Lost causes

SIXTEEN

Drysdale appeared again in the company of Paul Drinkwater as Steven was finishing in A amp;E.

‘What on earth happened?’ asked Drinkwater.

‘Someone opened a steam valve in the tunnel as I was leaving.’

‘Christ, they were quick off the mark,’ said Drysdale, a comment that made the other two look to him for more.

‘The winos,’ said Drysdale. ‘And the junkies. They see the tunnels as a nice warm place to kip down. That’s why we keep the access doors locked, but of course they were left open while Dr Dunbar was down there.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Drinkwater. ‘You think one of them must have come across Dr Dunbar and seen him as the face of authority?’ He turned back to Steven. ‘How bad is it?’

‘They’ll mend,’ said Steven, holding up his bandaged hands and feeling slightly woozy because of the painkillers he’d been given. ‘It could have been a lot worse.’

‘Dare I ask if you found what you were looking for?’

‘I did. That’s why I’d like the doors to be locked and kept that way until I can arrange transport for the files I’m interested in.’

‘Of course,’ said Drinwater. ‘Dennis, can you see to that?’

Drysdale nodded. ‘No problem. Mind you, if there’s a heating problem somewhere in the hospital…’

‘No one goes down there alone,’ said Steven. ‘I’ll arrange with the local police for an officer to be present to accompany anyone who has to go down in an emergency.’

Drysdale nodded. ‘Very well.’

They were interrupted by the arrival of a well-dressed man in his late forties whose dark suit and silk tie suggested management. ‘Dr Dunbar? I’m so sorry. I’ve just heard what happened. I’m Clive Deans, the hospital manager. I’m sorry I couldn’t welcome you earlier, and now this. Absolutely awful. What can I say?’

‘You’ll excuse me for not shaking hands,’ said Steven.

‘Look, maybe you shouldn’t drive. Why don’t you use the hospital suite we use for relatives? It’s empty at the moment. You can get a good night’s rest, and if you need any more painkillers you’ll be in the right place.’

‘Thank you. I think I’ll take you up on that.’

He was shown to the suite and given a couple of internal telephone numbers to call if he needed anything. Deans left him alone, still apologising for what had happened, and Steven used his mobile to start making calls, phoning Jean Roberts first.

‘Jean, I’ve had a bit of an accident. There are a number of things I’d like you to do.’

‘Doesn’t sound like an accident to me,’ she said, after obliging him to tell her what had happened.

‘Be that as it may, I’d like to get the records back to London as quickly as possible. We’ll need a courier service and we’ll need a team of analysts to work on them when they arrive. I also need you to arrange with the local police to mount guard on the cellars in College Hospital until we get the records out. Anyone who has to go down there must be accompanied, and no papers are to be removed.’

‘Understood. Are you calling a code red on this?’

Steven hesitated for a moment. He’d often requested a code red — official approval for a full investigation with a number of Home Office powers being invoked — but never found himself in a position to actually sanction one. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Let’s request co-operation at the moment. If we don’t get it, we’ll start thinking about a code red.’

‘Very well. ‘I’ll keep you informed of the arrangements. Do you still intend to visit Gordon Field in prison?’

‘I’m going to drive over there in the morning.’

‘Take care, Steven.’

For some reason Steven found Jean’s parting words thought-provoking. He wasn’t entirely convinced that he’d crossed the path of a down-and-out in the tunnel. He wanted to believe it, because any other explanation implied that it had been an attempt to stop him or his investigation and indicated that someone had a powerful reason for ensuring that sleeping dogs were left that way. However, he had no wish to share these thoughts with anyone else at the moment — least of all Tally, because of the alarm he’d cause — so his injuries were put down to the accepted version of events when he phoned her.

‘Oh, you poor thing. How bad?’

‘No lasting damage, but bloody painful at the time. I’ve had them dressed and taken a couple of painkillers so I’ll get a good night’s sleep and be out of here in the morning. I’m going to see Gordon Field in Leigh Open Prison in Yorkshire.’

‘Sounds like a nice day out,’ Tally joked. ‘Will I see you later to kiss your hands all better?’

‘I may have to come back here.’

‘Of course, the transfer of the files. Oh, well…’

‘Then maybe I’ll take a day off. Maybe you could do the same. We could go somewhere?’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Leigh Open Prison was located in a remote part of the Yorkshire moors, far enough from transport links to deter thoughts of earlier-than-planned release for the fleet of foot should the idea occur. George Plumpton, the governor, a large man with a florid face and an obvious penchant for tweed, welcomed Steven to ‘our humble abode’ with the offer of tea and ginger biscuits, which he accepted. ‘So, it’s Gordon Field you’re here to see?’

‘It is.’

‘Not planning to go ten rounds with him, are you?’ said Plumpton, alluding to Steven’s bandages.

‘I was rather hoping I wouldn’t have to. In fact, I was hoping he’d be a model prisoner?’

This prompted a laugh to escape Plumpton’s mouth before it was entirely free of biscuit, and he wiped the crumbs from the scatter area. ‘They all are. Mainly middle-class chaps with jobs that brought them too tantalisingly close to other people’s money and, in a moment of madness — as their defence counsel would maintain — they gave in to temptation and changed the course of their lives.’

Steven nodded. ‘Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary about Field?’

‘Like what?’

‘Does he have strong views about anything? Politics? The system? The unfairness of it all?’

