Fenton's Winter (22 page)

Against the letter 'O' were
figures equivalent to the normal clotting time for human blood. The
separate columns were simply repeat tests on the same samples of
group O blood. Fenton found a similar set of entries against the
letter 'A' and concluded, as Neil Munro must have done, that there
was no problem with either group A or group O blood and that would
cover the majority of the population.

There was only one entry
against the letter, 'B' and the initials, S.M. were appended.
Sandra Murray! thought Fenton. Neil had used Sandra Murray's blood
to test the behaviour of group B blood in the presence of Saxon
plastic. He could have obtained blood of group O and A from people
in the lab but for group B he had had to ask the blood transfusion
service. The figures for Sandra Murray's blood, although slightly
on the long side, were within the normal clotting time range.
Underneath Neil had written down three dots followed by the
letters, 'AB'...therefore AB. Neil Munro had known!

Munro had deduced that the
plastic affected people with group AB blood and that meant
something in the order of three percent of the population. That was
why he had requested another donor from the Blood Transfusion
Service; he had wanted to verify his conclusion.

Fenton picked up the phone and
called Steve Kelly to get details of Munro's last request. Kelly
told him what he was now already sure of; Munro had requested a
supply of group AB blood.

Fenton had interpreted
everything in Munro's book except the numbers on the first page. As
a last resort he considered that they might conceivably refer to a
routine lab specimen number. He went downstairs to the office to
check through the files and found that there was indeed a blood
sample bearing the five figured number in Munro's book. It had come
from a patient named Moran and appeared to have been quite normal
for all the tests requested.

Failing to see the significance
of a normal blood analysis Fenton returned upstairs but stopped
when he got to the first landing as the name, 'Moran' rang a bell.
Of course! That was the name of the patient whose sample had been a
failure on the Saxon Analyser during the trials. The failure had
been put down to the specimen arriving in the wrong sort of
container but when it had been checked on the routine analyser it
had given perfectly normal readings. It had been the Saxon Analyser
at fault not the specimen and Neil Munro must have realised that!
That's what had started his investigation off in the first
place!

Fenton checked with Medical
Records and ascertained that the patient Moran had had group AB
blood. More checking revealed that Susan Daniels had also had AB
blood. A call to the records department at the Eye Pavilion told
him that the same had been true for Jamie Buchan.

The conclusion was perfectly
simple. Saxon plastic killed people with group AB blood. It totally
destroyed the clotting mechanism. Susan Daniels had constantly been
in contact with it through the samplers for the Saxon Blood
Analyser she had been testing, the patients had had Saxon plastic
name tags permanently against their skin, as had Jamie Buchan after
Jenny had given him some to play with and the ward maid would have
handled Saxon products every day in the ward. It made sense.

On the day that Neil Munro had
worked out the problem with AB blood he must have told Saxon and
gone down to the Sterile Supply Department immediately to have all
Saxon plastic products withdrawn. Saxon must have followed him and
pushed him into the sterilizer before he had had a chance to tell
anyone.

It must have been Saxon
personally, decided Fenton, for Neil had told no one else in the
lab and he would have gone down to see Sister Kincaid as soon as he
had realised what was going on. There would not have been time for
Saxon to arrange for someone else to have done his dirty work.
Saxon must have done it himself and for that, given half a chance,
there would be a reckoning before society had its say.

Tyson was out of the lab at a meeting so Fenton called the
hospital secretary, James Dodds, on his own authority. He was asked
to wait while a lady with an affected accent checked to see 'if Mr
Dodds was available.'

"Dodds here."

"Fenton, Biochemistry, I think
you may find this a little difficult to believe..."

Fenton was right, Dodds found
it hard to swallow. He indicated his difficulty by making
spluttering noises into the phone and other sounds of
incredulity.

"You must withdraw all Saxon
plastic products at once," concluded Fenton.

"But are you absolutely sure?"
protested Dodds.

"Absolutely. There is no madman
on the loose in the hospital, it's the plastic."

