Sacrifice (39 page)

By the time I finished I was yelling and I thought
I could hear movement along the corridor. Duncan still couldn’t look at me but what I saw on his face looked like fear. I think I surprised, even alarmed, myself. Months of misery, of bewilderment at being unable to conceive, crystallized for me that evening and, for the first time, I put everything into words. Duncan had turned away from me and was leaning on the ledge of the window. I followed him round the bed and forced myself to lower my voice. It no longer sounded like my voice, though; it sounded evil.

‘Except I can, can’t I? I can have babies. All this pain has been totally unnecessary. You didn’t need to saw through the mast, Duncan, you’ve been killing me for over a year.’

I threw the packet at him. It seemed ridiculously inadequate and I looked round the room for a bigger missile. Fortunately for both of us there was nothing to hand. The bedside lamp was pretty sturdy but when I realized I’d have to unplug it first the urge left me.

I walked to the door. Then turned back.

‘That shit isn’t even licensed in the UK. Who got them for you? Daddy or Big Brother? You know what? I don’t give a toss any more. And by the way, I know you’re planning to leave me and thank bloody Christ for that.’

I walked out, slamming the door behind me, and caught sight of Jane at the top of the stairs. I went back into my room and closed the door.

Well, sleep didn’t seem like a possibility any more. I wondered how I was going to get through the rest
of the night. I discovered I was hungry but, as Kenn had learned earlier, the cupboards were bare. The bedroom door opened.

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ I said, realizing I’d feel pretty daft if I turned round and found Constable Jane in the doorway.

‘There’s a reason my birth mother put me up for adoption,’ said Duncan.

‘You’re confusing me with someone who gives a damn,’ I replied, still not turning round.

‘She had multiple sclerosis,’ continued Duncan. ‘She was already ill when she had me. She knew she would deteriorate quickly.’

I said nothing but my posture must have betrayed that I was listening.

‘I know I carry the gene,’ said Duncan. ‘There’s a good chance I’ll get ill myself, although I’m already older than she was when she died. There’s a fifty per cent risk I’ll pass the gene on to any children.’

I turned. The skin around Duncan’s eyes had turned red and blotchy. His eyes were shining. I’d never seen him cry before. How little we really know the people around us. He risked coming further into the room.

‘I know I should have told you. I’m really sorry I didn’t.’

‘Why? Why didn’t you tell me? When did you find out?’

‘I’ve known since I was a child. I have no excuse. Except that when I met you you showed no interest in having a family. When you weren’t working you were
risking your neck on cross-country courses every weekend. You were going to be a consultant by the time you were thirty-five and win the Badminton Horse Trials. I couldn’t see how children could fit into that lifestyle.’

What he was saying was true, but he was describing the person I’d been eight years ago.

‘I changed. The lifestyle changed.’

‘I know that. But when was I supposed to tell you? When we were engaged?’

‘Yes,’ I interrupted. ‘That would have been appropriate.’

‘I was terrified you’d change your mind. And you never said, “By the way, Dunc, I want six kids in the first six years.”’

‘We talked about this. Ad nauseam. You said you wanted kids too.’

‘I do. They just can’t be mine.’

‘I should have known this. I came off the Pill. I had all those tests. We shagged ourselves silly. And all that time—’

‘I knew that if we moved up here we could adopt. A newborn. Maybe more than one.’

‘Those tests. Your sperm tests. They were all normal. How did you do it?’

‘Oh Christ, is it really important?’

‘Yes, it’s important. How?’

‘It was just a matter of timing. Desogestrel wears off pretty quickly if you stop taking it. When I knew I had a sperm count, I just avoided going near you when you were ovulating.’

He moved closer, sat down on the bed next to me.

‘Women can love adopted babies. The maternal bond doesn’t rely upon a blood link. Neither does the paternal one.’

‘Oh, because you and your folks are just so close.’

He shook his head. ‘Not a good example. I know a lot of adoptees. They’re adored, precious children. They bring huge happiness.’

