by Ken McClure
Jamieson put up his hands to protect himself as a hail of scalpels and forceps flew through the air towards him. Several small cuts opened up on the backs of his hands and on his scalp but he ignored them as he again moved towards Blaney. He stopped when he saw that Blaney had picked up a post-mortem knife. Jamieson found himself mesmerised by the long blade which swept out from the black, bone handle held tightly in Blaney's fist.
The fact that Jamieson had stopped in his tracks gave Blaney a surge of confidence. He gave a half smile and said breathily, 'Come on then Dr bloody smart-arse Jamieson. What are you waiting for? Changed our tune, have we?'
Jamieson had indeed changed his tune. The folly of his angry headstrong action in confronting Blaney alone had now come home to roost. He stared at the razor sharp blade in Blaney's hand, a blade that was no stranger to the insides of a human being.
'Who did it Blaney?' he croaked. 'Who contaminated the instruments and the dressings and the saline? You? Or was it Thelwell? Maybe it was both of you? You sick bastard.'
A look of puzzlement crossed Blaney's face. 'What the hell are you talking about?' he demanded.
'Is that how you two got your kicks? A couple of old queens against a world of women eh?'
'You're mad,' said Blaney. He lunged at Jamieson with the knife. It was the angry reaction that Jamieson had been goading him into. Jamieson side-stepped smartly and grabbed at Blaney's knife arm as he lost balance. He twisted Blaney's arm up his back but Blaney remained upright as Jamieson tried to break his grip on the knife.
Jamieson was concentrating too hard on the knife to be prepared for Blaney's sudden drop to the floor. With his centre of gravity undermined it was all too easy for Blaney to tumble Jamieson over his shoulder and send him sliding across the tiles to crash into a table by the wall. The table was knocked over and steel dishes fell to the floor as Jamieson struggled to regain orientation.
Jamieson recovered in time to see Blaney rush towards him, knife held aloft, his eyes betraying an anger beyond reason. In a desperate last ditch attempt to protect himself Jamieson raised both feet and caught Blaney in mid lunge. The Charge Nurse's momentum took him clean over Jamieson's head and he hit his skull against the tiled wall with a sickening crack.
Jamieson lay still for a moment recovering his breath. There was no question of Blaney still being a threat. After such a blow to his head the nurse must certainly be unconscious if not dead. Jamieson got to his feet slowly and went over to where Blaney lay. He felt for a pulse and found one with ease; it was strong and regular. 'You've got a head like a rock Blaney,' he said to the unconscious man as he tied his hands behind his back using lengths of gauze. Satisfied that Blaney was secure for the moment he called the police.
Jamieson reckoned that he had at least five minutes before the police arrived, probably a bit more. He looked down at where Blaney lay and felt frustrated. There were so many things he wanted to know, things he felt that Blaney could tell him if only he were conscious. The steel dishes lying on the floor decided him. He filled one with cold water and, feeling like a baddie in a war film, he threw it in Blaney's face. Blaney did not stir so Jamieson repeated the operation until he did.
As Blaney uttered the first groans of consciousness, Jamieson started to question him. 'Come on Blaney, how did you do it? How did you contaminate the instruments and dressings?'
Blaney put a hand to his head and looked around him groggily. Jamieson repeated the question.
'Don't be ridiculous,' groaned Blaney. 'That was nothing to do with me.'
'You mean it was Thelwell?'
'You stupid bastard. Is that what you think? You think that Gordon and I murdered the patients?' Blaney snorted and gave a humourless guffaw. Christ, you must be desperate for an idea.'
'You gave all the instruments for Gynaecology to Thelwell instead of having them sent to the wards by porter. Why?'
'You know why, damn it! Gordon told you. He was worried about the possibility of the instruments being interfered with so he collected them immediately after they had been sterilised for safe keeping until such times as they were required.'
'Or until he had contaminated them with deadly bacteria,' said Jamieson.
'Deadly bacteria!' snorted Blaney. 'Where the hell would Gordon get deadly bacteria? He was a surgeon for Christ's sake!'
