Ken McClure - Fenton's winter

"A drink," replied Fenton, avoiding the real question and indicating with his head that Kelly should come up to the flat.

'A drink' became several and Kelly's wife phoned to ask if he was there. Fenton said that he was and asked if she wanted to speak to him. "No, no," said Mary Kelly. "As long as he's there with you Tom," she added with plain meaning.

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.