‘There was very little of it left,’ replied MacLeod. ‘He was doused in burning petrol and fell on to a lit welding torch.’
‘What are the chances of getting pathology samples?’ asked Bannerman. ‘Zero, I’m afraid,’ answered MacLeod. ‘We are not talking about burns Doctor. We are talking cremation.’
‘Damnation,’ said Bannerman as he realized he had been thwarted again. It suddenly registered what MacLeod had said about the man’s occupation. ‘You said he worked in a garage?’ he asked.
‘As a mechanic,’ replied MacLeod.
That doesn’t fit,’ said Bannerman. ‘How long has he been doing that?’
‘About fifteen years and before that he worked in a fish factory over on the east coast.’
‘But surely there must be some link with the others?’
‘There’s a familial connection,’ said MacLeod.
‘Go on,’ said Bannerman.
‘His daughter, May Bell. She is, or was, married to Gordon Buchan.’
‘Bell was May Buchan’s father?’ exclaimed Bannerman.
‘Yes. Does that help?’
‘I don’t know,’ confessed Bannerman. ‘I’ll let you know if I think of anything, and Doctor?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d appreciate your call. If there should happen to be any other incidents …’
‘I’ll let you know,’ promised MacLeod.
‘How the hell? …’ complained Bannerman as he thought it through. How could Gordon Buchan’s father-in-law contract the disease? He had nothing to do with sheep! He had worked in a garage for fifteen years. But surely it was too much of a coincidence to be due to anything else. The overwhelming priority for the moment was that the killer disease had not been wiped out. It was alive in Stobmor. It was too late to call the MRC; he would call Milne first thing in the morning.
Bannerman got to the hospital a little after eight-thirty to find that Milne had already called him. Bannerman phoned him back and lit a cigarette while he waited for an answer.
‘Bad news I’m afraid,’ said Milne.
‘You’re going to tell me that there has been another case,’ said Bannerman.
‘How did you know?’
‘MacLeod, the local GP, phoned me last night.’
‘I just don’t understand it,’ said Milne. The man is a garage mechanic.’
‘Me neither,’ agreed Bannerman.
‘I’m calling a special meeting for ten-thirty. Can you make it?’
Bannerman said that he could.
Cecil Allison from the Prime Minister’s office was the last to arrive at the meeting. Bannerman was looking out of the window at the rain while the only other two, Hugh Milne and the secretary of the MRC, Sir John Flowers, discussed some internal matter. Bannerman saw the dark Rover draw up at the door and Allison get out; he returned to the table.
‘So sorry to have kept you,’ said Allison, ‘I’ve been a bit snowed under this morning.’ He beamed at the others and sat down.
Flowers said, ‘Dr Bannerman thinks that we should mount a full scale investigation into the deaths at Stobmor and Achnagelloch; the time for low-profile sniffing around is past. I think I agree.’
Allison, urbane as ever, spread his palms in front of him in a gesture which appealed for calm. ‘As I understand it,’ he said smoothly, ‘there has been another death.’
‘Another three if we count the man’s wife and employer,’ said Milne, ‘and pretty horrific deaths they were, too.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Allison, his eyes betraying the slightest suggestion of irritation, ‘but for the purposes of our interest, i.e. the brain disease problem, there has been only one. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Flowers.
‘And this man had nothing to do with sheep or cattle at all?’
‘No,’ said Flowers.
‘So the connection …’ Allison made the word ‘connection’ sound inappropriate, ‘has been made entirely through his irrational behaviour?’
‘His symptoms were identical by all accounts,’ said Bannerman, ‘and he was related to one of the men who died.’
‘His symptoms, as I have been led to believe, amount to deranged behaviour. Is that right?’
‘Well, yes,’ agreed Milne.
‘Nothing more specific than that?’
‘No,’ agreed Flowers. ‘I suppose you could call it that.’
‘The point I am making, gentlemen,’ said Allison leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and create the impression of being about to impart a confidence, ‘is that this sort of thing happens all the time and all over the country. A man near the end of his tether grabs a rifle and shoots his way on to the front pages of the dailys. We’ve read about it all before! Her Majesty’s Government is continually under pressure to review firearm regulations because of it!’
Bannerman had expected Allison to play things down; doing this was almost a government reflex, but he had to admit that Allison had a point. The man was good at his job; he had made a convincing argument and was now waiting to see the strength of the opposition. Bannerman steeled himself to keep his temper and said, ‘My feeling is that this incident, happening as it did in Stobmor, is just too much of a coincidence. I firmly believe that this latest death is connected with the others and that there might be more if we do nothing. We have to pursue the source of this outbreak and identify it.’
Flowers and Milne sat on the sidelines, waiting for Allison’s response. When he spoke there was a much colder, harder edge to his voice. He said to Flowers, ‘Until yesterday you were prepared to give Her Majesty’s Government a statement saying that there was no evidence of a direct link between brain disease in animals and similar conditions in man. Now, because of one man going off his head and running amok … are you saying that you won’t?’ Flowers said calmly, ‘I think we must wait a little longer before giving you the reassurance you seek.’ ‘How much longer?’ asked Allison. He enunciated each word as if giving an elocution lesson.
‘Until we are satisfied Mr Allison,’ replied Flowers, earning Bannerman’s admiration for his steadiness under strong pressure from the government’s man.
Allison too seemed to sense that Flowers could not be bullied into committing the Council to something that he wasn’t happy about. His manner relaxed a little and he said, ‘Will you at least concede that this latest death might be due to the factors I’ve outlined. The man could have simply gone berserk after some domestic upheaval?’
Flowers, Milne and Bannerman all nodded.
‘In that case,’ said Allison, ‘I have a proposal.’
Bannerman moved defensively in his chair but didn’t speak.
‘If we launch a major investigation right now,’ said Allison, ‘the press will have a field day — Killer Brain Disease Stalks Scottish Town — that sort of thing. The truth will be totally lost under banner headlines and the damage to the farming community will be inestimable.’
‘What do you propose?’ asked Milne.
I propose that we do nothing,’ said Allison.
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing, for an agreed period and if during that period there have been no further cases of people running amok and murdering their wives then we regard the Scrapie affair in Achnagelloch as an isolated incident which is now closed. You issue an interim report on brain disease in this country stating that, although there has been a rise, the statistics do not signify a connection with farm animals. If, on the other hand, there is another case, then you are free to go ahead and investigate in any way you choose.’
‘What do you say gentlemen?’ asked Flowers of Milne and Bannerman.
‘How long?’ said Bannerman.
Three weeks,’ said Allison.
‘Four,’ said Bannerman.
‘Agreed,’ said Allison, looking to Flowers and Milne. They both indicated their agreement.
Allison looked at his watch and said that he would have to rush. He left the room and Bannerman instantly felt more relaxed. He smiled and shook his head slightly. Men like Allison could steal your eye teeth and you wouldn’t notice until dinner time.