Sacrifice

16

I SAW NO OTHER TRAFFIC ON THE WAY OVER TO DANA'S HOUSE, which was a good thing, because I'd probably have collided with it. I hit the kerb twice and scraped the paintwork leaving the hospital.

I parked, checked the address and climbed out of the car. There was no sign of Dana's car in the car park that I'd assumed would be closest to her house. I staggered like a drunk through the stone archway, down a flight of steps and a steep, cobbled slope. It was an hour or so before dawn and the sky in the east had lightened. The narrow streets of the Lanes, though, were still drenched in shadows.

The Lanes are one of the oldest and most interesting areas of Lerwick. They run downhill, in parallel lines, the quarter of a mile from Hillhead to Commercial Street, from where it's a two-minute walk to the harbour. The Lanes are flagged, steeply sloping alleys, interspersed with short flights of stone steps. It would be impossible to drive a vehicle down them; in places they are so narrow that two grown people would struggle to walk abreast. The buildings, a mixture of residential and commercial property, rise up to three and four storeys on either side. The Lanes are quaint, popular with tourists and much sought-after as trendy, town-centre homes. But when the light is poor and no one else is around, they are dark, decidedly eerie.

Three times, I'd tried Dana on her mobile but had got no response. At first, I'd assumed she'd gone to bed, but now that seemed unlikely. I'd found her door and had been banging on it for several minutes. No one was coming. She wasn't home and I was in no fit state to drive anywhere else. I climbed slowly back up to my car. On the back seat were my coat and an old horse blanket. I thought, briefly, about trying her mobile again but couldn't summon up the energy. She was almost certainly somewhere out of signal range. I wrapped coat and blanket around me and was asleep in seconds.

It was nearly dawn when the tapping on the window woke me. I was cold, stiff and acutely aware that the moment I moved I would regret it. The worst hangover I'd ever experienced – and I've had a few bad ones – was going to feel like a Shiatsu massage compared with what today had in store for me. But there was nothing else for it. Dana's incredulous face was staring down at me and I had to move. I sat up. Oh boy, so much worse than I'd expected. I reached for the lock and then Dana opened the door.

'Tora, I've been at your house half the night. I've been seriously-'

I waved her away, turned and vomited over the rear wheel of my car. I stayed there, bent double, for some time. I coughed and retched, trying to dislodge those sickening bits that stick in your nasal passages at such times and decided that sudden death had an awful lot to recommend it.

The next thing I remember is being half led, half carried, through Dana's front door and deposited on her sofa. She gave me, on my instructions, an unwise dose of ibuprofen and paracetemol and left to make hot, sweet tea and dry toast. While she was gone I tried to steady my nausea by focusing on her living room. It was exactly as I would have expected: immaculately tidy and undoubtedly expensive. The floorboards were polished oak, partly covered by a rug patterned in squares of rust, oatmeal and pale green. The sofas were the same shade of green, whilst the roman blinds on both windows picked out the rust and oatmeal colours. The fabrics looked the sort you might pay £50 a metre for. A flat-screen TV was fastened to one wall and there was a Bang and Olufsen stereo system under the window. Dana came back with the food and left the room again. I heard her running upstairs. She returned carrying a large duvet and wrapped it around me, like a mother with a sick toddler. I took a bite of toast and managed to keep it down. Dana sat down on a leather footstool in front of me.

'Ready to tell me what happened to you?'

'I worked half the night, spent the rest of it in the car,' I managed. The tea was scalding and totally wonderful.

She looked at me, then down at herself. Her linen trousers were creased but clean and still looked pretty good, as did the pink cotton shirt and matching cardigan. Her skin looked daisy-fresh and her hair as though it had been combed ten minutes ago.

'So did I,' she said. She had a point.

'First, I need to tell you what I found out,' I said. I'd been toying with how exactly I was going to do that since we'd entered the house. Duncan has a particularly irritating habit when he wants to tell me something and, for some reason, it seemed strangely appropriate for the circumstances.

