Ken McClure - Chameleon

'Just to observe,' said Jamieson. His calmness seemed to annoy Thelwell even more.

'You haven't been swabbed,' said Thelwell.

'Yes I have,' replied Jamieson. 'I had myself tested in Microbiology before I came over here.'

Thelwell swallowed hard and conceded defeat. 'Very well,' he said. 'Be in scrub at ten, assuming your swab is clear.'

'Thank you.'

Thelwell looked at his watch and said, 'Now, if there's nothing else I have a choir practice this evening.'

'Actually there is,' said Jamieson making Thelwell stop in his tracks. 'I want to discuss your own swabs. I want you to explain two completely negative nasal swabs in the last two staff screenings.'

'I don't understand,' stammered Thelwell but Jamieson could sense that he did. He waited for something more and Thelwell gave in. He said, 'I always make a practice of using Naseptin cream in the interests of my patients. That's why my swabs were completely clear. It's a hard habit to break and I must have forgotten not to use it on the days swabs were taken.'

Jamieson let Thelwell dangle on the hook for a moment before stating the obvious. 'But the object of the staff screening exercise was to establish whether any of the staff might normally carry organisms that might be dangerous to the patients. If everyone sterilised their nasal passages before the test there would be no point in doing them…' Jamieson knew that Thelwell was writhing in discomfort behind the apparently bland exterior.

'As I said,' said Thelwell, 'I must have forgotten to stop the cream on the days of the tests. I have a lot on my mind at the moment.'

Jamieson continued to stare at Thelwell, wondering if there was any more to come. His silence bore fruit. Thelwell said, 'All right if you must know, I did not want to give that idiot, Richardson any opportunity to embarrass me with his incompetence. That man would probably say he found typhoid in my naso-pharynx.'

Jamieson found it hard to maintain his composure. Was this a hospital or a lunatic asylum he wondered? Thelwell's paranoia must be bordering on the clinically significant but for the moment he had to keep things in perspective. He had to consider that Thelwell might be telling the truth about using the cream routinely. He said, 'Perhaps after tomorrow you might submit another screening swab to the lab?'

'Of course,' murmured Thelwell, embarrassed and anxious that this line of conversation should end.

'Enjoy your practice,' said Jamieson. 'A local choir?'

'Yes… yes,' stammered Thelwell, uneasy with the change to social chit chat. 'St Serf's Church. We are doing the Te deum.'

'Nice,' said Jamieson inappropriately.

The man stood in the shadows of a shop door and watched what was happening down the road. The sluts were still there, flitting in and out of the darkness in their imitation leopard skin and leather but they didn't fool him. Half of them had warrant cards in their handbags and the Ford Orion that was parked in Clarion Street might just as well have a blue light on its roof instead of two clods eating sandwiches and looking at their watches. Did they think he was a complete idiot? Did they really think that he would try exactly the same line of attack? Walk into their puny little trap like some mental defective? There was no anger in the man's thinking. He was just surprised that they could be so stupid. Talk about bolting the stable door…

A bus loomed up from his right and pulled to a halt in front of him. He pulled up his collar and got on board. He would concentrate on other things this evening and the fact that the police would be out all night in the cold made the prospect all the more pleasant. Anyone who protected these filthy creatures deserved all the discomfort that was coming to them.

The bus stopped on the far side of the circle and the man got off, carrying his briefcase and pressing his hat a little more firmly on to his head. It had started to rain but it was only a short walk back to the basement flat and then he could get on with the evening's work. He turned into the lane that separated the main road from the street where the flat was situated and passed along it, carefully avoiding the piles of cartons and waste paper that had been bundled out for collection on the following morning.

The location of the flat was ideal for his purpose because all the surrounding buildings were in use as offices. At night there was rarely anyone about. The windows of the entire street were in darkness save for one upstairs light in the surveyor's office across the road from the flat. This was so unusual that it made him stop briefly in the shadows at the end of the lane and look up at it. He was curious. No one had ever worked late there before. His natural caution made him consider all possible implications.

As he watched, a young woman appeared at the window. She was laughing and, as she reached up to the cord for the blinds, a man came up behind her and slid his arm round her waist. The man in the shadows watched as the man in the window slid his hands up on to the woman's breasts and buried his face against the side of her neck. 'Fool!' he hissed, his eyes burning with anger as he watched the woman laugh again and reach up her hand to stroke her companion's hair. 'Can't you see she's trying to trap you?'

The venetian blinds snapped shut and the two figures were eclipsed leaving the man at the corner of the lane still staring up at the window. He swallowed twice and regained his composure. There was work to be done. He descended the basement steps and opened the door extra quietly. He did not want to give the couple across the street any occasion to look out of the window, not that that was likely he conceded. That poor fool would have other things on his mind. But, as ever, caution was of the essence.

He closed the door silently and pulled the curtains across the window before switching on the light. A spider scuttled up the lifeline of its web having been exposed against the whitewash of the walls but the man ignored it. He opened the door of a small metal cupboard and examined what was inside. Excellent, he thought, it was all going well. When the time came for a change he would be ready and it could begin all over again.

He closed the door of the cupboard and went through to the kitchen to switch on a small metal-shaded lamp that sat in the middle of the kitchen table. A dull, purple glow came from the lamp at first but it grew brighter as the minutes passed. The man returned from the bedroom wearing white overalls and a full plastic face visor. He checked that his gloves were fitting properly, that the cuffs of his overalls overlapped them and the tunic was fastened up to his neck. There were to be no more slip ups. After more checking and preening he seemed satisfied with the state of his protection and got to work.

Two hours passed before he decided that he had done enough for one evening. He switched off the lamp and removed his visor. The cold air of the basement felt damp against the thin film of sweat on his forehead and made him shiver slightly as he got to his feet and started clearing up. With everything safely away inside the metal cupboard he sighed in satisfaction and looked at his watch. A last check on the thermometer protruding from the top of the cupboard and there was no more to be done this evening.

As he switched off the room light before opening the outside door he became aware of voices in the street above and stopped in the darkness behind the door to listen. A man and a woman were talking but he could not make out what was being said. As the minutes passed he became more and more impatient. Standing motionless was making him acutely aware of the cold and damp. Very slowly he turned the Yale lock on the back of the door, keeping his full weight against it in case it should move against the jamb and make a noise. With painful slowness he inched the door open until he could hear what was being said.