Fenton's winter

NINE

The intermittent screen wipe on Kelly's Ford Capri flicked away the drizzle like a cow's tail dealing with summer flies.

"I hope you gentlemen have a productive evening," said Jenny as she got out of the car at the hospital gates to go on duty.

"We'll try," said Kelly.

"Good night Jenny," said Fenton softly, answering the look that was meant for him.

"Take care."

The Ford turned off the main road and Fenton gave Kelly directions as he nosed it along the wet side streets.

"You don't live up here if you work for the Health Service," said Kelly noting the size of the houses."

The headlights caught an elegant lady, swathed in furs, out walking her dog.

"I suppose it just had to be a poodle," said Fenton as they passed.

"Very nice too," murmured Kelly, looking sideways and not referring to the dog.

"Forget it," said Fenton. "You couldn't keep her in dog food. Take the next on the left."

Kelly turned slowly into Braidbank Avenue and Fenton directed him to Fairview where he stopped and turned off the engine to restore satin silence to the night.

"How do we play it?" asked Kelly.

"By ear," said Fenton. "Let's go."

Kelly pushed open the gate. Fenton anticipated the squeal.

"Did it ring?" asked Kelly as he pushed the bell.

"Yes," replied Fenton.

Murray appeared in the doorway. "Yes?"

"It's me again Mr Murray, Tom Fenton. I was here last night."

"Yes?" repeated Murray without any acknowledgement of Fenton's last visit.

"I wonder if we might have another word with you?"

Murray's contorted his face as he strained to see Kelly in the shadows. Fenton introduced them and Kelly held out his hand. Murray ignored it and turned round. "Come," he said and led the way inside.

Kelly shot Fenton a glance as they followed Murray indoors but Fenton pretended not to notice. Murray sat down in the chair he had been sitting in, judging by the book and the half empty glass beside it, and gestured to the two men to sit like candidates for interview.

Fenton noticed that the 'formal' double breasted jacket of the last occasion had been replaced by a more casual Fair Isle pullover whose already intricate pattern had been augmented by dried tomato seeds, custard, the ubiquitous egg and some green stuff that defied visual analysis. Murray seemed to be in a constant state of agitation, continually searching through his pockets without ever seeming to find what he was looking for.

Fenton waited for a few moments then coughed to attract Murray's attention. The pocket searching stopped and Murray stared at Fenton without blinking until Fenton spoke.

"We are puzzled about the man who came to see your sister Mr Murray. Are you absolutely certain he said that he was from the Blood Transfusion Service?"

"Yes," said Murray without hesitation.

"Then you saw him?" asked Fenton.

"Yes."

"Can you describe him?"

Murray produced one of his dramatic pauses before saying, "Why?"

"I know this is going to sound strange but the BTS say that no one called to see your sister Mr Murray."

Another long pause then Murray decided that the easiest course of action was to answer the question. "He was of medium height and build, slim, fair and somewhere in his middle twenties."

Fenton felt a crushing sense of disappointment for there was no way that Nigel Saxon could be described in these terms, not even by a loving mother. With unerring accuracy the slings and arrows of his particularly outrageous fortune had homed in on him again.

Fenton let Kelly continue the conversation with Murray while he wondered how to fit this latest piece of information to the puzzle. He became aware of Kelly asking about the fair haired man. "Is there anything more you can tell us about him Mr Murray?"

"Well…there was his ring."

"Ring?"

"He was wearing a ring…I recognised it." Fenton could sense the reluctance in Murray's voice as Kelly continued to probe.

"Go on."

"He was wearing a Cavalier Club ring," said Murray finally.

Kelly and Fenton both looked at Murray's hands and he saw them do it. "No, I'm not a member," he said.

Fenton felt the tension in the room. He detected in Murray the same reluctance to speak of the club as he had in Ross in the lab. He noted that Kelly seemed not to share his own ignorance.

Murray got up from his chair and crossed the room to a silver drinks tray. Without asking he poured out three whiskies from a crystal decanter and handed them round. He sat down again with slow deliberation, adjusted the glasses on his nose and said, "Now, you will tell me what this is all about." It was not a request, it was a directive.

Fenton could see that the eyes behind the glasses had gone cold and hard, the first indication of the inner man, he thought. It had come as no great surprise for he had already deduced that there must be more to Murray than the bumbling eccentric he had seen so far. You did not end up living in Braidbank by being a complete clown.

Kelly's look suggested that Fenton should answer so he did, saying that they themselves were not at all sure what was going on but it did seem likely that the man who had come to see his sister was in some way mixed up in the deaths at the Princess Mary Hospital.

