Fenton's Winter (9 page)

Fenton told Jamieson
everything. He told him how he and Jenny had come to suspect that
the killer was one of the medical staff and how they had gone about
gathering evidence to support their contention.Everything, he said,
seemed to point to Dr David Malcolm being implicated in the
killings.

Jamieson listened without
interruption, fiddling throughout with his moustache, brushing it
upwards with his forefinger then smoothing it down again with both
thumb and forefinger. "I see sir," he said when Fenton had
finished. There was a long pause during which a distant clap of
thunder heralded even more rain. Fenton was puzzled for, although
he had not expected Jamieson to leap to his feet in excitement, he
had anticipated a bit more than the catatonic trance that he
appeared to have gone in to. At length the policeman got to his
feet and said, "Thank you sir, you did the right thing in telling
us."

"That's all?"

"What did you expect?" asked
Jamieson pointedly dropping the 'sir'.

"Some comment I suppose. Some
reaction?" replied Fenton.

"I'm a great believer in horses
for courses sir," said Jamieson.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I don't tell you
how to run your lab and you don't tell me how to do my job."

Fenton saw the anger in
Jamieson's eyes and was about to argue that he was only trying to
help when Jamieson interrupted him.

"Give the police a little
credit sir. We were perfectly well aware that Miss Daniels had had
an inoculation shortly before her death; we also know that Sister
Murphy administered it because Dr Malcolm was off duty that day. We
also know that Dr Malcolm wasn't here on the day that Dr Munro was
murdered because he was attending a one day seminar at Stirling
Royal Infirmary; in fact, we were able to eliminate Dr Malcolm from
our inquiries some time ago. We know all that sir because it is our
job to know all that."

Fenton felt foolish. "I'm
sorry, I've wasted your time," he said contritely.

"Not at all sir," said
Jamieson. He left the room.

Fenton was left sitting astride
a wooden lab stool watching the rain stream down through the grime
on the windows. He had made a fool of himself and now suffered the
humiliation in silence. The sound of the decelerating centrifuge
said that his blood samples were ready for analysis.

Jenny was equally dejected when
Fenton told her what had happened but, in characteristic fashion,
she looked for something positive to take out of the experience and
said, "At least it shows that police know what they are doing."

Ferguson ignored the comment
and said, "I felt about two inches tall when Jamieson put me in my
place. He enjoyed doing it too, I could tell."

"You're probably imagining it,"
said Jenny.

"No, I don't think so," said
Fenton reliving the experience as he stared into the fire.

Jenny looked at him and smiled.
"Well, we can't really blame him can we," she said. "We were trying
to do his job for him."

Fenton returned to the present
and shrugged. "I suppose you're right," he sighed.

"And if we are absolutely
honest with ourselves," said Jenny getting to her feet and ruffling
Fenton's hair, “Thomas Fenton was never one to like being proved
wrong..."

"There's a letter for you on
the hall table," said Fenton changing the subject.

The sound from the hall told
Fenton that Jenny had not opened a bill. "Tom! It's from my brother
Grant, he's coming to Edinburgh next week with Jamie. Do you
remember? Jamie fell off his tricycle and injured his eye a while
back. He's to see a specialist at the Eye Pavilion."

"What day?"

Jenny paused in the doorway,
scanning down the letter for the answer. "Wednesday...next
Wednesday. They've to be at the hospital on Friday morning."

"They can stay here if you
like," said Fenton.

"Tom, could they?" asked Jenny,
obviously pleased at the suggestion.

"Of course." said Fenton. He
stretched his arms in the air and then put his hands behind his
head.

"Why don't you have a nice warm
bath before the film comes on?" said Jenny.

The sound of Fenton cursing
from the bathroom brought Jenny out into the hall. "The main
cistern is overflowing," he said looking at the stream of brownish
water that was trickling into the bath from the overflow pipe.

"Can you fix it?"

"I think so, I'll need the
ladders." Fenton fetched a pair of step ladders, propped them up
outside the bathroom and climbed up to open the door leading to the
cistern. Jenny handed him a torch then waited patiently at the foot
of the steps. "Can you see what's wrong?

