by Ken McClure
‘All these things are usually done at the donor hospital,’ said Ross.
‘Of course. That would make sense,’ said Dunbar. ‘I just wondered whether, with an international donor network, standards might vary from country to country.’
‘All hospitals in the network work to the highest standards,’ said Ross.
‘I see,’ said Dunbar.
‘But when we have time to spare, we do carry out our own screening,’ said Ross.
‘I felt sure you would,’ said Dunbar.
‘And here we are back where we started,’ said Ross as they returned to the unit’s foyer. ‘Is there anything else we can show you or help you with?’
‘Your research labs,’ said Dunbar. ‘I didn’t see them.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ agreed Ross. ‘My labs aren’t actually in the hospital. As you’re not funding them any more, I didn’t think they’d come within your remit.’
Dunbar detected resentment in Ross’s voice. He decided on a conciliatory response. ‘You’re absolutely right. I was just personally interested. Did you manage to get alternative funding for your work, Doctor?’
‘Enough to keep going for the moment,’ replied Ross. ‘Medic International have been generous.’
‘I’m glad. It was all very unfortunate.’
‘Yes,’ replied Ross. He seemed wryly amused at Dunbar’s choice of word. ‘Most unfortunate.’
‘How is the research going?’
‘Quite well, thank you, but progress is never as fast as one would like.’
‘I suppose not.’
Dunbar shook hands with Ross and Hatfull and followed Ingrid into the elevator.
‘I wasn’t supposed to know about Omega patients, was I?’ he asked as they descended.
Ingrid smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. Dr Ross was just a bit surprised that you knew about them. We don’t get that many, and you’ve only been here five minutes.’
‘Why Omega?’
‘The last letter of the Greek alphabet for the last word in care and attention,’ said Ingrid. ‘Nothing’s too good for them. Nothing’s too much trouble.’
‘At a price,’ said Dunbar.
‘Of course. They’re used to being pampered. Most of our patients are. Do you know what they’re really paying for at Medic Ecosse?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Secrecy,’ she said. ‘Absolute discretion. People who come here for cosmetic surgery don’t want their friends to know they’re having it done. People who come here because they’re ill don’t want their enemies to know about it. Any suggestion of ill health at the top can trigger a coup or wipe millions off share values. Complete confidentiality is probably the most valuable commodity we offer.’
‘I’m surprised you told me about Omega patients at all,’ said Dunbar.
‘I just thought as you’re going to be going through the books you were going to find out everything that goes on anyway.’
‘True.’
‘I promise you, you are going to be sick of the word “confidential” before you’re through,’ said Ingrid. ‘People here think twice before they’ll tell you the time. They’re not being obstructive. Their job depends on it.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Dunbar. ‘But I do have the right to request any information I feel I need.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she mimicked. ‘Is there anything else you want to see?’
‘Not at the moment. I think I’ll make a start on the paperwork and maybe have a wander around later on my own if there’s time.’
‘Don’t forget your ID badge.’
Dunbar nodded.
‘So you won’t be needing me any more today?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ll make a note of any questions and maybe we can talk again in the morning.’
Ingrid looked at her watch and said, ‘It’s lunch-time. Would you like to try the staff restaurant or do you have other plans?’
‘No other plans,’ said Dunbar.
As they walked towards the restaurant he asked, ‘Which wing is the Omega patient in?’
‘The east wing of Obstetrics.’
‘Then she’s having a baby?’
‘That would be my guess too,’ replied Ingrid. ‘Here we are.’ She pushed open a swing door and ushered Dunbar in first. The staff restaurant at Medic Ecosse was a light, bright self-service facility which, judging by the crowd, was very popular. Dunbar opted for a tuna salad and looked around for a table while Ingrid collected her baked potato. He saw two nurses about to vacate a table by the window and timed his approach to coincide with their leaving. He waved to Ingrid, who had momentarily lost sight of him.