Murray looked at him like an owl contemplating his dinner. He asked slowly and quietly, "Are you suggesting that my sister's death might not have been an accident."

Fenton moved uncomfortably in his seat. "It's possible," he said.

"Do police know of this?"

"All we have at the moment Mr Murray are suspicions," replied Fenton. "The minute we have anything more we will inform the police immediately."

"You mean that you haven't told them," said Murray, construing correctly what Fenton had said.

"Not yet," Fenton agreed.

"Murder is not a game for amateurs Mister Fenton," said Murray.

"We realise that Mr Murray but, in this case, I think the professionals need all the help that they can get…judging by their success so far…"

Murray conceded the point with a slight nod of the head. He said, "I want to be kept informed of any progress you make, particularly if it concerns my sister."

"Of course," said Fenton.

"Spooky bloke," said Kelly as they walked down the path to the gate.

"Spooky is the word," agreed Fenton. He was glad to be out of the place. "Tell me about the Cavalier Club," he said "Or are you a member too?"

"I wasn't even a Boy Scout," said Kelly, looking over his shoulder before pulling away from the kerb. "I don't know that much myself but what I do know I don't like." He paused to look both ways at the intersection before turning right then took the Capri up through the gears. "As I understand it, it started out as a club for homosexuals in the city."

"There's nothing too unusual in that these days," said Fenton.

"But this one grew into something else, something much bigger."

"What do you mean?"

Kelly slowed for the traffic lights. "It's difficult to define but in every society there are a group of people who consider themselves above society in every way, I don't just mean that in the legal sense, I mean in terms of morality and social convention."

"You mean like the Marquis de Sade or the Hellfire Club?"

"That sort of thing," agreed Kelly.

"In Edinburgh? Are you serious?"

"I'm afraid I am," said Kelly with a seriousness that Fenton found uncharacteristic. "So they're a group of weirdos. It's a sign of the times."

"No, there's more to it than that," said Kelly. "This lot have power."

The traffic lights changed and Kelly moved off.

"How can they have power?" asked a disbelieving Fenton.

"The size and status of their membership decides that," said Kelly.

"So there are a lot of kinky people around, that doesn't make them powerful."

"Depends on who and what they are," said Kelly.

Fenton was still reluctant to believe what Kelly was suggesting. He said, "All right so you find the occasional judge that likes spanking schoolgirls' bottoms, that makes him vulnerable not powerful."

"Only while he remains in a tiny minority. As soon as you get a lot of judges with the same frame of mind it gets uncomfortable for schoolgirls."

"You're serious about this aren't you?" said Fenton.

Kelly stopped at another set of lights. He turned to Fenton and said, "Let me tell you a story. When the club first started some local yobs thought they would go in for a spot of poof bashing but they miscalculated. Most gays are ordinary law abiding citizens, bank clerks, office workers and the like, people who know nothing of violence and fair game for the yobs but the Cavaliers were different. They were experts in pain and violence. The yobs came second, a poor second as it happens. One of them finished up in a mental home and hasn't come out. The others refused to say what had happened to them they were so afraid so no charges were ever brought."

"Jesus."

"He is definitely not a member."

They drew to a halt outside Fenton's place. "What now?" said Kelly.

"A drink," replied Fenton, avoiding the real question and indicating with his head that Kelly should come up to the flat.

'A drink' became several and Kelly's wife phoned to ask if he was there. Fenton said that he was and asked if she wanted to speak to him. "No, no," said Mary Kelly. "As long as he's there with you Tom," she added with plain meaning.

Fenton came in from the hall somewhat unsteadily. "That was Mary checking that you weren't screwing some nurse," he said, diplomacy having been all but obliterated by the alcohol.

"She has a point," admitted Kelly.

"Damn right," said Fenton, refilling their glasses.

"Hell Tom, it's hard with all that pussy around."

"The trouble with you old son," said Fenton leaning forward in his seat, "is that it's hard all the time." The drink made the joke seem hilarious.

Jenny came in at eight in the morning. "Is Steve still here?" she asked, "I saw his car outside."

"No, he walked home last night," replied Fenton sheepishly.

"I see," said Jenny.

Fenton pretended that he did not have a hangover and Jenny pretended that she did not know that he had. She made coffee as Fenton told her of the latest visit to the Murray house.

"But if it wasn't Nigel Saxon, who could it have been?" Jenny asked.

Fenton shrugged his shoulders and admitted that he had no idea. but he told Jenny of the membership ring that Murray had recognised.

