anything to do with them.'

'Well, he would wouldn't he?' said Ryan.

Jamieson looked at Ryan and said, 'Yes, but the trouble is, I believe him.''

Jamieson lingered on alone in CSSD. He heard Ryan's car drive off as he sat down slowly at the desk beside the autoclaves and idly sifted through a pile of recorder charts. Much as he disliked Blaney he had to admit that what the Charge Nurse had said sounded like the truth. But if neither Blaney nor Thelwell had been involved in spreading the infection — and Thelwell had actually been guarding the instruments as he maintained — how could they have possibly become infected? Unless of course, they had never been sterilised in the first place? But that was ridiculous. He himself had seen the recorder chart from the steriliser run on the day Thelwell had collected the instruments and all the others for that matter.

Jamieson got up and walked towards the autoclave. He stood in front of the silent steel machine that Blaney had pointed out to him as being the one used for Gynaecology supplies. Not only had the chart record been spot on but Clive Evans had carried out the weekly test on the machine just before the run. Jamieson walked slowly up the side of the machine to the supply pipes at the back and ran his hand idly over the smooth copper pipework.

There was some extra pipework on this machine to facilitate the insertion of test thermocouples for monitoring the conditions inside the sterilising chamber. Jamieson traced the pipes and then noticed several smaller ones which led back into the machine. He was puzzled for a moment because he could see no obvious reason for them. He stared at them for a full minute then looked around for a screwdriver to remove the side panel of the machine. He found what he was looking for in a drawer marked, TOOLS, with adhesive Dymo tape.

With the metal shield removed, Jamieson could see that the small pipes ran along the outside of the sterilising chamber and were connected to the gauges at the front of the machine. But why? Why should it be necessary to reflect the readings on the monitoring equipment on the gauges on the front of the machine? Jamieson felt the blood start to pound in his ears as he retraced the pipes once more and followed the logic of the valves.

He found himself transfixed by the sight of two red valves in the left upper quadrant. Surely he must be wrong. He followed the circuit again and reached the same frightening conclusion. On this machine it was possible to isolate the sterilising chamber from its supply lines and still have the readings of pressure and temperature in the pipes at the back of the machine appear on the gauges and the chart recorder at the front. The chamber thermometer could read one hundred and thirty one degrees centigrade while the steriliser remained stone cold.

'Christ Almighty,' whispered Jamieson as he saw how it had been done. The instruments and dressings had been contaminated before they had gone into the steriliser then they had gone through a dummy run before being distributed. Blaney had been right when he had asked how he or Thelwell could have got hold of deadly bacteria. It would have taken a specialist for that… a microbiologist, a bacteriologist. Clive Evans was a bacteriologist! And once a week, Evans had come to CSSD, ostensibly to test the machine but in reality to contaminate a full steriliser load! It had been Clive Evans all along! Evans was the killer!

Jamieson's head was reeling. It had been Evans who had killed Richardson and Moira Lippman when they had begun to suspect him but Evans had expertly diverted suspicion towards the hapless Thelwell. It had been Evans who had faked the result of Thelwell's first test swabs knowing what this would do to the already strained relationship between Thelwell and Richardson. Ye gods! There was a hellish genius about his madness, for sheer madness it must be.

The thought made Jamieson remember Costello Court, the mental hospital that John Richardson had been in touch with before his death. He picked up the phone and asked for Sci-Med's number in London.

'I have to have the following information fast! I repeat fast! Was a Clive Evans ever a patient at Costello Court Hospital and if so why? I need to know all the case details. Call me back on…' He gave the CSSD extension number at the hospital.

It took twelve minutes for Sci-Med to return the call. It was Macmillan himself.

'I have just gone out on a limb for this Jamieson. You had better have a good reason for wanting to know this when this business is all over.'

'I have.'

