Donor

FIVE

In the morning Dunbar asked at the desk about his hired car and was told that it was already in the car park. He signed the relevant documents and was given the keys to a dark blue Rover 600Si. It was just after nine. He thought he would let the office day begin before he added his presence to it. He arrived at Medic Ecosse Hospital a little before ten and made himself known at Reception. A pleasant woman in her late thirties, smartly dressed in a dark suit and pristine white blouse that successfully conveyed the impression of cool efficiency, said he was expected. If he cared to take a seat someone would be with him shortly.

The someone in question turned out to be a short, dark-haired young woman, also wearing a business suit, who introduced herself as Ingrid Landes. Her gaze was confident and direct, her handshake firm.

‘Come with me, and I’ll show you to your office, Dr Dunbar. Do you have a car?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ll need this.’ She handed him a hospital parking permit, already inserted in a clear plastic holder for fixing to the windscreen, adding, ‘You’ve been allocated space seventeen round the back of the building. It’s clearly marked.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Dunbar, impressed by the efficient way he’d been met and welcomed. He was even more impressed when he was shown into a well-appointed office, tastefully furnished and equipped with just about everything he could possibly need, including a computer and fax machine.

‘Will this be all right?’ asked Ingrid.

‘Absolutely.’

‘Now, can I get you some coffee while you decide what you want me to do? How do you like it?’

‘Decide what I want you to do?’ he asked.

‘I’ve been assigned to you for the beginning of your stay with us, to help you settle in. But if that doesn’t meet with your approval I’m sure we could just-’

‘No, no,’ interrupted Dunbar. ‘It’s just that I didn’t expect assistance. This is a very nice surprise.’

She gave what he saw as a superior little smile and said, ‘Good. And the coffee?’

‘Black. No sugar.’

She left the room and Dunbar sat down behind the desk. He wondered about her and why she had been assigned to him. He hadn’t requested secretarial assistance. Had she been detailed to keep an eye on him, or was it just a case of creating a good impression, an apple for the inspector? Maybe he was being too suspicious. For the moment he would keep an open mind.

Ingrid returned with coffee and laid it down on the desk. The smell told him it had been made with proper ground coffee. There was only one cup.

‘You’re not having any?’ he asked.

‘I’m trying to cut down,’ said Ingrid with a smile that showed uneven teeth. ‘I was drinking too much of the stuff. It made me jittery. I’ve changed to Perrier.’

‘Then why don’t you get yourself a Perrier and then you can tell me about the hospital? After that perhaps you can show me around? I’d like to get a feel for the place.’

Ingrid went out again. Dunbar got up and walked over to the window. The carpet pile felt uncomfortably deep. It reminded him of walking on the beach and how sand stole your stride pattern. His window looked out on the unremarkable main square in front of the hospital. The central area was grid-lined for parking; the road running round it was double-yellow-lined and one-way. Traffic coming in through the gate was directed to the left and brought round clockwise to pass the front doors.

As he looked towards the entrance, a long, black stretch-limousine turned in through the gates and followed the road arrows to glide silently to a halt at the steps leading up to the main door. The tint on the windows of the car was so dark that the glass almost matched the gleaming paintwork. It was impossible to see inside. The registration plate was foreign. Dunbar guessed it might be in Arabic but the angle he was looking down at made it difficult to tell.

Ingrid returned while he was watching the arrival below, and joined him at the window.

‘Our Omega patient has arrived,’ she said.

‘Omega patient?’

‘Big money. A whole wing has been reserved for her.’

The front doors of the car opened below and two men got out. Both were of Middle Eastern appearance although dressed in western clothes. The driver was wearing uniform. The other, a thickset man wearing a suit of light-grey shiny material, looked all around with eyes hidden by reflecting sunglasses before resting his hand on the rear door handle. He kept his other hand inside his jacket.

‘What on earth?’ murmured Dunbar.

Ingrid did not comment.

Having decided that the hospital and its environs posed no threat to the occupants of the car, the man in the grey suit opened the rear doors and four people got out. All were wearing Arab clothes. There were three women and one man. One of the women was obviously the patient; she was helped by the others through the front doors.

As they disappeared from sight, Dunbar craned his neck to get a better view of the rear of the car but didn’t manage to pick up any more information.

‘Do you get many Omega patients?’ he asked.

‘Not as many as we need, apparently,’ replied Ingrid with a subdued smile.

