Ken McClure - Donor

He closed up the loft and brought the pipe down into the living room. He slipped the little foil packet inside it and, using the handle of the screwdriver, flattened the ends of the pipe to seal the packet inside. He ran the probe over the outside and was pleased to hear that the radiation was now in check. He could hear only background clicks. He screwed the plastic cover back on the junction box and stood up. He had a sick, hollow feeling in his stomach as if he had been going up too fast in a lift. It was one thing being afraid of what you were up against, but when you didn’t know what that was it made you doubly fearful. He looked back at the junction box and wondered who had installed it. It must have been so easy. Someone posing as a telephone engineer perhaps? Supposedly checking a fault in the line? He could see how it could have been done without arousing any suspicion.

He put his things back into his briefcase along with the lead-shielded sample of debris and shone the torch around the floor area to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. He composed himself for a few moments before preparing to run the gauntlet of the security light once more.

This time he wasn’t so lucky. He had only taken one sideways step with his back pressed against the wall when the light clicked on, illuminating him and the garden. He felt as if he had just come on stage at the London Palladium. Instinctively he sprinted to the corner of the house and threw himself flat in the shrubbery. As he did so a light came on in the Proudfoots’ upstairs bedroom and a face appeared at the window; a hand started clearing a patch in the condensation on the glass in order to see out.

Dunbar wasn’t at all sure about his cover so he was reluctant to move a muscle lest movement attract attention. He couldn’t even afford to turn his head to look up at the bedroom window. His peripheral vision suggested that there was someone still there.

At that moment a cat chose to saunter across the garden path, sniffing the night air and haughtily ignoring the human being at the window above him. The cat sensed Dunbar’s presence and stopped in its tracks to stare at him. Dunbar closed his eyes and prayed. This could go either way. Either the neighbour would think that the cat had triggered the light and go back to bed or he would notice that the cat had found something and get suspicious himself.

After what seemed like an eternity, the bedroom light went off and all was quiet again. The cat moved off to more interesting things and Dunbar lay stock still for a further three minutes until the security light had reset itself. Moving slowly backwards and out of range, he quickly glanced both ways in the street before jumping over the fence and walking briskly back to his car. The night air and the icy cold did nothing to help his state of mind. He was filled with apprehension. He had become involved in something that was much bigger than he could ever have imagined at the outset. Sheila Barnes and her husband getting cancer had been no accident.

Thinking about Sheila made him wonder about Lisa. If they — whoever they were — had set out to murder Sheila Barnes, might they not try to do the same to Lisa? Dunbar’s foot flew to the brake pedal and the tyres squealed in protest. He executed a three-point turn with more noise than elegance and started racing through the streets to her flat.

‘Who is it?’ asked a sleepy-voiced Lisa.

‘Steven Dunbar. I have to talk to you!’ said Dunbar into the entryphone.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ she protested.

‘I have to see you. It’s important.’

‘It had better be,’ said Lisa, releasing the lock.

Dunbar sprinted up the stairs, carrying his briefcase under his right arm. Lisa was waiting for him at her front door, wearing dressing gown and slippers. Her arms were crossed over her body in deference to the cold. She quickly ushered him inside.

‘This had better be good.’

‘I think you’re in danger.’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

The sleep had gone from Lisa. She was now wide awake and alert. She watched as Dunbar, ignoring her, brought out the radiation monitor from his briefcase and unclipped the probe. He went directly to the telephone and started tracing the cable back along the wall. There was no sign of any new junction box.

‘Have you had any visits from a telephone engineer in the past few weeks?’ he asked, starting to move the probe to other areas of the room.

‘Telephone engineer? Will you please tell me what’s going on?’

‘Have you?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘Any other workmen calling unexpectedly?’

‘No, no one.’

Dunbar began to relax.

‘Will you please tell me what all this is about?’ said Lisa.

‘I’d better just check your bedroom.’

Lisa said, ‘Dunbar, I’ve heard some crummy lines in my time, but this takes the prize.’

Dunbar didn’t smile. He said, ‘It looks as if Sheila Barnes and her husband didn’t get cancer through some quirk of fate. I think someone may have planted a radiation source in their house.’

Lisa’s eyes went as round as saucers. ‘A radiation source? You mean it could be murder?’

Dunbar nodded. ‘Could be.’

‘But why? I mean who?’

‘Only one name comes to mind,’ said Dunbar.

‘You mean Medic Ecosse?’ exclaimed Lisa.

Dunbar shrugged. ‘You can’t buy radioactive isotopes at the corner shop. Who else would have access?’

Lisa sank into a chair and held her hands to her face.

Dunbar said, ‘I had the awful thought they might be doing the same to you.’

Lisa shook her head slowly. The confidence had gone from her eyes. She looked like a little girl who had suddenly become very afraid.

He put down the probe and wrapped his arms round her for a few moments. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything here,’ he assured her. ‘But I’d better check the other rooms.’

She nodded and led the way. The flat was clean.

‘Are you all right?’ Dunbar inquired gently when they returned to the living room.

Lisa looked up and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Where do we go from here?’ she asked.

‘Until I know for sure, I have to assume that they did this to Sheila to shut her up about the child who died, although the method is positively bizarre. We could call in the police right now but that might stop us finding out what’s behind it all.’

‘Then you do believe there’s something in what Sheila Barnes and I have been staying?’ asked Lisa.

‘I think I did even before this.’

‘Supposing you don’t call the police. What’s the alternative?’

‘Sci-Med can continue the investigation in secret.’

‘I want to know why Amy died,’ said Lisa. ‘I want someone to pay for it.’

Dunbar nodded.

‘On the other hand, I’m scared,’ she confessed.

Dunbar did not offer false reassurance.

‘What about the radiation source you mentioned? What’s going to happen to it?’

‘It had already been removed but I found traces of it. They’d concealed it in a telephone junction box on the wall — that’s why I was checking your phone line. I collected some debris from the box. I’m going to ask the Sci-Med people if they can identify the isotope and find out where it came from. There aren’t many establishments that supply radioactive materials in the UK, and they’re all obliged to keep strict records.’

‘So they’ll be able to tell if it was ordered through Medic Ecosse?’

‘That’s my hope,’ said Dunbar. ‘If we can show that Sheila was murdered, and link her death to Medic Ecosse, all the stops will be pulled out in a search for the motive. If we call in the police right now and then find that we can’t link the two, the whole thing will be blown.’