Ken McClure - Crisis

‘We haven’t got it,’ said Mitchell. ‘Jesus,’ gasped Bannerman, overloaded with pain and frustration. ‘I don’t believe this place …’ ‘Who else would want it?’ said Mitchell. ‘You,’ accused Bannerman. ‘Why do you keep saying that?’ demanded Mitchell. ‘Julie Turnbull didn’t want you quacks getting your hands on Colin. We’re just seeing that her wishes are respected.’

‘Like hell you are,’ rasped Bannerman. The power worker, the man Bannerman had the run in with in the hotel washroom on the previous evening, moved as if to strike him but Mitchell put out a restraining hand.

Bannerman looked up at the man and said, ‘All the sheep aren’t on the hills are they Mitchell?’

The insult proved too much for the power worker who lashed out with his foot and caught Bannerman in the solar plexus.

Bannerman brought up the contents of his stomach and curled up in agony. Through his pain he heard Mitchell berate the man then turn his attention back to him. ‘If it’s any comfort Doctor,’ he said, ‘I believe you. Perhaps you will believe me when I say that … we haven’t got it either.’ The men left, leaving Bannerman lying on the cobbles.

Bannerman got to his knees and paused for a moment with one hand against the wall of the hotel. He could hear the engine of an approaching car. It slowed and turned into the lane leading from the main street to the hotel car-park. As its headlights swung round they caught him in their glare and the car came to a halt. Bannerman shielded his eyes and heard a car door being slammed as the driver got out.

‘My dear Doctor. What on earth happened?’ asked a friendly voice. It was Joop van Gelder.

‘I was mugged,’ replied Bannerman.

‘This is awful,’ exclaimed van Gelder. ‘Are you hurt badly? Can you stand? Let’s get you inside and then I’ll call the police.’

‘No, no police,’ said Bannerman.

‘But …’

‘Really, no police. It’s personal. Just leave it.’

‘Personal?’ exclaimed van Gelder. ‘You mean you know who did this to you?’

‘Just give me a hand up will you.’

Van Gelder helped Bannerman to his feet and supported him on one side, up the lane leading to the front of the hotel. As they passed the Dutchman’s car, Bannerman saw that there was a man sitting in the front passenger seat. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, alarm bells started ringing in his head. He felt sure that he knew the man but in his present state he couldn’t think clearly enough to put a name to him.

Shona came rushing over as soon as he was through the front door. ‘I was just coming to find you. Just look at you! What happened?’

‘Let’s say there was a misunderstanding over the fate of Colin Turnbull’s body,’ said Bannerman.

‘Come upstairs. Can you manage?’ Shona took over from van Gelder and helped Bannerman upstairs. Van Gelder called after them, ‘I still think you should let me call the police.’

‘No,’ said Bannerman. Thanks for your assistance.’

Shona closed the room door and said, Tell me. What happened out there?’

‘It was Mitchell from the power station and one of his pet monkeys. They thought I had stolen Turnbull’s body to carry out an autopsy.’

They thought you had taken the body?’ exclaimed Shona. ‘But you were sure that they had taken it!’

That’s about the size of it,’ agreed Bannerman, holding his stomach. ‘What hurts most?’ asked Shona. ‘I’d rather not say,’ said Bannerman. Shona smiled sympathetically. She said, ‘You don’t believe in taking the easy way do you Ian?’

‘Character-building stuff,’ said Bannerman through gritted teeth.

‘So who did take the body, and why?’ asked Shona.

‘An embarrassing question,’ said Bannerman.

‘Embarrassing?’

‘Because I haven’t a clue.’

Bannerman changed out of his soiled clothes and cleaned himself up. Shona helped by applying cotton wool soaked in antiseptic to some new superficial cuts and grazes.

‘Will you be fit enough to travel in the morning?’ asked Shona.

‘Yes … if you’ll drive?’

‘Don’t I always?’ said Shona.

Bannerman smiled. It turned out to be more of a grimace.

‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Brandy.’

‘Large?’

‘Enormous … and Shona?’

‘Yes?’

‘If you get the chance, try to find out who van Gelder was with this evening, will you?’

‘Still playing detective?’ smiled Shona.

‘Not for much longer,’ said Bannerman. ‘But I feel sure I know the man who was sitting in his car. I just can’t place him and it’s bothering me.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Shona.

Shona left the room and Bannerman got to his feet to walk slowly round the room. His aches and pains were beginning to subside and the question of who had taken the body was now uppermost in his mind. Julie Turnbull could not have known about it or she would have raised hell at their meeting, unless, of course, she had arranged it! That seemed to be the most likely explanation. Julie Turnbull had arranged for her husband’s body to be removed from the hospital for safety. Perhaps he should let sleeping dogs lie. His first priority was to get the infected sheep brain to Munro in Edinburgh. Searching for Turnbull’s body would only delay matters. He and Shona would set off for Edinburgh first thing in the morning. Events in Stobmor could take their natural course.

Shona returned with the brandy and the information that the man with van Gelder was his son, Peter.

‘His son?’ exclaimed Bannerman. ‘I asked the barman,’ said Shona. Then I must have been mistaken,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ve never met his son.’

‘Good looking chap. How are you feeling?’

‘Much better.’

‘You’d better get some sleep.’

Bannerman nodded.

‘You look all in,’ said Shona, coming over to him. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘See you in the morning.’

For once the weather was kind to them. The sun shone down on Stobmor from a blue sky and fluffy white clouds raced each other in a stiff breeze. There was a strong smell of the sea in the air as Bannerman loaded the polystyrene box containing the samples into the boot of the car and checked that it wasn’t leaking. He had opened it earlier to replace the ice.

Shona and Bannerman made good time on the journey down to Edinburgh, stopping only twice on the way. Once to have lunch and fill the tank with petrol and the second time to have coffee and stretch their legs in mid-afternoon. Bannerman phoned the Medical Research Council to keep them appraised of his whereabouts.

Once in Edinburgh, they booked in to a small hotel on the south side of the city and Bannerman called Hector Munro at the Neurobiology Unit.

‘Can I bring the samples over?’ he asked.

‘We’re all waiting,’ replied Munro. He gave Bannerman directions on how to find the unit which was situated in the university’s science complex at Kings Buildings in West Mains Road. Before he left, he thought it polite to call Morag Napier at the university medical school and tell her that he had succeeded in getting some infected brain samples.

That’s good news,’ said Morag. ‘How did you manage it?’

Bannerman told her about the sheep carcass that had escaped the lime pit.

‘What a piece of luck,’ said Morag. ‘Will you set up the tests yourself?’

Bannerman said that he was giving them to Munro at the Neurobiology Unit but if she would like some to complete the mouse experiments that her department had started then he would see to it that some tissue was sent to her.

‘Thank you Doctor,’ replied Morag. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what tests you are asking Dr Munro to do so that we don’t duplicate our efforts?’