Dunbar saw the joke and smiled too. ‘I take it she’s not here for an ingrowing toenail?’

‘I really don’t know,’ replied Ingrid. ‘Patient confidentiality is very important. The staff here operate on a need-to-know basis. It’s strict company policy.’

‘Of course.’ He wondered if she really didn’t know. She struck him as being something more than an admin assistant.

Two more vehicles drew up behind the limo, one an unmarked van and the second a Renault Espace carrying six more people who got out and saw to the unloading of the van. Dunbar guessed that the chests and trunks comprised the Omega patient’s luggage. The man in the grey suit took charge of the operation. Ingrid and Dunbar turned away from the window.

‘Who do you normally work for?’ asked Dunbar.

‘I’m on Mr Giordano’s staff.’

‘Are you sure he can spare you?’

‘It was his idea that I be assigned to you.’

‘It was very good of him to spare you; he must be a very busy man.’ Dunbar looked for signs of unease in Ingrid as he spoke; he thought her eyes might give away the fact of an ulterior motive, but he saw nothing. Either it’s all above board, he thought, or Ingrid Landes is a very good actress.

‘Can I ask what sort of work you normally do?’ asked Dunbar.

‘General PA work for Mr Giordano and liaison between the various units of the hospital.’

‘You know why I’m here, I take it?’

‘You’re a watchdog, sent here by the government to protect their latest investment. A sort of guardian of the public purse.’

‘Near enough.’

‘So how can I help you get started?’

‘I’d like to see staff lists for the various units, salary sheets, monthly accounting figures for the last six months, details of any outstanding bills, details of advance bookings for hospital care and services.’

‘I think we anticipated most of these things. You’ll find copies of the relevant computer files on disks in the top drawer of your desk.’

Dunbar slid open the top drawer and found an ID badge with his name on it and a plastic wallet containing four floppy disks. He smiled and said, ‘I’m impressed. You seem to have thought of everything.’

‘We try,’ said Ingrid. ‘The people who come to this hospital are used to the best. They expect it as of right so that’s what we try to give them.’

‘Do you like working here?’

‘Absolutely,’ she replied, as if it were a stupid question. ‘We take a lot of criticism for being private, but we’re good — no one denies that. The doctors, the nurses, even the porters and cleaners, are hand-picked. When everyone knows that, there’s a certain pride about the place, an esprit de corps if you like. It makes people want to do their best. It’s not like British Rail, where all the employees feel anonymous and end up not giving a hoot about the passengers. It’s different. It’s nice. It’s the way things should be.’

Dunbar nodded. It didn’t seem likely that he would be getting any tittle-tattle or scandal from Ingrid Landes. He decided to press her a little to see how strong her loyalty was.

‘It’s a very artificial environment,’ he said.

She took the bait. ‘How so?’

‘The very fact that it’s a private hospital means you can pick and choose your clientele. That makes things a lot easier, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t think we pick and choose. We take anyone who wants to come here and-’

‘Can afford to.’

‘That’s unfair. Many of our patients are covered by health insurance, something they elect to pay for. It’s their choice. I see nothing wrong in that.’

‘That still doesn’t make you a proper hospital.’

‘I don’t see how you can say that,’ said Ingrid, annoyance creeping into her voice.

‘You’re not obliged to provide services you don’t want to. You don’t have an A amp;E department, you don’t treat VD, you’re not interested in AIDS, TB, or any infectious disease come to that, and as for Alzheimer’s or any kind of mental disorder, forget it. Medic Ecosse wouldn’t want to know.’

‘It’s true we don’t handle everything,’ she agreed defensively, ‘but we do have one of the best transplant units in the country.’

‘Indeed you do,’ said Dunbar with a grin, ‘and one of the most loyal staff members.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You were testing me!’ she exclaimed.

Dunbar raised his eyebrows slightly and pursed his lips in a display of innocence. Ingrid broke into a smile. ‘What a thing to do,’ she said.

‘Are all the staff as loyal as you?’

‘I should think so. The working conditions here are very good, the pay’s well above the going rate and the holidays generous. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this to you. You’ll probably put all that into reverse,’ laughed Ingrid.

‘Fear not,’ smiled Dunbar. ‘I don’t have any such powers and I do appreciate that if you want the best you have to pay for it. So you never have staff problems or problems with disgruntled employees?’