'Dr Clive Linton Evans was a patient at Costello Court Hospital from July third last year to March fourteenth this year after suffering a severe mental breakdown. The breakdown followed his contracting a venereal disease from a prostitute. It was thought that he might not work again but an altruistic consultant at one of the northern hospitals took him under his wing and elected to oversee him through a period of rehabilitation. Apparently, medical opinion at Costello Court was bitterly divided over the Evans case. One psychiatrist on Evans' review panel even went so far as to suggest that Evans might be conning them all. The word 'psychopath' was mentioned but this doctor was overruled. I take it you have come across Dr Evans?'

'He's on the staff,' said Jamieson.

'I see,' said Macmillan. 'And do you think…'

'I know and I've just found out how he's been doing it. I'd better ring off and contact the police.'

'Is there anything we can help you with?'

Jamieson was about to say no when he had second thoughts and asked, 'Who was Proteus in Greek mythology?'

'Good Lord,' exclaimed Macmillan. 'Let me see… the sea god who changed his form at will if my memory serves me right.'

'That's exactly what I wanted to know,' said Jamieson and put down the phone. He could hear himself breathe in the silence as the awfulness of Evans' crime tested his own credibility to the limit. The current Proteus infection was a sick joke! Evans has been changing the infection at will! He had been deliberately engineering the bacteria before using them to contaminate dressings and equipment bound for the wards. He had been mutating them so that they would be resistant to treatment. Using a strain of Proteus for the latest outbreak and its inherent allusion to a Greek god in its name had been sheer arrogance, just like Ryan had predicted, the arrogance of a complete psychopathic lunatic!

The full meaning of the earlier biochemical test results now became clear to Jamieson. The bugs had differed from the text book values because they had been artificially mutated! Evans had deliberately induced genetic changes in the bacteria. He had done it to make them more virulent and virtually untreatable but the procedure would have induced many other mutations in the bugs at the same time. This is what Richardson and later Moira Lippman must have deduced!

Jamieson finally reached Ryan. 'Can you come back to CSSD at Kerr Memorial? It's urgent.'

Ryman was back within ten minutes and Jamieson told him everything. He showed him what he had discovered about the plumbing at the back of the steriliser. Jamieson had left the side shielding off the machine so Ryan could trace the pipes with his hand as it was pointed out to him what would happen when the wheel valves were altered.

'The mad bastard,' murmured Ryan.

Jamieson told Ryan about the report from Costello Court.

'Then why the hell didn't they put him under lock and key?' said Ryan angrily.

'Medical opinion was divided.'

Ryan's look said what he thought of medical opinion.

'Can all the contaminated material be traced back to this machine?' asked Ryan.

Jamieson nodded and said, 'I checked that while I was waiting for you to arrive. The instruments, the dressings and the contaminated saline were all sterilised in this machine and in each case immediately after Evans had carried out "testing" of the machine.'

'Well that's it then,' said Ryan.

'Not quite everything,' said Jamieson. He told Ryan about the genetically altered bacteria. 'I don't know where or how he did it but I'd like to find out.'

'How do you go about inducing mutations in bacteria?' asked Ryan.

'There are several ways. You can treat them with chemicals or you can irradiate them with X-Rays or Ultra-Violet light. It's really not that difficult… ' Jamieson suddenly stopped in mid sentence and exclaimed, 'No Blisters!'

'Pardon?'

John Richardson's wife told me that just before her husband died he seemed very troubled. She heard him repeat over and over to himself, No blisters. He was talking about Evans' arm!'

'I'm sorry. You've lost me.'

'When I first came here I had an 'accident' with an electric heater although this puts new light on it. Evans appeared later with a burn mark on his arm and we assumed that he had got it 'rescuing' me. But there were no blisters, just a red mark. It was a radiation burn! Richardson must have worked out that the infections were being caused by mutant bacteria and then realised the significance of the mark on Evans' arm.'

'So he confronted Evans and Evans murdered him,' said Ryan.

'Is Evans in the lab just now?' asked Ryan getting up.

'No, he went up to the county lab. He won't be back for another hour or so.'

Ryan thought for a moment and then said, 'There's no point in putting out an alert for him. Nothing has happened to make him suspicious. We'll wait till he returns and then grab him.'