'Tor,' he'd announce, 'I've got good news and bad news.' It really didn't matter how I'd respond, he'd have some half-witted wise-crack to hand which he'd invariably find hilarious and was guaranteed to irritate the hell out of me. 'I'll have the good news,' I'd say, with heavy reluctance. 'The good news is: there's not too much bad news!' he'd respond. We'd been doing it for seven years now and it really wasn't getting any funnier. Not from my point of view anyway. Still, I definitely wasn't myself that morning because I had an almost irresistible urge to use it right now.

Do you want the good news, or the bad news, Dana?

The good news? I know who our lady from the peat was.

The bad news? No, you are really not going to believe the bad news. She was watching me closely. I realized she was very concerned and that I must look even worse than I felt. I took a deep breath.

'I found a match,' I said, watching the glint leap into her eyes and her face come alive. 'You'll need to get it checked, of course, but I am 98 per cent certain.'

She leaned forward and her hand brushed mine. 'My God, well done! Who was she?'

I took another gulp of tea. 'Melissa Gair,' I said. 'Aged thirty-two. An island woman; from Lerwick; married to a local man.'

Dana clenched her fist and made a little stabbing action with it. 'So why wasn't she reported missing? Why wasn't she on your list of summer 2005 deliveries? She wasn't, was she?'

'No, she wasn't…'

'Then how…'

'Because she was already dead.'

She stared at me. Three tiny furrows appeared between her eyebrows. 'Come again,' she said.

'I checked her hospital records. She was admitted on 29 September 2004, with a malignant breast tumour that was subsequently found to have spread to her lungs, back and kidneys. Her GP had spotted a lump just a couple of weeks earlier during a routine examination. She was transferred to Aberdeen for treatment but it didn't work. She died on the sixth of October, just three and a half weeks after being diagnosed.'

'Fuck!' I hadn't heard Dana swear before.

'You can say that again,' I said.

She did. And quite a lot more. She got up and walked across the room, stopping only when the wall made further progress impossible. She turned and walked back, again just stopping at the wall. Another turn and a few more steps. Then she stopped and looked at me.

'How sure are you about those dental records?'

At four in the morning I'd been pretty certain. Now…

'You need to have a proper dentist look at them but… I'm… I'm sure. They were the same.'

'Could she have been a different woman? Different woman, same name. Two Melissa Gairs living in Lerwick.'

I'd thought of that. I shook my head. 'Their birth dates were identical. So were their blood groups. It's the same woman.'

'Shit!' And she was off again, pacing the room and swearing. In a way, it was kind of nice to see the impeccable Dana losing control. In another, I wanted her to stop. She was making my head hurt more.

'It's déjà vu. It's déjà-fucking-vu. We went through this with Kirsten, convinced we'd found the right woman.'

'We have to forget about Kirsten. The dental records were totally different. It wasn't her.'

'I accept that. But it's still too much of a bloody coincidence. We find a body and a ring in your field. Both belong to young women who supposedly died in 2004. Except one of them didn't. One of them actually died – because our pathologists tell us so – almost a whole year later.'

'My head hurts!' I wailed.

'OK, OK.' She stopped pacing and came back to sit on her footstool. She lowered her voice. 'Now tell me what happened to you.'

I shook my head. 'It doesn't matter.'

She took hold of my hands, one of them still clutching an empty tea mug, and forced me to look at her.

'It matters. Now talk.'

I talked. I told her that, for the second time in two nights, someone had bypassed locked doors, not to mention considerable hospital security, to force their way into my presence. That for the second time, someone had watched me while I slept, that I had, once again, been completely at the mercy of someone who wished me harm.

'Nothing was left. No…'

'Little gifts? No. But he washed out my coffee mug and pot. Very thoroughly.'

'You think you were drugged?'

'It's possible. I haven't been feeling great the last few days, like I'm coming down with flu or something, but not this bad.'

'We need to get you to a doctor.' She saw the look on my face and allowed herself to smile. 'We need to do some tests,' she said. 'I don't know, blood tests or something.'

'Already done. I took some bloods before I left the hospital. They're in my office fridge; I'll send them off on Monday. But until we know for certain, can we just keep quiet about this, please? It's only going to be a distraction.'

Dana nodded slowly but her eyes were dull and unfocused. I recognized the sign that she was thinking hard. I wondered how to breach the subject of my going home. I hated to leave her with such a bombshell but knew I couldn't carry on any longer. I stood up.

