Bloodstains

by Andrew Puckett

‘Was he liked by his colleagues?’

  ‘I believe so, yes.’

  ‘I see. How about Hill?’

  ‘Different character altogether. Not very intelligent and with a bit of a chip on his shoulder.’

  ‘You didn’t like him?’

  Falkenham drew himself up. ‘In my position, one has to show impartiality, but I must confess that I didn’t. He was a born trouble-maker, which is why I had him put permanently on the night shift.’

  ‘To prevent him making trouble?’

  ‘Correct.’ The irony had escaped him.

  ‘How long ago would that have been?’

  He drew in a breath. ‘Oh, about six months.’

  Chalgrove leaned forward. ‘Nearer twelve, I think, Robert.’

  ‘Really?’ Falkenham regarded him frostily. ‘Well, we can always check later.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and turned to me. ‘Do you have any more questions?’

  I shook my head. I can’t think of any more now. But we’ll be meeting every day so that I can keep you up to date.’

  ‘Indeed we will.’ As our eyes met, the imperiousness was replaced for an instant by a look of utter desolation; he seemed to be on the point of saying something, but before he could, there was a noise from outside like an earthquake and the room trembled.

  I jumped up and stared out of the window at the cloud of dust rising from the base of the scaffolding against the main hospital block.

  Chalgrove gave a gentle chuckle. ‘No, it’s not falling down. There’s building work on the roof and they’re chucking the rubble down that chute. Nobody likes the row, but the builders say it saves time, and time is money.’

  As he spoke, there was more activity round the platform at the top and the long flexible tube of the chute trembled down its length as more rubble crashed into the skip below.

  Falkenham said heavily, ‘I’ll hand you over to Dr Chalgrove now.’

  ‘That’s my lab.’ Chalgrove indicated a door opposite his own office. ‘We won’t go in now. I’ll show you some other time if you’re interested. I’d better take you along to Trefor Wickham, he’s the Lab Manager.’ He held a door open for me and lowered his voice almost conspiratorially. ‘But it might not be a bad idea first if I showed you where poor Mike was found, I expect you’d appreciate a glimpse of the scene of the crime.’

  Without waiting for an answer, he strode up the brightly lit corridor with a rangy, slightly shambling gait, and I had a job to keep up with him. His demeanour had been transformed from the moment we left Falkenham’s office. To our left was a series of laboratories, and as we sped past, I saw faces above white coats peering out at us.

  Chalgrove pulled open a door to our right and we found ourselves in another, smaller corridor, not so bright and with a massive door covered with a shiny crinkled aluminium.

  My heart hammered painfully in my throat as a detached part of me thought: Well, this is it.

  ‘Well, this is it,’ echoed Chalgrove’s voice as he grasped the handle. The heavy door swung open and cold air washed around us. ‘The famous Blood Bank,’ he said with a flourish, although in reality it’s nothing more than a large fridge.’

  On stilts, I followed him in.

  I should have realized that nothing in life is ever quite so bad as you think it’s going to be, just as it’s never quite so good.

  Certainly, I was surrounded by blood, or at least by plastic packs that I knew contained it, but the emasculated, almost milky redness belied the knowledge and was somehow an anti-climax.

  ‘This, I suppose, is what our job’s all about.’ Chalgrove indicated the rows of packs with a sweep of his arm. ‘There must be nearly four thousand donations here.’

  I swallowed. ‘Ho-how long would that last you?’

  He peered at me. ‘If our sources dried up, you mean? About a month, I suppose, longer but for the fact that most of it would be out of date by then.’

  He reached out and seizing a pack, thrust it into my hands before I could refuse. I held it without moving.

  ‘Feel it,’ he said, ‘It’s hard to believe that it’s what all this fuss is about, isn’t it? It could be anything in there, oil or molasses, but because it’s blood, because the ignorant think of it as a life-force, it holds an aura of power. Go on, feel it, squeeze the pack.’

  I gaped at him. It was as if he knew of my phobia and was playing a tune on it…

  I clenched my teeth and looked down at the cold object in my hands. It was like a tailored pouch, about six inches by four, with tubing coming from the end and a blue label stuck to the surface which read ‘O Rhesus Positive’ and was followed by a computer bar code. I willed my fingers to move. It was like a cold sluggish cushion.