'I want to have a look round his lab and office to see if I can find a clue to the radiation source,' said Jamieson.

'I'll get more of our people down here,' said Ryan.

The technician who had loaned Jamieson his diagnostic bacteriology book came into Evans' lab while Jamieson was rummaging through one of the cupboards.

'Is there something I can help you with?' he asked, his tone hovering between puzzlement and accusation.

'Is there an Ultra-Violet lamp anywhere in the lab?' Jamieson asked.

'No, why?'

'How about an X-Ray source?'

'No.'

'Is there a spare key to the office that Dr Evans uses?'

'There's a sub-master key in the office.'

'Get it will you.'

'Are you sure you should be doing this?' the technician asked as Jamieson opened up Evans' office and started to work his way through the drawers and cupboards.'

'I'm dead certain,' replied Jamieson and added, 'You can help if you like. We're looking for any radiation source but probably a UV lamp.'

The technician shrugged his shoulders and started to open up cupboard doors.

Ten minutes later Jamieson admitted defeat and sat down in Evans' chair. 'Nothing, damn it,' he said.

'Nothing,' agreed the technician closing up the last of the cupboards.

'What the hell did he do with it?' murmured Jamieson.

The technician stayed silent. Jamieson opened the desk drawer and was about to close it again when he noticed a small brown bottle lying on top of an old domestic electricity bill. He picked it up, expecting it to be Aspirin, and read the label. N-Nitrosoguanidine it said. He read it out and asked, 'What would you use this for?'

'We wouldn't,' replied the technician. 'But be careful how you handle it. It's a powerful mutagen.'

'That was the answer to my next question,' smiled Jamieson. 'But we still haven't found the radiation source.'

'Would you like me to continue the search in the other labs?'

'I'd be grateful. If you find anything let me know at once would you. I'll be in the residency.'

'What should I say when Dr Evans returns?'

'He won't be returning.'

Jamieson ran up the steps to his room and was disappointed to find no one there. There was a note lying on the coffee table. Jamieson turned deathly pale when he read it. It said: -

Have gone with Clive to the county lab.

See you later.

Love,

Sue.

Jamieson fought hard to keep a grip on himself. There was no need to worry he told himself; Clive Evans had no idea that they were on to him. There was no conceivable reason why Evans should do anything to harm Sue and draw attention to himself. The fact that Sue had gone off in the company of a psychopathic killer with a particular hatred of women was no cause for alarm. The hell it wasn't! A knot of fear settled in Jamieson's stomach as he flew down the stairs and rushed back to CSSD to tell Ryan.

'Take it easy!' soothed Ryan and started telling him all the things he had been telling himself.

'I want him picked up!' said Jamieson. 'Now!'

'If police cars should suddenly appear in his mirrors and start chasing him your wife might be in a lot more danger than she is now,' maintained Ryan.

Jamieson had to concede the point but he was in no mood for common sense. He wanted action. He was like a cat on hot coals.

'I'll tell you what,' said Ryan. 'Call the county lab and if Evans is still there ask to speak to your wife. You can get her to make some excuse for not accepting a lift back. Say you have to go out there yourself and you will bring her back.'

'Good idea,' said Jamieson. He snatched at the phone and asked the operator for the county lab. He looked at Ryan and drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk while he waited.

'County Laboratories.'

'This is Dr Jamieson at Kerr Memorial Hospital. Are Dr Evans and my wife still with you?'

'Pardon?' said the voice.

'Dr Evans was bringing some bacterial cultures over to you for analysis. He made the arrangement this morning by telephone. I wondered if he might still be there.'

'One moment please.'

'What's the problem?' whispered Ryan.

'I don't know,' shrugged Jamieson. But inside he felt ill. He heard the receiver at the other end being picked up.

'We have no record of Dr Evans having contacted us,' said the voice.

Jamieson felt his head swim. 'Are you quite sure?' he croaked.

'Quite.'

'So he's not been there?'

'No.'

Jamieson put down the phone and couldn't speak for a moment.

'What is it?' demanded Ryan. 'What's happened?'

