The White Tower

by Dorothy Johnston

  ‘He might. What’s happening with the court order?’

  ‘We’re appealing. I’ll get back over to the hospital.’

  . . .

  On my way to Eamonn’s that night I thought how strange it was that it had never occurred to me to front up there before. I’d been to Tanya Wishart’s flat and Zhou Yang’s, I’d flown thousands of kilometres to visit Sorley Fallon, but I’d never even asked myself where Eamonn lived.

  Lights were on and his car was in the driveway. 13 Beechwood Avenue Kingston was a large house with a spacious, well-kept garden. Luxurious for a man living on his own on a nurse’s salary. Even after looking up the address, I’d still half believed that 13 Beechwood Avenue must be a block of flats.

  I thought I’d try the back door first. If I was lucky, it might just be open. I parked in a side street and looked to see if there was a back gate leading to a laneway. No luck. A path down the side of the house led me to the back door, which was well and truly locked. Close up, I could hear music. Curtains were drawn in the front rooms, and lights on in two of them. What was Eamonn doing? I’d rung the hospital before setting out and learnt that he’d worked an early shift that day, and was scheduled to start early again in the morning.

  Blinds were pulled at the back, over locked windows which I assumed belonged to the kitchen and laundry. I could try to force one of them, but Eamonn might hear me in spite of the music. Ivan hadn’t wanted me to go at all. I half expected Brook to appear in a squad car with a couple of constables, in response to Ivan telling him where I was. Ivan couldn’t leave the kids to follow me himself, but I knew I mightn’t have much time.

  I knocked on the front door. In less than two seconds, I heard movement, footsteps behind it. The door had an eyepiece. I made sure I was standing where Eamonn could see me.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Some answers. If you let me in, I give you my word that they won’t go further than me. If not, I’m going straight to the police to tell them you knew where Niall was going on the night he died.’

  I held my breath while Eamonn digested this in silence.

  When he opened the door, I pushed past him and headed for the living room.

  Eamonn switched the CD player off and turned to face me.

  ‘I didn’t know where he was going. He wouldn’t tell me. If he had I would have followed him. I wouldn’t have let him keep such a mad appointment on his own. I should have followed him anyway. Don’t think I haven’t blamed myself for that every day for the last four months. You know what I did? I came home, listened to music and went to bed. I was asleep while he was—’

  ‘Who did he meet?’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me, wouldn’t name names.’

  ‘But you guessed?’

  ‘I’m sure it was Fenshaw.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he and Niall were locked in battle, and Niall had met him, I mean met him outside the hospital before.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Not the tower. Regatta Point. Niall told me about it afterwards. He was elated that Fenshaw had agreed to meet him.’

  ‘Regatta Point was his idea?’

  ‘No. I mean I don’t think so. But setting up a meeting away from the hospital was. Niall’s big mistake was believing that if he could only get Fenshaw on his own, he could convince him to get rid of the Ventac. Niall was seduced by mystery, cloak and dagger bullshit. Regatta Point? Why not. Telstra Tower? Even better. As soon as Fenshaw dug his heels in over the Ventac, Niall should have gone to the police or press, or both. But he was in awe of Fenshaw. Not in love with him, though he probably wouldn’t have said no. To his credit, I don’t think Fenshaw ever put that on him. Everything else but. Niall kept believing that Fenshaw would come round to his point of view. I knew better. I knew what he was really like.’

  ‘What did you know?’

  ‘He caught me with a patient once. A boy. It wasn’t anything, but he could have made it into something any time he wanted. And he made sure I never forgot.’

  ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘I was holding him. His name was Michael. He was very sick. I took care of him for weeks, then he—his mother took him home to die. He was fifteen. One afternoon, I was holding him, hugging him. His head was on my shoulder. I looked up and there was Fenshaw standing in the doorway with that smile on his face.’

  ‘Did he threaten you directly?’

  ‘He knew he didn’t have to. I love nursing and he knows that too. Nursing’s my whole life.’

  ‘I know about the second overdose,’ I said.

