Fenton's Winter (11 page)

The whole affair seemed to be
being conducted in absolute silence, no jeers, no insults, no
words, just the cold, professional application of pain. The boot
swung in again, this time into Fenton's ribs, overloading his
appreciation of agony; he felt consciousness slip away from him.
The frustration of not evenbeing able to protest vied with the pain
for his receding attention as he slid slowly down the wall,
feelingthe porcelain of the urinal cold against his cheek before
his face finally came to rest in the gutter at the bottom. The
stench that filled his nostrils made him vomit weakly, adding to
the cocktail of blood and urine. The boot thudded into him again
but it was by now a long way from Fenton who had drifted off into
oblivion.

Fenton emerged sporadically
from the darkness to snatch an occasional sight or sound, a
flashing blue light was reflected in glass somewhere, rain drops
caressed his forehead, a hand touched him gently. There was a
moustache...a cap...a siren that never faded into the distance,
search light beams on a low ceiling, voices, but far away...very
far away.

Fenton surfaced from the
blackness and opened his eyes to find everything still and bright.
He stared upwards till the object he had elected to focus his
attention on resolved itself into a light fitting. There were dead
flies in it. He took a deep breath and, in doing so, attracted the
attention of a nurse who now saw that his eyes were open. Her voice
was soft and gentle. "So you're back with us," she said

Fenton opened his mouth to ask
where he was and a flight of burning arrows tore into his cheek.
His gasp brought a gentle chide from the nurse; the soft voice
said, "Lie still...rest...don't try to speak."

Three days had passed before
Fenton could sit up and concern himself with the more humdrum
matters of life like the itch that persisted inside the heavy
strapping on his ribs, the whereabouts of his motor bike, his
jacket, the unpaid electricity bill in the pocket. He attempted to
smile when Jenny came to see him but immediately wished that he had
not when his broken cheek bone did not see the funny side of
things. He had been able to give the police good descriptions of
his attackers but no clue as to motive. It had been just a mindless
act of violence.

The novelty of grapes, Lucozade
and get well soon cards began to wear thin after a couple of days;
Fenton was now well enough to feel bored stiff and said so with
increasing frequency to the nursing staff who, had heard it all
before. But his persistent badgering paid off on Friday when he was
allowed to go home by taxi after promising to take things easy. He
was just in time to see Jenny's brother Grant who was on the point
of leaving for home with his son Jamie who was wearing a patch over
one eye. Fenton asked how the boy had got on at the hospital.

"The surgeons decided that they
should delay operating until he's a little older, maybe next year."
said Grant.

Fenton looked down at the
little boy who was staring up at the plasters on Fenton's face. It
was as if they both suddenly realised that they had a lot in common
and an instant rapport was struck. Fenton bent down and asked the
boy about the toy fire engine that he was carrying.

Grant looked at his watch and
announced that he and Jamie would have to be off. He thanked Jenny
and shook Fenton's hand before ushering Jamie out the door.

Jenny closed the door and
looked at Fenton. "You should still be in hospital," she
accused.

Fenton smiled and said, "It's
good to be home."

Jenny kissed him. "It's good
having you home."

By the following Wednesday
Fenton was climbing the wall with boredom. Still confined to the
flat he made endless cups of tea, pacing up and down between times
with occasional pauses to look out at the rain. He telephoned
Charles Tyson at the lab to be told that he was out at a meeting.
He did speak to Ian Ferguson for a while but ran out of things to
say after being assured that the lab was coping well despite his
absence.

In mid- afternoon Fenton
answered a ring of the door-bell to find Nigel Saxon standing
there.

"How's the invalid?" asked
Saxon.

The conversation, as most
conversations involving Saxon usually did, degenerated into talk of
women, cars and booze but it did cheer Fenton up and made him smile
for the first time in days. In addition Saxon announced that he was
giving a dinner party for everyone in the lab to celebrate the
successful conclusion to trials on the Saxon Analyser.

"When?" asked Fenton.

"Saturday evening."

"Where?"

