Ken McClure - Donor

‘Call London. But first I have to check on something back at the hotel. I’ll ring you later.’

Dunbar thought hard as he drove to his hotel. He had a clear idea of what he wanted to do next, should it be possible, but felt compelled to consider the consequences. There were people’s sensitivities to consider. He could end up causing great distress. Was it absolutely necessary? Was there a way around it? By the time he reached his room back at the hotel he had concluded not. The only thing left to discover now was if it was possible.

The files Sci-Med had given him at the outset contained the information he needed. Kenneth Lineham, the boy who had died in Sheila Barnes’s care, had been cremated but Amy Teasdale had been buried. She lay in a churchyard in Lanarkshire. What he was going to request was therefore possible, but he still hesitated before picking up the phone and dialling Sci-Med’s number.

‘I want her exhumed.’

‘Have you thought this through, Dunbar?’ asked Frobisher, the number two man at Sci-Med who was on call for any important decisions to be made during the night. ‘This is a major undertaking. If we get an official order and exhume the child and you turn out to be wrong, there’ll be merry hell to pay. The backlash could seriously damage Sci-Med. I’m not sure we can take that kind of chance at this stage. All you have to go on is the fact you saw a pig autopsy in the hospital.’

‘I’ve thought it through and I think the sooner we exhume her the better,’ said Dunbar. ‘Does it have to be official?’

‘Now we’re really getting into dangerous territory,’ said Frobisher. ‘We’re not M15, you know. We can’t go around digging up people willy-nilly.’

‘I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t believe it to be important,’ said Dunbar.

Frobisher let his breath out slowly between his teeth. ‘There’s nothing we can do until morning, anyway,’ he said. ‘I’ll relay your request to Mr Macmillan when he comes in. He won’t be any happier about it than I am but maybe together we’ll think of some way we can do this without a brass band playing. There’s nothing the television people like better than a bloody exhumation.’

Dunbar was about to hang up when Frobisher said, ‘Hang on, there’s a lab report here for you. Do you want it now?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Dunbar.

‘It’s an analysis of some radioactive debris you sent in. The lab say the source was an industrial isotope used in the testing of radiation shielding.’

‘Industrial?’ exclaimed Dunbar. ‘Not medical?’

‘Apparently not. They’ve narrowed it down to four possible companies that use this sort of thing, apart, of course, from the Amersham company which makes the stuff.’

‘Any of them in Glasgow?’

‘Afraid not. None in Scotland at all. The nearest to you would be Baxters on Tyneside.’

‘Shit,’ said Dunbar.

‘Something’s troubling you,’ said Kate as she watched Sandy play with the food on his plate. He’d just turned over the same forkful of mashed potato for the third time.

‘Mmmm,’ he replied.

‘Well, out with it then,’ demanded Kate.

‘I suppose it was Amanda being so low yesterday. It really got to me. I felt sure she’d be better not worse. To see her like that was just so-’

‘But she was much better today,’ interrupted Kate. ‘Just like the nurse said she would be, and she’ll probably be even better tomorrow. You’ll see. They’re very pleased with her. Yesterday was just because of the tests they had to do.’

‘But they didn’t have to do them. That’s just the point. She’d already had all her immuno-typing done. It must be in her notes. Why did they put her through all that pain all over again?’

Kate shook her head as if it were an unreasonable question. ‘You know much more about these things than I do,’ she said. ‘But the nurse said they were just routine procedures to check her immunology… something or other.’

‘Immunology pattern. Yes, I know, but that’s all been done before. Her blood group, her tissue type, everything has already been done. It all had to be done before they entered her on the transplant register. Why put her through the misery of a marrow puncture?’

Kate shrugged and said, ‘Well, I suppose I’m happy to assume that the hospital knows best.’

‘Hospitals depend on that,’ said Sandy sourly.

‘Who’s being cynical, then?’ said Kate with a cajoling smile.

He relaxed a little and said, ‘All right, maybe I am worrying unnecessarily but I work in hospitals, remember. I know they’re not infallible. Mix-ups happen, mistakes are made, wrong tests are ordered, overdoses are given. In many ways they’re the most dangerous places on earth. Reservoirs of infection posing as havens of hygiene and sterility.’

Kate had heard it all before. ‘Look, if you’re really upset about this test thing, why don’t you make an appointment to see one of the doctors and ask them outright about it? I’m sure they’d be happy to tell you.’

‘I suppose because I don’t want to be seen as a troublemaker. They’re treating our daughter for free and they’re the best chance she’s got. In fact, they’re probably the only one. It would look like ingratitude and, believe me, I’m not ungrateful.’

‘I still think it would be all right if you asked politely. After all, you’re in the business, so to speak.’

‘Hospitals hate that worse than anything,’ said Sandy. ‘They prefer complete ignorance in their patients and relatives, followed by unquestioning acceptance of anything they care to tell you.’

‘Well, if you don’t want to ask them, why not ask Clive Turner? Maybe he knows why they did the tests again. He’s always been very nice to us and you wouldn’t question anything he’s done.’

‘Now that’s a good idea,’ he agreed, brightening. ‘I might just do that. In fact,’ — he looked at his watch — ‘I’ll try to catch him right now.’

‘Paging Dr Turner for you,’ said the hospital voice.

‘Dr Turner.’

‘Clive, it’s Sandy Chapman here.’

‘Hello there. I was just thinking about you folks this morning. How’s Amanda doing?’

‘That’s really why I’m calling. She was quite ill when we went to see her yesterday and a nurse told me that she’d had her dialysis withheld while they did some tests on her, including a marrow puncture.’

‘A marrow puncture?’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Sandy, acknowledging the surprise in Turner’s voice. ‘The nurse there said it wasn’t unusual for transplant patients. I pointed out that Amanda has already had all these tests done, but I don’t think I got through to her. I didn’t like to request a meeting with the doctors over it because I didn’t want to make a fuss but, on the other hand, I’d still like to know why they put her through that. I thought you might have some idea?’

‘I’m embarrassed to say that I haven’t,’ replied Turner. ‘Amanda’s immunological data is all known and recorded on the register.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘I can’t imagine why they’d want to repeat it all, although I suppose there must have been a reason… I’m trying to think if there’s any way I could find out for you without stepping on sensitive toes.’

‘I don’t want to make waves, but it’s something that’s been niggling away at me.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Turner. ‘There’s a chap I know over there called Steven Dunbar. He’s a doctor but he’s not actually on the medical staff so he won’t be inclined to take offence. Maybe I’ll ask him if he can find out for us discreetly. I know him through the negotiations to have Amanda admitted there.’