'Evans isn't there. He never was. He didn't call them. He never intended going there. He must have known I was getting close and now he's got Sue!'

'OK,' said Ryan. 'I'll put out an APB for them. Don't worry. We'll find them.' Ryan swung into action leaving Jamieson to slump down in a chair as he faced another personal nightmare. Where would Evans have taken her? What was he doing to her? He did not have an answer for the first question but his mind filled with agony when he thought about the second.

He tried to think logically and assess what he had learned about Evans so far in the hope that it might provide him with some clue but he only succeeded in becoming more and more anxious. He failed to come up with any idea at all. He was almost at his wits' end when he did realise that there was one thing he knew. The search for the radiation source in the microbiology lab had proved fruitless so that must mean that Evans had carried out his lab work on the bacteria somewhere else! He must have alternative premises somewhere in the city! He had to find out where!

He ran back to the lab to ask among the technicians if they knew of any such place. He drew a blank. AS far as they knew, Evans lived in the residency. No one knew of him having any other address.

'I didn't come across a UV lamp anywhere else in the lab,' said the technician who had helped him search earlier.

Jamieson nodded.

'Shall I put this back where you found it?' The technician held up the small brown bottle that Jamieson had found in Evans' drawer.

Again Jamieson nodded while he tried desperately to think of an idea. His thinking was confused by the technician having drawn his attention to the bottle. He saw it again lying on its side in the drawer on top of… an electricity bill! Why would Evans have an electricity bill when he lived in the hospital residency? Charges for electricity were included in the rental!

Jamieson leapt to his feet and chased along the corridor. He burst into Evans' room and brushed past the startled technician to yank open Evans' desk drawer and pull out the bill. It was addressed to Evans at an address in the city.

As they drove through city streets, Sue fell silent as she recalled her terrifying drive in the taxi. She looked at the busy entrance to Marks and Spencer's and felt a shiver climb her spine.

'Cold?' asked Evans, leaning across to adjust the heater levers on the dash.

'Not really,' replied Sue. 'Someone must have walked over my grave.'

'Strange expression that,' said Evans.

'Mmm.'

'Any idea where it comes from?'

'Afraid not.'

'Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs.'

'What?'

'Shakespeare. Richard the Second.'

'Oh,' said Sue.

'I hope you don't mind if we take a short detour. I want to pick something up at my flat.'

'Not at all. I didn't realise you had a flat?'

'It's more of a studio really.'

'You're an artist?' asked Sue.

'I like to pretend I am.'

'How interesting,' said Sue.

The car slowed and turned off the main road to glide slowly through backstreets and come to a halt.

'I have the basement flat here,' said Evans.

The basement?' exclaimed Sue. 'I thought artists needed lots of light.'

Evans looked at Sue in silence for a moment and then said, 'We have to use what we can afford.'

'Of course,' smiled Sue.

'Perhaps you would like to see some of my humble efforts?'

'I'd love to Clive,' said Sue. 'I have the greatest admiration for anyone who can draw or paint.'

'They're not very good I'm afraid.'

'I'm sure you are just being modest.'

Evans led the way down the stone steps and Sue waited while he fiddled with the locks on the door and finally got it to open. The air inside seemed cold and damp and for a fleeting moment Sue felt apprehensive without knowing why. She stepped inside.

What little light there was inside was suddenly dimmed by Evans closing the door behind them. 'I'll have to switch on the electricity at the mains,' he said.

'I'll open the curtains shall I?' said Sue making a move towards the heavy drapes.

'No. Don't do that,' said Evans behind her. His voice had changed. It was quiet now, authoritative and somehow different.

Sue turned round as the lights were turned on and saw Evans leaning against the door looking at her. 'I don't understand,' she said. 'Where are the paintings?'

'There are no paintings,' said Evans in a flat, even voice.

Sue looked at Evans and saw that his eyes had changed too. They seemed to be made of grey, expressionless glass and she could hear him breathing. He was making a hissing sound as air was sucked in and expelled again through clenched teeth.