'Dana, I'm sorry, but I really need to get home.'

She looked up sharply. 'Will Duncan be there?'

'No,' I said, surprised. 'He's not back till this evening.' Which was probably just as well. I didn't want him to see me in this state.

'You can't go.'

'Umm?'

'You're safer here. Go upstairs. Have a shower if you like and then use the spare bedroom. When we know he's back I'll sign your release papers.'

I didn't move. I hardly knew this girl. I was far from sure I trusted her and I was letting her take control of me. She must have seen something in my face because her own expression sharpened. 'What?' she said.

I sat back down. I told her everything Gifford had said about her. She listened, her eyebrows flickered once or twice, but otherwise there was no reaction. When I finished, her mouth tightened. She was visibly angry but I didn't think it was with me.

'My father died three years ago,' she said. 'I lost my mother when I was fifteen and have no siblings so I inherited the whole of his estate. He wasn't a rich man but he'd done OK. I got about four hundred thousand pounds. I bought the car, the house and the things you can see around you. It's nice to have some money but I'd much rather have my dad.'

She took a deep breath.

'I did not leave Manchester in disgrace. I left with an excellent record and first-rate references. I transferred to Dundee because I wanted to work in Scotland. I left Dundee because I began a relationship with another officer – a much more senior one – and we agreed it wasn't good for the force.'

She stood up, still annoyed, and crossed the room to her stereo system. She ran a finger along the glass case then inspected her fingertip for dust. I doubted she'd see any. Then she looked back at me.

'As for not fitting in here, well, they got that bit right. These islands are run by a small and very powerful clique of big, blond men who all went to the same schools, the same Scottish universities, and whose families have known each other since the Norwegian invasions. Just think about it, Tora, think about the doctors you know at the hospital, the head-teachers at the schools, the police force, the magistrate, the chamber of commerce, the local councils.'

I didn't need to think about it. I'd noticed more than once how many of the islanders fitted into the same distinctive physical type.

'Oh, the place is crawling with Vikings. One of its few redeeming features, I've always thought.'

'Try and name me more than half a dozen prominent islanders who are not local men,' said Dana, ignoring my feeble attempts at humour. 'They all know each other, they all socialize, they do business together, offer each other jobs and the best contracts. These islands are running the biggest jobs-for-the-blond-boys club I have ever come across and when, once in a blue moon, an outsider does manage to break in, he or she gets obstructed, delayed and frustrated every step of the way. Most outsiders, sooner or later, get driven out. It's happening to me and I suspect it's happening to you too. Sorry to go on a bit, but I happen to get pretty pissed off about it.'

'Clearly,' I said.

'I am not in debt, nor am I anorexic. I eat quite a lot but I work out most evenings. And yes, I shop a lot too. It's called displacement activity. I don't particularly like it here and I miss Helen.'

'Helen?' I said stupidly.

'DCI Helen Rowley. The officer in Dundee with whom I was – am still when we get the chance – having a relationship. Helen is my girlfriend.'

And no, I admit, I had definitely not seen that one coming.

'Now, you can stay down here and help me do some pretty arduous police work, you can go home and risk someone disturbing your rest for a third time in three days, or you can go upstairs and get some sleep.'

Not really too difficult a decision. I turned to leave the room.

When I awoke, it was to the sound of voices. Two voices, to be precise: Dana's and that of a man. I sat up. Dana's spare bedroom was small but as beautifully decorated and tidy as the rest of her home. A blind was drawn but behind it I thought I could see bright sunshine. There was no clock in the room. I walked to the window and raised the blind. Lerwick Harbour and the Bressay Sound. It was about midday, I guessed, which meant I'd slept for five hours.

I felt better. I was groggy from too little sleep and aching in all sorts of places but the horrible nausea had gone.

I sat down to slip on my shoes. Bookshelves lined one wall of the small room. The desk in the corner held computer equipment that looked state-of-the-art. Beside the monitor stood a framed photograph of Dana in Ph.D. graduation robes, standing next to a tall man with grey hair and fair skin. I was pretty certain it had been taken at one of the Cambridge colleges.