"The Grange Hotel. It's not too
far from the lab so the duty staff will be within bleeper range and
can flit back and forth if necessary.

Jenny arrived home with the
news that she would be going on night duty after the week end. "But
I'm off all this week end," she added in response to Fenton's
expression.

"Good, then we can go to the
party." said Fenton. He told her about Saxon's invitation.

On Friday morning Fenton
visited his general practitioner to be declared fit to return to
work. Having had no need of a doctor in the past year he had
neglected to re-register with a practitioner nearer his home and so
had to cross town to the doctor he had originally been listed with
when he had first arrived in the city.

Was this really the system
envied by the world? he wondered as he sat in a crowded room
surrounded by peeling wall paper and coughing people. The windows
hadn't been cleaned for decades by the look of them and there was a
strong smell of cats' urine about the place. Three back copies of
Punch, a two minute consultation and he was free of the system but
not the despondency it inspired.

The return bus took an age to
cross town and Fenton had to keep clearing the window with his
sleeve to see where he was for the atmosphere on the top deck was
heavy and damp and reeked of stale cigarette smoke. A fat woman,
weighed down with shopping bags plumped herself down beside him,
her face glowing with the exertion of having climbed the stairs.
The smell of sweat mingling with the tobacco proved to be the last
straw for Fenton. He got off at the next stop and walked through
the rain; he was soaked to the skin by the time he reached the
flat.

The party at the Grange Hotel was a disaster. But then, as
Fenton reasoned afterwards, it was always going to be in the
circumstances. Their host, Nigel Saxon, tried his best to foster a
spirit of light-heartedness and jollity and the generosity of the
company in terms of food and drink could not be faulted but Neil
Munro and Susan Daniels were just too conspicuous by their absence.
In addition the knowledge that the killer had not yet been
identified was still uppermost in most peoples' minds. Pulling
together and presenting a common front in times of adversity was
all very well when you were certain of your neighbours but when it
was possible that the murderer might be sitting at the same table
introversion and circumspection became the order of the
day.

Alex Ross was the exception to
the rule. He drank too much whisky and, to his wife's obvious
embarrassment, had quite a lot to say for himself. Jenny, whom Ross
was very fond of, did her best to humour him and tried to prevent
him becoming too loud in his opinions by diverting his attention to
other matters. Ross' wife Morag, a woman of large physical presence
and wearing for the occasion a purple dress smothered in sequins
and a matching hat which she kept on throughout the dinner, tried
to minimise the damage to her pride by smiling broadly at everyone
in turn and asking where they planned to spend their summer
holidays.

Ross eventually grew wise to
Jenny’s intervention and decided to bait Nigel Saxon about the
speed with which Saxon Medical had obtained official approval for
their product. For the first time since he had met him Fenton saw
Nigel Saxon lose his good humour. Ross, despite his inebriation
sensed it too and was inspired to greater efforts. He said loudly,
"If you ask me the funny handshake brigade were involved!"

There was uneasy laughter and
Jenny leaned across to Fenton to ask what he meant.

"Free masonry," whispered
Fenton in reply.

Saxon managed a smile too but
Ross was still intent on goading him. "Or maybe it wasn't," he said
conspiratorially, "They're too busy running the police force!"

There was more laughter but
then Ross suddenly added. "I think it was more like the Tree
Mob."

Fenton had no idea what Ross
meant and gathered that many other people were in the same boat but
it certainly meant something to Saxon for the colour drained from
his face and his hands shook slightly as they rested on the table.
"I think you have said enough Mr Ross!" he whispered through
gritted teeth.

Jenny and Fenton were
mesmerised by the change that had come over Saxon and a complete
silence came over the table before Ross who like many drunks seemed
absolutely amazed that he had managed to offend anyone said loudly,
"What's the matter? It was only a wee joke man."

Ian Ferguson quickly stepped in
to defuse the situation by getting to his feet and saying, I've no
idea what this is all about but I'm going to have some more wine.
Anyone else?"

Glasses were proffered and the
moment passed.