'Is this some kind of tasteless joke?' she asked, but terror was already beginning to gnaw at her stomach.

'No joke,' whispered Evans. 'It's all deadly serious.'

Sue made a move towards the door but Evans shifted slightly to bar her way.

'Let me out of here!' demanded Sue at arm's length. Fear had put a tremor into her voice.

'You are not going anywhere,' continued the even voice. 'First I'll deal with you and then I'll deal with your interfering clod of a husband. He's getting to be too much of a nuisance.'

'Interfering? Interfering in what?'

'My work! Sue, that's what.' said Evans his voice rising in volume for the first time.

Sue saw all the signs of a lunatic in Evans and felt sick with fear. 'What do you mean 'Your work'?' she stammered.

'I mean ridding this city of female filth, cleaning up the pestilence that they spread. You all look fine on the outside but it's just a front. Inside you are filthy! Dirty and filthy!

Sue screamed as Evans came towards her. She moved backwards, feeling out behind her for obstacles with an outstretched hand but not daring to take her eyes away from the madman who was coming towards her. She half stumbled as her leg caught the edge of a table and hastily altered course to avoid it.

'Whore!' hissed Evans. 'There is no escape!'

Sue moved in unison with Evans, trying to keep the table between herself and him but could see it was only a short-term ploy.

Evans could see that too and with a sweep of his foot he cleared away the obstruction. He lunged towards Sue and in her haste to escape him she stumbled backwards and crashed to the floor. She tried to scramble to her feet using the handle of the fridge to help her to her feet but the magnetic catch on the door released and she fell once more to the floor as the fridge door swung open. The illuminated interior seemed strangely compelling in the gloom of the basement room. Sue saw what lay inside and her imagination refused to contemplate any more horror. She passed out.

She came to as if waking from a bad dream but only to find that she was part of a living nightmare. She was lying on wood-framed camp bed with her hands and feet securely bound. Something had been stuffed into her mouth and a handkerchief used to keep it in place. As she moved her head she felt the wad of material in her mouth move a little further towards the back of her throat threatening to induce the gag response. Suddenly fearful that she would choke she moved her head again in an effort to stop her airway becoming blocked. The terror in her head was working against her by increasing the demand for oxygen to supply the blood that was rushing through her veins. She could hear the rapid thump of a pulse in her ears. Her movement on the camp bed brought Evans to her side.

From where Sue lay, Evans appeared to be seven feet tall. He was wearing a long rubber apron and in his hand he held a surgical knife.

'Awake? Good. It's important that you are conscious at the moment of your cleansing, the instant when the evil is excised from your corrupt body.

Sue eyes became saucers as Evans bent down and started to cut away her clothing. She saw his eyes linger on her breasts. He seemed to be engaged in some deep inner struggle. Sweat began to appear along his upper lip and his pocked skin became deathly pale. He was muttering something in what Sue recognised as Latin. His hands moved to hover near her breasts but then were withdrawn while he looked up to the ceiling as if for guidance. He started to remove the rest of her clothes.

As she threw her head back in anguish Sue again caused the rag in her mouth to move backwards and threaten to make her retch. If that happened while she was gagged she would inhale her own vomit and die of asphyxiation. When assessed coldly and dispassionately that might have been preferable to what Evans had in store for her but there is nothing cold or dispassionate about the desire to cling on to life. Sue jerked her head forward violently in a desperate attempt to clear the obstruction.

Suddenly fists pounded on the outside door. 'Sue? Are you in there?' demanded Jamieson's voice from the other side of the door.

Evans straightened up and stood there silently, his eyes filled with uncertainty, the knife still raised in his hand. Sue still desperately fought for air against the constant desire to retch.

'Sue! Evans! Can you hear me?'

Evans stood like a silent statue until the footsteps started to recede up the steps outside. The knife in his hand slowly started to descend as he relaxed. It cut an invisible line through the air. He turned to look at Sue again, his pock-marked face a mask of venom. 'So he knows!' he hissed. 'The interfering idiot knows but he's too late!'

