Donor

NINE

Dunbar watched Newsnight on the television in his room, then switched it off. The silence was broken by the sound of rain on the window, at first a gentle, irregular patter but then quickly becoming a harsh rattle that made him go over to the window to look out briefly before closing the blinds. He decided on an early night.

As he lay in bed, he looked back on the evening. He was glad to have re-established contact with Lisa. He liked her a lot, not least because of her obvious care and concern for other people. Like Sheila Barnes she was a born nurse. It wasn’t something you could instil in people through qualification and training. It had to be there at the start. He had particularly liked her hope that Sheila and her husband could give comfort to each other in their dying days.

It was an aspect of the situation he himself hadn’t considered, although there was something about it that had been niggling away at him. Lisa was right; it was strange that both Sheila and her husband had contracted cancer at the same time; the matron at The Beeches had also remarked on it. Neither of the Barneses had ever smoked, yet both had developed a particularly virulent form of lung cancer at almost exactly the same time. It was as if they had been simultaneously exposed to some sort of trigger mechanism, although in the leafy suburb of Bearsden that possibility seemed remote. The area did not exactly abound with chemical factories pumping out toxic fumes. They didn’t live next door to a nuclear power station, and he couldn’t imagine the rafters of Bearsden bungalows dripping with blue asbestos.

On the other hand… He remembered the nosey neighbour, Proudfoot, and the problem with Cyril Barnes’s camera… only there wasn’t a problem with Cyril’s camera. The repair company had reported nothing wrong with it, despite the fact that films kept coming out ruined as if they had been exposed to light… or maybe something else. Dunbar sat up in bed, now fully alert. Light wasn’t the only thing that could ruin photographic film. Exposure to radiation would damage it in exactly the same way… and prolonged exposure to radiation would almost certainly cause cancer in a human being… or two human beings if they were exposed to it together.

Was it possible? Was it conceivable that Sheila and her husband had been exposed to a radiation source in their own home? Questions queued up in his mind. What could it be? Where was it and how had it got there?

Dunbar tried convincing himself that such a possibility could not be real. Surely it was a flight of fancy on his part, an academic exercise, a tribute to his powers of imagination but too bizarre to be real… wasn’t it? He found he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The seed had planted itself in his mind and insisted on growing. Sleep was now out of the question. He had to know. He had to find out for himself. But how? He would need specialist equipment for this kind of investigation.

Although he could get practically anything he wanted in the way of specialist equipment and expert advice from Sci-Med, it would take a little time and he couldn’t wait. He had to know right now, even if it was just to eliminate the notion from his head. What he needed most was a radiation detector, a Geiger counter or something along those lines.

He looked at his watch. It was just after eleven thirty. Unless there was some kind of emergency at Medic Ecosse there was every likelihood that the Radiology Department would be empty and unmanned at this time of night. A radiographer would be on call but probably not on the premises. He could get hold of a radiation monitor there. He threw back the covers and swung his legs out of the bed.

Rather than sneak into Medic Ecosse unobserved, he decided he would drive quite openly into the car park and tell Reception he had come back to check some figures for a report he was working on. He didn’t think that would arouse too much suspicion and might even chalk up some brownie points for the civil service. A stay of about fifteen minutes would seem about right. That should give him enough time to get down the back stairs and along the corridor to Radiology. His cover story would account for his carrying a briefcase — it should be big enough to hold the monitor and some protective gear. What if the department was locked for the night? He couldn’t risk a break-in, he decided. If it was locked he’d abort the plan and make his request through Sci-Med in the morning.

As he walked from the car park up to the main door of the hospital he wondered if there was any chance that there’d be no one at the Reception desk. Of course not: the desk was run like everything else in Medic Ecosse, very well. Not only was there a smiling receptionist on duty, but there were two uniformed security men in the hall, silver-haired but fit-looking and alert. Despite the fact that the receptionist recognized Dunbar and greeted him by name, one of the guards still asked to see his ID.

