‘And they all ate it?’
‘Gordon asked the two other sheep workers to Sunday dinner to thank them for their help.’
‘But you?’
‘I’m vegetarian and so is my mother.’
‘But the connection with your father?’ asked Bannerman.
May dabbed at her eyes with a paper tissue. ‘Just before I went off on holiday I went to see my mother. I took some mutton chops from the freezer. I thought they would do for Dad’s dinner.’
‘I see,’ said Bannerman. His mind was reeling from the information. Here surely was the proof that sheep Scrapie had been implicated in the men’s deaths. ‘Mrs Buchan did you know a man called Colin Turnbull?’ he asked.
May looked at him blankly. ‘Never heard of him,’ she replied.
‘Are you sure?’ Bannerman pressed. This was the one remaining link he had to forge. ‘I’m certain,’ said May. ‘Who is he?’
‘He was a quarry worker. His wife is the primary school teacher in Stobmor.’
‘Sorry. Don’t know them.’
‘Is there any chance that your husband might have known Colin Turnbull?’
‘I suppose so,’ said May, ‘but I think not. If Gordon had known him, so would I; it’s as simple as that in a place like this.’
Bannerman nodded, disappointed that he had failed at the final hurdle. Then suddenly he had a thought which wiped out all thoughts of disappointment. ‘Mrs Buchan,’ he said, trying to disguise the excitement he felt welling up inside him, ‘do you have any of the sheep left in the freezer?’
‘Well… yes,’ replied May.
Bannerman closed his eyes momentarily and gave silent thanks. ‘I need some for testing,’ he said.
May got up and went through to the kitchen. Bannerman followed her and watched as she raised the lid of a chest freezer. She lifted out a couple of white plastic bags and handed them to Bannerman. ‘Will this be enough?’ she asked.
‘Perfect,’ said Bannerman. ‘What happened to the remains of the carcass?’
‘Gordon buried it out the back.’
‘In lime?’
‘No.’
‘Can you show me where?’
May opened the kitchen door and pointed to the dry-stone dyke at the foot of the garden. She said, ‘Just there,’ pointing to a far corner.
‘I’ll need a shovel.’
‘In the shed round the corner.’
Bannerman fastened up his collar against the weather and asked if May had any plastic bags. She opened a drawer and handed him a couple of bin liners. ‘Anything else?’ she asked.
‘Kitchen knives, sharp ones.’
May pointed to a wooden block next to the draining board. It held half a dozen knives. He selected two.
Bannerman was wet through in no time but it didn’t matter. His excitement at having found a source of pathological evidence took precedence over all other considerations. He even took comfort from the fact that the rain had made the ground soft and easy to turn over with the spade. The remains of the sheep were not deep. At the first sign of them he stopped using the spade and knelt down to remove earth with his hands, like an archaeologist uncovering precious artefacts of a long-departed civilization. He found the head and lifted it clear of the mud. A worm crawled out of an eye socket but apart from that it seemed to be in reasonably good condition. He carried it over to the tool shed to gain some protection from the elements while he got to work with the knives.
As he worked, he reassured himself with thoughts that the Scrapie agent was one of the toughest infective agents known to man. It could survive treatment which would sterilize any other known virus or bacterium in the world. A relatively short time lying in the soil would have no adverse effect at all. He managed to recover at least fifty grams of brain material and knew that that would be quite sufficient for analysis. With all his samples safely into plastic bags, Bannerman secured the necks and left them in the shed while he re-buried the remains of the sheep.
‘Did you get what you wanted?’ asked May when he returned to the house.
Bannerman nodded.
‘When will you know for sure?’
‘Probably within three to six weeks,’ replied Bannerman. He saw the look of self-recrimination in the woman’s eyes and said, ‘You really mustn’t blame yourself you know.’
‘I served it up to them. I killed them.’
‘There was no way you could have possibly known. As you say, Scrapie has always been considered harmless to human beings.’ ‘Why should it be any different this time?’ Bannerman shook his head and said, ‘I don’t know, but with a bit of luck, and these,’ he held up the bags, ‘I’m going to find out.’
Bannerman turned as he got to the door and said, ‘Mrs Buchan I would be very grateful if you would say nothing about this to anyone. Nothing has been proved as yet.’
‘I promise,’ said May.
‘One more thing. You must destroy the entire contents of your freezer. Burn everything.’
‘There’s not much in it anyway,’ said May Buchan. I’m going to have to move out of here very soon. The Sproats will be wanting the cottage. They’ve been very good about letting me stay on here so long. Oh my God …’
‘What is it?’
May stood for a moment with her hands up to her mouth. She said, ‘I’ve just realized …’
‘Realized what?’
‘I would probably have given the meat away to friends before I left here.’
‘Thank God I came,’ said Bannerman.
Bannerman’s euphoria at having made progress at last was tempered on the way back to Stobmor by the fact that he still had to make one of the pieces fit, and that piece was Colin Turnbull. Could Turnbull have eaten infected meat too? And if so, where had it come from? What was probably more important, was there any more still around? He had been assuming that the original infected sheep presented no problem because they had been buried in lime but maybe more than one had found its way into the freezers of Achnagelloch? He would have a word with MacLeod about it. The people respected their GP. A word about the possible dangers of eating sheep meat which had ‘fallen off the back of a lorry’ would be heeded. As for Turnbull, it seemed unlikely that he would have dined alone on illicit meat and it would be stretching coincidence a bit far if Turnbull’s wife should turn out to be vegetarian too.
Thinking of Turnbull’s wife made Bannerman realize that he would have to speak to her and judging by her behaviour yesterday, he wasn’t exactly her favourite person.
As he entered the main square at Stobmor he was still thinking about how best to approach her. He got out of the car and saw a bus pull up across the street. Shona got down from it.
Bannerman suddenly felt good, as if the sun had come out. He smiled broadly and called out ‘Hello there!’
Shona crossed the street, smiling and Bannerman wrapped his arms around her. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ he said.
Shona laughed at his obvious pleasure and asked, ‘Have you suddenly become a film star or haven’t you noticed that it’s raining?’
Bannerman lifted the dark glasses and Shona gasped. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’
‘It’s quite a story. Come on inside.’
‘They went into the hotel and Shona registered.
‘Will the adjoining room be all right?’ asked the clerk.
Tine,’ said Bannerman, choosing to ignore the smirk on the man’s face.
‘Will there be anything else?’
‘I’d like some ice,’ said Bannerman.
‘Ice?’
‘Yes, lots of ice. Have it sent up to my room will you?’
‘Yes sir, if you say so.’
Bannerman turned to Shona and said, That’s given him something to think about.’
‘Me too,’ replied Shona, with a quizzical look, as they headed for the stairs.
Bannerman filled Shona in on everything that had happened.
‘But will the specimens be all right packed in ice?’ she asked.
‘I can’t ask the hotel to put them in their freezer,’ replied Bannerman.