"Well, missus," said Fenton,
affecting a loud sniff, "Looks like your grommet sprocket's gone
and that's no joke."

"Oh my goodness," said Jenny in
a dizzy blonde voice, "My grommet sprocket! Whatever shall I
do?"

"Well, yer gonna need a new
one, and that's fifty nicker for a start. An' if yer globbin
shaft's gone as well, that's another fifty, and then there's me
time..."

"Good gracious I didn't realise
it was so serious, however can I pay you? I'm only a poor little
nurse..." Jenny rubbed her hand gently up and down Fenton's
leg.

"Well missus...I think we can
come to some arrangement. Steady! I'll fall off this ladder."

Jenny paid no attention. She
slid her hand into Fenton's crotch. "Heavens, what's this?" crooned
the dizzy blonde voice, "Could this be the globbin shaft? Seems to
be in excellent condition." She started to pull down Fenton's
zip.

"Jenny, for God's sake..."

The following morning brought yet more wind and rain and
Fenton, who had harboured a lifelong hatred of wind, found his
patience strained to the limit. "Will it never let up!" he growled
as he opened the curtains to look on wet roofs and whirling chimney
pots. "Another wrestling match with the bike."

Jenny was about to point out
the merits of four wheeled transport but then thought better of it
for there was no need, she reasoned. She looked at the black sky.
Another couple of weeks of this and it could be a nice little Ford
by the Spring.

Fenton arrived at the lab with
water running off the front of his leathers like a mountain stream.
The letter box in the heavy front door of the lab rattled in the
wind as he stood in the outer hall peeling them off with hands that
had gone numb with cold. He hung them up as best he could and
opened the inner glass door, blowing his fingers in an attempt to
restore circulation.

"And Jack the shepherd blows
his nail..." said Ian Ferguson.

"Pardon?"

"Shakespeare," said
Ferguson.

"Oh," said Fenton, following
him into the common room where he found Alex Ross speaking to Mary
Tyler.

Mary Tyler had previously been
employed on a part time basis in the department but had been
coerced back into working full time by Charles Tyson since the
demise of Neil Munro and Susan Daniels. "Good morning Mary, back to
getting up early in the morning eh?" Mary Tyler replied that, with
three young children, she was always up early. Fenton poured
himself some coffee and warmed his fingers on the mug.

Charles Tyson arrived, brushing
the rain from the shoulders of his overcoat as he put his head
round the common room door. He asked that Fenton go up to see him
when he was ready. Fenton allowed Tyson enough time to reach his
office and take off his wet things before joining him. He waited
patiently while the consultant organised his papers and settled
into the seat behind his desk. "It's about the Saxon report," said
Tyson still rearranging piles of paper.

"I left it on your desk," said
Fenton.

"The sterilising records are
missing from it."

"What sterilising records?"
asked Fenton.

"We have to include details of
how we sterilised the plastic samplers for the machine."

"I didn't find any records
among Neil's things."

"Damn. He must have been aware
of the fact."

"Perhaps they are still down at
the Sterile Supply Department?" suggested Fenton.

"Would you check and let me
know?"

Fenton said that he would,
adding that he was just about to go up to the administration block
anyway. He would call in to see Sister Kincaid on his way back.
"Nigel Saxon told me that they were confident of getting a license
for their machine by the end of the month," he said.

"I heard that too," said Tyson.
"And from the number of phone calls I've been getting from the
Scottish Office about this damned report I don't think he is being
overly optimistic. All the stops have been pulled out for
Saxon.

"Friends in high places?"

Tyson grunted.

"It's funny when you think
about it," said Fenton.

"What is?"

"The Scottish Office with their
trouser legs rolled up."

Tyson smiled but did not say
anything.