Jamieson avoided a question he could not answer. 'Tell me about Thelwell's missed choir practices.'
'Gordon and I used to meet once a week. It was all we could risk without avoiding suspicion. We used to drive out to a hotel but when my sister went abroad on holiday I 'borrowed' the key to her apartment and we used that for the month she was away.'
'Why did Thelwell kill himself if it wasn't because of the murders?' asked Jamieson.
'Because he thought it was all going to come out about us! When you followed him to my sister's place he thought it was inevitable. There was just no way a man like Gordon could have faced the scandal and ridicule. He was a very sensitive man you know.'
'Really, said Jamieson dryly.
The mist faded from Blaney's eyes and they turned to flint. 'Yes you bastard! Nobody really understood him!' Blaney struggled at his bonds but to no avail; the police had arrived.
Blaney was formally charged and taken away, in the first instance to have X-rays taken of his head injuries. Chief Inspector Ryan stayed behind to talk to Jamieson.
'Well that's one mystery solved,' said Ryan. 'At least we know now why your wife was attacked and once we've had a chat with Mr Blaney we might be able to clear up everything.'
Jamieson nodded but he was deeply troubled.
'Is something the matter?' asked Ryan, conscious of the fact that Jamieson was not sharing his euphoria.
'Before you arrived, I talked to Blaney about Thelwell's involvement in the hospital deaths,' said Jamieson. 'Blaney maintains that neither he nor Thelwell had anything to do with them.'
'Well, he would wouldn't he?' said Ryan.
Jamieson looked at Ryan and said, 'Yes, but the trouble is, I believe him.''
Jamieson lingered on alone in CSSD. He heard Ryan's car drive off as he sat down slowly at the desk beside the autoclaves and idly sifted through a pile of recorder charts. Much as he disliked Blaney he had to admit that what the Charge Nurse had said sounded like the truth. But if neither Blaney nor Thelwell had been involved in spreading the infection — and Thelwell had actually been guarding the instruments as he maintained — how could they have possibly become infected? Unless of course, they had never been sterilised in the first place? But that was ridiculous. He himself had seen the recorder chart from the steriliser run on the day Thelwell had collected the instruments and all the others for that matter.
Jamieson got up and walked towards the autoclave. He stood in front of the silent steel machine that Blaney had pointed out to him as being the one used for Gynaecology supplies. Not only had the chart record been spot on but Clive Evans had carried out the weekly test on the machine just before the run. Jamieson walked slowly up the side of the machine to the supply pipes at the back and ran his hand idly over the smooth copper pipework.
There was some extra pipework on this machine to facilitate the insertion of test thermocouples for monitoring the conditions inside the sterilising chamber. Jamieson traced the pipes and then noticed several smaller ones which led back into the machine. He was puzzled for a moment because he could see no obvious reason for them. He stared at them for a full minute then looked around for a screwdriver to remove the side panel of the machine. He found what he was looking for in a drawer marked, TOOLS, with adhesive Dymo tape.
With the metal shield removed, Jamieson could see that the small pipes ran along the outside of the sterilising chamber and were connected to the gauges at the front of the machine. But why? Why should it be necessary to reflect the readings on the monitoring equipment on the gauges on the front of the machine? Jamieson felt the blood start to pound in his ears as he retraced the pipes once more and followed the
logic of the valves.
He found himself transfixed by the sight of two red valves in the left upper quadrant. Surely he must be wrong. He followed the circuit again and reached the same frightening conclusion. On this machine it was possible to isolate the sterilising chamber from its supply lines and still have the readings of pressure and temperature in the pipes at the back of the machine appear on the gauges and the chart recorder at the front. The chamber thermometer could read one hundred and thirty one degrees centigrade while the steriliser remained stone cold.
'Christ Almighty,' whispered Jamieson as he saw how it had been done. The instruments and dressings had been contaminated before they had gone into the steriliser then they had gone through a dummy run before being distributed. Blaney had been right when he had asked how he or Thelwell could have got hold of deadly bacteria. It would have taken a specialist for that… a microbiologist, a bacteriologist. Clive Evans was a bacteriologist! And once a week, Evans had come to CSSD, ostensibly to test the machine but in reality to contaminate a full steriliser load! It had been Clive Evans all along! Evans was the killer!