  Eamonn nodded. ‘Niall was struggling to get the hospital board to undertake a full inquiry. One that went further than exchanging clichés about what the Ventacs could and couldn’t do, and then getting bogged down in arguments about human error. You see, Fenshaw claimed that in both overdoses, human error was the cause. And the board accepted that because, when they were exhaustively tested, no one could replicate the Ventac’s error, nobody could find a technical fault. It was driving Niall mad. He didn’t give up though. He kept on writing letters. He’d convinced about half the board. He didn’t want bad publicity any more than Fenshaw did, but he was terrified that the next time it happened, someone would be killed.’

  ‘But wasn’t Barry and the second patient, Mrs Slater—’

  ‘Their tumours were both so far advanced that it was very unlikely either of them would have lived, but Niall had nightmares about a young person, somebody they could have saved. A week or so before his death, he realised that he couldn’t go on waiting and hoping any longer. He decided that he’d have to go public.’

  ‘And when Fenshaw asked to meet him at the tower, he thought it meant Fenshaw had given in, or was about to.’

  ‘That’s what I think must have happened.’

  ‘Why did you agree to meet me at the hospital? You knew that we’d be seen together.’

  ‘I guess I was testing myself,’ Eamonn said. ‘I’ve always known I was a coward. Physically. I wanted to—I know it was stupid.’

  ‘You’re not stupid. Or a coward. It was you who told Sorley Fallon Niall was dead, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Another bully he is, another bastard with blood on his hands.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That he was sorry. Can you believe that?’

  ‘Did you reply?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  I thanked Eamonn. ‘You’ve taken a big risk. That story about the boy stays with me. All the rest—I won’t say where I got the information.’

  Eamonn looked exhausted now, past caring. ‘I loved him. I hope he knew it. I hope he never doubted it.’

  . . .

  Ivan and I sat up in bed to talk, Ivan wearing the doona like a cloak. The temperature outside was minus one. People who’d planted their tomatoes early would be shaking their heads, admonishing one another. I shivered and tried to make do with my one-sixth of the doona. Faces scrolled in front of me—Zhou Yang’s and Eamonn’s—young faces, elastic and opaque; Colin Rasmussen’s different coloured eyes and Fallon’s cold ones; Niall Howley’s smile for the camera, his stubborn inward wilfulness that chose a path and stuck to it; Alex Fenshaw’s warmth and generosity towards his patients, the steel inside that a patient couldn’t guess.

  ‘Niall was a game player,’ I said. ‘He played Castle of Heroes for years. He was Sorley Fallon’s right-hand man.’

  Ivan looked down at me and frowned. The bedside light accented his high cheekbones, making his eyes blacker.

  ‘I don’t like that look on your face Sandy. You’re not thinking of another trip to Ireland?’

  I laughed. ‘A bit too late for that. Poor Eamonn, he’s scared out of his wits.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. It’s just his word against Fenshaw’s isn’t it?’

  ‘Are you kidding? Glamour boy head of department against humble nurse? That department’s the hospital’s star attraction.’

  ‘But Regatta Point? T
he middle of the night?’

  ‘Fenshaw was preparing a case against Niall—a case for sacking him, I mean. He strikes me as the kind of boss who can’t stand any opposition. You’re either with him one hundred per cent or he treats you as an enemy.’

  I sucked in my breath, feeling as though the solution was there, between my palate and my tonsils. I jumped out of bed. Ivan groaned, but padded down the corridor behind me.

  ‘Your first thought about the numbers was the right one,’ I said. ‘They are a list of dates and dose rates, but they’re something else as well.’

  ‘I’ve tried—’

  ‘What if Niall made up his own key? It’s a matter of how his mind was working, and who he was hiding the information for.’

  ‘You reckon whatever the kid was hiding he was hiding it for Fallon?’

  ‘Or himself. Fallon had condemned him for something that he hadn’t done. They’d quarrelled. The night he was killed he was heading towards what he hoped was a victory. But the Telstra Tower? He must have known he was taking an incredible risk. Even if he believed Fenshaw had come round. I think he hid his files before he left, or else when Blacksnake started threatening him.’

  ‘Fallon’s not going to give us anything.’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t need to.’

  I got out the diagram while Ivan dialled up Fallon’s website.

  ‘He’s changed it,’ I said. ‘He’s got rid of the castle.’