Dana and her guest were still talking quietly. I walked softly downstairs, but they must have heard me coming because the voices stopped when I reached the bottom step and silence heralded my arrival into the room below. They were sitting, but first the man, then Dana, stood as I walked in. He was in his early forties, maybe slightly above average height, with pale-blue eyes and thick hair of the colour known as salt and pepper. He was smartly dressed for a Saturday, possibly with lunch at the golf club in mind. He was attractive and – maybe more importantly – he looked nice. There were lots of lines around his eyes that suggested he laughed a lot.

'This is Stephen Gair,' said Dana.

I turned to Dana in astonishment.

'Melissa's husband,' she added, quite unnecessarily. I'd got it; I just couldn't believe it. She gestured towards me. 'Tora Hamilton.'

He held out his hand. 'I've been hearing a lot about you. How are you feeling?'

'Mr Gair knows you've been working all night,' said Dana. 'We've been waiting for you to wake up before…'

She looked at him, as if uncertain what to say next.

'Before we go and get my wife's X-rays checked,' answered Stephen Gair. Dana visibly relaxed.

'My, you have been busy,' was just about all I could manage. Was it really going to be that easy?

Somehow, without my noticing it, we'd all sat down again. The other two looked as though they were waiting for me to say something. I glanced from one to the other, then looked at Stephen Gair.

'Has Dana told you…?' Jesus, what had Dana told him? That I'd dug his wife up out of my field six days ago?

'Shall I summarize?' he offered.

I nodded, thinking, Shall I summarize? What kind of talk was that for a man who'd just been given such devastating news?

'Last Sunday,' he began, 'a body was found on your land. My sympathies, by the way. The body was that of a young woman who was murdered – rather brutally, I understand, although I haven't been given the details – some time during the early summer of 2005. You've been using your position at the hospital to conduct a comparison of dental records. Your doing so was unethical and probably illegal but entirely understandable given your involvement in the case. Now, you believe you've found an exact match in the dental records of my late wife, Melissa. Am I right so far?'

'Absolutely,' I said, wondering what Stephen Gair did for a living.

'Except therein lies a problem. My wife died in hospital of breast cancer in October 2004. She'd been dead for months, possibly the better part of a year, by the time the murder took place. So the body on your land cannot be her. How am I doing?'

'You're cooking on gas,' I said, borrowing an expression of Duncan's. From the corner of my eye I caught Dana looking at me as if worried my head was still addled from the drugs I may or may not have been fed.

Gair smiled. Too bright a smile, or maybe I just couldn't cope with jollity this morning. 'Thanks,' he said.

'Trouble is, the X-rays match,' I said. 'Illegal search or not, there's no getting round that. If she'd been my wife, I'd want to know why.'

The smile faded. 'I do want to know why,' he said. He no longer looked remotely nice.

Dana seemed to sense trouble. She stood up.

'Shall we go?' she said. 'Tora, are you OK to go straight away?'

'Of course,' I said. 'Where are we going?'

We were going to the hospital dental unit. Dana drove me, Stephen Gair followed behind. It took us ten minutes to get there and when we did, three cars were already parked in the car park. I was not in the least bit surprised to see Gifford's silver BMW and DI Dunn's black four-wheel-drive. A glance at Dana told me that she too had expected it. Stephen Gair got out of his car and looked over at Dana and me. He started to walk towards the entrance.

'He's dodgy,' I said.

'He's senior partner in the biggest firm of solicitors we have here in Lerwick.'

'Oh, well, there you go.' Neither of us moved. 'Do you think he tipped off the fuzz?'

'What do you watch on TV? And no, I think that was probably Dentist McDouglas. You might want to muffle that schoolgirl sense of humour of yours for the next hour.'

'Right you are, Sarge.'

Neither of us moved. 'What's with you and your inspector?' I asked.

Glancing across, I saw her face had clouded over and wondered if I'd overstepped the mark. 'How do you mean?' she asked.

No going back now. 'You don't trust him, do you?'

Bracing myself for one of her put-downs, I was surprised to see her thinking about it.

'I used to,' she said eventually. 'We got on pretty well when I came here. But he hasn't been the same the last few days.' She stopped, as though worried she'd said too much.

'You give quite a lot away when you think no one's watching you,' I ventured. 'You weren't happy in the morgue that first day, you went out on a limb the evening we met Joss Hawick. And he left you off the guest list at my house the other night. You've disagreed all along about whether the victim was a local woman.'

