Crisis (37 page)

‘
I’m sorry,’ said MacLeod. ‘I made a complete mess
of it.’

‘
It was my fault for rushing you into it,’ said
Bannerman. ‘It would have been better to wait until
the morning. The question now is, what the hell do
we do?’

‘You can enforce it legally,’ said MacLeod.

‘
I know,’ said Bannerman, ‘but I’m not insensitive
to what that would mean for you.’ He knew that if
MacLeod did not sign the death certificate Turnbull’s
death would be classed as ‘sudden’ and would there
fore merit a post-mortem examination as required by
Scottish law, whether his wife gave permission or not. The locals would construe this as treachery by
their GP since he knew of Julie Turnbull’s wishes.

‘
Thanks,’ said MacLeod.

‘What would you say to a compromise?’ asked
Bannerman.

MacLeod raised his eyebrows. ‘A compromise?’

Despite the fact that he trusted MacLeod,
Bannerman still felt a little wary of making his
suggestion. He said cautiously, ‘I could make do with a needle biopsy.’

MacLeod looked at him as if he hadn’t heard
properly.

‘
I could insert a wide gauge needle into Turnbull’s
brain and get the samples I need without doing the
full PM head job. I could do it so that it wouldn’t
be noticeable to laymen. That way no post-mortem
will have been carried out and Mrs Turnbull’s wishes
will have been respected. You can sign the death certificate and your standing in the community will
remain undiminished.’

‘But surely the authorities and the MRC will insist
on a full autopsy being performed?’

The “authorities” will be only too happy to see
this affair kept as low key as possible. They won’t
make waves if we don’t.’

‘I see,’ said MacLeod thoughtfully. ‘Well, if you’re
sure that you can get enough material I think you
should go ahead. What do you need?’

Bannerman gave him a short list of his requirements.

‘When will you do it?’

Bannerman walked over to the window. He could see the two power workers standing across the street
watching the building. He said, ‘Not now. I think I
had better be seen to leave soon. If it’s all right with
you I’ll come back later and do the biopsy, when the
“guard” has been lifted.’

MacLeod joined him at the window and took
his meaning. He said, ‘I’ll give you a key and
show you where everything is. Could I be of any
assistance later?’

Bannerman said not. ‘It really shouldn’t take long.
I’m assuming these two aren’t going to squat over there all night.’

MacLeod said, ‘Why don’t you go back to your hotel; I’ll stay on for a bit and telephone you when
they leave.’

Bannerman agreed. He went to his hotel and had a bath before getting something to eat. He had just
finished his meal when MacLeod phoned. ‘Sorry,’
said MacLeod. They’re still across the street and I’ll
have to leave now myself.’

Bannerman thanked him and said that he would
wait for a couple of hours. He couldn’t believe that
the men would mount an all night vigil over the
body. As he said it, the words, ‘unless someone put
them up to it,’ came into his head.

Bannerman dismissed the thought for the moment
and phoned Shona who, as he thought, was stuck on
the island because of the ferry cancellations.

The wind has dropped a good deal,’ said Shona. There’s a good chance I’ll get to the mainland
tomorrow.’

That is the nicest thing I’ve heard all day,’ said
Bannerman.

‘How’s the patient?’

‘He died shortly before I got here.’

‘I’m sorry. That must alter your plans.’

Bannerman was wary about mentioning anything
about a post-mortem examination of the body over
the phone. He couldn’t be sure that the hotel switch
board was ‘safe’. ‘I’ll be going to Edinburgh next, to
see the people at the Neurobiology Unit,’ he said.
He didn’t say what he would be taking there. ‘Come
with me?’

‘All right,’ said Shona, without taking time to con
sider. That’s the nicest thing
I’ve
heard all day.’

‘Good,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Bannerman came downstairs to the hotel bar. He
felt a chill come over him when he opened the
door and saw Mitchell, the head of security at
the power station, sitting there with another man.
Mitchell looked up and smiled in a way that put
Bannerman on edge. ‘Well Doctor, still looking for
nuclear skeletons in the cupboard?’ he asked.

The smug look on Mitchell’s face brought
Bannerman’s dislike for the man almost to boil
ing point, but he remained outwardly calm. The
cupboard smells of detergent,’ he replied.

Again the smug grin on Mitchell’s face. ‘Just a rou
tine precaution Doctor. We do it every so often.’

‘Of course,’ said Bannerman, leaving Mitchell and
going up to the bar where he ordered a tonic water.
He stood with his back to Mitchell, indicating no fur
ther desire to continue their conversation. Mitchell
returned to the conversation he had interrupted
when Bannerman had come in. Bannerman watched
them in the mirror behind the bar and deduced from the head movements in his direction that he was the
current subject of their talk.

Was Mitchell’s presence here a coincidence? he
wondered, or was there something more sinister
behind it? Could it be that
he,
as well as the
hospital, was being watched to make sure that no one interfered with Turnbull’s body?