  The same photograph of a beautiful young Irishman smiled at the viewer, but gone were the mists of the Antrim coast and the shadow of Dunluce behind him. The updated homepage showed Fallon in his jewellery shop entwined in Celtic silver. Pleased I’d printed out the homepage when I first came across it, I found my hard copy and set it down beside the diagram with its named and numbered rooms.

  ‘He’s got rid of the directions for accessing the MUD as well. Here they are.’

  Ivan booted up Niall’s computer, which he’d borrowed again the day he’d searched Niall’s room.

  He typed GOTO 2. Nothing happened. I pointed out that, in Niall’s diagram, the numbers were in brackets. He typed GOTO(2) and said, ‘Oh shit.’

  The diagram Ivan had found in Niall’s room appeared on the screen momentarily, then was replaced by part of the operating log from the Ventac 2 for 8 April 1997.

  It began with the treatment data for a patient, with numbers and groups of numbers against the following headings: SITE, DIRECTION, APPLICATOR, SSD (cm), FIELD ALIGNMENT, FILTER, TOTAL INCIDENT DOSE, which was listed as 150 rads. The time recorded at the top right-hand side was 2:10 pm.

  On a line by itself, after the treatment data, was the single letter P. I recalled, from my conversation with Tanya, that P was the command to proceed with treatment.

  Then on the next line, by itself, was the message NO DOSE.

  Someone had re-entered all the treatment data. The log showed an exact repetition of the headings—SITE, DIRECTION and so on—with the same numbers against them.

  Then P again, followed by a second NO DOSE.

  Each line of the log had the time recorded against it. Between the first NO DOSE message and the repeat of the treatment data was a gap of nineteen minutes. The remainder of the log showed no such gaps.

  Was the gap in time the reason Niall had gone to the trouble of saving and then hiding this section of the Ventac’s log?

  I pictured the operator sitting in that tight, windowless control room in the hospital, staring at NO DOSE.

  Zhou Yang had told me Shirley Henderson was the operator responsible for the second accident, and that Niall had been her partner, but this section of log contained no names, neither Niall’s nor Shirley’s, and no comments, just the data, P command, and NO DOSE. The gap in time had to be the reason Niall had saved it.

  I imagined Niall apologising to the patient for the delay, then leaving the treatment room to talk to Shirley, possibly to insist that they cancel the treatment and tell the patient to go home. I pictured Shirley ringing Fenshaw from the control room. What had happened then? Had Shirley made contact with Fenshaw? Had Fenshaw given the go-ahead to proceed with the treatment? How had he interpreted the NO DOSE message? Had he dismissed it, as Tanya claimed he’d dismissed her Error 53, instructed Shirley to override it without further delay?

  If Shirley had spent that time checking with Fenshaw, possibly arguing with him, what had Niall spent those minutes doing?

  Shivering beside me in his boxer shorts, Ivan typed GOTO(1).

  Shirley Henderson’s statement read as though Niall had transcribed it from a tape. It began with her name and Niall’s, and the date and time of treatment. Then there was a description of the steps she had taken leading up to the first NO DOSE.

  I felt a small twinge of satisfaction that the gap in time in the operating log turned out to be almost exactly as I’d predicted, with one important twist.

  Shirley had phoned Fenshaw immediately the command appeared. Colin Rasmussen had answered the phone. Shirley had explained the problem and Colin had advised her to go ahead with the treatment. Shirley had insisted on checking with Fenshaw personally. She and Colin had argued. Niall had also argued with Colin. Eventually, Shirley had got through to Fenshaw, who had given her the go-ahead.

  She had then re-entered all the data, pressed P, and the Ventac 2 had delivered a dose of 15,000 rads, not 150 as prescribed.

  ‘Bugger this,’ said Ivan, and ran back to the bedroom for his ­tracksuit.

  At last I found myself looking at a statement by Niall himself.

  Niall had documented as accurately as he could the number of times the Ventac 2 had thrown up a rogue message. It had happened to each of the operators, including himself, at least twice in two years. Before the first accident and her dismissal, Tanya had recorded five. On no occasion before Error 53 had the message resulted in an overdose.