"So there still might be a connection with Saxon."

"Through this damned club. It's strange. Saxon doesn't seem to fit in somehow."

"I disagree," said Jenny.

"I don't understand," said Fenton.

"Oh I know all about the beer drinking, rugby playing, macho image he tries so hard to create but that's the trouble, he tries too hard. Women get a feeling about these things. But this isn't helping; it wasn't Saxon who went to the Murrays' house."

"True," said Fenton, still surprised at what Jenny had said. "But maybe…he sent a friend?"

Jenny opened her mouth to ask something but Fenton stopped her. He said, "Don't ask me what I'm going to do next, I don't know." He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Have a good sleep."

By eleven in the morning Fenton saw that the day was shaping up to be a bad one. Mary Tyler had gone off sick and, in addition to the routine work that was coming in and the lead estimations that were extra, the surgeons at the hospital were performing a heart by-pass operation and required constant biochemical monitoring of their patient. Fenton, being the senior member of staff on duty, carried responsibility for the lab's part.

After six hours without a break Ian Ferguson came into Fenton's lab and said that he would take over for thirty minutes.

"But you're busy too," said Fenton.

"Just routine stuff. I'll stay behind this evening and clear it up."

Fenton was grateful. He went to eat in the hospital canteen and was back within twenty minutes. "I'm obliged to you Ian," he said to Ferguson.

"Think nothing of it."

Fenton said that he was ready to take over the monitoring again. Ferguson got up to go and said, "I meant to ask you yesterday. Did you ever find out what Neil Munro wanted the donor blood for?" he asked.

"Not yet but I'm getting warm," replied Fenton.

"Really?"

"He needed the blood for some kind of test connected with Saxon plastic"."

"If Neil was carrying out secret blood tests maybe that's what he needed the anticoagulants for?" suggested Ferguson.

"More than likely," agreed Fenton.

"Do you think this is why Neil was murdered?" asked Ferguson.

"Yes."

"I really think you should tell the police."

"Not just yet," said Fenton. "I need a bit more proof."

"If you say so." said Ferguson doubtfully.

As she waited for her bus, Jenny huddled in the doorway of a small shop that had closed for the night. The angle of the doorway was such that she had to keep peering out to make sure that she would see it coming but each time that she did so she got the full force of the wind and rain in her face. She avoided the brunt of it by burying her chin between hunched shoulders and narrowing her eyes till they were little more than slits. She counted and re-counted the change in her pocket as normal waiting time expired and seeds of impatience germinated in the icy rain.

The comforting hulk of a double deck bus loomed up out of the rain spewing light and throwing up spray. Jenny held out her arm and then stepped back smartly to avoid being splashed by the wheels as they approached the overflowing gutter. The driver noted her uniform and said, "Once again eh?"

"I'm afraid so," said Jenny.

"What hospital are you at?"

"Princess Mary."

"Better you than me."

Jenny took her ticket and moved to the back of the bus, thinking about what the driver had said. It annoyed her. The Princess Mary was a good hospital, one of the best in the world despite all the antiquated equipment and lack of money but all that had changed in the public's view. Now it was the hospital that harboured the killer, a place to be feared. True, he had not been as active lately but then again, the police had never caught him had they?

As she looked out of the window, trying to see through the reflections, she thought about Fenton's explanation for the deaths and realised how much faith she had been putting in it. Tom was right wasn't he? There couldn't really be a psychopath stalking the hospital corridors could there? She felt a pang of guilt at the thought but God…it was dark out there.

The bus deposited Jenny on the 'quayside' outside the hospital and set up a bow wave as it pushed off from the kerb. Her attempts to tip toe through the dark puddles were soon abandoned as pointless and her feet put the wet suit principle to the test as she squelched up the driveway with shoes awash. Her entry to the nurses' changing room brought squeals of laughter as she stood, framed in the doorway, hair plastered to her face, creating her own small but ambitious lake.

Dehydrated and with her circulation restored to something resembling normal, Jenny walked along the main corridor to her ward while, outside, the rain lashed and battered against the tall windows which were now full of night time reflections. Sub-consciously she began to hum, 'For Those in Peril on the Sea.'

"Good evening Nurse Buchan," said a tall, rather severe looking woman as she entered the duty room.

"Good evening Sister," said Jenny.

"Twenty three, including three new ones," said the woman, handing Jenny the patient list. "You might keep an eye on them?"

"Of course," said Jenny taking the list and scanning the names. She picked out the new ones, two were new admissions one was a transfer from surgery. She flicked over the page for details of the transfer and read, Callum Moir, investigation of severe stomach pain, exploratory laparotomy, pyloric obstruction found and repaired.

