“I did work that out,” he said. “Costs in a community hospital are around £150 per patient per day. If we assume that Wansborough, by having 45 beds instead of 70 is saving 25 patients a day, that comes to a million and a half a year.”
Jo was visibly shaken by this, but ploughed on: “How much were they in debt?”
“The figure I heard was twenty million.”
“That’s what I heard,” said Fraser.
“But if they were in so much trouble,” she said, “They’d have needed an immediate saving, wouldn’t they? Not have to wait for year on year savings.”
“Yeah, I wondered about that,” said Tom, “But Marcus gave us the answer just now. I’ll have to work out the exact figures, but building a 45 bed hospital on a piece of land you’ve already got is a hell of a lot cheaper than building a 70 bed hospital on land you have to buy. Certainly milllions.”
There was a silence, then Jo said, “And you think that’s what this is all about, for the Trust to get themselves out of the shit?”
“Can you think of anything else that fits all the facts?”
“Not offhand, no,” she said in a small voice. “But it’s a hell of a leap, isn’t it?”
Fraser looked at Tom. “D’you think it’s all four of them, a conspiracy?”
“It’s possible, although I doubt it. In my experience, it’s unlikely to find four such criminally minded people thrust together by chance. I’d guess it was just one of them, manipulating the others.”
“It’s the way the upper echelons of administration work,” said Marcus. “There’s a problem, someone suggests a solution and everyone else agrees without looking too closely at the implications.” He shrugged. “If it works, don’t knock it.”
“And if it doesn’t?” said Fraser.
“Nothing to do with me, guv.”
Jo said to Marcus, “Is this what you’ve been thinking all along?”
He shook his head. “Not until last night, when I found out about the shortfall in beds.”
“But since then?”
“I suppose so.” He paused. “You see, I’ve been wondering for a while whether something like this was inevitable sooner or later.”
Silence, while they waited for him to go on.
“I was at a seminar a few months ago and we were presented with figures showing that the average person has more money spent on them medically in the last year of their life than in all the rest of it put together.” He looked round at them. “I’ve been wondering ever since how long it would be before someone came up with the bright idea of cutting that year out and saving some money.”
*
They had a sober lunch.
Afterwards, Fraser said to Tom, “If it is just one of them, couldn’t you find out which by questioning them? Find out whose idea it was to employ Armitage in the first place?”
Tom nodded. “Well, I’m going to try, but I don’t mind betting it’ll all be so tangled up by now that we won’t be able to pin it on just one of them.”
“Who d’you think it is?”
He shrugged. “You tell me, you’ve met them. What do you think are the respective strengths of their motives?”
“I suppose Fitzpatrick wants to keep his job, Matlock her political career … otherwise, no idea.”
“Well, it’s in the nature of Chief Executives to want to go on to better things and, as for Woodvine, I daresay he’s in line for some pretty bauble or other for his chairmanship of the Trust – his successful chairmanship, that is.”
Jo said, “I’m still finding it hard to believe that any of it’s a strong enough motive for this … ”
“Then you obviously haven’t met many ambitious politicians,” said Marcus dryly. “I sometimes think they’d do anything for another yard up the greasy pole.”
“Whichever, I don’t see how we’re going to prove it.”
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,” said Tom belligerently.
“But what are you going to do if you can’t find out who’s idea it was? ‘Cos I’m betting you’re right there …”
“I’ve been thinking about that …”
“I thought you were uncharacteristically quiet at lunch.“
He ignored her and went on, “What I’d like to do is interview each one of them separately. We’ve got reason enough for that, and as Fraser said, it may even give us the answer, although I doubt it. Our Bad Boy or Girl – shall we call them Ray, for Ray of Sunshine? – has almost certainly hidden him or herself by now, so what I propose doing is to leave all of them with something to think about. With your consent that is, Fraser.”
“Why my consent?”
“This is where I strongly advise you to run for your life,” murmured Jo.
Tom said, “I believe that Ray had Armitage and St John topped not just to hide his or her part in it, but to try and hide the existence of the euthanasia plot itself. I think they’re still hoping to hide its existence and I propose to offer them my help.
“If I’m right, then three of them won’t believe in the euthanasia plot for the very good reason that they won’t want to believe it. The fourth will know that it’s true and will therefore react differently to what I tell them.”
“What are you going to tell them?” Fraser asked.
“That you came to us, Fraser, with the implausible tale of patients being killed, but that we were bound to look into it, even though we didn’t think much either of it or you.”
“Thanks…” said Fraser dryly.
“And we still don’t think much of you. We prefer the police version, that Armitage killed St John in a lover’s tiff and then killed himself. That Singh, Tate and Stones are right, that there has been no euthanasia plot and no cover up. Unfortunately however, we are still obliged to ask them some questions.
“The inquests have been set for Thursday 30th. I’ll talk to them not long before that and tip them off that you, Fraser, are planning to come out with the euthanasia story at Helen St John’s inquest.”
“You’re setting him up,” breathed Jo, “They’ll try and kill him.”