  Niall had also recorded the responses of the Wilton engineers who’d tested the Ventac 2 and stated that it was not possible for the machine to overdose a patient. When Niall had asked them whether they were aware of other reports of radiation exposure using the Ventac 2, they had replied that they were not.

  Niall said that there was no way of ascertaining what the messages meant. Some of them had been repeated. Malfunction 12 had appeared a number of times. The messages were not explained in any of the manuals that came with the Ventac and the hospital’s engineers were at a loss to explain them. In Niall’s opinion, the Ventac 2 should be shut down until the fault could be found and remedied. If it could not, the machine should not be used again.

  His statement went into more detail about Shirley’s phone call to Fenshaw, and Colin Rasmussen’s response to it on 8 April.

  The policy Alex Fenshaw had adopted was to override the message and proceed with treatment. Niall stated his opposition to this and his belief that, when Shirley had been unable to locate Dr Fenshaw immediately, Colin, acting as Fenshaw’s assistant, should have suspended the treatment.

  According to Niall, Colin had reacted aggressively to this suggestion, threatening both him and Shirley. There was no justification for this. Colin had no authority to order the operators to proceed with treatment. Niall had made a complaint under the hospital’s complaints procedures. There was a cross-reference number.

  I took over the keyboard and typed GOTO(8). In front of me were a number of diary entries, the first for 2 May.

  He’s there again. Bridget thinks I’m exaggerating. Wish I could believe her. Blacksnake keeps his distance when Sgartha’s there, but that doesn’t mean he’s given up and gone.

  8 May

  Alex would rather get rid of people than have to put up with their weaknesses, or worse, confront someone who’s foolish enough to dare to point out his own.

  15 May

  Bridget says she’ll stick by me if it comes to a showdown. I wonder if I believe that. I don’t want to put it to the test. I need the Castle. It’s my home. No outsider would believe that if I told them. Why would I want t
o crash his MUD? It’s not as though I haven’t got enough worries without creating more for myself. Why can’t I make him see that it must be someone else?

  25 May

  Blacksnake has entry. He found me in the stables. I love the smell of horses. I could smell him too. I can feel him following me.

  He’s moved up six levels. He asked for a CHAT. I told him the stables were fine for that. He said he had things to say to me that he didn’t want anybody else to hear. He asked for my assistance and told me how he’d won his shield. I said I was impressed.

  He asked when I was expecting the next raiding party. I said I didn’t know. Innocent questions, but they’re not. That’s how I recognise him. Before Blacksnake, he was Soltar. Different character, same mind. Soltar asked the same questions. Laughing at me behind his hand, following me around. Is he someone I once killed? Was he in a British raiding party? Is that the grudge he bears me? Seeing me surrounded by my guards and shields? I won them.

  Will I have to quit the Castle? What will be left for me? I think I know who Blacksnake is, but I’m afraid of certainty. Doesn’t he realise that I long to give him the benefit of the doubt? Perhaps I am a coward. My father’s right. Perhaps that’s all there is to it.

  Eamonn’s ready to give up on me. He’s worried, but that’s about as useful as attacking the Ventac with a spanner. Tells me to quit the MUD, get a new job, take a holiday. He wants me to go on holiday with him. I tried ringing Sorley again. His line’s always busy.

  6 June

  Tried to get Alex on his own. Can’t believe he can’t see for himself how urgent the situation is. He blows in and out like a whirlwind. Never has time for anyone any more, not even Colin.

  Today Colin and I found ourselves standing in the corridor watching him disappear along it. ‘Oh my paws and whiskers the duchess’. I almost said it, might have if it had been anyone but Colin.

  Colin’s not speaking to me, which makes it easier. Each of us could pretend he was alone. If I had said anything, he would have ignored me, or come out with one of his famous put-downs.

  15 June

  Waited in the car park. Should have known he’d be late. It was cold. I kept myself warm by walking round the car. For some reason I couldn’t bear to wait inside it. I’ve never been down there at night before. The lights were beautiful around the lake, and then the gaps where the trees come right down to the water. When he finally appeared it was a shock, though I’d been waiting for what seemed like hours. He held out his hands to me, that messianic gesture I used to think could change the world.