Ken McClure - Donor

‘I’d like to be able to call on you if it proves necessary at any point. I’d also be interested in any suggestions you might care to make as to why the kids died.’

‘You say both previous patients were given ostensibly compatible transplants yet they rejected them strongly? That would be unusual in itself.’

‘The computer agrees with you,’ said Dunbar. ‘I checked. They were the only two in the country to die with compatibility ratings as high as they had.’

Turner nodded. ‘You know that Ross has been experimenting with animal organs but you say you don’t think he risked trying them on the patients?’

‘I’ve seen his research data. There was no hope of success with pig organs the way they are at the moment. There would have been no point in attempting it.’

‘What about a mistake in the compatibility ratings given to the donor organs?’ suggested Turner.

‘Checked at both ends in Amy Teasdale’s case,’ said Dunbar.

Turner made a face. ‘They agreed?’

‘To within five per cent.’

‘Maybe we should check up on the kidney they’ve found for Amanda?’

‘Good idea,’ agreed Dunbar.

Turner logged on to the computer terminal in the corner of the room and asked for access to the donor database. While the machine was considering his request, he suddenly swore as if he’d just remembered something and got up to go next door. He came back clutching Amanda Chapman’s old notes. ‘We’re in luck,’ he said. ‘I thought they might have been taken down for filing. I need to know her tissue type.’

He thought for a moment, then went on, ‘It won’t be any good asking for a kidney match if the kidneys have already been booked for Amanda, but it might still be possible to ask about the availability of the liver.’ He entered the request for a liver, along with Amanda Chapman’s tissue type.

There was a delay of about thirty seconds before the screen filled with information. ‘There we are,’ said Turner quietly. ‘There’s our donor. Eighty-four per cent homology. A first-class match. Amanda should have no problem at all. All straight and above-board.’

Dunbar stared at the screen without emotion. ‘You’d better decline the liver,’ he said. ‘They’re holding it for you.’

Turner was about to enter the cancellation when Dunbar put a hand on his arm. ‘Before you cancel, can you find out where the organ is coming from?’

‘Sure.’

Turner requested the information, still under the pretext of searching for a liver for someone with Amanda’s tissue type. ‘Here it comes,’ he said as the screen blinked and changed. ‘The organ is available through the Kohl Clinic.’

‘Where’s that?’ asked Dunbar.

‘Geneva.’

‘Sweet Jesus,’ muttered Dunbar.

‘Something wrong?’

‘Ross has some connection with Geneva, a consultancy, something like that.’

‘Switzerland is full of private clinics,’ said Turner. ‘I don’t think you can read anything too sinister into that.’

Dunbar held up his hands in defence. ‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘It’s just that everywhere I turn I find little clues like that. I just can’t fit all the pieces together yet.’

Turner looked at him in silence for a few moments before saying, ‘I wish you luck. I feel sort of responsible for Amanda; I suggested the referral in the first place.’

‘And I didn’t raise any objection,’ said Dunbar with a wry smile. ‘That makes me equally guilty. You said the organ was “available through the Kohl Clinic”. What exactly does that mean?’

‘I’m not sure,’ confessed Turner. ‘I suspect it means that the patient isn’t actually in the clinic but the clinic is handling the arrangements.’

‘I see,’ said Dunbar thoughtfully. He sensed that Turner wasn’t telling all he knew. ‘Handling the arrangements?’ he prompted.

‘All right, I have my suspicions,’ said Turner. ‘There’s a black market in human organs just like there’s a black market in anything else that there’s a demand for. I suspect this Kohl Clinic may be a front for that sort of thing.’

‘I’ve heard stories of healthy people selling a kidney to make money in places like India,’ said Dunbar. ‘I didn’t realize how widespread it was.’

‘It goes on. I’ve heard tell that they even have a tissue-type register of people who are prepared to do this so they can call them in when a request comes through.’

‘God, what a world,’ sighed Dunbar.

‘That’s just a guess,’ insisted Turner. ‘And these organs don’t come cheap. It wouldn’t make any sense in Amanda’s case if Medic Ecosse are doing the paying.’

‘No, it wouldn’t,’ said Dunbar. ‘But not making sense is par for the course.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not being much help.’

‘You’ve given me something else to think about.’

‘You really are worried about this transplant, aren’t you?’ said Turner.

‘I’ve got such a bad feeling about it. But on the face of it, Amanda’s in a top-class hospital under the care of a world-famous surgeon and she’s about to receive a kidney with an eighty-four per cent compatibility rating. What can I do?’

‘Not a lot,’ said Turner.

‘Incidentally, they did a marrow puncture on Amy Teasdale too. It wasn’t a mistake. Ross knew she’d had one done before.’

‘He must have wanted stem cells,’ said Turner. ‘Wonder why? Maybe something to do with his immuno-preparation work.’ He shrugged and asked, ‘Is there anything else you’d like me to do?’

‘Just be available,’ said Dunbar. ‘Right now, I don’t know why or what for.’

‘I’ll give you my home number and a mobile as well.’

Dunbar returned to Medic Ecosse. He supposed he felt better for the chat with Turner, but he was far from easy in his mind. As he parked his car and walked round to the front of the hospital, a taxi drew up outside the front entrance and two men got out. They were well-dressed and had the aura of successful professional men, Dunbar noted as he passed that one was carrying a very expensive alligator-skin medical bag. Both had American accents.

Out of curiosity, Dunbar lingered near Reception, pretending to look for something in his briefcase.

‘We’re expected,’ said one of the men as they reached the desk.

‘Dr Ross left word,’ said the receptionist. She rang the bell for the porter and said to him, ‘Show these gentlemen up to the Omega wing, will you?’

Dunbar waited until the three men had disappeared before approaching the receptionist.

‘Dr Dunbar, what can I do for you?’

‘Those two men. Who were they?’

‘I couldn’t rightly say, Doctor. Dr Ross just advised me that two medical gentlemen would be arriving sometime this afternoon. Sounded American, if you ask me.’

Dunbar sat at his desk and embraced the silence. He took slow, deep breaths as an aid to thinking clearly and rationally; mounting frustration had been preventing this. He knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to put a stop to Amanda Chapman’s transplant operation, but he couldn’t. This was the unpalatable bottom line that was making him so uncomfortable. He couldn’t because he had no good reason to. If he tried, he would be seen by all and sundry as some kind of interfering lunatic, at best suffering from a sudden nervous breakdown, but more probably reviled as a madman of the sort who mowed down the innocent.

No one would listen and they couldn’t be blamed. There was really nothing of substance to consider. For that reason they would all be against him, the hospital, the transplant unit, Amanda’s parents, Sci-Med, everyone. Even if he were to succeed in stopping it, the chances were that Amanda would still die because she couldn’t get a transplant in time when — as others would not be slow to point out — one had been available. He would be seen as her murderer and all because he suspected things weren’t going to turn out well for her.