‘I won’t be long. I just came back to check on some figures,’ said Dunbar to the receptionist.

‘And I thought you people drank tea all the time,’ she smiled.

‘A cruel myth,’ said Dunbar with a backward glance and a half-smile as he headed for the double doors leading to the main corridor.

He climbed the stairs to his office and became aware that his palms were sweating. It was some time since he’d done anything like this and he was nervous. He switched on the light in his office and put his briefcase on the desk. His heart was thumping. Did he really want to do this? Maybe he’d lost his nerve. There was, however, no doubt in his mind that he still had a yen for an occasional walk on the wild side, if only to ask questions of himself.

With his pulse rate still rising, he opened his office door and looked out into the corridor. It was deserted. He stepped out and went quickly and quietly along it until he reached the head of the back stairs. Another pause to listen for any signs of activity but there was still nothing. Medic Ecosse was sleeping.

He was halfway down the stairs when suddenly he heard voices; they were getting louder. His first fear was that whoever it was might turn into the stairwell and find him there. He was debating whether to run back upstairs, when the sound of trolley wheels registered. They couldn’t bring a trolley up the stairs. Reassured, he continued down to the bottom landing and shrank into the shadows in a corner from where he could see through the round glass window in the door.

The trolley party comprised four people. All wore blue cotton surgical garb with masks obscuring their lower faces. Dunbar could tell only that two were male and two female. Lying on the trolley was a young girl of five or six. Her eyes were closed and a drip-feed into her arm was being held up by one of the nurses as they waited for a lift at the door opposite the stairwell. The child seemed peacefully asleep but, in view of the lateness of the hour and the surgical dress, he supposed it more likely that she had been prepped for surgery. ‘Good luck,’ he whispered as the lift arrived and the doors slid open to spill light on to her pale little face. The doors closed. Dunbar watched until the indicator told him the party had stopped on the second floor, then edged out into the corridor and went quickly on down to Radiology.

The wide blue doors, which had earlier been propped open to permit the easy passage of trolleys, were closed, and Dunbar prepared himself for the worst. It would be in keeping with everything else about Medic Ecosse if the department had been responsibly and securely locked for the night. He looked to both sides before trying the handle; it moved all the way down. He pushed gently and the door opened. Swallowing hard, he slipped inside and closed it behind him.

He was in complete darkness with only the sound of his own breathing for company. He remembered that there were no outside windows in Radiology, so switching on the lights would not be a give-away. The light would show around the edges of the door, of course, but there was little reason for anyone to come here at this time of night. It was a chance he would have to take. He ran the palm of his hand up the wall, found the panel and clicked on all four switches.

For some reason the room’s equipment looked threatening. The X-ray guns were waiting for him to make a move before turning on him. The immobilizing straps on the scanner bed were only pretending to hang lifeless. They were snakes, ready to ensnare him should he stray too close, waiting to secure his limbs and forehead like steel bands before feeding his body into the dark maw of the scanner, a black hole leading to…

Get a grip! thought Dunbar, raising his eyes to the ceiling. He really was out of practice at this sort of thing. He tried to remember where he had seen the radiation monitoring equipment. In a cupboard somewhere — Svensen had brought it out to demonstrate his new toy. But in which room? He walked around slowly, hoping for inspiration, and found it when he looked into Svensen’s office. He remembered the radiologist opening the cupboard to the left of his desk and taking out a monitor.

Dunbar opened the cupboard and found three monitors. Two were mini-monitors for the routine checking of surfaces. The third was more sophisticated, with accurate metering capacity for measuring dosage. One of the mini-monitors would suit his purpose admirably. It comprised a rectangular metal box about eight inches by four with what looked like a microphone clipped to its top surface; this was the probe. It was attached to the main unit by about three feet of spring-coiled cable. There was a single control knob on the side to alter sensitivity settings and to provide a battery check. Dunbar turned it to this position and the needle swung upwards, well past the red line on the meter; the battery was in good condition. He unclipped the probe and moved it around. Random intermittent clicks from normal background radiation indicated that the monitor was in working order.

