Ken McClure - Crisis

Bannerman smiled and said, ‘I would be honoured.’

MacLeod poured the whisky and Bannerman asked, ‘What happened about the examination of the bodies?’

‘They were taken to the small cottage hospital facility we have at Stobmor. Dr Gill performed elementary examinations and then Dr Napier took over the brunt of the laboratory work while Gill went around asking questions. After a few days it was decided that the bodies would be taken to Edinburgh for full autopsy.’

‘I didn’t realize you had a hospital in the area,’ said Bannerman.

‘It’s more of a clinic, really,’ replied MacLeod. ‘But we have a nursing sister and it’s somewhere where small or emergency operations can be carried out, should the need arise.’

Bannerman wondered about MacLeod’s ability to operate at his age but did not say anything. MacLeod smiled as he read his mind and said, ‘We can call on a surgical rota from Inverness and Glasgow.’

‘I see,’ said Bannerman.

‘And now you are going to ask me about the power station,’ said MacLeod.

‘I am?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you know that?’ asked Bannerman who was increasingly enjoying MacLeod’s company.

‘If you are looking for a likely cause of mutation in a virus, you could hardly ignore the presence of a nuclear power station next door could you?’

‘Once again I have to take my hat off to you Doctor,’ said Bannerman, with a smile. ‘Has the presence of the station caused any health problems in the area?’

‘It’s hard to be objective,’ replied MacLeod. The population is so small up here that it’s difficult to gather meaningful statistics.’

‘You have a higher than average childhood leukaemia incidence,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ve had a look at the figures for the area.’

That’s a good example,’ said MacLeod. Two years ago our figures were slightly below the national average. Two cases last year, one in Stobmor and another in one of the outlying farms, were enough to push us into the “statistically higher than average” category. It could have been chance.’

Bannerman nodded and said, ‘I thought that might be the case.’

‘Lies, damned lies and statistics,’ sighed MacLeod. ‘But that’s not to say that the children didn’t get it from the presence of the station. We just can’t prove it one way or the other.’

That brings me to my next question,’ said Bannerman. ‘Do you have any radiation monitoring equipment?’

MacLeod said that he had, adding, ‘I was given it when they opened the station, a battery operated Geiger counter and calibration kit.’

‘I’d like to borrow it,’ said Bannerman. ‘I want to take a look at the boundary land between the station and Inverladdie Farm.’

‘By all means,’ said MacLeod. He got out of his chair and slid open the bottom cupboard door of a bookcase that held volumes of medical text books. He brought out a wooden box fitted with brass catches, which he unclasped. There we are,’ he said, removing the cylindrical monitoring probe. ‘Better check the batteries.’

Bannerman decided that it was about time that he took a look at Stobmor, Achnagelloch’s neighbouring community. He ascertained that it boasted a hotel, then arranged by phone to have dinner there at eight o’clock. He left his own hotel at six and drove the seven miles over to Stobmor, leaving himself plenty of time to look round.

In many ways Stobmor was little different from Achnagelloch, although it did possess a small office block, an unimaginative concrete box with signs saying that it was the headquarters of the Dutch quarry company, Joop van Gelder. Further along the road Bannerman found the cottage hospital that MacLeod had mentioned although, at the moment, it seemed empty and showed no lights. There was a board outside giving emergency telephone numbers. In the main street he found the local job centre with a lighted window and looked at the cards for a while to see what was on offer in the area.

There were ten vacancies. There was a post for an electrician at the quarry — preferably with knowledge of electric motors. Three further jobs at the quarry were for labourers. There were openings for two security guards at the power station — ideally with a services background — and there was a lab technician’s job in the monitoring section. The remaining positions were for domestic help and for a shop assistant’s post in the local mini-market. There was one farm job on the board: it was for a sheep worker at Inverladdie.

As he walked the streets Bannerman passed the primary school with its child paintings stuck up proudly in the windows. Road safety appeared to have been the theme, with traffic lights and Zebra crossings well to the fore. One window was entirely taken over by a cardboard cut-out policeman holding up traffic with a hand that appeared to have sausages for fingers.

Bannerman noticed that there was no shortage of cars parked in the streets, many with registrations younger than three years old. He took this as a barometer of the prosperity of the town. The quarry and the power station had ensured full employment in the area. He wondered how long Inverladdie might have to wait before a man opted for a farm labourer’s wage instead of the more lucrative alternatives.

Bannerman’s theory of general prosperity seemed to be reinforced by the fact that the houses seemed well-cared for and the gardens tidy and meticulously tended. Many of the houses appeared to have undergone recent upgrading; their doors and windows had been replaced. This was a working community, well ordered and probably quite content, thought Bannerman. He made his way towards the Highland Lodge Hotel in Main Street and a dinner he was now ready for.

The dining-room of the hotel was empty when Bannerman went in, although he noticed that another table had been set for half a dozen people. It was cold in the room and he rubbed his hands together and shivered as he sat down and took the menu from the girl who had showed him in. Happily she took the hint and lit a butane gas fire that stood in front of the fireplace with its empty and cheerless grate. The butane burner made a noise like a propeller driven aircraft approaching from afar. It made Bannerman think of the war film, The Dambusters.

‘You’re not from round here,’ said the girl when she came back to hover, with her pad and pen at the ready.

‘Does that mean that local people wouldn’t dream of eating here?’ asked Bannerman, immediately regretting his mischief-making when he saw the girl blush deeply.

‘Oh no,’ she exclaimed. ‘I just meant that it was unusual to see a tourist at this time of year. Lots of people eat here, honestly.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’m sure it will be very nice.’

‘Mr van Gelder, himself, is giving a dinner party here later,’ said the girl, indicating to the set table.

‘A more than good enough recommendation I’m sure,’ said Bannerman, wishing that he hadn’t upset the girl in the first place and resolving to give her a big tip whatever the food was like. He guessed that she was a high-school girl making some money with an evening job. She had an openness and innocence about her that made him feel old.

‘Would you like a drink while you’re deciding?’ she asked.

‘I’d love a gin and tonic,’ replied Bannerman with a distant smile.

The meal proved far better than Bannerman had dared hope and was without doubt the best meal he had eaten since the one Shona MacLean had cooked. He found himself reluctant to leave the dining-room, which had warmed up considerably, and gladly accepted the offer of a second refill to his coffee cup to go with another cigarette. He was thinking about Shona MacLean when the all male dinner party arrived. He found that he recognized one of them. Jack Sproat, the owner of Inverladdie Farm was the second man to come into the room.