  I handed it back to him, looked him in the eye and said, ‘I see what you mean, it does have a sort of aura.’ My voice was almost normal.

  He peered at me again. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, why?’

  He shrugged. ‘Thought you looked a bit pale.’ He returned the pack to the shelf and pointed down at the floor. ‘This is where poor Leigh was found. If you look closely you can still see one or two of the chalk marks the police made.’ He was right, the floor had been cleaned, but chalk still adhered in crevices in the concrete.

  ‘It’s bizarre, isn’t it?’ he continued. ‘Have the police told you what they think?’

  I shook my head. ‘They share Falkenham’s opinion of my presence.’

  He laughed. ‘Poor you. You’ve been handed something of a lemon, haven’t you?’

  I looked at him. ‘Something, yes.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I’d better take you along to Uncle Trefor.’ He strode out as though he’d suddenly lost interest in me.

  I stopped him in the corridor. ‘Dr Chalgrove. What did Mike Leigh look like?’

  He gave me a puzzled smile. ‘Whatever d’you want to know that for?’

  I shrugged. ‘Background.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Well, he was average height — a bit taller than you. Dark hair, almost black, moustache, rather rugged face. Is that enough?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Be my guest.’ He opened the door into the main corridor.

  Chapter Three

  Trefor Wickham was somewhere in his fifties, tubby and short with thinning grey hair over a friendly, earnest face, at the moment reddened by the effort of explaining in an excitable Welsh accent why I wasn’t needed at the Centre.

  I let him go on until he had nearly run out of steam, then slipped in — ‘I don’t want to interfere with established work practice, Mr Wickham—’

  ‘Trefor, we’re very informal here.’

  ‘OK, Trefor, I just want to see how you’re getting on with your new computer system.’

  ‘That bloody computer!’ His face became red again. ‘When I think of the promises about all the time we would save. Ha!’

  We were sitting in his office, he beside a desk that was more like the top of a huge waste-paper basket.

  He let his hands fall. ‘A job creation scheme, that’s all it is.’

  ‘That’s very interesting. You’re not the first person I’ve heard say that.’

  He looked at me hopefully. ‘Is that so? D’you think you could help us get rid of it, then?’

  ‘I’m afraid that wouldn’t be up to me.’ His face fell. But if you could explain to me how it works, what its faults are, I could include that in my report.’

  He coughed. ‘Oh well, I don’t know that I’d be the best person for that. No, I think one of the others, Holly Jordan perhaps. Yes, let’s go for a cuppa and you can meet the senior staff.’ He jumped up and pulled off his white coat, hanging it behind the door. I walked with him down the corridor, wondering whether he really knew nothing about the computer, whether he could really be as ignorant as he seemed.

  He ushered me into a small square room where four faces left off talking to stare at us.

  ‘No Holly yet?’ said Wickham.

  ‘Oh, c
ome off it,’ drawled an educated voice from somewhere inside a bushy pepper-and-salt beard, the lean body of its owner sprawled in an easy chair. ‘You know she never comes in until we’ve been here at least ten minutes.’

  A big healthy-looking man beside him of about thirty looked up. ‘Well someone s got to get the blood labelled and banked.’ He mimicked in a falsetto, effeminately preening his shock of fair hair. There was an uneasy chuckle.

  ‘Lay off, Steve.’ This came from a stocky, swarthy character who hadn’t joined the laughter. ‘Just because she cares about her job.’

  ‘Oh, Sir Galahad,’ murmured Steve, and the swarthy one turned on him in fury.

  ‘All right, boys, all right,’ interjected Wickham. ‘She’ll be along in a minute,’ he said to me.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, then, Trefor?’ said the bearded man.

  ‘Oh yes, thank you, Pete. This is Tom Jones, the work study officer from—’

  ‘Tom who?’

  ‘Jones,’ I said to him, ‘and I’m not related.’

  ‘Not related to whom? The pop-singer or the eighteenth-century cocksman?’

  ‘Neither,’ I said shortly, taking a dislike to Pete.