She nodded. 'There's nothing he's doing I can specifically complain of, it just seems all the way along that my gut is steering me one way and he's sending me another.' We both watched as Stephen Gair pulled open the door to the dental unit and went inside. 'We should go,' said Dana.

We got out of the car. I was still wearing yesterday's scrubs and hadn't showered, cleaned my teeth or combed my hair in about twenty-four hours. Gifford was about to see me looking like death warmed up and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

'The truth is in there, Agent Tulloch,' I said, as we headed for the swing doors.

She gave me a will-you-pack-it-in look, as the automatic doors opened for us and we walked through.

'I am deeply uncomfortable,' said Dr McDouglas, which struck me as just a little ironic coming from a dentist. 'Your actions are reprehensible, Miss Hamilton. You might do things differently where you come from, but I assure you, in Scot-'

'Let me apologize for-' Gifford interrupted.

'Oh no, you don't' That time, it was me. I turned to Gifford. 'With respect, Mr Gifford, I can apologize for myself.' Fantastic phrase that – you can be as rude as you like to someone but as long as you put a with respect in front, you get away with it. I turned back to Dentist McDouglas, a tall, thin, arrogant shit whom I'd disliked on first sight. I was going to do it again. 'And with all due respect to you, Dr McDouglas, my actions are not our primary concern right now. If I'm wrong, you can instigate a formal complaint and Mr Gifford here will make sure it's dealt with according to the health authority's procedures.'

Gifford put a hand on my arm, but I wasn't having it. I was on a roll.

'On the other hand, if I'm right, then so much shit is going to hit the fan that any complaint against me will, frankly, get lost in the general hysteria.'

'Your use of profanities offends me deeply,' the sour, Presbyterian tooth-puller spat back at me.

'Yeah, well, digging up mutilated corpses offends me deeply. Can we get on with it, please?'

'We're not getting on with anything here. Not without the proper authority.'

'I agree,' said Andy Dunn.

I pointed at Stephen Gair. 'There's your proper authority. He is prepared to release his wife's X-rays for examination. Or at least, he said he was before we left. Have you changed your mind, Mr Gair?' As I said that, I knew, with a plummeting heart, that Gair wasn't going to back us up. He'd never intended to let us examine the records officially. He'd been playing us along, getting us to admit everything we'd been up to in front of the very people able to cut us off at the knees. Stephen Gair had sold Dana and me down the Swannee and we'd fallen for it.

'No, I haven't changed my mind,' he said.

OK, maybe I wasn't reading the situation too well. I decided to quieten down for a while.

'I think it would help to see exactly what we're dealing with here,' said Gifford. 'Who's got the X-rays?'

'Kenn,' said Andy Dunn, 'this is really not-'

'I have,' said Dana, ignoring her boss. From her bag she pulled the folder I'd given her that morning. She took out the large panoramic film taken in the hospital morgue and then the half-dozen smaller, overlapping shots – the ones that were definitely Melissa's – that I'd printed off the dental intranet site the night before.

'What do you think, Richard?' said Gifford.

Richard McDouglas looked at the films on his desk. So did the rest of us. From time to time, I looked up at his face but it was unreadable; a frown of concentration crinkling his brow, his lips curled in a scowl. Once, I risked looking at Dana but she was staring into space. I didn't want to look at anyone else.

After about five minutes, McDouglas shook his head.

'I can't see it,' he said. Sighs of relief all around the table.

Oh, for heaven's sake! 'Dr McDouglas,' I said quickly, before anyone else had a chance to open their mouths. 'Could you look at the second molar in the upper left quadrant?' He looked at Gifford, then at Dunn, but neither of them spoke. 'Look on the panoramic radiograph first, please.'

He did so.

'Would you say that molar has been crowned?'

He nodded. 'It would appear so.'

'Now look at the same tooth on your own X-rays.' I pushed the relevant film towards him. 'There, has that tooth been crowned?'

He nodded again, but didn't speak.

'Now, please look in the upper right quadrant. Do you agree there's a molar missing?'

'Difficult to say. Could be one of the pre-molars.'