Ingrid frowned as she thought. ‘Not that I can recall,’ she said.

Dunbar maintained an encouraging silence.

‘Well, there was one, come to think of it,’ said Ingrid, ‘quite recently, as a matter of fact. A staff nurse in the transplant unit — I’ve forgotten her name. She started making wild allegations after the death of a patient, poor woman.’

‘What sort of allegations?’

‘One of the patients in the unit, a young girl who had been very ill for a long time, died after an unsuccessful kidney transplant, one of the few deaths in that unit, I have to say. I think that’s maybe the only death they’ve had.’

Dunbar managed to stop himself pointing out that there had been another.

‘I think the nurse had been very attached to the patient. She was very upset and started saying all sorts of ridiculous things, making wild accusations about the negligence of the medical staff and things like that.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘In the circumstances, Dr Ross and Mr Giordano were very understanding about it. They arranged for her to have professional counselling and lots of time off but she persisted with her claims, and in the end I’m afraid they had to let her go.’

‘Poor woman,’ said Dunbar, deciding to let the subject drop. ‘How about showing me around?’

‘What in particular would you like to see?’

‘Absolutely everything.’

Dunbar was impressed by what he saw on his guided tour. He wasn’t allowed to enter any of the rooms currently occupied, as that would have been regarded as an invasion of patient privacy, but he did see from the empty ones the type of accommodation on offer. The rooms would have done justice to a top hotel, each being equipped with telephone, radio, satellite television and space-age communications systems. Wherever possible, medical equipment was hidden from view, much of it secreted behind sliding wall panels. Cardiac monitoring equipment, oxygen supply points and drip-feed equipment were all within easy reach of the bed but out of sight until required. It was hard to tell that this was a hospital room. Even the air smelled fresh and free from antiseptic odour. Dunbar looked up at the ceiling and saw grilles for air-conditioning.

The X-ray suite was state-of-the-art, as was the physiology lab with its gleaming respiratory function equipment. The operating theatres were fitted with the latest in lighting and table technology. Anaesthetics were available through a colour-coded bank of regulators, each gas with its own gauge and flow monitor and not a cylinder in sight. Endoscopy monitors were mounted on swinging arm platforms that could be adjusted to any height and angle required by the surgeon.

As they waited for a lift to take them up to the transplant unit, Ingrid asked, ‘What do you think so far?’

‘It’s hard to believe I’m in a hospital,’ said Dunbar. ‘Apart from anything else, it’s so quiet. There just don’t seem to be any people about. I always associate hospitals with bustle and activity.’

‘Company policy,’ said Ingrid. ‘They don’t just hide the equipment, they hide the nurses too! But whenever you need one, one will materialize at your shoulder.’

The lift doors slid back and three people got out, a man in pristine white Arab clothes and two others whom Dunbar recognized as the driver and bodyguard he’d seen getting out the limo earlier. Ingrid smiled and said something to them in Arabic. She sounded fluent.

‘I’m impressed,’ said Dunbar as they got into the lift and the doors slid shut.

‘Omega patients expect no less,’ Ingrid replied.

As they stepped out into the reception area for the transplant unit, Ingrid said, ‘I’ll have to check with Dr Ross first to see if it’s all right to show you round.’

Dunbar nodded.

Ingrid leaned over the reception desk and asked the nurse sitting there if she would tell Dr Ross they were here. The woman smiled, nodded and picked up a telephone. Ross appeared in the foyer a few moments later. He acknowledged Ingrid with a nod, then turned to Dunbar, stretching out his hand. ‘Big Brother is watching us,’ he said with a smile.

‘It’s not that bad,’ smiled Dunbar in reply. ‘As long as you’re not carrying out operations for nothing.’

‘As a matter of fact we will be tomorrow,’ said Ross conspiratorially. ‘One of my colleagues is carrying out facial reconstruction work on one of the NHS patients we agreed to take on for free as part of the funding agreement.’

‘A laudable exception,’ said Dunbar. ‘Actually, I was rather hoping I might be able to see round your unit? Meet the staff?’

‘Of course,’ replied Ross. ‘That is, the bits that are empty. Ingrid has probably told you that patient privacy is paramount.’

‘It’s what I keep hearing,’ agreed Dunbar.

‘The plain truth is that many of our clients don’t want anyone even to know they’re in hospital, let alone what they’re having done. And if they pay the piper…’

‘They call the tune.’