  ‘Tom will be with us… a week, isn’t it, Tom?’

  ‘It might be longer. It depends…’

  ‘On what?’ demanded Pete.

  ‘On how I get on.’

  ‘Well,’ began Wickham, ‘I’m sure you’ll all cooperate—’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Pete drily. ‘After all, we have so little work to do.’

  ‘He’s only trying to do his job like the rest of us,’ said the harassed Wickham, and then paused as though expecting further interruption. None came, however. ‘I’m going to let Holly look after him—’

  ‘She’ll love that,’ Pete interrupted now.

  ‘Well, I expect Tom has already formed an idea of the people he’s landed among,’ said Wickham resignedly, ‘but I’d better go through the formalities. This is Steve Buck, who makes the reagents we use.’ The big fair-haired man flashed me a white-toothed grin. ‘Pete Coleton, who’s already shown you the kind of person he is.’ Pete blew me a kiss. ‘His job is cross-matching our blood. Adrian Hodges—’ he indicated the swarthy man — is in charge of the storage and issue of blood. And David Brown—’ he nodded at a slight figure with auburn hair and a baby face — ‘tests all our blood for diseases like Hepatitis. Now let’s have some tea. Do you take sugar?’

  I sat with my cup in the silence that followed and glanced covertly at Adrian: so here was the person in charge of storage and issue…

  ‘D’you have any ideas yet about how you’re going to make us more efficient, Tom?’ This was Pete. ‘I may call you Tom, mayn’t I?’

  ‘Of course, Pete. I think it would be premature to say anything until I’ve thoroughly examined your present system.’

  ‘But I thought you work study people had set formulae for everything?’

  ‘Being a professional is not the same as having set formulae.’

  ‘Tom has been telling me that we are not the only Centre to be less than happy with computerization,’ said Wickham.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Pete, ‘I’m all for it.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t have to use it,’ said Steve. ‘At the moment, it’s a pain, wouldn’t you agree, Adrian?’

  ‘I’m not sure that I do,’ said Adrian slowly.

  ‘You moaned enough when it was put in.’

  ‘I can see its good points now,’ persisted Adrian. ‘At least it’ll stop labelling errors.’

  Steve, who knew that Adrian disagreed for the sake of it, pounced.

  ‘No need for labelling errors,’ he said smoothly, ‘if the people concerned did their job properly.’

  ‘Come on, Steve,’ cut in Wickham. ‘Occasional human error is a fact of life.’

  ‘Well, it shouldn’t be, not when human life is at stake,’ said Steve virtuously, with a broad wink at Pete.

  ‘You’re just getting at Holly again!’ flared Adrian, who had intercepted the wink. ‘Just what have you got against her?’

  As he spoke, the door opened and a girl of about twenty-five in a light summer dress, with an attractive square face and bobbed hair, came in.

  ‘Who's got what against whom?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘Just the boys needling each other again,’ said Wickham tiredly.

  ‘Nothing new, then.’ She poured herself some tea.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce her?’ drawled Pete. After all, she’s got a vested interest, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Who’s “she”, the cat’s mother?’ demanded the girl, turning around. ‘What vested interest?’

  ‘Oh, Holly, let me introduce Tom Jones,’ began Wickham. She suppressed a giggle. ‘Tom’s the work study officer from London,’ he continued, and since he has a special interest in computers, I thought I’d let you look after him for a few days—’

  ‘Why me?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve got more than enough to do as it is, why not one of the others who don’t have so much to do?’

  ‘That would be fairer,’ mumbled Adrian.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to take care of Tom, then,’ suggested Steve innocently.

  ‘Impossible!’ snapped Adrian. ‘I can’t possibly with what I’ve got on at the moment.’

  Instructive though this display of camaraderie was, I felt it was becoming counter-productive.

  ‘I’d like to spend time with all of you, if we could manage it,’ I said, looking round. There seems to be some misconception about my function here. Perhaps I could explain.’

  I glanced at Wickham, who nodded with alacrity.

  ‘I thought we’d agreed not to have shop-talk in here,’ said Pete.

