Ken McClure - Crisis

Bannerman broke the news to Shona in the cottage. She stood before him with moistness in her eyes and an air of beguiling vulnerability. She said, ‘I suppose I knew. As soon as Kirstie told me about the man using Lawrence’s ID and the business of the parcel …’ Her voice trailed off in sadness.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Bannerman, seeing that she was hurting.

Shona took a deep breath and recovered her composure. ‘What now?’ she asked, dabbing her eyes dry.

‘We’ll have to tell the authorities when we get back. They can recover the body and do what they have to do in such cases.’

Neither of them spoke much on the trip back to North Uist but just before they entered the harbour at Ralsay, Shona said, ‘You will make sure his wife knows that he did not run away to be with me won’t you?’

Bannerman agreed that he would.

Shona tied up the boat and they both climbed up onto the harbour wall. She looked at her watch and said, ‘You’re too late to get back to the mainland.’

‘One more night at Mrs Ferguson’s,’ said Bannerman, inwardly cringing at the thought of more bacon and egg.

‘Stay at my place,’ said Shona.

‘Won’t that give the neighbours cause to talk?’ asked Bannerman.

‘Yes,’ said Shona.

‘I think we could both do with a drink,’ said Shona as she closed the door of the white house and shut out the sound of the sea. ‘Whisky?’

‘Please.’

‘And then we’ll call the police?’

Bannerman hesitated with his response.

‘We won’t call the police?’ asked Shona.

‘I’d prefer it if you were to call the police … tomorrow, after I’ve left,’ said Bannerman. ‘My being here isn’t going to help and I have a job to do.’

‘What exactly is this job?’ asked Shona. ‘Do you know why Lawrence was killed?’

‘I genuinely don’t,’ said Bannerman. ‘But it has something to do with the deaths of three men up in Achnagelloch. Gill was looking into the cause of death and I think he must have found out something that certain people didn’t want him talking about.’

‘And it was worth killing him for?’

‘Apparently,’ shrugged Bannerman.

‘What was special about the deaths? How did these men die?’ asked Shona.

‘They died of brain disease.’

There’s more to it, isn’t there?’ said Shona.

‘What do you mean?’

There’s something you’re not telling me,’ said Shona.

Bannerman looked down at his feet, then confessed, There is a bit more, not that it helps in understanding why Lawrence Gill was killed.’

‘Will you tell me anyway?’ asked Shona.

Bannerman nodded. He said, ‘Have you ever heard of a disease called Scrapie?’

Shona shook her head.

‘It’s a disease of sheep, a brain disease. It’s been around for a long time but we thought it only affected sheep, so nobody paid it that much attention, until fairly recently.’

‘What happened?’

The disease crossed what we thought was a species barrier. It caused a condition in cattle called Bovine Spongioform Encephalopathy.’

‘Mad Cow Disease?’ said Shona.

‘Yes. It turned out that there was no species barrier between sheep and cows after all.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Shona.

‘We think that the three men up in Achnagelloch died of Scrapie.’

‘It crossed to humans?’ exclaimed Shona.

‘Yes, and we have to find out how and why.’

‘I see,’ said Shona. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t tell all your friends,’ said Bannerman.

Shona gave a slight smile and nodded. ‘Will you be going back to Edinburgh now?’ she asked.

‘No, Achnagelloch.’

‘But won’t you be in danger too?’ asked Shona.

‘I genuinely don’t know anything,’ said Bannerman.

‘But you’ll be doing the same thing Lawrence was doing, asking questions, poking your nose in.’

‘I suppose …’ said Bannerman thoughtfully.

‘Please be careful.’

Bannerman saw the look of concern in Shona’s eyes and nodded.

‘I won’t call the police until you’ve left,’ said Shona.

Thanks. One more thing,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d just report the finding of the body. Don’t tell them about the parcel or the man at the post office.’

‘If you say so, but won’t they think it was an accident in that case?’

‘I’ll make sure the authorities get to know what really happened. They’ll deal with it without the newspapers getting hold of it.’

Shona prepared a meal for them that Bannerman thought a good London restaurant would have had trouble matching. He purred appreciatively as he sipped his coffee afterwards.

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ said Shona. ‘I like cooking, so I quite look forward to visits from authors and publishers when they come to see me about illustrations.’

The ‘visitors’ thought Bannerman, remembering what Mrs Ferguson had said. Malicious old cow. ‘Can I help with the washing up?’

‘Yes if you like,’ said Shona.

When they’d finished, Shona manoeuvred another log on to the fire and they sat down to enjoy the warmth and the afterglow of well-being that the meal had bestowed on them. Shona asked Bannerman what he did when he wasn’t investigating things. He confessed that this was the first time he had ever been asked to ‘investigate’ anything. He was a consultant pathologist at a London hospital.

‘Then why ask you?’ said Shona.

‘I suppose because I’m a bit of an expert on brain disease.’

‘I see. And do you like being “a bit of an expert on brain disease”?’

Once again Bannerman felt uncomfortable about the question. It was the same feeling he had experienced earlier on the boat. ‘I suppose so,’ he replied without conviction.

‘It must be very interesting,’ said Shona, getting up to put some music on. She sat down again and reaching behind her brought a cushion round to place it on the floor at her feet. ‘Sit down there,’ she said.

Bannerman opened his mouth to say something but closed it again and sat down between Shona’s feet with his back to the chair.

‘I noticed earlier that you have an injured right shoulder,’ she said. ‘You’ve been favouring it all day.’ She kneaded her fingers into the muscles at the right side of Bannerman’s neck and he let out a moan that was part pain, part pleasure. ‘I hurt it yesterday,’ he confessed.

‘It’s not often I get to practise as a physiotherapist,’ said Shona.

‘Why did you give it up?’

‘It wasn’t what I wanted to do.’

That simple?’

That simple. We only get once chance in this life.’

‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

‘Feel free.’

Shona stopped her massage until Bannerman had lit a cigarette with a burning wooden splinter from the fire.

‘I thought doctors didn’t smoke,’ said Shona.

This one does.’

‘You find it as difficult as the rest of us to give up eh?’

‘I haven’t tried,’ said Bannerman.

Shona sensed there was something behind the comment. ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘If it’s as dangerous as you chaps are always telling us?’

There’s a belief around that death is a curable condition. My profession is responsible for creating it. They seem to suggest that if you eat the right things, take the right amount of exercise, avoid alcohol, tobacco, stay out of the sun and God knows what else, you’ll increase your chances of living for ever. Not so.’

‘No?’

‘It will only seem like it. No heed is given to the quality of life on offer. It could be argued that by doing all these things you’ll increase your chances of surviving long enough to lose all your faculties and end up as a blind, deaf, incontinent, doolally geriatric. I decided some time ago that that wasn’t for me.’