Ken McClure - Crisis

Stoddart seemed totally uninterested in anything his wife had to say and would interrupt, at will, with completely unrelated observations. ‘Of course I’m a pituitary man myself,’ he suddenly announced in the middle of a discussion about orphanage conditions. ‘Really?’ said Bannerman, embarrassed on behalf of Stoddart’s wife, who looked down at the tablecloth and appeared to be holding her tongue in check.

‘1 suppose you’re familiar with my work?’ asked Stoddart.

‘Of course,’ lied Bannerman, thinking it must have been twenty years since Stoddart had last published anything.

Stoddart saw this as his cue to launch into an after-dinner lecture on his life’s work.

Bannerman sought solace in the brandy while nodding at appropriate intervals and sneaking surreptitious glances at his watch. When, eventually, Mrs Stoddart asked to be excused so that she could begin clearing the table, Bannerman took the opportunity to interrupt Stoddart and find out what he wanted to know.

‘Professor, I must ask you, what animal tests were set up on the brains of the three men from Achnagelloch?’

Stoddart adopted a serious expression. He thought for a moment, and then said, ‘1 think you would have to ask Lawrence Gill that.’

‘But I can’t can I?’ said Bannerman.

‘I suppose not,’ agreed Stoddart. Then I suppose Dr Napier would be your best bet.’

‘You haven’t been taking an interest in this investigation yourself then?’ asked Bannerman.

‘I’m the collator for the MRC survey figures, of course,’ said Stoddart, with comfortable self-importance.

‘I see,’ said Bannerman, who was seething inside. Jesus Christ, he thought. He’s confronted with something like this and he’s collating the figures. If ever there was a candidate for early retirement, he was currently listening to him drone on about the pituitary gland.

The following morning was Saturday, but Bannerman was in the medical school just after eight-thirty. He wasn’t sure if Morag Napier would be around but he thought he might be able to get her home phone number from someone. Apart from that, he wanted to carry out an examination of the bodies of the three dead men and to get brain biopsies to send to Munro at the Neurobiology Unit. He found his way to the mortuary and collared the duty attendant. He told him what he wanted.

‘I don’t know about that,’ said the man, shaking his head.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know about that?’ asked Bannerman, irritated but trying to keep his temper.

‘I’ve no note of this,’ said the man. ‘It’s not on my list.’

Then put it on your list!’ exclaimed Bannerman.

The man shook his head with a pitying smile and said, ‘It’s not as easy as that I’m afraid. There are procedures to be followed.’

Oh Christ, thought Bannerman. A traffic warden in charge of the mortuary is all I need. ‘Do you have a phone?’ he snapped.

‘Not an outside call, I trust,’ replied the man.

Bannerman brushed past him and called Stoddart, not caring if he was still in bed. As soon as Stoddart answered, he said curtly, ‘This is Bannerman. I’m at the mortuary and I want to examine the cadavers of the men Gill brought down from the north. Will you please tell your man that this is in order?’ Without waiting for a reply, he handed the receiver to the attendant and stared down at the desk, taking deep breaths as Stella had advised him to do when losing his temper. He heard the man say, ‘Yes sir, certainly sir, right away Professor,’ and then put the phone down.

‘I was just following the rules, sir,’ he said to Bannerman.

So were the guards at Auschwitz, thought Bannerman.

‘Any particular order sir?’ asked the attendant.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ replied Bannerman, taking off his shoes and putting on Wellingtons. He gowned-up while the attendant brought the first body through the narrow, tiled corridor leading from the vault and slid it on to the table. The light above the table stuttered into being and produced a background hum as Bannerman, fastening the last of the ties on his gown, walked up to the table and peeled back the shroud.

Even if no one had told him beforehand, he could have guessed that the dead man had had an outdoor occupation and that it involved physical effort. Despite the pallor of death there were still signs of a ruddy complexion, and the muscular development of his legs was marked. A jagged, dark line round his skull indicated where the skull cap had been removed when Gill had carried out the previous post-mortem.

‘I’ll need some specimen containers,’ Bannerman said to the attendant, who was keeping his distance.

‘What type?’

‘Glass, one ounce, Universal.’

The attendant brought four containers to the head of the table while Bannerman removed the top of the skull. He picked up a scalpel and forceps from the instrument tray that had been opened for him and looked inside the skull cavity. He felt stupid. There was nothing there!

Feeling as if he had been given a bad line to say in an amateur production, Bannerman said to the attendant, ‘Where is the corpse’s brain?’

‘If it’s not in his head, I don’t know, sir,’ replied the attendant, with an apparently straight face.

‘I take it you were not in attendance when Dr Gill carried out the first autopsy?’

‘No sir. I’m just weekends.’

‘Are copies of the reports kept down here?’

‘No, sir.’

Bannerman hadn’t really imagined that they would be. It was a forlorn hope. He was beginning to feel as though he was running in soft sand. ‘Put him back. I’ll check the other two.’

The story was the same with the other two cadavers. The brains had been removed and, by the look of them, the cranial cavities had been cleaned out afterwards.

Bannerman washed and went upstairs to see if he could find someone to give him Morag Napier’s telephone number. If he couldn’t, then it would mean another call to Stoddart. In the event he saw a light on in one of the labs and knocked on the door. He was invited to enter by a foreign sounding voice. He learned that Dr Klaus Lehman was on an exchange visit from the Max Plank Institute in Germany to work on a research project on allergies. Bannerman said he hoped that he would be able to talk to him about his project at some later date, but in the meantime, did he know if there was a staff telephone list? Lehman said that there was and that he had a copy.

The phone rang eight times before Morag Napier answered. ‘You caught me in the bath,’ she complained.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s important. I couldn’t find any details about the animal tests that you and Dr Gill must have set up on the brains of the three men from Achnagelloch. You must have left the notes out of the file.’

There was a pause before Morag Napier said, ‘I gave you everything there was in Lawrence’s desk. I wasn’t involved with the animal tests.’

‘But surely you must know what animal tests he set up?’ said Bannerman.

‘I’m afraid not.’

Bannerman tapped the heel of his right hand against his forehead in suppressed frustration. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Where is the animal lab, and will there be someone there today?’

Morag told him where the lab was and added, ‘One of the technicians will be in around noon.’

‘Good,’ said Bannerman. ‘Now can you tell me where the brains of the dead men are?’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Morag. ‘The bodies are in the mortuary.’

‘But their brains aren’t,’ said Bannerman.

‘Lawrence must have removed them.’

‘Where would he keep them?’

There’s a fridge-freezer in Lawrence’s lab. He sometimes stores specimens in that until they are no longer current.’