‘You’ve done this before,’ she said as she joined him.
‘London-trained,’ he replied. ‘Push or die. Is it always this busy?’
‘Most days,’ replied Ingrid. ‘There aren’t too many other places round here. Apart from that the meals are heavily subsidized.’
‘I noticed.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Ingrid.
‘The price of a tuna salad isn’t going to make much difference to government investment in Medic Ecosse,’ he assured her.
‘What is?’ she asked.
‘It’s quite simple really. You must either attract more paying patients or charge the patients you’re already getting a lot more.’
‘I think our prices are pretty well in the top of the range as it is,’ said Ingrid.
‘That’s my impression too,’ said Dunbar. ‘So it’s a case of developing a marketing strategy that will you bring you more custom, identifying your strengths and capitalizing on them.’
‘Our patients seem well satisfied with the treatment they get here,’ said Ingrid.
Dunbar smiled ruefully and said, ‘The trouble is they can’t tell anyone about it. You said yourself that they don’t want people to know they’ve been here. You’re selling confidentiality.’
‘I hadn’t considered the down-side of it,’ said Ingrid. ‘I suppose we can hardly ask them to tell all their friends!’
‘Apart from that, their friends will be pretending there’s nothing wrong with them anyway!’ said Dunbar with an extravagant shrug that made Ingrid smile.
‘Dr Ross mentioned an NHS patient getting plastic surgery here tomorrow?’ he went on.
‘That’s right,’ replied Ingrid. ‘It’s a face reconstruction, a young girl. She was born with a protruding jaw that disfigured her whole appearance. The surgeons are going to fix it so that she can lead a normal life.’
‘I take it the hospital has put out a press release?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Ingrid. ‘I’m told the results will be quite dramatic, so the before and after pictures should be spectacular.’
Dunbar nodded. ‘Especially as there’s no scarring with that particular operation. They do all the cutting from inside the mouth, even removing portions of jawbone from either side. It should be very good publicity for the hospital.’
Ingrid said quietly, ‘I don’t think that’s the only reason the surgeons are doing it.’
‘Of course not,’ he conceded. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded cynical. The hospital needs as much good publicity as it can get.’
‘You seemed very interested in Dr Ross’s unit this morning. Is transplant technology a particular interest of yours?’
‘Not really,’ he said, immediately on his guard.
‘You seemed very interested in the logistics of transplants and what happened to the donor organs when they arrived,’ she persisted.
Alarm bells rang in Dunbar’s head. If Ingrid thought that, the chances were that Ross and Hatfull must have thought the same. Damn it! Had he overplayed his hand on his very first day? ‘I was just curious,’ he lied.
SIX
Dunbar spent the afternoon looking through the computerized staff and accounting files provided by Leo Giordano’s office. He found it all extremely boring but felt obliged to identify some questions to ask in the next few days, in order to ma
ke his role in the hospital seem genuine. As for the real purpose of his visit, he was just looking and learning. So far, everything about the hospital, and the transplant unit in particular, seemed impressive. Its record in terms of successful transplants was second to none, it was staffed by people of the highest calibre, the equipment was state-of-the-art, it was led by one of the finest transplant surgeons in the country, if not the world, and the unit was not under pressure — the usual cause of things going wrong in a hospital. If first impressions were anything to go by, Ross’s unit was the last place on earth he was going to find evidence of mix-ups or sloppiness.
The thing that still bothered him, of course, was the same thing that had bothered the Sci-Med computer, the fact that the same allegation had been made not once but twice, by two trained nurses, who didn’t know each other. At least, he had assumed they didn’t know each other. Was it possible that they did? He took the Sci-Med personnel files from his briefcase and checked the dates. Sheila Barnes had left Medic Ecosse almost two years before Lisa Fairfax started work there.