Jamieson's head was reeling. It had been Evans who had killed Richardson and Moira Lippman when they had begun to suspect him but Evans had expertly diverted suspicion towards the hapless Thelwell. It had been Evans who had faked the result of Thelwell's first test swabs knowing what this would do to the already strained relationship between Thelwell and Richardson. Ye gods! There was a hellish genius about his madness, for sheer madness it must be.
The thought made Jamieson remember Costello Court, the mental hospital that John Richardson had been in touch with before his death. He picked up the phone and asked for Sci-Med's number in London.
'I have to have the following information fast! I repeat fast! Was a Clive Evans ever a patient at Costello Court Hospital and if so why? I need to know all the case details. Call me back on…' He gave the CSSD extension number at the hospital.
It took twelve minutes for Sci-Med to return the call. It was Macmillan himself.
'I have just gone out on a limb for this Jamieson. You had better have a good reason for wanting to know this when this business is all over.'
'I have.'
'Dr Clive Linton Evans was a patient at Costello Court Hospital from July third last year to March fourteenth this year after suffering a severe mental breakdown. The breakdown followed his contracting a venereal disease from a prostitute. It was thought that he might not work again but an altruistic consultant at one of the northern hospitals took him under his wing and elected to oversee him through a period of rehabilitation. Apparently, medical opinion at Costello Court was bitterly divided over the Evans case. One psychiatrist on Evans' review panel even went so far as to suggest that Evans might be conning them all. The word 'psychopath' was mentioned but this doctor was overruled. I take it you have come across Dr Evans?'
'He's on the staff,' said Jamieson.
'I see,' said Macmillan. 'And do you think…'
'I know and I've just found out how he's been doing it. I'd better ring off and contact the police.'
'Is there anything we can help you with?'
Jamieson was about to say no when he had second thoughts and asked, 'Who was Proteus in Greek mythology?'
'Good Lord,' exclaimed Macmillan. 'Let me see… the sea god who changed his form at will if my memory serves me right.'
'That's exactly what I wanted to know,' said Jamieson and put down the phone. He could hear himself breathe in the silence as the awfulness of Evans' crime tested his own credibility to the limit. The current Proteus infection was a sick joke! Evans has been changing the infection at will! He had been deliberately engineering the bacteria before using them to contaminate dressings and equipment bound for the wards. He had been mutating them so that they would be resistant to treatment. Using a strain of Proteus for the latest outbreak and its inherent allusion to a Greek god in its name had been sheer arrogance, just like Ryan had predicted, the arrogance of a complete psychopathic lunatic!
The full meaning of the earlier biochemical test results now became clear to Jamieson. The bugs had differed from the text book values because they had been artificially mutated! Evans had deliberately induced genetic changes in the bacteria. He had done it to make them more virulent and virtually untreatable but the procedure would have induced many other mutations in the bugs at the same time. This is what Richardson and later Moira Lippman must have deduced!
Jamieson finally reached Ryan. 'Can you come back to CSSD at Kerr Memorial? It's urgent.'
Ryman was back within ten minutes and Jamieson told him everything. He showed him what he had discovered about the plumbing at the back of the steriliser. Jamieson had left the side shielding off the machine so Ryan could trace the pipes with his hand as it was pointed out to him what would happen when the wheel valves were altered.
'The mad bastard,' murmured Ryan.
Jamieson told Ryan about the report from Costello Court.
'Then why the hell didn't they put him under lock and key?' said Ryan angrily.
'Medical opinion was divided.'
Ryan's look said what he thought of medical opinion.
'Can all the contaminated material be traced back to this machine?' asked Ryan.
Jamieson nodded and said, 'I checked that while I was waiting for you to arrive. The instruments, the dressings and the contaminated saline were all sterilised in this machine and in each case immediately after Evans had carried out "testing" of the machine.'
