First Blood

by Claire Rayner

  ‘Now, let’s do this in a logical order, May. Dr Barnabas first.’

  ‘It’s about the three new microscopes,’ she said, launching into an account of what had happened and Sheila’s attempts to sort it all out, and his face seemed to darken as she talked and his forehead creased. Even before she’d finished he’d come round the secretary’s desk and was reaching for the phone.

  ‘I just don’t know what more we can do,’ he burst out when George had finished. ‘I warn them, I tell them. I put up posters about watching out for anything unusual and yet it goes on happening. Oh, hello?’ He spoke into the phone. ‘Could I have Tim Brewer, please? Mitch Formby.’ He waited, his hand over the mouthpiece, and looked lugubriously at George. ‘You realize what has happened, of course?’

  ‘Like hell I do,’ George said, staring, as he shook his head at her and then spoke into the phone.

  ‘Tim? We’ve got another. What? yes, mmm. I have the doctor with me now. From pathology. Mmm. What? I’ll check – Dr Barnabas, what exactly has gone?’ George told him. ‘Right. Three of the newer microscopes. Yup. Three, no less. Mmm. I’ll check.’ Again he looked at George. ‘When did they go? And remind me how.’ George told him and he repeated it all into the phone. ‘You see? Getting very cocky, aren’t they? It has to be the same lot. Different M.O. I admit, but still – Value? I’m not sure. Just hold on, will you?’

  He put the phone down on the desk and went across the office to pull open a drawer of files and go riffling through looking for one of them as the two women stood and watched him. He came back and picked up the phone. ‘Give or take sixty thousand. What? A big one? Oh yeah – yeah. Big enough, wouldn’t you say? Mmm – So when – Oh. Not till – I see, I see. OK. I’ll set it up.’

  He cradled the phone and stood there looking down at it, shaking his head.

  George frowned and spoke sharply, more sharply than she meant to. ‘What the hell’s this all about, then?’

  ‘What it’s about, Dr Barnabas, is theft,’ Formby said, and sighed deeply. ‘It’s the third we’ve had in the last three months. It was electrocardiographs the first time, then it was a pair of electronic infusion pumps from ICU. They were worth around eleven thousand. Then there were the endoscopes, flexible endoscopes, four of them one after the other, starting last year, the latest only just after Christmas. I told everyone, I put up notices …’

  George bit her lip, remembering there had been a bit of a fuss just after she’d arrived at Old East. Things had been stolen from the wards, notices on the bulletin boards said. Everyone had to be aware, especially if they used costly equipment. But no one had paid much attention to them and the notices were still there, dog-eared and yellowing and as good as invisible since they were totally ignored.

  ‘They’ve been stolen. Our microscopes,’ she said flatly. ‘Oh, shit!’

  ‘You may well say so,’ Formby said. ‘Ye Gods, we know we’re always going to get some wastage in a place like this with so many people wandering in and out, but this gear! It used to be sheets and towels and stuff from the kitchen and the occasional bedding – they’re bloody clever in these parts, they can smuggle the biggest things out – but this is getting ridiculous. Those microscopes were almost twenty thousand pounds apiece! They’ll make a hell of a hole in the budget.’

  ‘I’ve got to have them replaced,’ George said swiftly. ‘I can’t work without them. The lab simply can’t function without –’

  ‘I know that perfectly well,’ Formby said. ‘We’ll have to find it somewhere, though what Region’ll say I can’t imagine.’

  ‘No insurance?’ George said and Formby let out a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Would you insure anything in this place if you were an insurance company in the business of making money? Like hell you would! No, I’m sorry doctor. It’s clearly another theft, even more daring than usual this time. You say he made one of your people sign a receipt? Impudent devil! You wouldn’t believe the brass neck these people have, would you? Well, as I say, theft, major theft.’ He sighed. ‘They’ll be in in the morning. He didn’t say what time.’

  ‘Who’ll be in in the morning?’ George said, confused.

