‘Like what?’ said Bannerman slowly. He was addressing the question to himself.
‘If radiation had caused the virus to change, would that show up in the brain samples?’ asked Shona.
‘No,’ replied Bannerman, shaking his head. ‘No it wouldn’t.’ Did that mean that any connection between the nuclear industry and Gill’s death could be discounted? he wondered.
‘So the people at the power station would have nothing to gain by stopping any further analysis on the brains?’ said Shona as if she had read Bannerman’s mind.
‘Agreed,’ said Bannerman.
‘I think you’re up against something much bigger than a few bully-boy workers afraid for their jobs,’ said Shona.
Bannerman who suddenly felt afraid said, ‘I think you’re right.’
Shona put her hand on top of Bannerman’s and said, ‘It’ll be out of your hands after tomorrow. You can go back to your hospital and this will all be just a bad dream.’
Bannerman looked at her and gave a little nod. ‘It’s not all been such a bad dream,’ he said. ‘Some of it has been very nice.’ He took Shona’s hand and held it to his lips.
‘Come on,’ said Shona softly, ‘drink up, andlet’s go home.’
In the morning Bannerman drove Shona to the station where she would catch the train to Inverness, on the first leg of her journey home. He found himself very reluctant to say goodbye and insisted on seeing her on to the platform where they stopped by an open carriage door.
‘I can’t thank you enough for driving me down,’ said Bannerman.
‘It was nothing,’ said Shona. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve been in Edinburgh and it was nice to see how my friends were getting on.’
‘I’ve enjoyed being with you,’ said Bannerman, his eyes saying more than the awkward words.
‘I’ve enjoyed it too,’ said Shona. ‘I wish you luck.’
‘You too,’ said Bannerman. ‘Safe journey.’ Shona climbed on board as the guard blew his whistle and doors began to slam along the line. ‘Keep in touch. Let me know what happens.’
I will,’ said Bannerman. He waved as the train slid away from the platform and waited until it was out of sight. Feeling strangely vulnerable, he turned and walked to his car. The last time he had felt like this was, he recalled, when he had been fourteen years old and a holiday romance in the Lake District had come to an end.
As he walked up the hill out of the station he felt full of impotent anger; it was directed at himself. Why hadn’t he said what he felt to Shona instead of coming out with guarded little phrases that were designed not to leave him exposed. Fear of rejection? Reluctance to make a fool of himself? He had wanted to tell Shona that for whatever reason — and he didn’t understand it himself- he felt hopelessly attracted to her and wanted to see her again. But he couldn’t do that could he? That would be totally out of keeping with his job, his circumstances and his age.
Bannerman got into the car and drove away without looking behind him. A red saloon announced its presence with a long blast on its horn. ‘Shit!’ said Bannerman, thumping down on both feet on brake and clutch and getting an agonizing reminder from his left knee that it would rather he didn’t do that too often. He raised his hand in apology to the driver of the red car and shrugged off the tirade of abuse he saw being mouthed.
As he neared the medical school, the traffic came to a halt in a long queue. The road up ahead for some reason had been reduced to a single carriageway and police were controlling the traffic flow. After a wait of three or four minutes the line started to move and Bannerman could see that several fire engines and police cars were parked outside the medical school quadrangle. Hoses snaked across the ground and firemen in yellow waterproof trousers were reeling them in. He signalled his intention to turn into the car-park but a policeman waved him past. He had to park nearly a quarter of a mile away and walk back.
Bannerman showed his ID to the policeman at the entrance who requested it. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘Nasty fire, sir,’ replied the officer. ‘Bloody lunatics.’ The policeman moved away to stop a car that looked as if it might be turning into the quadrangle.
Bannerman made his way through the clutter and found Stoddart talking to two men in plain clothes. They were taking notes and Bannerman could not make up his mind whether they were police or press. He saw Morag Napier nearby and went over to ask her about the drama.
The Animal Rights People had a go at us last night,’ said Morag.
‘Good God, is there much damage?’
The animal lab was completely gutted and the whole bottom floor is awash with water.’
The animal lab?’ repeated Bannerman. ‘You mean the animals were …’
‘Wiped out,’ said Morag.
‘Gill’s mice?’ asked Bannerman.
‘Incinerated.’
Bannerman was devastated. ‘I thought these damned people cared about animals!’ he exclaimed.
‘Care?’ exclaimed Stoddart, who had come across to join them. They’re just a bunch of terrorists. They don’t care about anything!’
‘Apparently they gained access to the building through the animal house because the door had been left unlocked,’ said Morag. They couldn’t get any further however, because the connecting door to the main building had been locked, so they tried to burn the place down by setting fire to the animal lab.’
The last of the firemen left the building and the quadrangle began to clear, leaving Bannerman feeling utterly dejected. His last chance of proving the relationship between Scrapie and the men’s deaths in Achnagelloch had gone. He walked slowly round to the entrance to the animal lab and saw the blackened wall outside. There was broken glass underfoot and several slogans proclaiming the innocence of animals, and the evils of science had been daubed along the wall adjoining.
Although everything inside was dripping wet and there was at least two inches of water on the floor, the air smelled strongly of burning flesh. It grew stronger as Bannerman picked his way among the blackened cages with unrecognizable messes inside. The inner portion of the lab had been roped off because the ceiling above it had collapsed and there was a danger of further falls. Bannerman could see up into the room above where books and papers had fallen through the hole into puddles on the floor. Shafts of sunlight came in through the windows highlighting dust particles from the debris. There was an eerie silence about the place; it was how he imagined a battlefield might be when the fighting had stopped and the living had gone home. The land had been left to the dead.
ELEVEN
The clean-up operation was beginning in the building as Bannerman went upstairs to his room. It had been untouched by the fire; only the smell of burning told the tale. He called Milne at the MRC and told him what had happened.
‘Damned people,’ said Milne. ‘As if we didn’t have enough to contend with, we get a bunch of lunatics running around with fire bombs.’
‘Unless the missing human brain material turns up the mice were our last chance of getting to grips with the infective agent,’ said Bannerman.
‘What do you think the chances are of recovering that material?’ asked Milne.
‘Practically nil,’ replied Bannerman. ‘I suspect it was all destroyed in order to stop any investigation of it.’
Milne sighed and said, ‘Then I suppose we will just have to resign ourselves to the fact that we will never know for sure what caused the deaths in Achnagelloch.’
Bannerman could not help but feel that an awful lot of people might be quite happy with that state of affairs; the government, the nuclear lobby and maybe even Milne himself. It was never easy to tell people what they didn’t want to hear, especially if they happened to control your purse strings. The Medical Research Council were autonomous but they were funded from central government.