Fenton's Winter (21 page)

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!