Fenton saw from a ground floor
window that the rain had slackened off and decided to sprint up to
the main hospital without changing out of his lab coat. He ran up
the drive and took the stone steps three at a time to reach the
shelter of the main entrance. A domestic, dressed in green
overalls, was polishing a brass plaque set in the wood panelling,
placed there in remembrance of some long forgotten names. The woman
looked down at his feet and the muddy prints he had just made on
the mosaic floor. "Sorry," he said. The woman shook her head and
returned to her polishing without comment. A nurse was having an
argument over laundry baskets with a porter as he passed along the
main corridor.

"I'm telling you! Ward ten
gets..." The voices trailed off behind Fenton and merged with new
sounds, clangs from ward kitchens, children's yells, hurrying feet.
He reached Jenny's ward just as she was crossing the corridor with
a steel tray in her hand.

"What brings you out of your
ivory tower?" she asked.

Fenton told her that he was on
his way to the administration block to sort out some
misunderstanding over service contracts taken out on lab
equipment.

"What's the problem?" asked
Jenny.

"Archaic equipment and no money
to replace it."

"So what's new? Do you have
time for a cup of tea?"

"A quick one."

Fenton was sipping his tea in
the ward side room when a student nurse came in looking ashen
faced. Jenny put down her cup and got to her feet. "What's the
matter?" she asked.

Another nurse came into the
room. "It's Belle Wilson," she said, "She's dead. I think she
killed herself."

"The ward maid," said Jenny in
answer to Fenton's look. They followed the second nurse next door
to the sluice room where a small, middle aged woman, dressed in
green overalls, was lying slumped over one of the large white
porcelain sinks. Her eyes were wide and lifeless, her right arm
dangled limply in the sink in a pool of red.

"She cut her wrist," said the
nurse.

Jenny felt for a pulse in the
woman's neck but knew that it was useless. She was quite dead.

Fenton stared at the marble
white face under the crop of recently dyed red hair and thought
that she looked like a clown lying over a theatrical basket.

"I'll phone the front office,"
said Jenny quietly.

Fenton was left alone in the
room. He looked more closely at the woman's wrist. There was
something odd about it. He looked even closer. The cut was not in
her wrist at all. It was in the palm of her hand! He went to find
the nurse who had discovered her and asked, "What was Belle Wilson
doing before she cut herself?"

The nurse was taken aback, "I'm
not sure," she stammered.

"Think!" said Fenton.

"Eer...eer...Cleaning vases. I
remember now Staff Nurse asked her to wash out the flower
vases."

"Where?" asked Fenton looking
about him. "In here?"

"Next door," said the nurse,
"In the broom cupboard."

"Show me."

Fenton followed the nurse into
a small, dark, wood panelled room that smelt strongly of Lysol. His
foot hit noisily off a metal bucket before the nurse had had time
to find the light switch behind a forest of brush and mop handles.
They saw the broken glass on the floor. Fenton knelt down to gather
the pieces.

"She must have dropped one,"
said the nurse, still puzzled at Fenton's behaviour.

"Any more bits?" asked
Fenton.

"There by the sink."

Fenton picked up a jagged piece
of glass from the draining board and saw the red stains on it. He
swore under his breath.

"I don't understand," said the
nurse.

Belle Wilson cut herself
accidentally on the broken vase and bled to death from a cut on her
palm. She didn't deliberately cut her own wrist. She was murdered.
She's another victim of that bloody lunatic."

Fenton found Jenny in the
sluice room and told her what he had discovered. She approached the
body and bent over the sink to examine the dead woman's hand. She
could now see that, as Fenton had said, the river of red emanated
from a deep wound on her palm, not her wrist. "Look at the blood in
the sink," said Fenton.

"What about it?"

"It's still liquid. It hasn't
clotted."

The police were on the scene
quickly, being already on hospital premises with a mobile incident
room that had been parked behind the administration block since the
death of Neil Munro.Fenton called Tyson at the lab to say that he
was going to be delayed and why. He was still on the telephone when
Inspector Jamieson came into the duty room and found him there. He
waited till Fenton had put down the receiver then continued to look
at him without saying anything. Fenton could almost hear his mind
working.

"Well, well, Mr Fenton,"
growled Jamieson, "A bit out of our way aren't we?"