‘You can see the transplant theatres, of course, and one of the intensive-care suites for post-operative use. The individual rooms are pretty standard throughout the hospital.’

‘Even for Omega patients?’ asked Dunbar.

Ross exchanged an uncertain glance with Ingrid before smiling and saying, ‘Perhaps a few more little goodies for them.’

There were smiles all round. Ross said, ‘Come and meet the staff.’ He led the way to a room where a man dressed in surgical greens was standing in front of a blackboard addressing several medical and nursing colleagues. He paused as the newcomers entered but Ross indicated that he should continue and ushered Dunbar and Ingrid to seats at the side of the room.

‘Staff briefing,’ he whispered. ‘We have one every morning. I’ll let John finish.’

Dunbar nodded and listened with interest to the briefing. There were seven patients in the unit. The current condition of each was discussed in turn and staff were asked for any observations they might have. Updates were made to all their charts and all staff were made aware of plans for each patient for the day. Again, Dunbar was impressed. This was a well-run unit.

‘Any questions?’ asked the man Ross had called John. There were none.

Ross stood up and said, ‘Just before you go everyone, I’d like you to meet Dr Steven Dunbar. He’s been assigned to the hospital by the Scottish Office to keep an eye on us, but he tells me he’s not such a monster once you get to know him.’

There was polite laughter. Dunbar saw that Ross was popular with his staff. He was introduced to each member of staff in turn, starting with the theatre sister, Trudy Sinclair, and ending with John Hatfull, who had been giving the briefing.

‘John is my surgical registrar,’ explained Ross. ‘Also my right-hand man.’

Hatfull was slightly shorter than Ross, brown-haired and hazel-eyed. He had an air of intensity that Dunbar often associated with highly intelligent people. It was as if they radiated energy. It was hard to imagine them relaxing. He shook hands with Hatfull.

‘Did I hear James say you were a doctor yourself?’ Hatfull asked.

Dunbar nodded.

‘What speciality?’

‘Field medicine,’ Dunbar replied.

Hatfull looked surprised then amused. ‘From field medicine to accountancy? Quite a change. I suppose you were looking for more excitement.’

The others laughed. Dunbar smiled dutifully, but offered no explanation. He didn’t want anyone thinking too much about the unlikelihood of such a switch.

‘Well,’ said Ross, ‘I’ll show you round. Or maybe you’d care to do that, John, if you have the time?’

‘My pleasure,’ replied Hatfull. ‘Anything in particular you’d like to see?’

‘Anything and everything,’ said Dunbar. ‘I just need to get a general feel for the unit. I need to relate its size and facilities to the figures I see on the balance sheets.’

‘Of course.’

As they started the tour Dunbar sensed that Hatfull was on his guard. He thought he’d try a little flattery to see if he could soften him up. ‘Dr Ross seems to rely on you a lot.’

‘He’s a very busy man,’ replied Hatfull.

‘Of course,’ said Dunbar. ‘He has research interests too. Are you involved at all in that?’

‘No, I’m just a work-horse. I leave research to the clever people.’

‘As a transplant surgeon in this unit, you’re not exactly among the intellectually challenged of the world,’ countered Dunbar with a smile.

‘One does what one can.’

‘The withdrawal of research funding must have been quite a blow to Dr Ross?’

‘Must have been.’

Dunbar didn’t ask any more. He accepted he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Hatfull.

The tour of the transplant unit took about thirty minutes, including the time taken by Hatfull to answer questions as monosyllabically as possible. Dunbar reverted to asking the kind of questions he thought he should be asking. They related to length of patients’ stay in the unit, numbers of staff involved in preoperative and post-operative care, in fact, anything he thought an accountant might be interested in. He made notes in a small leather-bound book he took from his inside pocket. There was very little to ask about the equipment and accommodation. The facilities were simply the best. When he’d asked everything he thought he should, they were re-joined by Ross, who asked if he’d enjoyed his tour.

‘Very interesting,’ replied Dunbar. He thought he’d risk trying a different tack and asked, ‘What actually happens when you hear that an organ has become available for one of your patients, Doctor?’