'Whatever.' I pushed another film in front of him. The look of distaste on his face was a picture. I was being unreasonably aggressive, but enough was enough. 'This is the corresponding quadrant for Mrs Gair's X-rays. Is there a molar, or pre-molar missing?'

He counted the teeth.

'Yes, there is.'

Gifford leaned forward. He and Andy Dunn exchanged a glance. I was about to play my trump card.

'Dr McDouglas, could you please look at the root of this tooth.' I pointed to a tooth on the panoramic X-ray. 'I think this is the second pre-molar, am I right?'

He nodded.

'The root has a very distinctive curvature. Would you say it's mesial or distal?'

He pretended to study it but the answer was obvious.

'The curvature is distal.'

'And this one?' I indicated the same tooth on Melissa's X-ray.

He stared down. 'Miss Hamilton is correct,' he said eventually. 'There are sufficient similarities to merit a proper investigation.'

Stephen Gair pointed to the panoramic, then looked at Gifford. 'Are you saying this is my wife? That my wife is in your morgue? What the hell is going on here?'

'OK, that's it.' Andy Dunn had a loud voice and the proper air of authority when he needed it. 'We're going down to the station. Mr Gair, can you come with us, please? You too, Dr McDouglas.

At that moment, my beeper sounded. I excused myself and went out into the hallway to make a call. One of my patients was nearing the end of the second stage of labour and the baby was showing signs of distress. The midwife thought an emergency Caesar might be needed. I went back in and explained.

'I'll give you a hand,' said Gifford. 'Catch up with you later, Andy'

Andy Dunn opened his mouth, but Gifford was too fast for him. He had the doors open and me out of there before anyone had time to object. I caught Dana's eye; she looked surprised and not entirely happy and I couldn't help feeling that we were being deliberately separated.

Once outside, Gifford strode ahead and I followed as best I could. It was difficult to keep up as we crossed the car park and walked up the flagged path that led to the main door of the hospital, so I walked faster than I really had the energy for and wondered when he was going to open his mouth and ball me out for the trouble I'd caused.

I had so many words bubbling inside me I didn't trust myself to get them out in the right order once I'd begun. I wanted to accuse him, to demand an explanation, to vindicate myself. At the same time, I was determined not to let myself down by incoherent babbling. It was up to him to speak first, to offer some sort of explanation and I was determined he was going to do it.

He still hadn't said a word as we entered the hospital, turned left past A &E and carried on towards the maternity unit. At the stairs he turned and started to climb.

'I thought you were coming to give me a hand?' I said, realizing I sounded like a nagging wife but not caring. I had the moral high ground now and I wasn't budging.

He was on the fourth step up but he stopped and turned. The light from the staircase window shone brightly behind him and I couldn't see his expression.

'Do you need help?' he asked.

Instantly I felt stupid. Of course I didn't need help. But I wasn't about to be ignored either. Two nurses and a porter were coming along the corridor. Their conversation faded as they took in the obvious tension between us. 'You said you were coming with me,' I said, not bothering to lower my voice.

Kenn had noticed the others too. 'I needed to get away,' he said. 'There are things I have to do.' He turned and continued up the stairs. I stayed where I was, watching him. 'You're needed in maternity, Miss Hamilton,' he said firmly. 'Come and see me when you're done.'

The three staff members passed me and followed him up. One of them, a nurse I knew slightly, didn't even bother to hide the curious look and the half-smile she shot in my direction. She thought I was in trouble and wasn't in the least bit sorry.

I could hardly follow Gifford up the stairs, demanding an explanation in front of half the hospital. And he was right, I was needed in maternity. I turned, continued on down the corridor and, stopping only to scrub my hands and tie back my hair, strode into the delivery room.

There were two midwives in attendance; one a middle-aged, local woman who'd been doing the job for twenty years and had made no secret of the fact that she thought me superfluous. The other was a student, a young girl in her mid twenties. I couldn't remember her name.

The mother-to-be was Maura Lennon, thirty-five years old and about to produce her first child. She lay back on the bed, eyes huge, face pale and shiny with sweat. She was shivering violently, which I didn't like. Her husband sat by her side, nervously glancing towards the machine that was monitoring his baby's heartbeat. As I approached, Maura moaned and Jenny, the older of the two midwives, raised her up.