He turned his attention to the idea of protective clothing. If a small thing like a monitor was missing, people would assume someone else was using it or that it had been left in another room. It would be a while before anyone realized it wasn’t in the department. The same applied to protective gloves. He would take just one. He debated taking one of the heavy aprons worn by the radiographers, but decided it was too bulky and would be too easily missed by the staff. The last thing he wanted was for them to come in in the morning and see that there’d been a break-in. He’d make do with the monitor and the glove.

He took a last look round to make sure that everything was as he’d found it, before clicking out the lights and listening for a moment at the door. Everything was quiet. He slipped out into the corridor and made his way back to his office. He let his breath out in a long sigh as he put the things he’d taken into his briefcase and secured the catch. So far so good. There was no denying that he’d got quite a buzz from the whole thing. He walked confidently past the reception desk and said good night with a friendly smile. The adrenalin was coursing through his veins.

As he neared the Barneses’ street, Dunbar checked that he had the keys ready in his pocket. It was the third time he’d done it; they were still there. He frowned as he remembered the security light outside the house; it would come on when he walked up the path. Despite the lateness of the hour, this might alert the neighbours. People would not come out to ask questions at this time of night; they would phone the police.

That was the last thing he needed. He tried to remember the angle the light was set at. It had come on almost as soon as he opened the garden gate, so the detector beam must be set high. He should be able to slip under it if he made his approach from the side of the house along the wall.

He parked the car well away from the bungalow and outside a house whose high conifer hedge meant that the residents wouldn’t be able to see it. He didn’t want it reported as a suspiciously parked vehicle. He walked briskly and purposefully along the street, a man with a briefcase, not the kind of figure to arouse suspicion. There would be no lingering outside the Barneses’ house, no furtive looks to right and left and no hesitation.

With only one backward glance to check that no one was coming, he scissored his legs over the corner of the Barneses’ fence and dropped to a crouch in the shrubbery. He remained motionless for almost a minute, just looking and listening. No lights had come on in any of the nearby houses. There was no sound of voices.

Mr Proudfoot’s house was in darkness. Hopefully everyone was asleep. Dunbar moved silently up to the corner of the building and pressed himself to the wall. He stared at the intruder detector above the door as he edged closer. Some of these things had heat sensors as well, he reminded himself, but it was now or never. With the keys ready in his hand he moved directly under it and opened the door as quickly as he could. He was inside and the light still hadn’t come on.

He closed the curtains of the living room. They were reassuringly heavy and he made sure there were no cracks before switching on his torch. As a further precaution he kept his body between the torch beam and the window area as he opened his briefcase and took out the radiation monitor. He set it to its most sensitive setting and held the probe in front of him as he moved round the room.

Click… click… click click… Nothing to worry about, just background levels. He moved towards the cupboard by the fireplace where Cyril kept his camera gear. Click, click, clickety, clickety, clickety. The frequency of the clicks started to rise and the signal was markedly stronger. The blood was pounding in his ears as he homed in on the source. It was a white plastic telephone junction box fixed to the wall.

He moved away from the box and put the probe down on the floor, where it sat giving occasional clicks as it returned to background levels. He brought out the protective glove from his briefcase, along with a screwdriver to remove the cover of the box. With the heavy glove on his right hand making dexterity a lot more difficult, he undid the two starpoint screws retaining the cover and removed it. There was nothing inside.

He frowned and brought the monitor up to the front of the box again. Once more the clicks increased in frequency and the needle swung round on the meter. There was only one explanation; the box did not contain a source of radioactivity at the moment… but it had done recently.