"He is asleep," said the day sister.

"And the new ones?" asked Jenny.

"One is asleep but the other has first night nerves, you know the form."

Jenny nodded and signed the take over form.

"Good night Nurse."

"Good night Sister."

Jenny began her rounds as the ward door closed, acknowledging the presence of the junior night nurse at the far end of the ward with a raise of the hand. Many of the children were already sleeping but she paused here and there to tuck in occasional arms and legs freed by their restless owners.

A pair of frightened blue eyes peered up at her from the mouth of their blanket cave. Jenny recognised the signs of first night nerves, one sign of sympathy from her and these full eyes would overflow. "Ah, good, you're awake," she began. "I could do with some help. Would you mind?"

Surprise replaced fear on the child's face for this was unexpected. Reassurance had been the odds-on favourite, possibly encouragement, even gentle chiding, but a request for help? The surprised look still had not faded as his feet, now slippered, hit the floor.

"Good, now follow me."

The slippers padded along behind Jenny until she stopped and pointed to the clip board hanging at the foot of a bed. She said, "I want you to read off these names to me as we come to them. All right?"

A nod.

"Well then?"

"A. n.g.u.s…Cam.e. ron."

"Check," said Jenny officiously and moved on. Three more names and all thoughts of home and family left the boy as he warmed to his new role as assistant to Night Nurse Buchan.

The child recovering from surgery was in a side ward sleeping peacefully. Jenny placed her hand gently against his forehead and felt it to be quite normal. She checked the boy's notes; no medication was indicated, no special instructions. All that was needed was a good night's sleep. She tip toed out of the room and closed the door behind her, a trifle more noisily than she had intended. She looked back through the glass panel. The boy had not stirred.

Midnight came and Jenny began to feel optimistic about the chances of a quiet night. She even said so to the junior nurse as they sipped illicit coffee in the duty room while the rain outside continued to pour.

"Brrr, I'm glad I'm not out in that," said the girl, trying to draw the curtains even closer together to shut a persistent gap in the middle.

"Pity the poor sailors," said Jenny.

"That's what my mother used to say," said the girl.

"Mine too," said Jenny.

"Do you think he's out there?" said the girl.

"Who?" asked Jenny.

"The killer of course."

"Let's not talk about that."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot, I mean, I didn't…"

"Forget it."

At one o'clock the phone rang and Jenny raised her eyes before picking it up.

"I thought it was too good to last," said the junior."

"Ward 10, Nurse Buchan speaking…Yes…Yes…Understood." Jenny put down the phone and said, "Admission in ten minutes, seven year old girl, burns to both legs, hot water bottle burst."

"Poor mite," said the junior.

"Prepare number three will you?" said Jenny. "I'll get the trays ready.

As she went to get sterile dressings Jenny paused in the corridor to look through the glass panel at the surgical case. He was still sleeping peacefully, right arm outside the covers, fingers hooked over the side of the bed.

A distant siren gave early warning of the imminent arrival of their patient and the duty house officer came to the ward shortly afterwards. She had heard the same sound from her room in the doctors' residency. "Sounds like a bad one," she said.

"Burns are always bad," said Jenny.

The junior held open the ward door to allow the trolley to enter with its entourage of ambulance men, parents and a policeman. Jenny signalled to the junior with her eyes and the girl ushered the parents away from the procession and into a side room where they would be plied with tea and sympathy.

Jenny stood by as the temporary dry dressings were removed from the child's legs to reveal a mass of livid, raw flesh.

"Her mother used boiling water in the bottle," said one of the ambulance men quietly.

"She's going to need extensive grafting," said the house officer. "We'll transfer her when she' stable but in the meantime she's going to be in a lot of pain when she comes out of shock. I'll write her up for something." The house officer looked at Jenny and said, "She'll need specialling as well."

An hour later calm had returned to the ward. The girl had been sedated and installed in a side room under the care of an extra nurse who had been sent up to sit with her, the policeman had completed his note book entry on the treble nine call and the ambulance men had returned to their stand-by quarters. The parents, stricken by remorse, and now to be haunted by conscience, had gone off to spend what was left of the night at home.

At 3am Jenny walked round the ward again, gliding quietly between the cots and beds in the soft dimness of the night lights. All was quiet. She opened the door of the side ward to check on the surgery boy and found him still asleep and lying in the same position as before. As she closed the door it suddenly struck her as strange that he was lying in exactly the same position. He was sleeping not unconscious and everyone moves when they sleep.