'Come on now, Maura, push as hard as you can.'

Maura's face screwed up and she pushed as I took Jenny's place at the foot of the bed. The baby's head was visible but didn't look as though it was coming out in the next few minutes. Which was what it needed to do. Maura was exhausted and the pain had become too much for her. She pushed, but it was a feeble attempt and as the contraction died away she fell back, whimpering. I glanced at the monitor. The baby's heartbeat slowed noticeably.

'How long has it been doing that?' I asked.

'About ten minutes,' replied Jenny. 'Maura's had no pain relief apart from gas and air, she won't let me cut her, she doesn't want forceps and she doesn't want a Caesarean.'

I glanced at the desk. Maura's birth plan, bound in red card, lay on it. I picked it up and flicked through. About four pages, closely typed. I wondered if anyone but the mother-to-be had actually read it. I certainly wasn't about to.

I stood by the bed and then reached out and stroked away the damp hair that had fallen across Maura's forehead. It was the first time I had ever touched a patient in that way.

'How are you feeling, Maura?'

She moaned and looked away. Daft question. I took her hand.

'How long have you been in labour?'

'Fifteen hours,' replied Jenny, on Maura's behalf. 'She was induced last night. At forty-two weeks.' The last sounded slightly accusatory. No one wanted a pregnancy to last forty-two weeks, least of all me. By that stage the placenta is starting to deteriorate, sometimes seriously, and the percentage of stillbirths rises dramatically. I'd seen Maura a week ago and she'd been adamant she didn't want to be induced at all. I'd let her go the full forty-two weeks at her insistence but against my better instincts.

She jerked upwards for another contraction. Jenny and the student shouted encouragement and I watched the monitor. 'Who's the house officer?' I asked the student.

'Dave Renald,' she replied.

'Ask him to come in, please.'

She scurried out.

The contraction faded and one look at Jenny's face told me we were making no progress down at the sharp end.

I took hold of Maura's free hand. 'Maura, look at me,' I said, forcing her to make eye contact. Her eyes were glazed but they held my own. 'This has been an unusually painful labour,' I said, 'and you have done amazingly well to get this far.' She had, too. Inductions were always more intense and few managed without an epidural. 'But you have to let us help you now.'

I could see from the monitor that another contraction was building. I was running out of time.

'I'm going to give you a local anaesthetic and I'm going to try forceps. If that doesn't work, we have to go straight into theatre for an emergency Caesarean. Now are you OK with that?'

She looked back at me and her voice came out cracked. 'Can you give me a minute to think about it?'

I shook my head as the house officer and a nurse came into the room. In a bigger hospital, a paediatrician would usually be present at a forceps delivery, but here we had to make do with whoever was on duty. Jenny whispered something to the student and she scuttled out again to put theatre on alert.

'No, Maura,' I said. 'We don't have a minute. Your baby needs to be born now.' She didn't reply and I took her silence for acquiescence. I sat down. Jenny had the instruments all ready and began, without being asked, to lift Maura's legs into stirrups. I administered the anaesthetic into Maura's perineum and made a small cut to enlarge her vaginal outlet. I inserted the forceps and waited for the next contraction. As Maura pushed, I pulled, gently, gently. The head moved closer.

'Rest now, rest,' I instructed. 'Next one's the big one.'

She began to push again and I pulled. Almost there, almost… the head was out. I loosened the forceps, handed them to Jenny and reached… Shit! An inch of grey membrane appeared – the umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby's neck and I'd nearly missed it. I hooked one finger under it, pulling gently until I could loop it over the head and then, as I reached for the shoulders again, Maura gave one last push and they came out by themselves, followed by the rest of the baby. I handed the solid, slimy, unspeakably beautiful little body to Jenny, who took her up to meet her parents. There came the sound of sobbing and for a moment I thought it was me. I shook myself, wiped a sleeve across my eyes and delivered the placenta. The student – Grace, I remembered now, her name was Grace – helped me sew and clean our patient up. Her eyes were shining but she was quick and neat in everything she did. She'd make a good midwife.

Over at the paediatrician's table, the house officer had finished his checks.

'Everything's fine,' he said, handing the baby back to Maura.