The monitor Dunbar was using was a simple one. There was no way he could tell anything about the radiation source from it save for its current level and range. Holding the probe in front of him, he backed away until he was about eight feet from the junction box and the slowing clicks indicated he was out of range. He had to think what to do now. He hadn’t counted on this situation arising at all. He shone the torch around the junction box area and then followed the thin telephone cable leading to it. The cable ran straight through without interruption. There was no need for a junction box at all; it was a fake; it was unnecessary.

The sole purpose of the box had been to house the radiation source. Someone had deliberately installed it there in order to expose Sheila Barnes and her husband to the effects of radiation damage. Or had Sheila alone been the real target? Because surely this was Medic Ecosse’s doing. They just had to be the number-one suspect. Radiation sources weren’t exactly freely available over the counter but they were common enough in hospitals, where a wide range of isotopes was used for tracing and treatment purposes.

He looked again at the empty box. The source — and therefore the evidence — had been removed, presumably when it had done its job and Sheila and her husband had been taken into hospital. Was that it? Were they now going to get away with it? Was there nothing he could do to prevent that? He reminded himself that the monitor was still registering so there must still be traces of the substance in the box. Maybe that would be enough to identify the isotope and trace its origins.

As he wondered how he could take some sort of sample from the inside of the box he remembered Sheila’s make-up tray in the bedroom. Among the things she kept there was a series of little brushes. One of those would be ideal. He went and selected one, then turned his attention to finding a suitable container. His first thought was a plastic 35mm film container from Cyril’s camera cupboard but plastic would not contain the radiation too well. He would need better shielding. His next thought was to try some kitchen foil. He brought some through from the kitchen.

Very carefully, to avoid dust rising into the air and him inhaling it, he brushed out what little debris there was inside the junction box and collected it on a square of foil. He folded it over into a little packet and checked the outside with the monitor. The reading was still high. The foil was too thin to block the radiation even when folded into several thicknesses; he needed better shielding.

He was facing the depressing thought that he might have to wait until Sci-Med sent up a suitable container before it would be safe to transport the sample, when he remembered that the bungalow was quite old. Although it was unlikely still to have any original lead piping in it after all the health scares of a few years ago, it might have remnants of these days. It was worth looking. He took the torch through into the kitchen and examined the piping under the sinks. It was modern. Copper, steel and plastic. The same applied to the bathroom.

There was one last possibility: the cistern in the loft. Did the Barneses have a loft ladder? They did. Dunbar found the short pole with the hook on the end and used it to open the hatch cover and swing down the ladder. He climbed up the metal treads, torch in hand, and swung the beam around the dark recesses of the roof space. He saw a grey plastic cistern and modern piping, mostly wrapped in plastic lagging.

It was plain that the plumbing in the house had been entirely re-done in the not too distant past. He was about to close the hatch when he saw, below the red plastic tank used to back up the central-heating water supply, something lying between the rafters. He picked it up. It had once been part of an overflow pipe from the old cistern. It was about eight inches long and, more importantly, it was made of lead.

He closed up the loft and brought the pipe down into the living room. He slipped the little foil packet inside it and, using the handle of the screwdriver, flattened the ends of the pipe to seal the packet inside. He ran the probe over the outside and was pleased to hear that the radiation was now in check. He could hear only background clicks. He screwed the plastic cover back on the junction box and stood up. He had a sick, hollow feeling in his stomach as if he had been going up too fast in a lift. It was one thing being afraid of what you were up against, but when you didn’t know what that was it made you doubly fearful. He looked back at the junction box and wondered who had installed it. It must have been so easy. Someone posing as a telephone engineer perhaps? Supposedly checking a fault in the line? He could see how it could have been done without arousing any suspicion.

He put his things back into his briefcase along with the lead-shielded sample of debris and shone the torch around the floor area to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. He composed himself for a few moments before preparing to run the gauntlet of the security light once more.