“They’ll use that hit man again,” said Marcus. “It’s too dangerous.”
Tom turned to him and said with as much conviction as he could muster, “Marcus, one of those four has deliberately engineered the murder of over 150 people in order to save their career…”
“A hundred and fifty?” said Fraser.
“That’s what I make it. And then this person murdered the dupes they’d set up to do it. Are we really going to leave such a person running around in a position of authority?”
“We may have to,” said Marcus.
“Nobody’s expressed any interest in my feelings about it as yet,” Fraser said pointedly. He turned to Tom. “Is it inevitable he’ll try to kill me?”
“No, that’s what I was trying to get on to. I think that as a group, they’ll try to persuade you to back off, but one of them will react differently from the others and that’s how we’ll identify them.”
“But what if it doesn’t work?” said Jo. “Fraser could end up being a target for … well, we don’t know how long ... ”
“I agree,” said Marcus.
“And I agree with Tom,” said Fraser. “We can’t just leave this fucker to carry on.”
“I’m sorry,” said Marcus, “But I think the risks are too great.”
Fraser said to him: “I’m going to be called to give evidence at the inquest come what may, aren’t I? What if I do tell them everything?”
“You won’t be believed.”
“But enough shit would stick for there to be a bad smell around them for a while, long enough to screw up their careers, anyway.”
“Then they might just kill you for revenge,” said Jo.
“Which is why I’d rather go about it in a planned and controlled way.” He looked at Marcus. “I remember you telling me that the purpose of your department was to stop corruption in the Health Service. Are you sayin’ now is th
at we should give in to it, because the opposition’s too strong?”
Marcus pressed his lips together, then looked up. “Are you really willing to go through with this?”
“Aye,” said Fraser, “I am.”
Chapter 28
Whether it was because his mind had been jolted by the enormity of what he’d agreed to, Fraser didn’t know, but he woke at home the next morning convinced he knew now how Philip had made the pneumococci virulent.
They’d forgotten to take his library pass from him when he’d left the hospital in Bristol and it was still valid, so he went there now to check it out. Then he phoned Tom, who was still at the hotel.
“Can you come to me?” Tom said. “I’m still tied up trying to organise these interviews.”
He was with him in just over an hour.
“Well?” Tom said as he handed him a coffee.
Fraser took a sip, then said dramatically, “Transformation.”
“What’s that?”
“Briefly, it works like this - “ If he was disappointed with Tom’s reaction, he didn’t show it - “If you inject non-capsulated pneumococci, like the ones found in the device, into a mouse, it lives, whereas if you inject the capsulated organism, it dies. OK?”
“Sure, although I don’t suppose the mouse would agree.”
“But if you heat-kill those capsulated organisms before you inject them, the mouse lives.”
“So you need live capsulated bugs to kill a mouse – I think even I can work that out.”
The point was, Fraser told him, if you took live non-capsulated pneumococci, mixed them with a suspension of heat-killed, capsulated ones, and then injected the mixture, the mouse died. The live non-capsulated bugs somehow picked up DNA from the dead capsulated ones and became capsulated themselves.
Tom thought about this for a moment. “And that’s what you think they were doing?”
“It’s got to be. They could have easily kept a culture of non-capsulated organisms going with next to nothing in the way of equipment. Then they mixed them with heat-killed capsulated bugs before putting them into the dispenser, and Lo! Virulent pneumococci.”
“Where would they get the heat-killed ones?”
Fraser shrugged. “Anywhere. They probably got them some time ago – once they’re in glass ampoules, they keep forever.”
Tom said, “In the experiment, they were injected, here, the mixture would be inhaled – wouldn’t that make a difference?”
“Well, I don’t suppose anyone’s ever actually tried it, but I don’t see why it should.”
Tom nodded slowly. “OK, but how would Armitage have found out about it? I mean, it’s more your field than his and it took you long enough…”
“I’ve thought of that too. Remember when I got into his office?”
“And nearly buggered the whole –“
“Aye, all right. Well, he’s got a collection of old pathology books in there and I’m wonderin’ if he might have found it in one of them …”
Tom pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the desk …
“Be nice if we could prove it,” he said at last. Then, “I wonder if Jo could bring it out …”
“It’s huge, weighs a ton - and don’t forget, they’ve tightened all the security now.”
“Yeah …” More drumming. “Jo’s on nights at the moment, isn’t she?”
“I think so.”
“Sorry Jo,” Tom said as he picked up his mobile …
Even Fraser flinched at the stream of invective that spewed from the earpiece.
*
Nine hours later, they were waiting in the shadows outside the main entrance of the unit. At exactly 1.00 am, they saw the orderly, whose office had been moved into the lobby, answer the phone. With a resigned expression, he replaced it, got to his feet and went over to the wards.
As soon as he’d gone, they walked over and Fraser keyed a number into the newly installed pad. The door opened.
They quickly crossed the lobby to the admin corridor where Fraser punched in another number, pulled the door open and they were inside - Jo had found both numbers for them, and also a task for which she could call the orderly into the wards.
