Ken McClure - Crisis

Bannerman’s euphoria at having made progress at last was tempered on the way back to Stobmor by the fact that he still had to make one of the pieces fit, and that piece was Colin Turnbull. Could Turnbull have eaten infected meat too? And if so, where had it come from? What was probably more important, was there any more still around? He had been assuming that the original infected sheep presented no problem because they had been buried in lime but maybe more than one had found its way into the freezers of Achnagelloch? He would have a word with MacLeod about it. The people respected their GP. A word about the possible dangers of eating sheep meat which had ‘fallen off the back of a lorry’ would be heeded. As for Turnbull, it seemed unlikely that he would have dined alone on illicit meat and it would be stretching coincidence a bit far if Turnbull’s wife should turn out to be vegetarian too.

Thinking of Turnbull’s wife made Bannerman realize that he would have to speak to her and judging by her behaviour yesterday, he wasn’t exactly her favourite person.

As he entered the main square at Stobmor he was still thinking about how best to approach her. He got out of the car and saw a bus pull up across the street. Shona got down from it.

Bannerman suddenly felt good, as if the sun had come out. He smiled broadly and called out ‘Hello there!’

Shona crossed the street, smiling and Bannerman wrapped his arms around her. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ he said.

Shona laughed at his obvious pleasure and asked, ‘Have you suddenly become a film star or haven’t you noticed that it’s raining?’

Bannerman lifted the dark glasses and Shona gasped. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’

‘It’s quite a story. Come on inside.’

‘They went into the hotel and Shona registered.

‘Will the adjoining room be all right?’ asked the clerk.

Tine,’ said Bannerman, choosing to ignore the smirk on the man’s face.

‘Will there be anything else?’

‘I’d like some ice,’ said Bannerman.

‘Ice?’

‘Yes, lots of ice. Have it sent up to my room will you?’

‘Yes sir, if you say so.’

Bannerman turned to Shona and said, That’s given him something to think about.’

‘Me too,’ replied Shona, with a quizzical look, as they headed for the stairs.

Bannerman filled Shona in on everything that had happened.

‘But will the specimens be all right packed in ice?’ she asked.

‘I can’t ask the hotel to put them in their freezer,’ replied Bannerman.

‘But if it was well wrapped?’

‘I can’t risk it,’ replied Bannerman. ‘We can’t put infected material like this anywhere near foodstuffs. I’ll just have to keep changing the ice until we leave for Edinburgh in the morning. A polystyrene box would help with insulation. Any ideas?’

‘Lots of things are packed in polystyrene these days. Why not ask the desk clerk? He might be able to come up with something.’

Bannerman phoned down to the desk.

‘A polystyrene box?’

‘Yes, and more ice.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

A few minutes later the clerk appeared at the door with an armful of polystyrene and a full ice bucket. This was the packing from a new microwave oven,’ said the man. ‘Will this do.’

‘Nice and thick,’ said Bannerman. ‘This will do perfectly.’

Bannerman closed the door and saw that Shona was smiling broadly. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘That poor man was obviously wondering what we were up to,’ said Shona.

‘Really?’ said Bannerman. He turned and looked at the closed door, wondering if the clerk was outside listening. ‘Use the polystyrene!’ he said suddenly in a loud voice suffused with mock passion.

Shona had to cover her mouth.

‘Now the ice! Oh God yes, the ice!’ ‘More polystyrene! My God that’s wonderful.’ Bannerman moved around the room feigning the sounds of sexual ecstasy while Shona collapsed on the bed in fits of laughter. ‘You’re crazy!’

‘Not usually,’ said Bannerman, suddenly serious. ‘I think it comes with being happy.’

Shona got up and came over to him. Then long may you be crazy,’ she said softly. She reached up to kiss him.

‘Mind my nose,’ said Bannerman.

Bannerman fashioned the polystyrene packing into a container for the sheep samples and packed ice around it before sealing the package with adhesive tape. ‘Perfect,’ he said, admiring his handiwork. That just leaves Mrs Turnbull to deal with, then we can have a nice quiet dinner, a good night’s sleep and we’re off to Edinburgh.’

‘From what you’ve said, she’s not going to be very pleased to see you,’ said Shona.

Bannerman nodded and said, ‘I think I’ll try getting Angus MacLeod to approach her first. She was very upset yesterday but I’m sure she’ll be calmer today.’ He called MacLeod and asked for his help.

‘Are you going to try to persuade her that her husband’s body should be handed over for post-mortem?’ asked MacLeod.

‘No I’m not,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Apart from anything else, that would be accusing her of complicity in its removal. I just want to ask her a few questions. I promise I won’t upset her and there will be no mention of post-mortems.’

‘Then I’ll do my best,’ said MacLeod.

‘There’s one more thing Angus,’ said Bannerman.

‘What?’

Bannerman told him about the infected sheep which had escaped destruction in the lime pit. ‘Do you think you could make discreet enquiries to see if any more sheep “escaped” from Inverladdie and quietly warn people off?’

MacLeod said that he would.

Ten minutes later MacLeod called back. He said, ‘Julie Turnbull has agreed to talk to you. I will hold you to your promise not to upset her.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Bannerman. ‘When can I see her?’

‘Seven-thirty this evening.’

‘Her address?’

MacLeod read it out and Bannerman copied it down. ‘I’m grateful to you,’ he said.

‘Just don’t upset her,’ said MacLeod.

Bannerman left the hotel, assuring Shona that he shouldn’t be any longer than half an hour. He had dressed casually, hoping that this might help dispel Julie Turnbull’s initial impression of him as a ghoul, hell-bent on stealing her husband’s brain. Shona had suggested that a suit and tie might be deemed more respectful but Bannerman decided that Julie would have seen enough black ties in the last twenty-four hours. He wore a sweater, slacks and a leather jerkin.

Bannerman followed MacLeod’s directions and found the house in a quiet street three blocks north of the primary school where Julie worked. The blinds were half drawn. There was an air of nearness and order about the place, an air which extended to others in the row with one exception. The house which stood three doors away from the Turnbull’s cottage had two wrecked cars in its drive. Its garden was unkempt and a motor cycle with its back wheel missing was propped up against the front wall. There’s always one,’ thought Bannerman.

Julie Turnbull was wearing black. Her face was pale and her eyes were ringed with redness. She took a pace back to indicate that Bannerman should come in but didn’t say anything until they were in the living-room. ‘I really didn’t want to see you Dr Bannerman but Dr MacLeod persuaded me that I should.’

‘I’m grateful to you, Mrs Turnbull,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Please believe me when I say that you have my deepest sympathy. I met your husband on several occasions when I was last here and I liked him a lot.’

‘What is it you want to know?’ asked Julie Turnbull.

‘I want to know if Colin knew any of the other men who died recently in Achnagelloch and Stobmor.’