Ken McClure - Donor

‘That’s interesting,’ said Dunbar. ‘I suppose the clock starts ticking as soon as the donor organ is removed?’

‘Absolutely. There’s only a finite time before it becomes useless for transplant purposes.’

‘I suppose the ideal thing would be to keep the donor on a life-support system until everything was ready?’

‘In a cold, clinical sense, yes,’ agreed Ross. ‘But of course the moral implications of such a procedure dictate that hospitals can’t actually do this — well, not overtly. There’d be a public outcry.’

‘Of course. So with time ticking away, and traffic jams and airline delays all playing their part, you must have to get the organ into your patient almost as soon as it comes through the door?’

‘Almost,’ agreed Ross. ‘The theatre staff are usually prepped and ready.’

‘No time for any last-minute checks on the organ itself?’ said Dunbar, feeling as if he’d just jumped into water without knowing the depth.

There was a tense pause before Ross said, ‘I don’t think I’m quite with you. What sort of checks are you referring to?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Dunbar, trying to appear off-hand and casual. ‘The usual things, blood group, tissue-typing, AIDS, Hep. B screening, that sort of thing.’ He had slipped his real question in at number two in the list, hoping it would nestle there without arousing suspicion. A glance at Ross as they proceeded along the corridor made him doubt whether he had succeeded: the smile had gone from his face.

‘All these things are usually done at the donor hospital,’ said Ross.

‘Of course. That would make sense,’ said Dunbar. ‘I just wondered whether, with an international donor network, standards might vary from country to country.’

‘All hospitals in the network work to the highest standards,’ said Ross.

‘I see,’ said Dunbar.

‘But when we have time to spare, we do carry out our own screening,’ said Ross.

‘I felt sure you would,’ said Dunbar.

‘And here we are back where we started,’ said Ross as they returned to the unit’s foyer. ‘Is there anything else we can show you or help you with?’

‘Your research labs,’ said Dunbar. ‘I didn’t see them.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ agreed Ross. ‘My labs aren’t actually in the hospital. As you’re not funding them any more, I didn’t think they’d come within your remit.’

Dunbar detected resentment in Ross’s voice. He decided on a conciliatory response. ‘You’re absolutely right. I was just personally interested. Did you manage to get alternative funding for your work, Doctor?’

‘Enough to keep going for the moment,’ replied Ross. ‘Medic International have been generous.’

‘I’m glad. It was all very unfortunate.’

‘Yes,’ replied Ross. He seemed wryly amused at Dunbar’s choice of word. ‘Most unfortunate.’

‘How is the research going?’

‘Quite well, thank you, but progress is never as fast as one would like.’

‘I suppose not.’

Dunbar shook hands with Ross and Hatfull and followed Ingrid into the elevator.

‘I wasn’t supposed to know about Omega patients, was I?’ he asked as they descended.

Ingrid smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. Dr Ross was just a bit surprised that you knew about them. We don’t get that many, and you’ve only been here five minutes.’

‘Why Omega?’

‘The last letter of the Greek alphabet for the last word in care and attention,’ said Ingrid. ‘Nothing’s too good for them. Nothing’s too much trouble.’

‘At a price,’ said Dunbar.

‘Of course. They’re used to being pampered. Most of our patients are. Do you know what they’re really paying for at Medic Ecosse?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Secrecy,’ she said. ‘Absolute discretion. People who come here for cosmetic surgery don’t want their friends to know they’re having it done. People who come here because they’re ill don’t want their enemies to know about it. Any suggestion of ill health at the top can trigger a coup or wipe millions off share values. Complete confidentiality is probably the most valuable commodity we offer.’

‘I’m surprised you told me about Omega patients at all,’ said Dunbar.

‘I just thought as you’re going to be going through the books you were going to find out everything that goes on anyway.’

‘True.’

‘I promise you, you are going to be sick of the word “confidential” before you’re through,’ said Ingrid. ‘People here think twice before they’ll tell you the time. They’re not being obstructive. Their job depends on it.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Dunbar. ‘But I do have the right to request any information I feel I need.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she mimicked. ‘Is there anything else you want to see?’

‘Not at the moment. I think I’ll make a start on the paperwork and maybe have a wander around later on my own if there’s time.’

‘Don’t forget your ID badge.’

Dunbar nodded.

‘So you won’t be needing me any more today?’

‘I don’t think so. I’ll make a note of any questions and maybe we can talk again in the morning.’

Ingrid looked at her watch and said, ‘It’s lunch-time. Would you like to try the staff restaurant or do you have other plans?’

‘No other plans,’ said Dunbar.

As they walked towards the restaurant he asked, ‘Which wing is the Omega patient in?’

‘The east wing of Obstetrics.’

‘Then she’s having a baby?’

‘That would be my guess too,’ replied Ingrid. ‘Here we are.’ She pushed open a swing door and ushered Dunbar in first. The staff restaurant at Medic Ecosse was a light, bright self-service facility which, judging by the crowd, was very popular. Dunbar opted for a tuna salad and looked around for a table while Ingrid collected her baked potato. He saw two nurses about to vacate a table by the window and timed his approach to coincide with their leaving. He waved to Ingrid, who had momentarily lost sight of him.

‘You’ve done this before,’ she said as she joined him.

‘London-trained,’ he replied. ‘Push or die. Is it always this busy?’

‘Most days,’ replied Ingrid. ‘There aren’t too many other places round here. Apart from that the meals are heavily subsidized.’

‘I noticed.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Ingrid.

‘The price of a tuna salad isn’t going to make much difference to government investment in Medic Ecosse,’ he assured her.

‘What is?’ she asked.

‘It’s quite simple really. You must either attract more paying patients or charge the patients you’re already getting a lot more.’

‘I think our prices are pretty well in the top of the range as it is,’ said Ingrid.

‘That’s my impression too,’ said Dunbar. ‘So it’s a case of developing a marketing strategy that will you bring you more custom, identifying your strengths and capitalizing on them.’

‘Our patients seem well satisfied with the treatment they get here,’ said Ingrid.

Dunbar smiled ruefully and said, ‘The trouble is they can’t tell anyone about it. You said yourself that they don’t want people to know they’ve been here. You’re selling confidentiality.’

‘I hadn’t considered the down-side of it,’ said Ingrid. ‘I suppose we can hardly ask them to tell all their friends!’

‘Apart from that, their friends will be pretending there’s nothing wrong with them anyway!’ said Dunbar with an extravagant shrug that made Ingrid smile.

‘Dr Ross mentioned an NHS patient getting plastic surgery here tomorrow?’ he went on.

‘That’s right,’ replied Ingrid. ‘It’s a face reconstruction, a young girl. She was born with a protruding jaw that disfigured her whole appearance. The surgeons are going to fix it so that she can lead a normal life.’