"A fun evening," whispered
Jenny in Fenton's ear.

"We'll go soon," Fenton
promised.

As the table was cleared Jenny
was engaged in conversation by Liz Scott the lab secretary and
Fenton found himself standing beside Ian Ferguson.

"Have you had any more thoughts
about the stuff we found in Neil's cupboard?" asked Ferguson
quietly.

Fenton shook his head and said,
"No. You?"

"No, but it's worrying me,"
said Ferguson.

"In what way?" asked Fenton

"I think we should have told
someone."

"Who?"

"You know, someone in
authority, the police."

"Why?" asked Fenton, knowing
full well that he was being obtuse but perversely wanting to hear
his own fears expressed by somebody else.

"We know that the killer is
using anticoagulants and we know that Neil Munro had a whole
cupboard full of them hidden away in his lab."

"Neil couldn't have been the
killer."

"I know that but it's an
uncomfortable coincidence don't you think?"

Fenton didn't get a chance to
reply for they were joined by Charles Tyson and Nigel Saxon who
asked them if they were having a good time. He held up a bottle of
whisky in front of them. Fenton declined but Ferguson offered his
glass to have it topped up.

"Dr Tyson tells me you are on
duty on Sunday morning Ian is that right?" asked Saxon.

"All too true I'm afraid. Why
do you ask?"

"I have to dismantle the Saxon
analyser some time in the afternoon. I wondered if you might be
willing to stay on to give me a hand?"

Ferguson made an apologetic
gesture. "If only you'd said sooner," he said. "But I've arranged
to meet my girlfriend in the afternoon. Maybe I could put her off
if I..."

"I'll do it," interrupted
Fenton.

"You're sure?" asked Saxon.

"Of course. I've been idle for
so long it'll be a pleasure."

"Well, if you're quite
certain..."

Fenton arranged to be at the
lab by two o'clock on Sunday afternoon.

On the way home Jenny asked
Fenton, "What did Alex Ross mean by the 'Tree Mob'?"

"I've no idea," replied
Fenton.

"Charles Tyson knew," said
Jenny. "I read it in his face."

Nigel Saxon was waiting outside
the lab when Fenton arrived on Sunday afternoon. He was stamping
his feet and throwing his arms across his chest to keep warm as he
patrolled the kerb near his parked car.

"Not late am I?" asked Fenton,
checking his watch to find out it had just gone two.

"Not at all," smiled Saxon.
"I'm grateful to you for helping out. The company is a bit short of
demo models and this one has to be shown at Glasgow Royal tomorrow.
You can have it back afterwards for a few more days."

The two men set about
dismantling the Saxon Analyser with Saxon concentrating on the
hardware and Fenton disassembling the supply lines and removing the
reagent reservoirs. Fenton came to a blue plastic container among
the tubing and asked Saxon what it was.

"Be careful with that," warned
Saxon. "It's the acid sump."

"I'll get rid of it down the
drain in the fume cupboard," said Fenton disconnecting the blue
cylinder from its manifold and removing it carefully.

Saxon said, "I'm just going to
nip out to the car for a moment to get my socket set."

The door banged behind Saxon
and Fenton carried the blue container slowly across the lab to the
fume cupboard to place it inside the chamber. He turned on the fan
motor and heard the extractor whine into life. The fan would suck
any toxic fumes up through a flu and vent them to the outside
through an aluminium stack on the roof of the building.

Fenton had unscrewed the cap of
the acid bottle and was about to start pouring the contents down
the drain when suddenly he froze. There was a bottle of benzene
sitting inside the cupboard and he realised that he could smell it!
He could smell benzene!

How could that be? he asked
himself. The bottle was on the other side of the glass screen and
the fan was running. How could the fumes escape? He put the cap
back on the acid container and took a few steps backward.
Everything looked and sounded normal but there was something very
wrong. He lit a piece of scrap paper in a Bunsen burner and held it
to the mouth of the fume cupboard. The flame did not flicker. The
extractor fan was running but there was absolutely no air movement
through the flu. As a safety device it was totally useless.