  Formby looked at her pityingly. ‘We have to call in the police, Dr Barnabas. We can’t just say, “Oh, what a pity, someone pinched our pretties. Let’s go out and buy a few more,” can we? No, of course we can’t. Region’ll want evidence of theft, and there’ll be God knows what in the way of toing and froing before we get this settled, reams of paperwork – Oh the hell with it! Just when we’re up to our eyes in the Barrie Ward project, quite apart from the usual workload. I wonder why I bother sometimes, I really do. It’s the most thankless job in the world.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Formby, but it’s all so important! You said that to me yourself when I got so miserable about the way people talk to me …’ The secretary began to snivel and he smiled at her a little absently.

  ‘Well, yes, May, but don’t you worry. I was just expressing my – well, there it is. In the morning, Dr Barnabas, your staff must talk to the police. The chap who dealt with us last time – nice fella, Tim Brewer – said he’ll be over first thing. He’s a bit tied up right now, and anyway, what’s the hurry? It happened some days ago, and another night won’t make a lot of odds. It’s hardly a fingerprints and sleuthing job, is it? Just a straight piece of knocking off no one’ll be able to track down.’

  ‘But surely the police’ll be able to do something!’ George said.

  He sighed and headed for the door. ‘The only thing the police can do is confirm it’s been a theft, so that we can persuade Region to cough up the money for replacement. They can’t till they’ve got the statement to put forward to the Department. It’ll end up in some corner of Whitehall eventually, and even more eventually we’ll get our cash back for our microscopes by which time the chap who pinched ’em’ll be living it up on the Costa del Horrible and planning to come back for a few more bits and pieces so that he can furnish his swimming pool complex.’

  ‘And what do we do in the meantime, waiting for our microscopes?’ George was alarmed. ‘We’ve got a couple of clapped-out old things – one of them belongs to one of the staff, not the hospital – and they’re all right for some basic work, but for –’

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry, doctor.’ Formby stopped by the door. ‘I’ll talk to Matthew – Mr Herne – and we’ll see what we can do. We’ve got an emergency fund, what’s left of it after the holes chewed in it by the last lot of robberies, and we’ll buy out of that. Then we can put it back when Region come up with the replacement cash. So you can sleep easy tonight.’ He grinned a little raffishly. ‘Unless one of your staff had something to do with the robbery, of course.’

  ‘Very funny,’ George said coldly.

  ‘Just an attempt at a joke,’ Formby said. ‘Forgive me. I get a bit light-headed after a day like this.’

  ‘Well, you never know,’ May said spitefully, and went past George to stand beside Formby at the door where clearly she felt safe. ‘No one’s exempt from suspicion and, in my experience, people who are rude to others are capable of anything.’

  ‘May, that’s enough. You go. I’ll lock up.’

  She threw a worshipping look at him and nodded. ‘All right, Mr Formby. But you see if I’m not right. You said it as a joke but I don’t think it’s so funny. Trying to blame other people for things that aren’t their fault …’ And she went clattering off down the corridor, leaving Formby shaking his head ruefully at George.

  ‘You mustn’t mind her. She’s been on the staff a good deal longer than’s good for her, and she thinks she owns the place. Very protective she is, fiercely so. We understand her –’

  ‘I’m glad you do,’ George said frostily. ‘Making groundless accusations against members of my lab staff is hardly the sort of behaviour I’d expect from responsible administration personnel.’

  ‘Well, never you fret over it.’ Formby was soothing. ‘I’ll deal with her. Meanwhile, do let your people know that Brewer
’ll be in in the morning.’ He turned to go and then stopped. ‘Or …’ He turned back. ‘Look, I don’t want to be silly like poor old May, but I have to say – well, you never know, do you? I mean it could be anyone and – well, forgive me, but perhaps it’d be better if you said nothing about Brewer coming, hmm? After all, anything that makes it quicker and easier to sort this out has to be welcomed. And making sure people haven’t had a chance to – well, make up tales to back each other up out of misplaced loyalty could be sensible. What do you say?’

  ‘There’s no need,’ George said. ‘I’m sure of that. So sure that in fact I won’t say anything just to prove to you how wrong you are. Fair enough? Then you can apologize.’ She too moved as if to leave and then halted, frowning, as a thought came to her. ‘This policeman who’s coming. Brewer, you say …’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Where’s he coming from?’