'Well that's it then,' said Ryan.
'Not quite everything,' said Jamieson. He told Ryan about the genetically altered bacteria. 'I don't know where or how he did it but I'd like to find out.'
'How do you go about inducing mutations in bacteria?' asked Ryan.
'There are several ways. You can treat them with chemicals or you can irradiate them with X-Rays or Ultra-Violet light. It's really not that difficult… ' Jamieson suddenly stopped in mid sentence and exclaimed, 'No Blisters!'
'Pardon?'
John Richardson's wife told me that just before her husband died he seemed very troubled. She heard him repeat over and over to himself, No blisters. He was talking about Evans' arm!'
'I'm sorry. You've lost me.'
'When I first came here I had an 'accident' with an electric heater although this puts new light on it. Evans appeared later with a burn mark on his arm and we assumed that he had got it 'rescuing' me. But there were no blisters, just a red mark. It was a radiation burn! Richardson must have worked out that the infections were being caused by mutant bacteria and then realised the significance of the mark on Evans' arm.'
'So he confronted Evans and Evans murdered him,' said Ryan.
'Is Evans in the lab just now?' asked Ryan getting up.
'No, he went up to the county lab. He won't be back for another hour or so.'
Ryan thought for a moment and then said, 'There's no point in putting out an alert for him. Nothing has happened to make him suspicious. We'll wait till he returns and then grab him.'
'I want to have a look round his lab and office to see if I can find a clue to the radiation source,' said Jamieson.
'I'll get more of our people down here,' said Ryan.
The technician who had loaned Jamieson his diagnostic bacteriology book came into Evans' lab while Jamieson was rummaging through one of the cupboards.
'Is there something I can help you with?' he asked, his tone hovering between puzzlement and accusation.
'Is there an Ultra-Violet lamp anywhere in the lab?' Jamieson asked.
'No, why?'
'How about an X-Ray source?'
'No.'
'Is there a spare key to the office that Dr Evans uses?'
'There's a sub-master key in the office.'
'Get it will you.'
'Are you sure you should be doing this?' the technician asked as Jamieson opened up Evans' office and started to work his way through the drawers and cupboards.'
&n
bsp; 'I'm dead certain,' replied Jamieson and added, 'You can help if you like. We're looking for any radiation source but probably a UV lamp.'
The technician shrugged his shoulders and started to open up cupboard doors.
Ten minutes later Jamieson admitted defeat and sat down in Evans' chair. 'Nothing, damn it,' he said.
'Nothing,' agreed the technician closing up the last of the cupboards.
'What the hell did he do with it?' murmured Jamieson.
The technician stayed silent. Jamieson opened the desk drawer and was about to close it again when he noticed a small brown bottle lying on top of an old domestic electricity bill. He picked it up, expecting it to be Aspirin, and read the label. N-Nitrosoguanidine it said. He read it out and asked, 'What would you use this for?'
'We wouldn't,' replied the technician. 'But be careful how you handle it. It's a powerful mutagen.'
'That was the answer to my next question,' smiled Jamieson. 'But we still haven't found the radiation source.'
'Would you like me to continue the search in the other labs?'
'I'd be grateful. If you find anything let me know at once would you. I'll be in the residency.'
'What should I say when Dr Evans returns?'
'He won't be returning.'
Jamieson ran up the steps to his room and was disappointed to find no one there. There was a note lying on the coffee table. Jamieson turned deathly pale when he read it. It said: -
Have gone with Clive to the county lab.
See you later.
Love,
Sue.
Jamieson fought hard to keep a grip on himself. There was no need to worry he told himself; Clive Evans had no idea that they were on to him. There was no conceivable reason why Evans should do anything to harm Sue and draw attention to himself. The fact that Sue had gone off in the company of a psychopathic killer with a particular hatred of women was no cause for alarm. The hell it wasn't! A knot of fear settled in Jamieson's stomach as he flew down the stairs and rushed back to CSSD to tell Ryan.
'Take it easy!' soothed Ryan and started telling him all the things he had been telling himself.