‘You still don’t get it, do you? It wasn’t just any baby, it was your baby. A little boy with dark-blue eyes and long limbs and hair that will never lie flat, no matter how much I comb it. I used to talk to that baby, tell him stories about his parents, his cousins, what we would all do together when he was born. He even had a name.’ There was a lot more I needed to say but it just wasn’t possible.

‘What was his name?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters. What was his name?’

‘Duncaroony,’ I managed.

For a moment I thought Duncan was laughing. Then I realized he wasn’t. We sat together, side by side, as the night got darker.

34

THE NEXT DAY
I went to work. Before leaving the night before, Kenn had asked me to come in if I felt up to it, my suspension having expired with the knowledge that the hospital was in the clear. I was still smarting from the indignity of it all but, when it came down to it, I didn’t have anything I’d rather do that morning.

Some time in the night, Duncan and I had declared a truce. There remained a lot of unfinished business but neither of us had the energy to resume hostilities just yet. We were having some time out.

As to the future, I wasn’t sure. Duncan had told me that the fight I’d overheard on Unst had been about his desire to leave Shetland, that Elspeth had been referring to me when she’d said he was in love. He’d declared that no power on earth would make him leave me. The jury was still out, though, on whether I was staying – with him, in the job, on the islands; I didn’t know. I was taking it one day at a time.
Because, in spite of all the lies, in spite of everything he’d kept from me, I still loved him.

I did the ward-round, ignoring the curious looks I was getting from the staff. When I’d been forced to admit (but only to myself) that the unit had been functioning perfectly well without me, I went upstairs to prepare for afternoon clinic.

I phoned my friend in Voe and learned that Charles and Henry were fine. I thanked her for taking care of them and fielded her few curious questions as to how and why they were there. I made arrangements to collect them that evening.

I wondered about what was happening at home. As Duncan and I were leaving that morning, the police had arrived in force. As Helen had promised, they were carrying out another sweep of our fields but I no longer believed they’d find anything. Maybe one day I’d have another look at the islands’ female mortality statistics, get someone else’s opinion. One day at a time. But there was one thing I really had to do that day. I picked up the phone, dialled a London number and asked to be put through to a woman I’d worked with at my last hospital; the consultant anaesthetist.

‘Diane?’ I said when we were finally connected. ‘It’s Tora.’

‘My goodness, stranger, how are you?’

Well, there was no truthful short answer to that so I gave the usual lie. ‘Fine. You?’

‘Great. Will we see you in September?’

‘Of course, we’re looking forward to it,’ I said,
having not thought about it in weeks. A wedding in a picture-book Buckinghamshire village; I’d forgotten that normal life was still going on, somewhere out there. ‘Look, I’m sorry about this, but I need some information and I don’t have much time. Is that OK?’

‘Fire away.’

‘What do you know about untraceable drugs?’

Diane wasn’t easily fazed. She paused only a second before replying. ‘Well, ultimately, there aren’t any. If you know what to look for, you can find anything.’

‘Thought so. But if you were trying to knock someone out, not necessarily kill them, just incapacitate them, just for a short while, is there anything you could use that a pathologist wouldn’t normally test for?’

‘Has Duncan been playing you up again?’ There was an edge to her voice now but I could hardly blame her. It wasn’t exactly a run-of-the-mill question.

‘I’m sorry, I wish I had time to explain. I’ll call you soon, I promise. Can you think of anything? Something unusual, that they wouldn’t test for unless they were specifically asked.’

‘Well, I’d need to check, but I’m pretty certain they don’t routinely check for things like Benzodiazepines – you know, Nitrazepam or Temazepam. Does that help?’

‘Yes, it does. I promise I’m not planning anything illegal.’

‘I believe you. Oh, by the way, I got the dress.’

She named a hideously expensive London bridal
designer and wittered away happily for a few more minutes. I was happy to let her, but I wasn’t really listening.

Dunn might be a dab hand with the old hypnosis, but it still didn’t seem likely that someone as sensible and smart as Dana could be hypnotized into killing herself. Hypnotized for long enough to allow herself to be drugged, maybe. Once unconscious, it would be a relatively simple matter to carry her to the bath and cut through both wrists, probably using her own hands to do it. If Stephen Renney hadn’t found anything in Dana’s system, it was because he hadn’t known what to look for. I wasn’t going to accept what Gifford had said last night. Dana was not going to her grave a suicide; not if I had anything to do with it.