He would have to talk to them, he decided. If he ruled out sloppiness or bad management as possibilities, he would have to consider alternative explanations for the women’s allegations. Those would include malice and hysteria. He would have a word with Staff Nurse Fairfax first, find out what made her tick. You could usually tell more from a two-minute conversation with someone than from reading a fifty-page personnel file.
Sci-Med had supplied Lisa Fairfax’s address and telephone number. He picked up the phone and then thought again. He stared at the receiver for a moment, wondering if the hospital operated a call-logging system. He wouldn’t like anyone to know he was calling a dismissed member of staff, particularly as Ingrid had noted his interest in how donor organs were handled when they arrived. Any suspicion that the authorities were giving credence to a totally unsubstantiated allegation against such a prestigious unit as the Medic Ecosse transplant unit, and he really would be asking for trouble. He decided to make the call using his own mobile phone.
Dunbar didn’t hold out much hope of Lisa Fairfax being in on a weekday afternoon. He thought she’d be out at work but, as it turned out, she wasn’t.
‘Hello,’ said a well-modulated voice.
‘Miss Fairfax? My name is Dr Steven Dunbar. I’m sorry to ring you out of the blue like this but I wonder if we might arrange a meeting? I’d like to talk to you about your time at Medic Ecosse Hospital?’
‘Why do you want to see me?’
‘I work for a government department. We investigate allegations of irregularity in patient care.’
‘Do you now?’ said Lisa. ‘You’re a bit late, aren’t you?’
‘Well, you know what they say about wheels that grind slowly: they grind exceeding small,’ said Dunbar. He immediately regretted it; it sounded flippant. ‘I know you must be very busy,’ he continued, ‘but I really would appreciate it if you’d agree to see me.’
‘Busy? I haven’t worked since I left Medic Ecosse,’ said Lisa.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Could we talk?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘I said all I had to say at the time and everyone ignored me. Look where it got me! It lost me my job and probably all chances of getting another, if those people at Medic Ecosse have anything to do with it.’
‘I’d like to hear your side of the story,’ said Dunbar.
‘So you can do what? File it under “Ramblings of a neurotic woman” like they did last time? Offer me sympathy and counselling? Patronizing bastards.’ The words were angry but controlled.
‘I can’t say what I’d do until I hear what you have to say,’ replied Dunbar. ‘But if I thought there was any substance to your claims, I promise I’d see they were investigated fully.’
Lisa sounded unconvinced. She said, ‘I really don’t think there’s any point in going through the hassle all over again. It must all be in the files and I simply haven’t the stomach for it any more.’
‘Could that be because you’ve had a change of heart over the matter, Miss Fairfax?’ goaded Dunbar. ‘Maybe you decided that you’d been a bit hasty with your allegations at the time? And now that you’ve had time to think-’
‘No, it couldn’t,’ said Lisa icily. ‘I simply don’t want to go through it all again. It was unpleasant enough last time. Nothing I can say will bring Amy back. She’s dead but I’m alive. I need a job. I need to earn my living.’
‘Was Amy Teasdale special to you, Miss Fairfax?’
Lisa sighed. ‘Not that old thing again. I was not unduly attached to Amy Teasdale. I liked her; she was a nice kid. I was sad when she died. I was always sad when one of the patients died, but that was as far as it went. I’m a professional nurse. These things happen.’
‘Then you worked with children a lot?’
‘Yes. Why d’you ask?’
‘Nothing. I’d still like to meet you.’
‘Look up the files. You’ll find everything you need there.’
‘I’m not interested in the files. I’m conducting an investigation on my own. No one else up here is involved, and you have my word that everything you say will be kept absolutely confidential.’
‘I really don’t know,’ said Lisa uncertainly.
‘Why don’t I buy you dinner and we can talk while we eat?’
‘No,’ she replied quickly. ‘You’d have to come here.’
‘All right. Where’s that?’
She gave him her address and he pretended to write it down. He didn’t want to give away that he already knew where she lived from the Sci-Med file on her. ‘When can I come? Tonight?’