This time he wasn’t so lucky. He had only taken one sideways step with his back pressed against the wall when the light clicked on, illuminating him and the garden. He felt as if he had just come on stage at the London Palladium. Instinctively he sprinted to the corner of the house and threw himself flat in the shrubbery. As he did so a light came on in the Proudfoots’ upstairs bedroom and a face appeared at the window; a hand started clearing a patch in the condensation on the glass in order to see out.

Dunbar wasn’t at all sure about his cover so he was reluctant to move a muscle lest movement attract attention. He couldn’t even afford to turn his head to look up at the bedroom window. His peripheral vision suggested that there was someone still there.

At that moment a cat chose to saunter across the garden path, sniffing the night air and haughtily ignoring the human being at the window above him. The cat sensed Dunbar’s presence and stopped in its tracks to stare at him. Dunbar closed his eyes and prayed. This could go either way. Either the neighbour would think that the cat had triggered the light and go back to bed or he would notice that the cat had found something and get suspicious himself.

After what seemed like an eternity, the bedroom light went off and all was quiet again. The cat moved off to more interesting things and Dunbar lay stock still for a further three minutes until the security light had reset itself. Moving slowly backwards and out of range, he quickly glanced both ways in the street before jumping over the fence and walking briskly back to his car. The night air and the icy cold did nothing to help his state of mind. He was filled with apprehension. He had become involved in something that was much bigger than he could ever have imagined at the outset. Sheila Barnes and her husband getting cancer had been no accident.

Thinking about Sheila made him wonder about Lisa. If they — whoever they were — had set out to murder Sheila Barnes, might they not try to do the same to Lisa? Dunbar’s foot flew to the brake pedal and the tyres squealed in protest. He executed a three-point turn with more noise than elegance and started racing through the streets to her flat.

‘Who is it?’ asked a sleepy-voiced Lisa.

‘Steven Dunbar. I have to talk to you!’ said Dunbar into the entryphone.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ she protested.

‘I have to see you. It’s important.’

‘It had better be,’ said Lisa, releasing the lock.

Dunbar sprinted up the stairs, carrying his briefcase under his right arm. Lisa was waiting for him at her front door, wearing dressing gown and slippers. Her arms were crossed over her body in deference to the cold. She quickly ushered him inside.

‘This had better be good.’

‘I think you’re in danger.’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

The sleep had gone from Lisa. She was now wide awake and alert. She watched as Dunbar, ignoring her, brought out the radiation monitor from his briefcase and unclipped the probe. He went directly to the telephone and started tracing the cable back along the wall. There was no sign of any new junction box.

‘Have you had any visits from a telephone engineer in the past few weeks?’ he asked, starting to move the probe to other areas of the room.

‘Telephone engineer? Will you please tell me what’s going on?’

‘Have you?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘Any other workmen calling unexpectedly?’

‘No, no one.’

Dunbar began to relax.

‘Will you please tell me what all this is about?’ said Lisa.

‘I’d better just check your bedroom.’

Lisa said, ‘Dunbar, I’ve heard some crummy lines in my time, but this takes the prize.’

Dunbar didn’t smile. He said, ‘It looks as if Sheila Barnes and her husband didn’t get cancer through some quirk of fate. I think someone may have planted a radiation source in their house.’

Lisa’s eyes went as round as saucers. ‘A radiation source? You mean it could be murder?’

Dunbar nodded. ‘Could be.’

‘But why? I mean who?’

‘Only one name comes to mind,’ said Dunbar.

‘You mean Medic Ecosse?’ exclaimed Lisa.

Dunbar shrugged. ‘You can’t buy radioactive isotopes at the corner shop. Who else would have access?’

Lisa sank into a chair and held her hands to her face.

Dunbar said, ‘I had the awful thought they might be doing the same to you.’

Lisa shook her head slowly. The confidence had gone from her eyes. She looked like a little girl who had suddenly become very afraid.

He put down the probe and wrapped his arms round her for a few moments. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything here,’ he assured her. ‘But I’d better check the other rooms.’

She nodded and led the way. The flat was clean.

