Ken McClure - Fenton's winter

Murray eventually looked at Fenton out of the corner of one eye and let out an enormous sigh. "I'm afraid not," he said. "But I do remember he wasn't happy with it…"

Fenton hid his disappointment and said, "No matter. Don't worry about it."

Fenton had fallen at the last hurdle but he could see that he had learned a lot. If nothing else he now knew that he was on the right track. He said, "I mustn't take up any more of your time Mr Murray, particularly as my colleague has already bothered you."

"He didn't bother me," said Murray. "He spoke to my sister."

Fenton was confused. He said, "I thought he had been here today."

"No, this was three weeks ago," said Murray.

Fenton realised that he had been jumping to conclusions. He had assumed that Steve Kelly had called to see Murray after their telephone conversation. Kelly could not have been the caller three weeks ago or he would have said so. Someone else from the Blood Transfusion Service must have visited the house but why? "Was something wrong?" he asked Murray

"I don't think so," said Murray, scratching his head again and looking more puzzled than ever. "As far as I remember the gentleman wanted to know the same sort of things as you…"

Fenton noticed the hint of an accusation in Murray's voice and set up a defensive screen. He said, "I'm afraid things have been in a bit of a muddle since Dr Munro's death." He apologised to Murray again for the intrusion and got up to leave.

"May I offer you a drink before you go?"

Fenton declined politely, saying that he had to drive and if the fog were still around he would need all his wits about him. As the front door opened Fenton saw that the fog was worse than ever.

Fenton opted for a warm bath as being the quickest way of heating up after becoming chilled to the marrow by the painfully slow journey home. He lay back and sipped whisky from a glass that he had placed on the soap shelf. There was a lot to think about before morning. For a start why had Blood Transfusion run a check on a donor? Was this normal practice or had they some particular reason in Sandra Murray's case? And why had Steve Kelly not told him? Surely he must have known? But this question paled into insignificance when he considered what he had learned from Murray about Neil Munro's interest in the plastic.

In finding out that Neil had suspected that there was something wrong with it he had, not only uncovered the reason for Neil's preoccupation in the weeks leading up to his death, he had found a possible motive for his murder. Someone had wanted to stop him probing too deeply into Saxon plastic, someone who must have known that he was beginning to have doubts about it, someone who had been close to Neil at the time and, of course, someone who had something to gain by covering it up.

There was only one candidate. The bloated face of Nigel Saxon swam into the steamy air of the bathroom. That would also confirm his suspicions over the incident with the fume cupboard. Saxon must have feared that he too would eventually discover whatever Neil had found out about the plastic. Saxon must have set him up with the acid-cyanide trap and then made an excuse to leave the room. True he had covered it up well when he had come back but that just served to show the devious cunning of the man.

"The bastard," whispered Fenton as more began to make sense. Saxon and Neil had been working closely over the new Blood Sampler. If Neil had said anything to anyone about his fears it would probably have been to Saxon. Perhaps they had agreed to keep it between themselves if Neil had not been sure what the problem was. But when Neil had become certain Saxon had killed him to keep it quiet. Millions, the newspaper had said, Saxon Medical was worth millions with a license for the plastic.

Fenton's grip on his glass tightened as he came to terms with reality. He could not prove it. He still did not know what was wrong with the plastic and, when viewed coldly, the only additional evidence he had obtained lay in the word of an eccentric up in Braidbank who had told him that a dead man had told his sister, also dead, that he thought there was something wrong with the plastic too. Jamieson would just love that.

Perhaps he could get some kind of corroboration from the Blood Transfusion Service, thought Fenton. If he could speak to the person who had visited Sandra Murray he could get a first hand account of what Sandra Murray had told him and that might be good enough to convince Jamieson.

The bathroom had grown too full of maybes. The water had grown cold and his glass empty. Fenton dried himself and rectified the problem with the glass. The flat still seemed cold.

Jenny got home just before eight in the morning and stifled a big yawn with the back of her hand, keys still held in it. "Now I know what a whore feels like in the morning," she sighed. "What a night."

Fenton listened patiently while Jenny told him all that had happened in a busy shift. When she had finished he said, "I went out somewhere last night."

"Really? Where?"

Fenton put down a cup of coffee in front of her and told her of his visit to Murray and what he had learned. Jenny looked shocked. Fenton had to prompt her, "Don't you see?” Neil thought there was something wrong with Saxon plastic too!"

"But what?" asked Jenny.

Fenton admitted that he still did not know but pointed out that just to have his suspicions confirmed by what Neil had believed was a step forward. "And it provides a motive for his murder," he added. "This is what connects Neil's death to the others."

"Saxon!" said Jenny.

"Saxon," agreed Fenton. "He was working closely with Neil and he had everything to gain from the plastic getting a license. It had to be him." said Fenton.

Jenny could find no real argument. "If you are right this is absolutely incredible," she said. "But…you could still be wrong."

"I know, I know." said Fenton getting up to refill their coffee cups.

"Why did Neil use this Sandra Murray woman as a donor?" asked Jenny.

"I don't know" confessed Fenton.

"You people usually use each other when you want volunteers don't you?" said Jenny.

"I suppose he wanted a different blood group," said Fenton almost automatically then both he and Jenny saw the importance of what he had said at the same time. "Could that be it?" he said softly. "Different blood groups? People in one group are susceptible while others are not?"

Jenny broke the spell of the moment by beginning to rummage through the black leather bag that rested on her knees. She pulled out a cardboard folder and handed it to Fenton saying, "These are the details you asked me to get on the child victims. I only managed to get the one; this is the ward file on the Watson boy."

Fenton flicked open the cover and traced his finger down the page till he found what he was looking for…'AB', the boy had been group, AB, a pretty rare group. Now if Sandra Murray had been in the same blood group…he was in business.

Fenton nearly bowled Ian Ferguson over as he entered the lab and rushed up the stairs, assisting his rate of climb by strong pulls on the banister. The young biochemist half turned to receive an apology but was disappointed when Fenton pressed on regardless and shut his lab door behind him.

With his white coat only half on Fenton dialled the Blood Transfusion Service and asked to speak to Steve Kelly. Kelly answered as he was holding the receiver between shoulder and cheek in order to get his left arm into his coat.

"Good morning. How did you get on?"

"Just tell me one thing. What group was Sandra Murray?"

"Is that my starter for ten?"

"It's important."

"All right, hang on."

Fenton drummed his fingers on the desk while he waited impatiently for Kelly to return.

"She was B positive."