Bannerman slid on to a bar stool and passed the
time of day with the barman to create the impression
of being a normal guest in the hotel. He was simply
having a couple of drinks before going upstairs to his
room for the night. There was no reason for Mitchell
to know that he was only drinking tonic water, to
keep his head clear. There was no reason for anyone
to suspect that he was going to sneak out later, go
to the cottage hospital under cover of darkness and
perform an illegal autopsy on Colin Turnbull. But
every time he glanced at Mitchell in the mirror he
found that Mitchell was watching him.

Could the feeling possibly be prompted by para
noia? Bannerman wondered. It was true that Mitchell
did seem to look a lot in his direction but that could
be a legacy of their previous meeting. Having come
to blows with someone in the past did tend to make
one hyper-aware of their presence on subsequent occasions. He decided on an experiment. He would go to the lavatory down the hall to see if he would be followed. As he prepared to move he suddenly
saw the door to the bar open and the two power
workers who had been watching the hospital came
inside. Mitchell nodded to them and one stopped to
speak while the other came up to the bar to order
drinks. He stood at Bannerman’s elbow.

‘Thought you’d be on your way by now,’ said
the man.

‘Really?’ said Bannerman dryly.

There’s nothing here for you to do,’ said the
man.

‘
I’ll be the judge of that,’ said Bannerman.

‘Julie will be the judge of that,’ said the man. ‘Don’t
you forget it or it’ll be more than your car that gets hurt this time.’ The man paid for his drinks and left
the bar to join his companion and Mitchell.

So that’s who they are, thought Bannerman. They
were the two yobs who had vandalized his car on his
last visit and Mitchell was pulling their strings.

Bannerman went to the lavatory. No one followed. As he washed his hands he began to think about how
long he would have to wait before it was safe to
return to the hospital. Pub closing time in the north
was notoriously, or wonderfully, lax, depending on
your point of view. He was beginning to think of the
small hours of the morning. He dried his hands and opened the washroom door. His way was barred by
one of the power workers.

This was the man who had stopped to speak to
Mitchell while his companion had come to the bar
counter. He was shorter than the other man but
broad shouldered and stocky. His red hair was dry
and
frizzy
and receded in the front although he could
not have been older than mid-twenties.

‘Excuse me,’ said Bannerman, making to move
past the man.

The man moved to bar his way and stood there staring at him.

‘
I said excuse me,’ said Bannerman.

‘Did you now,’ said the man, his voice low with
menace.

‘Move!’ said Bannerman firmly.

The man stood still. ‘You are not wanted in this
town,’ he hissed.

‘Believe me. I’ve got the message,’ said Bannerman
ruefully. ‘But this isn’t Tombstone Arizona and
you’re not Wyatt Earp. I have a job to do and
I’m doing it, so unless you really intend following
a course of action which will end up with you inside
Peterhead Prison, I suggest you move aside and let
me past.’

The man considered for a moment before pursing
his lips and reluctantly moving to one side to let
Bannerman out through the door.

Bannerman went upstairs and locked his room
door. He stood with his back against it for a moment,
letting his breathing return to normal. His heart was thumping against his chest. He reflected for
a moment that things might have been so much
easier had he not got off on the wrong foot with Mitchell. After that first meeting there was just no
point of contact between them. He steeled himself to
keep vigil by his room window with the lights out.

Mitchell left an hour later and got into his car
alone. It was another forty minutes before the two power workers came out into the street. The one
Bannerman had left in the toilet was very drunk
and was being supported by his companion. As
they made their way down the street, the drunk struggled to turn round. He shouted back at the
window of the hotel, ‘I’ll get you, you bastard …
you see if I don’t.’

‘Not in that state you won’t,’ whispered Bannerman
in the dark.

The hotel was too small to have a night porter or indeed any night staff that would warrant the front
door being left open. Bannerman saw that it was
locked when he came downstairs.

‘Was there something?’ asked the manager, who
had just locked up and was preparing to turn in for
the night.

‘
I thought I might go out for some fresh air,’ said
Bannerman.

‘At this time?’ exclaimed the man, looking at his
watch but more by gesture than any real desire to
see the time.

‘Insomnia,’ replied Bannerman. ‘I’m a slave to it.’

The man gave Bannerman a key and requested
that he lock up when he returned.

Bannerman said that he would.

The air was cold but mercifully still as he hurried
along the deserted streets of Stobmor to the cottage
hospital. Although it was after one-thirty in the
morning and there were no lights on at all in
the surrounding streets, Bannerman still felt as if
a thousand eyes were watching him. He kept close
to the shadows all the way and checked behind him
before turning into the doorway of the hospital. He
felt a surge of relief to be in the dark of the entrance
porch. He got out the key MacLeod had given him
and inserted it in the lock. It wouldn’t turn.