‘Quite a lot,’ smiled Ross. ‘And all at the same time! The procedure usually starts with a computer alert that a matching organ is available. We first double-check that this is the case and then contact the hospital or clinic holding the organ to establish personal contact and agree terms of transfer. A lot depends on where the donor organ is and how long it’s going to take to get here. At the same time, we alert our patient to the possibility of an operation and arrange for him or her to be admitted if they aren’t already in hospital. The operating teams are put on stand-by, round the clock if necessary. Time is always of the essence where live tissue is concerned.’

‘Of course.’

‘Apart from the actual theatre teams, we also need lab support and a supply of blood from the transfusion service available at exactly the right time. A lot of people are involved in a successful transplant. It’s a team effort and there are so many things that can go wrong. A flight gets delayed, a traffic jam, a driver takes the wrong turning. So many things, so many links in the chain, and all of them important.’

Dunbar nodded and pushed his luck. ‘And do they?’ he asked.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Do they go wrong?’

‘Very rarely,’ said Ross with a smile and a touch-wood gesture. ‘There have been a few close calls as regards time but we’ve always managed to get the job done.’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Dunbar. ‘I suppose the clock starts ticking as soon as the donor organ is removed?’

‘Absolutely. There’s only a finite time before it becomes useless for transplant purposes.’

‘I suppose the ideal thing would be to keep the donor on a life-support system until everything was ready?’

‘In a cold, clinical sense, yes,’ agreed Ross. ‘But of course the moral implications of such a procedure dictate that hospitals can’t actually do this — well, not overtly. There’d be a public outcry.’

‘Of course. So with time ticking away, and traffic jams and airline delays all playing their part, you must have to get the organ into your patient almost as soon as it comes through the door?’

‘Almost,’ agreed Ross. ‘The theatre staff are usually prepped and ready.’

‘No time for any last-minute checks on the organ itself?’ said Dunbar, feeling as if he’d just jumped into water without knowing the depth.

There was a tense pause before Ross said, ‘I don’t think I’m quite with you. What sort of checks are you referring to?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Dunbar, trying to appear off-hand and casual. ‘The usual things, blood group, tissue-typing, AIDS, Hep. B screening, that sort of thing.’ He had slipped his real question in at number two in the list, hoping it would nestle there without arousing suspicion. A glance at Ross as they proceeded along the corridor made him doubt whether he had succeeded: the smile had gone from his face.

‘All these things are usually done at the donor hospital,’ said Ross.

‘Of course. That would make sense,’ said Dunbar. ‘I just wondered whether, with an international donor network, standards might vary from country to country.’

‘All hospitals in the network work to the highest standards,’ said Ross.

‘I see,’ said Dunbar.

‘But when we have time to spare, we do carry out our own screening,’ said Ross.

‘I felt sure you would,’ said Dunbar.

‘And here we are back where we started,’ said Ross as they returned to the unit’s foyer. ‘Is there anything else we can show you or help you with?’

‘Your research labs,’ said Dunbar. ‘I didn’t see them.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ agreed Ross. ‘My labs aren’t actually in the hospital. As you’re not funding them any more, I didn’t think they’d come within your remit.’

Dunbar detected resentment in Ross’s voice. He decided on a conciliatory response. ‘You’re absolutely right. I was just personally interested. Did you manage to get alternative funding for your work, Doctor?’

‘Enough to keep going for the moment,’ replied Ross. ‘Medic International have been generous.’

‘I’m glad. It was all very unfortunate.’

‘Yes,’ replied Ross. He seemed wryly amused at Dunbar’s choice of word. ‘Most unfortunate.’

‘How is the research going?’

‘Quite well, thank you, but progress is never as fast as one would like.’

‘I suppose not.’

Dunbar shook hands with Ross and Hatfull and followed Ingrid into the elevator.

‘I wasn’t supposed to know about Omega patients, was I?’ he asked as they descended.

Ingrid smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. Dr Ross was just a bit surprised that you knew about them. We don’t get that many, and you’ve only been here five minutes.’

‘Why Omega?’

‘The last letter of the Greek alphabet for the last word in care and attention,’ said Ingrid. ‘Nothing’s too good for them. Nothing’s too much trouble.’

‘At a price,’ said Dunbar.

‘Of course. They’re used to being pampered. Most of our patients are. Do you know what they’re really paying for at Medic Ecosse?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Secrecy,’ she said. ‘Absolute discretion. People who come here for cosmetic surgery don’t want their friends to know they’re having it done. People who come here because they’re ill don’t want their enemies to know about it. Any suggestion of ill health at the top can trigger a coup or wipe millions off share values. Complete confidentiality is probably the most valuable commodity we offer.’