‘Hey!’

I looked up. ‘Hey yourself!’

Helen stood in the doorway. She was wearing the same suit as last night but had changed her blouse for a ruby-red one. She still looked great. I wondered if Dana had taken her shopping, supervised her wardrobe. Or maybe it had been the other way round. Maybe Dana owed her sense of style to this lady. I’d probably never know. I felt a pang of regret that I’d never be able to know them as a couple.

She came in. I realized I was ridiculously pleased to see her.

‘Coffee?’ I offered. She nodded and I got up to pour it out. We sat together for a while.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked, and from the way she
was looking at me, just a little too intently, I started to think that she might have something to tell me.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, stalling for time, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear whatever it was. ‘Better than fine, actually. Duncan and I sorted a few things out and here I am, back at work.’

‘Things that seemed impossible just twenty-four hours ago?’

I nodded. ‘Is Duncan . . . I mean . . .’

‘Is he in the clear? I think so. His story about being a shareholder checks out and he doesn’t seem to have set foot on Tronal for years. The Franklin Stone and Mr Gifford seem out of it as well. You heard about Dunn, I take it.’

‘I did. Is that bad?’

‘Bad as it gets. When a copper’s your villain, there’s no happy ending.’

‘Is he still missing?’

She finished her coffee and got up to pour a refill. ‘Yep. He was seen catching a ferry to the mainland on Tuesday evening. We’ve alerted all the air and ferry ports but . . .’

‘Could be well away by now?’

She nodded. ‘Right, the good news is, your fields have been thoroughly swept this morning. You won’t be uncovering any more nasty surprises should you decide to plant a few spring bulbs.’

‘And it was all properly done? The instruments were switched on and everything?’ Well, I had to ask.

Helen didn’t take offence. She almost laughed.

‘OK, let me tell you what they did, as far as I understand it. First of all, they flew over in the chopper this morning and took a whole load of aerial photographs. Apparently – and I admit I didn’t know this – when soil has been disturbed at any depth, it shows up on the surface: either as marks on the soil or as crop marks. Also, you might get an increase in vegetation – a rush of spring flowers, for example. Aerial photographs can pick that up.’

‘Did they see anything?’

‘Nothing. But apparently they didn’t really expect to. The method works best for larger sites, such as prehistoric burial grounds. Individual graves rarely show up; but it has been known, so they were being thorough to check.’

‘So what then?’

‘The next step was to use ground-penetrating radar. They have instruments that send electromagnetic pulses into the ground. When the pulses hit a soil surface that differs in water content from that around it, the signals bounce back. The team plot all these signals on a graph and, if anything has been buried, the pattern of reflections will show it up on the graph. It’s even possible to estimate how deep a burial might be, based on the time delay for the reflections to come back. We’ve done that across the length and breadth of the field.’

‘Clever stuff.’

‘Oh it’s amazing. Course, it’s not foolproof. It works best, apparently, on sandy, high-resistivity soil, of which there’s very little in your field. So they
did one further sweep. This time using soil analysis. Want me to go on?’

‘Please.’

‘Soil analysis depends upon measuring the amount of phosphate in the soil. Phosphate is present in all soils, but where a body – human or large animal – is buried, the phosphate levels increase quite considerably.’

That certainly made sense to me. Bodies are particularly rich in phosphorus which, along with calcium, gives bone its strength and hardness. It’s also found in other tissues of the body.

‘Decomposition of human bodies after burial enriches the phosphorus content of the surrounding soil,’ continued Helen. ‘The team took hundreds of soil samples from your field. If any strong pockets of phosphorus are found, that could indicate more burials.’

‘How long will it take to test them all?’

‘A few more days. But they’re already well under way and nothing has been found so far. I really don’t think there’s anything down there, Tora.’

I said nothing for a moment.

‘So, no more worries about little grey men with a silver fixation?’ said Helen.

I had the grace to look bashful. ‘Guess the stress was getting to me the other night.’