Ken McClure - Crisis

They stopped at Aviemore to eat and chose a restaurant which appeared inviting by virtue of its orange lighting which suggested warmth. Inside, people in ski-wear were bemoaning the fact that there had been no snow. They were complaining about how much money it was costing them to find alternative things to do.

‘Last bloody time,’ said one man with a pronounced north of England accent. ‘I could have gone to bloody Zermatt for half of what it cost me to visit bonnie bloody Scotland.’

‘Maybe it’ll snow tomorrow, love,’ suggested his wife.

‘Piss wi’ bloody rain more like,’ said her husband.

The general consensus agreed with the husband.

‘I’ve not had a single chance to try out my new skis,’ complained another woman clad in what appeared to be a purple-coloured second skin. It clashed violently with her pink lipstick. Sunglasses, perched high up in her hair, seemed as incongruous as sandals in Siberia.

The northern man leaned towards her and said, ‘I tell you what, love, if that silly bloody tour guide comes round once more with his silly bloody talk about going for a nice walk in the hills, I’ll try out your new skis for you on him … sideways.’

The skiers laughed and Bannerman noted that the Dunkirk spirit, so beloved by politicians, was still alive and well.

‘Do you ski?’ Shona asked.

Bannerman said not. ‘You?’

Shona shook her head.

Despite the fact that it had rained for most of the way and the wind was forcing high-sided vehicles to double-up on the Forth Road Bridge, Bannerman was sorry that the journey was coming to an end. He and Shona had spoken practically non-stop and he had enjoyed every minute of it. There was something about Shona’s philosophy of life which he found intriguing and appealing. On the surface it appeared to be straightforward and uncomplicated — people should do what they want to do. It was only when you considered the difficulties of putting this into practice that the degree of achievement in actually doing it became apparent. As Angus MacLeod had pointed out, people liked to pretend that they were doing things their way, but it was seldom true.

‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Shona.

‘Life,’ smiled Bannerman.

‘Life is what happens to you while you’re thinking about it,’ said Shona.

Bannerman turned his head to look at her. She was concentrating on the road ahead but there was no sign of stress or strain on her face, despite the appalling driving conditions. She seemed vibrantly alive and enjoying every minute of it. What was more, she looked beautiful.

‘What are you thinking now?’

1 was thinking I would have to phone the Medical Research Council in the morning,’ lied Bannerman.

As they cleared the brow of a hill the darkness ahead was suddenly speckled by a carpet of amber lights in the distance, denoting the outskirts of the city. Shona asked, ‘Where are you staying?’

‘In the Royal Mile but drive to where you want to go and I can drive from there, really. How long are you staying?’

‘I’ll have a wander round tomorrow and look up some old friends. I’ll probably head back the day after tomorrow,’ said Shona.

‘You’re not staying with friends then?’ asked Bannerman.

‘No.’

Bannerman felt awkward. He said, ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but the apartment they’ve given me has two bedrooms and if you would care to stay there while you’re here, you’d be most welcome.’

Shona smiled at Bannerman’s awkwardness, thinking it belonged to another generation. Remembering what Bannerman had said to her on North Uist about the neighbours, she said, ‘Wouldn’t the good people of the university be outraged?’

‘Probably,’ said Bannerman.

‘Then I accept,’ said Shona.

‘Welcome back Doctor,’ said George Stoddart, when had informed Stoddart about the real fate of ‘poor Lawrence’. He was relieved to find, as the conversation progressed, that Stoddart was under the impression that Gill’s death had been an accident. This was good. Stoddart could contribute nothing useful to the investigation. The less he knew the better.

‘Such a promising career,’ crooned Stoddart, ‘and all sacrificed on the altar of Venus.’

Bannerman looked at Stoddart sideways, wondering if he’d heard right. ‘Professor,’ he said, ‘Lawrence Gill’s running off had nothing to do with “Venus”. He did not run off to be with another woman as you all thought.’

Then why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Most peculiar,’ mumbled Stoddart.

‘I don’t see Doctor Napier,’ said Bannerman looking about him.

‘No,’ said Stoddart. ‘She took the news of Lawrence’s death very hard I’m afraid. I suggested she have a couple of days off.’

Damn, thought Bannerman. He had hoped to hear news of the animal experiments from Morag Napier. Now he would have to glean what he could for himself.

Bannerman was surprised to find the door to the animal lab unlocked. He opened it and knocked gently on the glass portion of the half open door; there was no reply, so he went inside. He followed the sound of music coming from one of the back rooms until he found signs of life. The animal technician on duty was not the same girl that he had seen on his last visit with Morag Napier. This was an older woman and she was carrying out a post-mortem examination on a rabbit. The animal was spread-eagled on a wooden board, its limbs secured to nails at the four corners by strong elastic bands. The first incision had been made, opening the animal from neck to crotch and the technician was presently taking samples of lung tissue. Music was coming from a small portable radio propped up on a corner of the table.

Bannerman coughed quietly to attract attention.

The woman dropped the scalpel she had been holding and caught her breath. The instrument bounced off the edge of the table and clattered to the floor. ‘God, you gave me a fright,’ she exclaimed. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Bannerman. We haven’t met.’

‘Bannerman?’ repeated the woman, the tone of her voice indicating that the name meant nothing to her. Her whole demeanour suggested fear and uncertainty.

Bannerman smiled in an effort to put her at ease. ‘From the MRC,’ he said. ‘I’m working on Dr Gill’s project. I’m sorry I startled you.’

The woman relaxed. ‘My fault,’ she said. The door should have been locked but I forgot again. The Prof will have my hide if he finds out; you won’t tell him will you?’

Bannerman shook his head. ‘No. Why the preoccupation with locked doors?’

The animal rights people,’ replied the woman. They’ve been active around Edinburgh recently.’

Bannerman watched as the woman used Lysol to swab the areas of the table and floor that the dropped scalpel had come into contact with. She discarded the used swabs in a sterilizer bin.

‘Something nasty?’ asked Bannerman, noticing the meticulous care she was taking.

TB,’ replied the woman. ‘It’s making a come-back in AIDS patients.’

‘Why the rabbit?’

There was some question about this particular patient’s strain being bovine or human in origin so we did a guinea pig and rabbit inoculation. If it’s bovine it’ll infect both, if it’s human it’ll only go for the guinea pig, but I suppose you knew that?’

‘If I ever did, I’ve long since forgotten,’ smiled Bannerman. ‘I haven’t come across a case of TB in years.’

‘Lots of things are making a come-back in AIDS patients,’ said the woman. ‘People with no immune system are just what a whole lot of bugs have been waiting for.’

‘Not a happy thought Miss…?’ said Bannerman.

‘Cullen, Lorna Cullen. Have a look at the lungs on this animal. They’re riddled.’