‘I’m surprised you told me about Omega patients at all,’ said Dunbar.

‘I just thought as you’re going to be going through the books you were going to find out everything that goes on anyway.’

‘True.’

‘I promise you, you are going to be sick of the word “confidential” before you’re through,’ said Ingrid. ‘People here think twice before they’ll tell you the time. They’re not being obstructive. Their job depends on it.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Dunbar. ‘But I do have the right to request any information I feel I need.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she mimicked. ‘Is there anything else you want to see?’

‘Not at the moment. I think I’ll make a start on the paperwork and maybe have a wander around later on my own if there’s time.’

‘Don’t forget your ID badge.’

Dunbar nodded.

‘So you won’t be needing me any more today?’

‘I don’t think so. I’ll make a note of any questions and maybe we can talk again in the morning.’

Ingrid looked at her watch and said, ‘It’s lunch-time. Would you like to try the staff restaurant or do you have other plans?’

‘No other plans,’ said Dunbar.

As they walked towards the restaurant he asked, ‘Which wing is the Omega patient in?’

‘The east wing of Obstetrics.’

‘Then she’s having a baby?’

‘That would be my guess too,’ replied Ingrid. ‘Here we are.’ She pushed open a swing door and ushered Dunbar in first. The staff restaurant at Medic Ecosse was a light, bright self-service facility which, judging by the crowd, was very popular. Dunbar opted for a tuna salad and looked around for a table while Ingrid collected her baked potato. He saw two nurses about to vacate a table by the window and timed his approach to coincide with their leaving. He waved to Ingrid, who had momentarily lost sight of him.

‘You’ve done this before,’ she said as she joined him.

‘London-trained,’ he replied. ‘Push or die. Is it always this busy?’

‘Most days,’ replied Ingrid. ‘There aren’t too many other places round here. Apart from that the meals are heavily subsidized.’

‘I noticed.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Ingrid.

‘The price of a tuna salad isn’t going to make much difference to government investment in Medic Ecosse,’ he assured her.

‘What is?’ she asked.

‘It’s quite simple really. You must either attract more paying patients or charge the patients you’re already getting a lot more.’

‘I think our prices are pretty well in the top of the range as it is,’ said Ingrid.

‘That’s my impression too,’ said Dunbar. ‘So it’s a case of developing a marketing strategy that will you bring you more custom, identifying your strengths and capitalizing on them.’

‘Our patients seem well satisfied with the treatment they get here,’ said Ingrid.

Dunbar smiled ruefully and said, ‘The trouble is they can’t tell anyone about it. You said yourself that they don’t want people to know they’ve been here. You’re selling confidentiality.’

‘I hadn’t considered the down-side of it,’ said Ingrid. ‘I suppose we can hardly ask them to tell all their friends!’

‘Apart from that, their friends will be pretending there’s nothing wrong with them anyway!’ said Dunbar with an extravagant shrug that made Ingrid smile.

‘Dr Ross mentioned an NHS patient getting plastic surgery here tomorrow?’ he went on.

‘That’s right,’ replied Ingrid. ‘It’s a face reconstruction, a young girl. She was born with a protruding jaw that disfigured her whole appearance. The surgeons are going to fix it so that she can lead a normal life.’

‘I take it the hospital has put out a press release?’

‘Oh yes,’ replied Ingrid. ‘I’m told the results will be quite dramatic, so the before and after pictures should be spectacular.’

Dunbar nodded. ‘Especially as there’s no scarring with that particular operation. They do all the cutting from inside the mouth, even removing portions of jawbone from either side. It should be very good publicity for the hospital.’

Ingrid said quietly, ‘I don’t think that’s the only reason the surgeons are doing it.’

‘Of course not,’ he conceded. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded cynical. The hospital needs as much good publicity as it can get.’

‘You seemed very interested in Dr Ross’s unit this morning. Is transplant technology a particular interest of yours?’

‘Not really,’ he said, immediately on his guard.

‘You seemed very interested in the logistics of transplants and what happened to the donor organs when they arrived,’ she persisted.

Alarm bells rang in Dunbar’s head. If Ingrid thought that, the chances were that Ross and Hatfull must have thought the same. Damn it! Had he overplayed his hand on his very first day? ‘I was just curious,’ he lied.