Plumpton shook his head. ‘Far from it. Some of them seek to atone for past mistakes by going too far the other way, if you know what I mean. They find religion and decide to bring it to the rest of us, devote themselves to lame ducks and good causes, but Field just keeps his head down, does what he’s told and serves his time without comment.’

‘Thanks,’ said Steven. ‘That’s helpful.’

He was shown to an interview room where Field was already waiting. He said who he was and sat down opposite the prisoner. ‘Mr Field, I’d like to ask you about your time at College Hospital in Newcastle.’

‘What would you like to know?’ replied Field in well-modulated tones.

Steven eyed him up, looking for signs of dumb insolence, but found none. ‘Exactly what were you and French and Schreiber up to?’

Field recoiled a little and Steven thought he saw nervous uncertainty in his eyes. ‘What d’you mean? I was the hospital manager. I did my job. End of.’

Steven shook his head. ‘No, no,’ he said with a smile. ‘We both know that’s a bunch of crap. I think you were involved in something that’s going to end up with you moving to a very secure prison indeed, where Leigh will just be a distant memory of holidays past.’

‘I swear to God I had nothing to do with whatever these bastards were up to.’

‘I’m not God and I’m not interested.’

‘Okay, look, I admit I played a part in the Greta Marsh deception but I didn’t have much choice. You didn’t say no to French and that bloody woman Freeman.’

‘Greta Marsh was the patient being operated on when her surgeon died?’

‘That’s right. They didn’t want any publicity. That bloody Freeman woman didn’t seem to give a fuck about her husband dying. All she and the others were interested in was making the press go away. College Hospital was to be about good news, nothing else.’

‘Tell me about the deception.’

‘Greta was left blind and brain-damaged. She was shipped off to an institute called Harrington Hall, and French and his buddies hired an actress to take her place at a press conference to assure everyone that Greta was okay.’

‘And James Kincaid?’

‘Who?’

Steven kept quiet and just stared at Field until he said, ‘Oh, the journalist, right? He kept popping up like a bad smell.’

‘So you killed him.’

‘No, I had nothing to do with that,’ insisted Field, beginning to panic. ‘I admit I was involved in scaring him off after he broke into Harrington Hall and got a bit too close to the truth for comfort, but that’s as far as it went. As God’s my witness…’

‘So what were French and his pals up to? The thing you had no part in…’

‘I don’t know. I was an outsider. They didn’t tell me anything I didn’t need to know. As far as I could see, they seemed to be doing a pretty good job. They ran a very efficient operation that all the staff and patients liked…’

‘But?’

‘Somehow, they weren’t exactly the sort of people you’d expect to be doing that sort of thing, if you know what I mean. They weren’t natural candidates for the caring professions.’

Steven understood his meaning very well. ‘And John Carlisle, where did he come into it?’

‘The health secretary?’ said Field, appearing amused. ‘He popped up at intervals with his entourage and took any credit that was going. He smiled a lot and made the right noises. Did what politicians do.’

‘You said French and Schreiber ran a very efficient operation. What exactly did they do in a practical sense?’

‘French oversaw the computing side of things, Schreiber organised the pharmacy and liaised with the supply company.’

‘Which was?’

‘Lander Pharmaceuticals. I think Schreiber had some connection with them.’

‘And Antonia Freeman? What did she do?’

‘Lady Antonia? God knows, but everyone seemed shit scared of her, like she was the real boss.’

‘Of what?’

Fields shrugged. ‘I dunno. It’s funny. They seemed like a bunch of individuals but they weren’t, if you know what I mean?’

‘No.’

‘Well, they seemed to have access to… back-up services. They knew where to hire an actress to play Greta Marsh. They knew where to come up with heavies when Kincaid had to be warned off. Things like that. It was like they weren’t alone. Little helpers just appeared when they needed them.’

Steven nodded, thinking about someone to open a steam valve. ‘Thank you, Mr Field. I don’t think I need to take up any more of your time.’

‘Take up as much of my “time” as you like,’ said Field. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Steven, getting up to go. He did not add that one of the main reasons for believing Field was the fact that he had been left alive when all the others hadn’t.

Steven was half an hour into his journey back to Newcastle when Jean Roberts phoned. The courier company had been briefed and would be on site at College Hospital at four p.m. if that was convenient.

Steven checked his watch and said that it would.

‘I’ve also recruited a team to start work as soon as the records arrive. They’re people from the Department of Health, and the permanent under-secretary insists that Sci-Med foots the bill.’

‘No problem.’

‘And one other thing. I’ve managed to trace a doctor who worked with Neil Tolkien at the time of the Northern Health Scheme. She was one of the voluntary team who worked with heroin addicts at the time. Her name is Mary Cunningham; she’s still a GP in the area with a practice in Lamont Avenue.’

‘Excellent. I’ll look her up.’

It was just after six p.m. when Steven watched the second of two courier vans leave College Hospital for London, laden with the medical records of patients treated between 1990 and 1992 when John Carlisle was health secretary and the sun was shining brightly on his career. Drysdale, the clerk of works, was on hand to lock up the cellars and return the trolleys the couriers had been using, and Paul Drinkwater was there to represent hospital management, his brief being ‘to see that things went smoothly’.

‘Will you be bringing them back?’ he asked Steven.

‘Do you want them back?’

‘Not really. They’re officially off-system. It’s just a question of data protection.’

‘We’ll take care of that.’