Sue stopped breathing altogether as she saw the knife in Evans' hand move towards her. Her silent scream was interrupted by a tremendous crash of broken glass as the window was kicked in. The sound continued as several more kicks were applied to remove all the glass from the frame. Evans left Sue and ran across the room in time to meet Jamieson coming through the opening. He swung the knife and caught Jamieson on the left shoulder, opening up a cut which blood welled up from and soaked through his jacket but no muscular damage had been done.

The two men circled each other, Evans making regular gestures with the knife to keep Jamieson at bay.

'You mad bastard!' whispered Jamieson. 'You crazy mad bastard!'

'You don't understand,' insisted Evans. 'She's evil. They're all evil. You've just been blinded to it by her looks. She'll destroy you in the end.'

Jamieson shook his head in disbelief at the deranged man he saw before him. 'All these deaths because of one nut case,' he murmured. 'Ye gods.'

Jamieson risked a quick glance at Sue and was so alarmed at the colour of her complexion, which was becoming blue through asphyxiation, that his concentration was broken. The excitement and panic brought on by watching the fight between Evans and her husband had made the rag in her mouth move backwards into her throat.

Evans took full advantage of Jamieson's lapse. He picked up the Ultra-Violet lamp that had been sitting on his work bench and threw it at Jamieson. It caught Jamieson high on the temple and sent him crashing to the floor in a haze of pain.

Jamieson was aware of Evans coming towards him. He groped desperately for anything near him on the floor that could be used as a weapon to defend himself against the madman. His hand closed round a long shard of glass that had fallen from the window frame.

At the very moment that Evans threw himself at him, Jamieson brought the jagged shard round in front of him and held it firmly upright using both fists. The full weight of Evans? body came down on it and a look of stunned surprise appeared on Evans' face. His body went completely rigid for a moment and then slowly relaxed into death.

Jamieson was pinned to the floor by the weight of Evans' body. He was utterly desperate to get to Sue but it took an eternity to free himself from the sprawling corpse lying on top of him. With a final desperate shove he managed it and got to his feet to stagger to Sue's assistance. She was unconscious and badly cyanosed when he cut away the handkerchief and pulled the gag out of her mouth. He felt for a pulse and failed to find one. In desperation he started to blow air gently down into her lungs. There was no response.

Jamieson was still continuing with mouth to mouth resuscitation when the police arrived and Ryan entered the flat. Ryan took in the situation at a glance and radioed for an ambulance before doing anything else. He approached the table and stood quietly at Jamieson's side. 'The ambulance is on its way. How is she?' he asked quietly. Jamieson shook his head as if to dismiss the question and continued as if he were in another world. In the background a policeman threw up as he opened the fridge.

Sue coughed and Jamieson paused, thinking it the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He exchanged glances with Ryan and his cheek muscles started to quiver as he watched Sue begin to breathe again on her own. After a few more minutes she opened her eyes. She appeared to look at Jamieson but then closed them again. Ryan knew as well as Jamieson that there was a question of brain damage, depending on how long Sue had been without oxygen.

'It's over my darling,' Jamieson whispered. 'You're safe now. No one is ever going to hurt you again.'

There was an agonising pause before Sue said, 'I seem to have heard that somewhere before.'

Jamieson let out his breath in a long sigh and Ryan smiled at him. Sue was going to be all right.

'It is my darling,' said Jamieson. 'We're going home.

Two days later, Jamieson and Sue left Kerr Memorial for the last time. Maybe it was the fact that the sun was shining, but it seemed to both of them that the hospital had become a friendlier place. Phillip Morton was the last to come down and say good-bye to them and with him he brought the news that the four remaining Proteus patients were responding well to one of the antibiotics sent up by the Sci-Med labs. They were expected to make a full recovery.

As they drove out through the gates, neither Sue nor Jamieson felt inclined to look back. Sue clicked on the car radio in time to hear a government spokesman assure his interviewer that screening procedures for hospital staff were entirely adequate and there was no cause for public alarm. Jamieson reached out and switched it off again.