  ‘If you could bare to make an exception, just this once,’ I said, ‘I want to assure you that I’m not going to interfere with any of your established practices. I just want to see how you’ve incorporated the computer into your routine. Nearly all Centres either have a computer system or are thinking about it—’

  ‘That’s what I wish we were doing,’ said Wickham. Just thinking about it. Sorry.’

  ‘Well, my job is to look at all the Centres, to pool the best ideas—’

  ‘I thought this was to be a purely local exercise,’ said Pete. ‘I haven’t heard of any national study.’

  ‘It was. We decided to start here with the national study,’ I said, making a mental note to tell Marcus, in case clever Pete decided to check. ‘I’m sure we could arrange to have the local work study done as well if you’re worried about it,’ I added maliciously.

  Groans. Then David, speaking for the first time, said, ‘whose idea was all this anyway, cheeking our computer processes?’ His strong Devon accent was tinged with petulance.

  ‘Probably tied up with the row about the blood stolen in London,’ said Steve gloomily.

  ‘That wouldn’t concern my Department,’ I said quickly.

  I tried to retrieve something by watching each person’s reaction as I spoke. Pete looked thoughtful and Steve a little smug. ‘It’s the responsibility of each individual Centre.’ Adrian stared down at his hands. ‘Anyway, now that you’ve been computerized—’ David stared at me, mouth slightly open and cheeks flushed — ‘there’s no problem.’ Wickham’s expressionless face looked down, while Holly’s stared at me almost defiantly. ‘That’s one of the advantages of a computer.’ Adrian still studied his knuckles.

  ‘Anyway, as I was saying, I just want to spend a few hours in each Department so that I can build up a picture of the overall system.’

  Wickham had replaced his cup on the table. ‘Well, thank you, Tom, I think that’s set everyone’s mind at rest—’

  ‘I’m still a bit puzzled—’ began Pete, but Wickham overrode him.

  ‘I think it would be a good time to show you round the Centre now, Tom. You can start first thing in the morning in Holly’s laboratory.’ He deftly ushered me out into the main corridor be
fore there were any more questions.

  As soon as we were outside, he said, ‘I must apologize for their behaviour, Tom, they’re not themselves, they’re not usually like that.’ He walked on a few paces, then stopped and turned to me. ‘You must know about the tragedy we suffered here last week. Unbelievable.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s affected them, all of us, deeply. I’m sorry. It’s the main reason why I didn’t want you here at this time.’ He took a few more paces, then stopped and turned to me again and I was certain that he was going to ask me about Pete’s suspicions, then he changed his mind and walked on.

  For the first part of the tour I made polite noises, not really paying much attention; I was trying to file in my memory the reactions of the people in the tea-room. Then it occurred to me that it might be useful to know the layout of the Centre and I became more attentive.

  It was built on a square, and as Wickham took me round the perimeter, I began to realize just how many staff there were. Drivers, nurses, donor attendants, all in their various uniforms. Porters, cleaners, storemen and office workers.

  I asked Wickham how many there were.

  ‘A hundred and twenty-six,’ he replied promptly.

  Washer-uppers, receptionists, registry clerks, and then back to the laboratories, and inevitably, the blood bank.

  He wasn’t as eloquent as Chalgrove, but I was in no mood to notice. It just didn’t affect me so much and I was filled with the incredible possibility of coming to terms…

  It didn’t occur to me until afterwards that all the time we were in there Wickham stood in just one place. With his feet planted firmly over the chalk marks on the floor.

  At five o’clock it was over, and we stood in the main corridor watching as staff streamed from the laboratories, and then as though by a conjuring trick streamed back past us, ordinary people now, without their white coats. The empty laboratories already looked forlorn and sterile, the massive piece of machinery opposite us like a robot waiting for someone to bring it to life.

  Trefor stepped back hastily as two avidly talking girls swept past us, shoulder-bags swinging.

  ‘Depressing,’ he murmured as though to himself, then glanced up apologetically. ‘It’s a bit of an Exodus here at five o’clock. I wish they wouldn’t make their desire to be gone quite so obvious. In my day…’ He tailed off. ‘How are you getting back, Tom? Car, I suppose?’