Jenny had a sense of foreboding as she went back in again and approached the boy to put her hand on his forehead. He was cold, icy cold. There was a sound at her feet like the contents of a glass being spilled but she knew that that could not be. She looked down to see a stream of blood pour from beneath the blankets and spatter over her shoes. She felt faint but pulled back the top covers slowly to reveal a sea of scarlet.

Jenny buried her face in Fenton's shoulder and tried to find comfort in his arms. "It was awful," she murmured. "He just bled to death in his sleep. If only I had looked in sooner…"

"Don't blame yourself," whispered Fenton. "There was nothing you could have done.

"You did say it would be another patient," said Jenny.

Fenton nodded.

"There's something else," said Jenny. "The boy had group AB blood like the Watson boy."

Fenton held Jenny away from him in disbelief. "But that is just too much of a coincidence," he said. "AB is a rare group."

"Did you check up on the others?" Jenny asked.

Fenton shook his head slowly and confessed that he had not, "I thought when Sandra Murray turned out to have group B blood that we were on the wrong track."

"Maybe not?"

"But if this is all to do with blood groups," said Fenton with a sudden thought. "That's what Neil Munro's book is all about!"

Fenton felt excitement mount inside him as the letters and numbers in Munro's book began to make sense. CT did not stand for Charles Tyson because it stood for 'clotting time!' The figures in the columns were the times taken for samples of fresh blood to clot in the presence of Saxon plastic!

Against the letter 'O' were figures equivalent to the normal clotting time for human blood. The separate columns were simply repeat tests on the same samples of group O blood. Fenton found a similar set of entries against the letter 'A' and concluded, as Neil Munro must have done, that there was no problem with either group A or group O blood and that would cover the majority of the population.

There was only one entry against the letter, 'B' and the initials, S.M. were appended. Sandra Murray! thought Fenton. Neil had used Sandra Murray's blood to test the behaviour of group B blood in the presence of Saxon plastic. He could have obtained blood of group O and A from people in the lab but for group B he had had to ask the blood transfusion service. The figures for Sandra Murray's blood, although slightly on the long side, were within the normal clotting time range. Underneath Neil had written down three dots followed by the letters, 'AB'…therefore AB. Neil Munro had known!

Munro had deduced that the plastic affected people with group AB blood and that meant something in the order of three percent of the population. That was why he had requested another donor from the Blood Transfusion Service; he had wanted to verify his conclusion.

Fenton picked up the phone and called Steve Kelly to get details of Munro's last request. Kelly told him what he was now already sure of; Munro had requested a supply of group AB blood.

Fenton had interpreted everything in Munro's book except the numbers on the first page. As a last resort he considered that they might conceivably refer to a routine lab specimen number. He went downstairs to the office to check through the files and found that there was indeed a blood sample bearing the five figured number in Munro's book. It had come from a patient named Moran and appeared to have been quite normal for all the tests requested.

Failing to see the significance of a normal blood analysis Fenton returned upstairs but stopped when he got to the first landing as the name, 'Moran' rang a bell. Of course! That was the name of the patient whose sample had been a failure on the Saxon Analyser during the trials. The failure had been put down to the specimen arriving in the wrong sort of container but when it had been checked on the routine analyser it had given perfectly normal readings. It had been the Saxon Analyser at fault not the specimen and Neil Munro must have realised that! That's what had started his investigation off in the first place!

Fenton checked with Medical Records and ascertained that the patient Moran had had group AB blood. More checking revealed that Susan Daniels had also had AB blood. A call to the records department at the Eye Pavilion told him that the same had been true for Jamie Buchan.

The conclusion was perfectly simple. Saxon plastic killed people with group AB blood. It totally destroyed the clotting mechanism. Susan Daniels had constantly been in contact with it through the samplers for the Saxon Blood Analyser she had been testing, the patients had had Saxon plastic name tags permanently against their skin, as had Jamie Buchan after Jenny had given him some to play with and the ward maid would have handled Saxon products every day in the ward. It made sense.

On the day that Neil Munro had worked out the problem with AB blood he must have told Saxon and gone down to the Sterile Supply Department immediately to have all Saxon plastic products withdrawn. Saxon must have followed him and pushed him into the steriliser before he had had a chance to tell anyone.

It must have been Saxon personally, decided Fenton, for Neil had told no one else in the lab and he would have gone down to see Sister Kincaid as soon as he had realised what was going on. There would not have been time for Saxon to arrange for someone else to have done his dirty work. Saxon must have done it himself and for that, given half a chance, there would be a reckoning before society had its say.