  ‘From? Oh, Ratcliffe Street. It’s our nearest police station. He’s a sensible chap, very sound. I’m sure you’ll find him most helpful. He’s part of Gus Hathaway’s lot, d’you know him? I imagine you do. Or will do soon if you don’t already. Dr Royle and he were very thick, I remember.’

  ‘Oh, I know him,’ George said bitterly. ‘I should have known he’d be involved with this too.’ And she turned and marched out of the admin building leaving Formby staring after her in some surprise.

  10

  George sat thinking gloomily of how much nicer a chilli dog would have been than the concoction which now lay half-eaten on her plate. Spanish rice, they called it, though it was about as Spanish as rhubarb and custard, another of the hospital canteen’s less than delectable offerings today. She was hungry, but not that hungry, and she promised herself that after she’d finished in the lab this evening she’d get something from the fish-and-chip shop she’d discovered down the Highway. A swim at the leisure centre and then fish and chips over the day’s papers in her room; that was something to look forward to.

  ‘May I join you?’

  She looked up and then gladly pushed her chair along to make room at the table. ‘Please do. How are you? Haven’t seen you for an age.’

  Kate Sayers slid into the space and began to unload her tray. ‘That’s not surprising. I’ve been so hectic I’ve not had time to come for proper meals. Not that I’d call this a proper meal. Ye gods, the food’s gone nasty since they privatized it!’

  ‘Is that what’s wrong with it?’ George said. ‘I thought they were using left-overs from the wards.’

  ‘It’s even worse on the wards. Come and see sometime.’

  ‘I should get up to the wards more, I suppose. But you know how it is …’

  ‘Busy?’ Kate was sympathetic. ‘I know we are.’

  ‘Uhuh. Lots of blood work for local GPs, of course, and outpatients seem to be running on double time, but there’ve been four post-mortems in the last couple of days, quite apart from anything else, so I’m hectic on both sides.’

  ‘Both sides? You mean the forensic as well as the hospital’s pathology, of course. How could I not remember?’ She put down her knife and fork and leaned towards George eagerly. ‘You must have got involved with this Oxford business. It’ll be a PM, won’t it? Seeing he died at home on his own. Or had he been seen by his doctor in the previous fortnight? I got the impression it was all very sudden and totally unexpected.’

  ‘He hadn’t, and it was. Yes, there had to be a PM.’ She hesitated. Kate looked friendly and cheerful, if a little agog for gossip at the moment, but then who wouldn’t be? And it would be agreeable to have someone to confide in. She needed a girlfriend badly, she suddenly realized. It was a lonely life without one. ‘I did it, day before yesterday.’

  ‘So what was it? I imagine his heart and kidneys were pretty wrecked, hmm? He looked renal to me.’ Kate laughed and began to eat. ‘But then I suppose that’d be an inevitable observation on my part.’

  George laughed a little wryly. ‘Everyone’s making diagnoses. Prof. Dieter said the same.’

  ‘Oh?’ Kate was interested. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Just what you did. Not that we could talk long. He was following me down the corridor on the way to lunch and stopped me to ask what I’d found. Everyone has to be in on the act, don’t they?’

  ‘Oh, blast!’ Kate said. ‘Is that your polite way of telling me to mind my own business?’

  ‘No, of course not. I mean – well – I didn’t say anything to the Professor. I’d rather wait till the inquest’s safely over. He is the Professor, after all –’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean. But I’m not a professor. I’m just me,’ Kate said winningly.

  George laughed and gave in. ‘Between ourselves, then. The inquest hasn’t happened yet, remember.’

  ‘Of course!’ Kate tilted her head like a bright bird waiting for crumbs.

  ‘Well, I saw him at the site, you know? Where he died. It’s a hell of a place.’ And she launched herself into a graphic description of the sumptuousness of the Oxford flat that had Kate enthralled. She pushed away her plate and propped her elbows on the table, clearly finding what George had to say a great deal more nourishing than glutinous Spanish rice.

  ‘But then this policeman arrived …’ George hesitated. It was really Gus she wanted to talk about, the chance to let out her spleen about him to someone, and Kate would be a comforting person to talk to, she was sure. Or would it be too indiscreet? She decided she didn’t care and said, ‘He’s the local Detective Chief Inspector. Big-deal guy, you know? I’m likely to fall over him in every damned case I have to do for the police.’