Tom produced vinyl gloves and they pulled them on. Fraser led the way to Armitage’s office. The door was locked now, but one of the keys soon opened it. They went in and re-locked it behind them.
Fraser sidled over to the window and, after checking no one was looking, gently lowered the blind. Tom switched on his pencil torch and they went over to the book cabinet. Fraser fumbled with the keys …
“Hold this,” Tom whispered impatiently, handing Fraser the torch and opening the cabinet himself.
Fraser pushed the glass aside, withdrew the Topley and Wilson and carried it over to the desk. Tom shone the torch on it and Fraser pointed to a piece of paper marking a place.
“That would be too good to be true,” Tom murmured.
But it wasn’t.
The book fell open and Fraser read: The transmutation of Strept. Pneumoniae in live mice …
“It’s a description of the original work,” he said in a low voice, “It’s all here … “
“Good.” Then, “It would look better if we could leave it here, but I don’t think we can risk that.”
“You think someone’ll pinch it?”
“Well, it would screw us up if they did … “
Jo had said she couldn’t get rid of the orderly twice, so they had to leave by the window. Tom held the book while Fraser cautiously raised the blind again.
“You weren’t kidding about its weight,” he murmured.
Fraser cranked the window open, gingerly put a leg over the sill and did a sort of hop to get over the rose bush. He took the book from Tom, who then hopped out himself. He wasn’t so adroit and hissed as a thorn ripped through his trousers.
He turned and fiddled with the catch a moment before pushing the window back and giving it a tap so that the catch fell back into place, then they vanished into the shadows.
“D’you realise,” Fraser said as they drove back in Tom’s mini, “That this is the first time anything we’ve done has gone exactly to plan?”
“Well, you’ve got me with you,” Tom said modestly.
Fraser went home and Tom took the book with him back to London the next day.
*
Tom wanted the interviews of the gang of four to be as close together as possible, but the best he could arrange was to see them over the last three days of the week. Even this was tight, because the inquests had been scheduled for the following Thursday.
He hadn’t planned them in any order, but was mildly surprised when the first turned out to be the Hon. Member for Wansborough, Patricia Matlock. She’d had a cancellation, her secretary explained to Marcus, and would see Tom in her office in the Commons.
He’d been there before of course, but had never failed to be impressed by the low murmured conversations, the quiet footfalls, the smell of power in Snow’s “corridors”, even though he knew it was largely illusionary now.
Both her room and the lady surprised him; the former for its meanness, the latter for her sexuality; Fraser had told him about her, but he’d expected power dressing rather than pertness. However, once he started relating how Fraser had come to them with his story of euthanasia, her extraordinary blue eyes never left his face.
“Frankly, we found it very hard to believe,” he told her, “But we were obliged to investigate it whatever we thought.” He paused. “We hadn’t got very far when the double killing occurred.”
“Something of a coincidence, that,” she observed. “I’m rather surprised that Dr Callan wasn’t suspected.”
“It did cross our minds,” Tom said, “But the forensic evidence does indicate that Dr Armitage killed Miss St John and them himself.”
“A terrible tragedy.” She sighed and shook her head. “But you say that Dr Callan, still maintains they were – er – practising euthanasia?”
“He does and, as I said, we’re bound to look into it.”
“Even though they can’t answer for themselves now?”
“Even so ...”
“So what exactly do you want from me?” She glanced at her watch. “Sorry, but I did warn you that I’m pushed for time.”
“I need to understand the background to their employment. You remember the scandal over St James’ Hospital?”
“I’m hardly likely to forget,” she said with a delicate shudder.
“I understand you were part of the junta set up to try and deal with it?”
She paused, then said deliberately, “I don’t think I care much for the word junta, but yes, there were four of us: myself, George Woodvine, Nigel Fleming and Patrick Fitzpatrick.”
“So whose idea had it been?”
“George’s, originally. Have you met him?”
“He’s the next on my list.”
“Well, don’t be fooled. He may look, even sound like a clown at times, but he’s very shrewd, which is why the rest of us were prepared to follow his lead. It’s the dandy who’s the real clown,” she added.
“You’ll have to enlighten me ... “
“Mm. Well, perhaps I shouldn’t have said it, although I’m sure you’ll work it out for yourself. Patrick Fitzpatrick, the original Irish joke.”
“If he’s that bad, why did you have him with you?”
Because, she told him, as Director of Community Medicine, St James’ had been his responsibility. “Why Nigel didn’t sack him I’ll never understand.”
He asked her whose idea it had been to sell the site for building and use the money for a new community hospital.
“Nigel’s,” she said. “It was he who saw the potential of the site – and of course he had the contacts in Town Hall.”
“But then came the Grade II listing, not to mention the cost of the Euro conversion?”
“You’re very well informed, Mr Jones,” she said with a tight little smile. “In fact, we’d known about the Euro conversion for some time, we just hadn’t realised how much it was going to cost.”
“So you were in trouble?”
“Yes – “ her eyes met his – “We were.”
Death Before Time Page 21
