Bannerman nodded. He had taken a liking to MacLeod. He felt guilty about having misjudged the man when he first heard about the length of his service in the area. He asked, ‘What happened after the men’s deaths?’
‘I requested that post-mortems be carried out by the MRC instead of the area pathologist.’
‘Why?’
‘The symptoms displayed by the men suggested acute brain disease to me and I was aware of the MRC’s national survey. I called Stoddart in Edinburgh and he sent up a chap named Gill and his research assistant, Dr Napier. I must confess I was quite surprised to get George’s letter saying that meningitis was being blamed but I didn’t say anything.’
‘Why not?’
‘I know my place,’ grinned MacLeod. ‘GPs are the equivalent of village idiots as far as the medical establishment are concerned.’
Bannerman smiled and asked, ‘Do you know Stoddart personally?’
‘I once taught him basic anatomy,’ said MacLeod.
‘I think he forgot,’ said Bannerman and MacLeod’s face broke into a huge grin.
‘I didn’t realize you had taught medicine,’ said Bannerman.
‘Just for three years,’ replied MacLeod, ‘I had a spell in Africa in the fifties, playing at being the saviour of the dark continent and then a lectureship at Edinburgh — a different sort of jungle.’
‘And that’s where you met Stoddart?’
‘He was one of my students. In fact I think I can say that I was responsible for directing Stoddart towards a career in pathology.’
‘Really?’
‘I didn’t want him getting his hands on any live patients,’ smiled MacLeod.
Both men laughed.
‘It hasn’t stopped him getting to the top,’ said Bannerman.
‘Intellectual short-coming seldom does in my experience,’ said MacLeod.
‘So academia wasn’t for you?’ said Bannerman.
‘It certainly wasn’t,’ agreed MacLeod. ‘Academics are more institutionalized than prisoners in jail, only they don’t realize it.’
‘Why general practice?’ asked Bannerman.
‘I wanted to be part of a community, not something outside it. As a GP I’m at the heart of things. I’m in at the beginning and I’m there at the end. It was what I wanted to do and I’ve never regretted it.’
‘There’s not too many people can say that about their lives,’ said Bannerman.
‘On the contrary, Doctor,’ said MacLeod. ‘A lot of people say it but whether or not it’s true is an entirely different matter.’
‘Point taken,’ conceded Bannerman.
‘Would you join me in a drink, Doctor?’ asked MacLeod, opening his desk drawer and taking out a bottle. ‘But first be warned that if you should happen to say, “It’s a little early for me” I may be inspired to violence.’
Bannerman smiled and said, ‘I would be honoured.’
MacLeod poured the whisky and Bannerman asked, ‘What happened about the examination of the bodies?’
‘They were taken to the small cottage hospital facility we have at Stobmor. Dr Gill performed elementary examinations and then Dr Napier took over the brunt of the laboratory work while Gill went around asking questions. After a few days it was decided that the bodies would be taken to Edinburgh for full autopsy.’
‘I didn’t realize you had a hospital in the area,’ said Bannerman.
‘It’s more of a clinic, really,’ replied MacLeod. ‘But we have a nursing sister and it’s somewhere where small or emergency operations can be carried out, should the need arise.’
Bannerman wondered about MacLeod’s ability to operate at his age but did not say anything. MacLeod smiled as he read his mind and said, ‘We can call on a surgical rota from Inverness and Glasgow.’
‘I see,’ said Bannerman.
‘And now you are going to ask me about the power station,’ said MacLeod.
‘I am?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you know that?’ asked Bannerman who was increasingly enjoying MacLeod’s company.
‘If you are looking for a likely cause of mutation in a virus, you could hardly ignore the presence of a nuclear power station next door could you?’
‘Once again I have to take my hat off to you Doctor,’ said Bannerman, with a smile. ‘Has the presence of the station caused any health problems in the area?’
‘It’s hard to be objective,’ replied MacLeod. The population is so small up here that it’s difficult to gather meaningful statistics.’
‘You have a higher than average childhood leukaemia incidence,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ve had a look at the figures for the area.’
That’s a good example,’ said MacLeod. Two years ago our figures were slightly below the national average. Two cases last year, one in Stobmor and another in one of the outlying farms, were enough to push us into the “statistically higher than average” category. It could have been chance.’
Bannerman nodded and said, ‘I thought that might be the case.’
‘Lies, damned lies and statistics,’ sighed MacLeod. ‘But that’s not to say that the children didn’t get it from the presence of the station. We just can’t prove it one way or the other.’
That brings me to my next question,’ said Bannerman. ‘Do you have any radiation monitoring equipment?’
MacLeod said that he had, adding, ‘I was given it when they opened the station, a battery operated Geiger counter and calibration kit.’
‘I’d like to borrow it,’ said Bannerman. ‘I want to take a look at the boundary land between the station and Inverladdie Farm.’
‘By all means,’ said MacLeod. He got out of his chair and slid open the bottom cupboard door of a bookcase that held volumes of medical text books. He brought out a wooden box fitted with brass catches, which he unclasped. There we are,’ he said, removing the cylindrical monitoring probe. ‘Better check the batteries.’
EIGHT
Bannerman decided that it was about time that he took a look at Stobmor, Achnagelloch’s neighbouring community. He ascertained that it boasted a hotel, then arranged by phone to have dinner there at eight o’clock. He left his own hotel at six and drove the seven miles over to Stobmor, leaving himself plenty of time to look round.
In many ways Stobmor was little different from Achnagelloch, although it did possess a small office block, an unimaginative concrete box with signs saying that it was the headquarters of the Dutch quarry company, Joop van Gelder. Further along the road Bannerman found the cottage hospital that MacLeod had mentioned although, at the moment, it seemed empty and showed no lights. There was a board outside giving emergency telephone numbers. In the main street he found the local job centre with a lighted window and looked at the cards for a while to see what was on offer in the area.
There were ten vacancies. There was a post for an electrician at the quarry — preferably with knowledge of electric motors. Three further jobs at the quarry were for labourers. There were openings for two security guards at the power station — ideally with a services background — and there was a lab technician’s job in the monitoring section. The remaining positions were for domestic help and for a shop assistant’s post in the local mini-market. There was one farm job on the board: it was for a sheep worker at Inverladdie.
As he walked the streets Bannerman passed the primary school with its child paintings stuck up proudly in the windows. Road safety appeared to have been the theme, with traffic lights and Zebra crossings well to the fore. One window was entirely taken over by a cardboard cut-out policeman holding up traffic with a hand that appeared to have sausages for fingers.
Bannerman noticed that there was no shortage of cars parked in the streets, many with registrations younger than three years old. He took this as a barometer of the prosperity of the town. The quarry and the power station had ensured full employment in the area. He wondered how long Inverladdie might have to wait before a man opted for a farm labourer’s wage instead of the more lucrative alternatives.
Bannerman’s theory of general prosperity seemed to be reinforced by the fact that the houses seemed well-cared for and the gardens tidy and meticulously tended. Many of the houses appeared to have undergone recent upgrading; their doors and windows had been replaced. This was a working community, well ordered and probably quite content, thought Bannerman. He made his way towards the Highland Lodge Hotel in Main Street and a dinner he was now ready for.