"But Dr Munro's death?"

"I'll be speaking to the police
about that," said Fenton. "But the main thing is to stop the staff
using anything made of Saxon plastic."

"Of course, of course,"
murmured Dodds. "Right away."

Saxon products were withdrawn
from circulation, a task accomplished without much difficulty due
to the fact that stocks in the hospital were generally low as the
initial gift from Saxon Medical had dwindled down to a few weeks
supply. More was on order for when they became commercially
available but now, thankfully, that would never happen.

Fenton wished that Tyson would
return from his meeting for he felt the need of moral support. For
the past two hours, ever since his conversation with Dodds, he had
done little else but answer the telephone and deal with personal
callers who wanted more details. He felt like the Caliph of Baghdad
on a bad day but without the power to cut the heads from those who
pleaded their case too strongly. If just one more person were to
ask him if he was 'absolutely sure'...

"But are you absolutely sure?"
asked Inspector Jamieson, making Fenton's foot itch. "Yes, I am
sure," replied Fenton through gritted teeth. "But for conclusive
proof I have asked the Blood Transfusion Service to provide some
group AB blood for us to test."

"Who's bringing it?" asked
Jamieson.

"Its owner. It has to be fresh
blood. The donor will be coming here."

Jamieson suggested that a
police car should be sent to collect the donor so Fenton gave him
Kelly's number. He passed it to his sergeant. "See to it will you."
He walked over to the lab window and looked out at the greyness.
"So we have a plastic murderer," he said, still with his back to
Fenton.

"So it seems," said Fenton. He
could sense Jamieson's discomfort and could understand it. The man
had been hunting a non-existent killer and there would be no glory
in this for him, no self effacing media interviews, just another
bumbling copper story. But there was still the Munro death. Fenton
thought that he could read Jamieson's mind.

"I understand you have some
ideas about the Munro death?" said Jamieson.

Fenton said, "I think I know
why he was murdered and I think I know who did it." He brought out
Neil Munro's notebook and said, "I didn't understand this at first
but I do now. It proves that Neil Munro knew that there was a
problem with Saxon plastic and, what's more, he had worked out
exactly what."

"And you think this is why he
was killed?"

"The license for Saxon plastic
was worth millions."

"To the Saxon Company," said
Jamieson.

"Saxon the company, Saxon the
man." said Fenton.

"Point taken."

Charles Tyson came in to the
room and broke the spell. He came straight over to Fenton. "I think
I owe you an apology," he said.

"Let's just be glad it's over,"
said Fenton.

"I should have listened to you
earlier. I could kick myself."

Fenton said, "You took the only
line possible. Besides I was out of my head with worry over Jenny
at the time."

Fenton's reference to Jenny had
been for Jamieson's benefit.The policeman shifted his weight to the
other foot but showed no signs of embarrassment. He said, "Perhaps
you will let me know when you have completed the blood tests?"

"Will do," said Fenton.

Tyson asked, "What blood
tests?"

Fenton told him about the donor
who was on his way.

For Maxwell Kirkpatrick, senior
clerk with the Scotia Insurance Company (est. 1864) this was the
kind of call he had been waiting for all his life. His previous
pinnacle of achievement in becoming secretary of the Grants Hill
Church of Scotland Badminton Club (Monday Group) was now dwarfed
thanks to a blood group that set him apart from mere mortals.

As the white police Rover with
the fluorescent orange stripe squealed through the gates of the
hospital and genuflected to the front door Maxwell got out and
looked up at the Latin inscription above the stone arch. A
missionary zeal shone from his eyes. He didn't understand it but
somehow it seemed right. The policemen fired off a two door salute
and drove off leaving Maxwell to enter reception. "Good day," he
announced in tones that suggested he might also collect cigarette
cards and go train spotting, "I understand that...you need me."

Tyson took the blood from
Kirkpatrick and handed the full syringe to Fenton who ejected half
the contents into a regular test tube and the rest into a Saxon
plastic one. The click of the stop watches sounded unnaturally loud
in the quiet of the room.