  Kate grinned. ‘Do I detect a more than professional interest? What’s he like?’

  ‘Cockney. Pushy. Big-headed.’

  ‘Oh,’ Kate said and reached for her coffee. ‘You liked him.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘I did not!’ George said, then stopped and smiled a little shamefacedly. ‘He likes me, that’s the thing. He turned up the day before yesterday to watch me do the PM – and I’d made such a fuss the night before.’ She filled Kate in with the details.

  Kate listened, fascinated, and then, when she heard the tale of the impromptu lunch party in George’s office, laughed delightedly. ‘He’s a man of style! Sort of thing Oliver’d have done. Once.’ She made a small grimace. ‘He’s got a bit stuffy lately. I dare say it’s having two children to worry over. He certainly worries over them more than I do.’

  ‘Oliver? Your husband?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Kate said sunnily. ‘We’re not married. He had a disaster the first time around and there’s no way he’d risk it again.’ She stopped and added thoughtfully, ‘I’m not sure I’d want to now, either. I did at first, like mad. But now …’ She shook her head. ‘They stay or they go. Being married doesn’t make much difference.’

  ‘You’re so right,’ George said with some fervour, and told her about Ian. Kate made all the right noises of disgust at such male bullheadedness and general stupidity and congratulated her on a lucky escape, and George basked in the warmth of feminine solidarity. She’d been right; she had badly needed a girlfriend.

  ‘But this chap; Hathaway, you say. He sounds rather fun.’ Kate was reflective. ‘I’ll tell you this much. There’s a lot to be said for setting your sights on men outside the trade. Doctors married to doctors: it can work, of course it can, but I think it’s a bit too enclosed. Not healthy for the mind. Oliver’s a journalist and that makes for much more interesting conversation around the domestic hearth. I get all the shop talk I need here, and then go home and pretend I’m normal. Bliss.’

  ‘Oh,’ George said, no more, but Kate looked at her shrewdly.

  ‘Dear me. Do I detect another chap in the offing? But this one comes with a GMC guarantee?’

  George laughed, embarrassed. ‘Am I that transparent?’

  ‘No,’ Kate said smugly. ‘I’m just very perceptive. Do tell me all about it –’

  ‘Room for one more?’

  They bot
h looked up. Kate said warmly, ‘Of course. Move over, George,’ and the newcomer sat down with her coffee and packet of biscuits. ‘Is that all you’re having for lunch? You need a bit more than that.’

  ‘Since you seem to have left most of yours on the plate, I can’t say I find the advice all that disinterested,’ the other said and turned to George. ‘Hello. I hope you don’t mind me butting in.’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘I’m Hattie Clements, Sister in A & E.’

  ‘I’m George Barnabas. Pathologist.’

  ‘Oh, I know that.’ Hattie unwrapped her biscuits. ‘There isn’t any new doctor turns up here but the nursing staff get to know all there is to know about them! We know all about you.’

  ‘Oh?’ George was a little nettled, for all she was grateful that the new arrival had deflected Kate’s interest in any involvement she might have with a medical man. Making the best of a girlfriend was one thing; pouring out her entire budget of information before they knew each other a little better would be stupid indeed. ‘What do you know?’

  ‘Well, we know you’re called George, that you came here from Scotland though you’re American, and that you’re unattached. Though some of the nurses reckon you and Toby Bellamy might be an item, having seen you around in the pub and so forth. How’s that for beginners?’

  George was mortified, and very aware of Kate’s reaction, which was one of amused understanding. ‘A bit too much,’ she said a little acidly.

  ‘Oh, don’t let it upset you!’ Kate said. ‘Hattie’s perfectly right. Everyone talks their heads off over everyone else here at Old East. I’ll help you catch up. Hattie’s a widow, has two children and she’s being pursued, when she isn’t doing the pursuing herself, by a rather delicious schoolmaster who writes novels. She can’t make up her mind whether to settle down with him or not, and spends hours talking to whoever’ll listen about what she ought to do.’