‘Are you all right?’ Dunbar inquired gently when they returned to the living room.

Lisa looked up and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Where do we go from here?’ she asked.

‘Until I know for sure, I have to assume that they did this to Sheila to shut her up about the child who died, although the method is positively bizarre. We could call in the police right now but that might stop us finding out what’s behind it all.’

‘Then you do believe there’s something in what Sheila Barnes and I have been staying?’ asked Lisa.

‘I think I did even before this.’

‘Supposing you don’t call the police. What’s the alternative?’

‘Sci-Med can continue the investigation in secret.’

‘I want to know why Amy died,’ said Lisa. ‘I want someone to pay for it.’

Dunbar nodded.

‘On the other hand, I’m scared,’ she confessed.

Dunbar did not offer false reassurance.

‘What about the radiation source you mentioned? What’s going to happen to it?’

‘It had already been removed but I found traces of it. They’d concealed it in a telephone junction box on the wall — that’s why I was checking your phone line. I collected some debris from the box. I’m going to ask the Sci-Med people if they can identify the isotope and find out where it came from. There aren’t many establishments that supply radioactive materials in the UK, and they’re all obliged to keep strict records.’

‘So they’ll be able to tell if it was ordered through Medic Ecosse?’

‘That’s my hope,’ said Dunbar. ‘If we can show that Sheila was murdered, and link her death to Medic Ecosse, all the stops will be pulled out in a search for the motive. If we call in the police right now and then find that we can’t link the two, the whole thing will be blown.’

‘Who else would want to kill Sheila Barnes?’

‘Agreed,’ said Dunbar, but there was hesitation in his voice.

‘Something’s troubling you?’

‘I can’t help thinking it was a very odd way to shut someone up. You’d think they’d want to do it as quickly as possible, not let nature take its course.’

‘Thanks,’ said Lisa flatly. ‘Very reassuring.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was just thinking out loud. Obviously they must think time’s on their side. What do you think?’

‘Let’s see what your people come up with before we call in the police,’ said Lisa.

‘If you’re sure?’ said Dunbar.

She nodded uncertainly, as if she was using up every ounce of bravery she could muster in the gesture.

‘Good girl. In the meantime don’t open the door to any tradesmen unless they’ve got proper identification and credentials. Even at that, I’m going to arrange for surveillance outside.’

Lisa nodded again.

As soon as he got back to the hotel, Dunbar established a modem link with the Sci-Med office in London, using his notebook computer, and sent a two-word message, GLASGOW RED. Sci-Med would now know they had a criminal case on their hands, and any request made by Dunbar would be given priority. At some point in the next few days he would have to justify his action. If at all possible he would have to do it in person in London but, as he was the man on the ground right now, the decision was his.

After a few moments his computer bleeped, and Sci-Med’s reply came up on the screen: GLASGOW GREEN. His message had been received. There followed an instruction to adopt one of three encrypting procedures available on Sci-Med computers. From now on, to ensure complete security, all his messages would be encoded automatically before travelling down the phone lines, as would the return messages from Sci-Med. Dunbar did as instructed and was asked if he had any immediate requests. He asked for discreet, low-level surveillance at Lisa’s address. He didn’t believe she was in any immediate danger, but it was as well to think ahead. He was assured that this would be done. Asked if there was anything else, he replied that there was nothing that couldn’t wait until daybreak. He needed some sleep; it was two thirty in the morning.

Despite the lateness of the hour, sleep did not come easily. The events of the day went round in his head like scenes on a fairground carousel. The more he searched for answers, the bigger the questions seemed to get. Even niggling little worries demanded his attention. He was thinking about how he would return the equipment he’d borrowed from Radiology when a thought struck him. At the hospital, when he’d seen the surgical team get into the lift with the child, they’d taken her up to the second floor. He’d thought nothing of it at the time but now he realized that that would have taken them up to the east wing of Obstetrics, the one being used for the Omega patient. Why were they taking the child up there?