‘I suppose that would be as good as any other time,’ replied Lisa.
‘About eight?’
‘Very well.’
Lisa Fairfax lived in a sandstone block of flats off the Dumbarton Road, the arterial road that leads out from the heart of Glasgow to the banks of the River Clyde and the great shipyards that once built vessels for the world. The huge cranes were still in evidence but the contracts and the jobs had all but gone.
The street she lived in was quiet, but finding somewhere to park was a problem. Already at that time in the evening, cars were double-parked making negotiation of the area difficult for Dunbar in a car he was not used to and not that familiar with in terms of width when judging the size of gaps it could go through. There was a small piece of waste ground at the end of the second street he inched through. It was actually the frontage of a double lock-up garage with the message NO PARKING, IN CONSTANT USE painted on the doors. The paint was peeling and the padlocks were very rusty, so he took a chance and parked the Rover there. He didn’t think he’d be that long.
He walked back to Lisa’s street and found the number he was looking for. He pressed the entryphone button.
‘Yes?’
‘Steven Dunbar. We spoke earlier.’
The electronic lock released with a loud buzz that made Dunbar think of an electric chair and he entered the building. The entrance hall was well lit and had recently been painted. It was lined with terracotta tubs that would hold pot plants in season. At the moment they held nothing but bare earth. He climbed the stairs quickly to the third floor and found one door ajar. There was no name-plate on it but he assumed this to be the one. He knocked. ‘Miss Fairfax?’
‘Come in. I’ll be right with you. The living room’s on your right. Find yourself a seat and sit down.’
Dunbar closed the door behind him and walked up to the end of the hall and in through the door to his right. He chose to look out of the window rather than sit. Although it was dark outside, the curtains had not been drawn and he could see the lights on the far side of the Clyde like strings of pearls on black velvet. He thought he heard a movement behind him and turned to greet Lisa Fairfax.
‘Hello, Miss…’ His eyes widened as a woman in her late seventies came towards him with a wild look in her eyes and her arms outstretched.
‘Joshua! You�
��ve come home,’ she exclaimed, and made to embrace him warmly.
Dunbar was taken by surprise. He tried to fend her off, gently because she seemed so frail, but she persisted in her attempts to hug him.
‘I think there’s been some mistake,’ he offered weakly. He retreated and fell backwards over the arm of a couch — he hadn’t realized it was so close behind him.
‘Oh my God,’ exclaimed another woman as she came into the room. ‘Mother, stop that! Stop that at once!’
Dunbar did his best to recover his composure and looked up into the distressed face of Lisa Fairfax.
Lisa was in her early thirties, slim, attractive, with shiny jet-black hair tied back and deep, dark eyes that suggested intelligence but at the moment were filled with alarm and embarrassment.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought she was still asleep. She suffers from senile dementia.’
Dunbar nodded and let out his breath in a long sigh. ‘I’m sorry I’m not Joshua,’ he murmured kindly as Lisa put her arms round her mother and led her out of the room, remonstrating with her gently as if she were a small child. She returned alone a few minutes later.
‘I’m sorry, I was sure she was asleep, otherwise I’d never have let you come in like that. Can I get you a drink?’
Dunbar smiled at the progression to social normality. ‘Gin, if you have it.’
Lisa poured them both a gin and tonic, the slight tremor of her hands still betraying her embarrassment. She handed a tumbler to Dunbar and said, ‘Please sit down.’
‘Shouldn’t she be in hospital?’ Dunbar asked.
‘She should,’ replied Lisa. ‘But there’s little chance of that these days. Her condition can’t be cured so the hospitals won’t take her. She’s been “returned to the community” after a brief admission for assessment. That’s government policy.’
‘Surely you must get some kind of help?’
Lisa shook her head. ‘I am the “community” as far as the authorities are concerned. She’s my mother so it’s down to me to care for her. The only way I can get help is if I buy it. I was doing that but I don’t have a job any more.’