As time passed Kirkpatrick
found it increasingly difficult to maintain his expression of
expectant interest. His smile began to pucker like a beauty queen
held too long on camera and his eyes moved backwards and forwards
between Fenton and Tyson as he searched for clues from the
pre-occupied men.

"This one has gone," said Tyson
quietly. He tapped the side of the tube with his pen to make
sure.

"This one hasn't," said Fenton
who was monitoring the Saxon tube.

"Completely clotted," said
Tyson.

"Quite, quite fluid," said
Fenton.

"Game, set and match." said
Tyson. He turned to Kirkpatrick and apologised for his rudeness. He
explained what they had been looking for.

"Do you mean...there is no
patient?" asked Kirkpatrick with an air of disappointment.

Tyson, sizing up the man,
assured him that what he had just done would be instrumental in the
saving of many lives. Fenton added his agreement and Kirkpatrick
beamed. "Just doing what little I could," he said with a downward
cast of his eyes.

"We are very grateful," said
Tyson. "I'll ask the police to see to it that you are taken where
you want to go."

"Really?" said Kirkpatrick, his
eyes opening wide. He had not reckoned on being returned to the
office in a police car. This was an added bonus. Would they use the
flashing light on the return journey? And would a constable hold
the door open for him when he got out? By God, this would show that
bitch in accounts that Maxwell Kirkpatrick was not a man to be
trifled with.

Tyson pulled on a pair of
surgical gloves with traditional difficulty and took the test tubes
to the sink as Inspector Jamieson arrived. He gently tipped the
Saxon tube on to its side and let the blood stream out in a thin,
even flow. "You know," he said, "It's quite ironic really, this
stuff is probably going to turn out to be the most efficient
anticoagulant known to man."

"I think Neil had plans to
investigate that," said Fenton.

"How so?"

"He had a range of standard
anticoagulants and a bottle of solvent in a locked cupboard in his
lab. I think he must have been planning on trying to solubilise the
plastic in order to test its anticoagulant capacity before he
realised the significance of the blood groups."

Fenton was intrigued by the
amount of care that Tyson seemed to be exercising in dealing with
the plastic test tubes. As he checked his gloves yet again for
signs of damage he became aware that Fenton was watching him. He
said quietly, "Worked it out yet?"

The truth dawned on Fenton.
"The dirty tube...it wasn't a dirty tube at all. It was your blood!
You have group AB blood."

"Correct. I was lucky, I
haven't had any reason to come into contact with the damned stuff
for any length of time but I don't relish coming that close
again."

"Any news about Mr Saxon
Inspector?" Tyson asked.

"Mr Saxon will be shortly
helping us with our inquiries sir," said Jamieson getting up to
leave Fenton screwed up his face at the official jargon but he had
his back to the policeman.

"I take it you and Inspector
Jamieson don't get on too well?" asked Tyson when the door had
closed.

"Something like that," agreed
Fenton.

"The business over Jenny?"

"I suppose so."

"You may not like it but
Jamieson was right to do what he did. On the face of it he had
every reason to suspect Jenny and what's more, the very fact that
he saw the link between the deaths in the hospital and the boy's
death up north makes him good at his job!"

"If you say so."

"I do. Now that we have
established that, let's drink to the end of this damned business."
Tyson opened a desk drawer and took out a half full bottle of malt
whisky. "Fetch a couple of beakers will you? Glass ones."

Fenton lay along the sofa with
his head on Jenny's lap and closed his eyes while she played with
the curls of his hair.

"That's nice," he murmured.

"Nothing is too nice for the
hero of Princess Mary."

"I just hope the police picked
up Saxon," said Fenton.

"You know, I still find it hard
to believe that Nigel Saxon was the cause of all this," said Jenny
distantly.

Fenton opened his eyes. "What
do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, he was brash and loud
but basically I always thought of him as weak, just like a big
labrador dog. I just can't picture him killing someone in cold
blood. Can you?"