'I see.'
Thelwell hung his head and there was silence in the room for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke again. 'I don't suppose you will believe this but I just went there to have it out with him about the test. I didn't intend to but when I was passing the hospital on my way to choir practice I saw his light on and I called in on him.'
'And?'
'He was dead when I went in, hanging from the beam like a carcase in a butcher's shop.
'Why didn't you call the police?' asked Jamieson quietly.
'Because of what people would think. Because of what you are thinking now.'
'What I think is not important. It's the police you have to convince.'
Gordon Thomas Thelwell was questioned by the police for over two hours that same afternoon. He was allowed to go home shortly after five and Jamieson, who had been waiting for the outcome at the lab, took a call from Ryan. 'We've let him go,' said Ryan.
'What convinced you?' asked Jamieson.
'The PM report suggests that it could have been suicide. There were no other signs of injury and the man had been under severe stress. It would have been better if he had left a note but there we have it. If we don't have a murder we can't have a killer.'
'What did you think of Thelwell?' asked Jamieson.
'A weirdo,' replied Ryan. 'If you ask me Richardson wasn't the only one suffering from stress in that hospital of yours.'
Jamieson had a short meeting with Carew to discuss the re-scheduling of the surgery lists in Gynaecology and the continuing microbiological investigation into the cause of the outbreak.
'Doctor Evans will be in charge of Bacteriology until a locum consultant is appointed. Phillip Morton will continue to operate in Gynaecology but only on emergency cases meantime.’
'I've requested that a small team from the Public Health Department be called in to help with the investigation,' said Jamieson.
'What exactly will they be doing?' asked Carew.
'Just what Richardson's people have been doing all along,' replied Jamieson. 'Taking swabs from all the likely places in the theatres and wards and hoping to get lucky. The more people we have doing it the better our chances.'
'Do you still want the Pseudomonas culture?' asked Moira Lippman when Jamieson came into the lab on the following morning.
Jamieson, who had temporarily forgotten about the biochemistry he had planned to carry out, thought for a moment and then decided that he might as well go ahead with the tests. It would give him something to do while he waited to see if the surgical infection problem would re-occur. He said that he did and would make a start immediately. Moira Lippman smiled and helped him to gown up.
Jamieson found the lab work therapeutic, a brief respite from wrestling with the greater problems of the hospital. He was not familiar enough with the protocols involved in setting up the tests that he could perform them without thinking, so he had to concentrate on what he was doing and refer to lab manuals where necessary. While he was doing that he could not think about anything else.
Just before he was about to return to the residency in late afternoon, Jamieson had a call from Thelwell. His heart sank when he heard Thelwell's voice but the surgeon had calmed down considerably since their last meeting. 'What can I do for you Mr Thelwell?' he asked.
'I have just had my second negative swab result from the Public Health Service lab,' said Thelwell.
'I'm delighted to hear it,' said Jamieson.
'I would now like to return to my lists,' said Thelwell.
'Three negatives are needed, Mr Thelwell,' said Jamieson, feeling as if he had just lit a fuse.
'This is bureaucratic nonsense and you know it!' declared Thelwell.
'We've already been through this. Three please, Mr Thelwell,' said Jamieson.
Thelwell put the phone down on Jamieson.
'And you Mr Thelwell,' said Jamieson under his breath as he put his own receiver down.
EIGHT
It was later than he had intended when the man reached the basement flat. He had hoped to be out on the streets that evening but circumstances and the meddling of outsiders had decreed that he had other things to do first. He tried to salvage some comfort from the thought that at least, he would be indoors and out of the rain. It had been raining heavily for the past six hours and the streets were flooding as storm drains gradually became overloaded. He put down his umbrella and shook the worst of the rain from it before opening and closing it quickly several times to clear away some more. It made the sound of a flight of crows taking of in the darkness.
Before he took off his coat the man knelt down in front of an old gas fire and succeeded in lighting it with the third match. The blue flames were interspersed with fans of yellow where the radiants had cracked over the years and the hearth was littered with spent matches. After warming his hands for a moment he hung up his coat on the back of the door and donned his apron, mask and gloves. He switched on the lamp above his work bench. It was a bit early for the next phase of the project but not impossible, he decided. He brought out a series of small glass vials from the fridge and made a start.
As the hours passed and everything went according to plan he started to relax a little. He was under pressure but that just added to the excitement. The greater the danger the greater the thrill. What idiots people were. But he mustn't become complacent, he cautioned himself. If the second phase was going well then he should be thinking ahead to the third and even the fourth. And then there was the problem of the meddler from outside. A permanent solution might have to be found for him soon but there was no immediate need for action. He mustn't rush at things. He would give the matter some thought. He got up from the bench and started to put everything away again.
He had taken off his protective clothing and rolled up his sleeves before washing his hands and forearms thoroughly when a knock at the door interrupted him. He froze at the sound and remained absolutely silent as his heartbeat quickened. A beaker of water which was still simmering above the blue flame of a Bunsen burner on his work bench sounded uncommonly loud. He hadn't made any mistakes up till now, he told himself. There was no need to panic. It couldn't possibly be the police. There had to be some perfectly innocent explanation.
Perhaps, if he remained quiet and didn't answer the door, whoever it was would go away. He stared at the boiling water and wondered if it could be heard outside the door as the glass beaker jumped again on its gauze support as the water bubbled inside it. Thirty seconds passed before the knock came again and the man swallowed. His mouth had gone dry with nerves but there was still no need to panic, he told himself. He would answer the door. There had to be a perfectly simple explanation for who was there and why.
He removed the plug from the wash-hand basin and closed the bathroom door behind him as he came out. He took a quick look around the room to ensure that nothing had been left lying around. A box of surgical gloves was still sitting there on the table. He moved them out of sight and walked slowly towards the door. He stopped half way and returned to the simmering beaker of water. He removed a jar of instant coffee from a cupboard above the sink and stood it beside the beaker to create a motive for the boiling water. He opened the door to find a woman standing there.
'I'm so sorry to bother you at this late hour but I saw your light on and it» s the only one in the street,' she said.
'Yes?' answered the man non-committally.
'My car has let me down and the phone box on the corner has been vandalised. I wonder if I might possibly use your phone?'
The man stared at her silently for a moment looking for signs of deceit. Had this bitch been sent for a reason? Was she here to trap him? She had all the signs. Red lips, white teeth, large breasts. Her eyes were blue and they were smiling at him, taunting him, daring him to smile back. He resisted knowing that any sign of weakness on his part would only escalate her efforts to ensnare him. He could smell her scent. He stiffened as he noticed the swelling on her stomach. She was flaunting her past but he was ready. 'Of course,' he said. 'Come in.'