‘But if it was well wrapped?’
‘I can’t risk it,’ replied Bannerman. ‘We can’t put infected material like this anywhere near foodstuffs. I’ll just have to keep changing the ice until we leave for Edinburgh in the morning. A polystyrene box would help with insulation. Any ideas?’
‘Lots of things are packed in polystyrene these days. Why not ask the desk clerk? He might be able to come up with something.’
Bannerman phoned down to the desk.
‘A polystyrene box?’
‘Yes, and more ice.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
A few minutes later the clerk appeared at the door with an armful of polystyrene and a full ice bucket. This was the packing from a new microwave oven,’ said the man. ‘Will this do.’
‘Nice and thick,’ said Bannerman. ‘This will do perfectly.’
Bannerman closed the door and saw that Shona was smiling broadly. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘That poor man was obviously wondering what we were up to,’ said Shona.
‘Really?’ said Bannerman. He turned and looked at the closed door, wondering if the clerk was outside listening. ‘Use the polystyrene!’ he said suddenly in a loud voice suffused with mock passion.
Shona had to cover her mouth.
‘Now the ice! Oh God yes, the ice!’ ‘More polystyrene! My God that’s wonderful.’ Bannerman moved around the room feigning the sounds of sexual ecstasy while Shona collapsed on the bed in fits of laughter. ‘You’re crazy!’
‘Not usually,’ said Bannerman, suddenly serious. ‘I think it comes with being happy.’
Shona got up and came over to him. Then long may you be crazy,’ she said softly. She reached up to kiss him.
‘Mind my nose,’ said Bannerman.
Bannerman fashioned the polystyrene packing into a container for the sheep samples and packed ice around it before sealing the package with adhesive tape. ‘Perfect,’ he said, admiring his handiwork. That just leaves Mrs Turnbull to deal with, then we can have a nice quiet dinner, a good night’s sleep and we’re off to Edinburgh.’
‘From what you’ve said, she’s not going to be very pleased to see you,’ said Shona.
Bannerman nodded and said, ‘I think I’ll try getting Angus MacLeod to approach her first. She was very upset yesterday but I’m sure she’ll be calmer today.’ He called MacLeod and asked for his help.
‘Are you going to try to persuade her that her husband’s body should be handed over for post-mortem?’ asked MacLeod.
‘No I’m not,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Apart from anything else, that would be accusing her of complicity in its removal. I just want to ask her a few questions. I promise I won’t upset her and there will be no mention of post-mortems.’
‘Then I’ll do my best,’ said MacLeod.
‘There’s one more thing Angus,’ said Bannerman.
‘What?’
Bannerman told him about the infected sheep which had escaped destruction in the lime pit. ‘Do you think you could make discreet enquiries to see if any more sheep “escaped” from Inverladdie and quietly warn people off?’
MacLeod said that he would.
Ten minutes later MacLeod called back. He said, ‘Julie Turnbull has agreed to talk to you. I will hold you to your promise not to upset her.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Bannerman. ‘When can I see her?’
‘Seven-thirty this evening.’
‘Her address?’
MacLeod read it out and Bannerman copied it down. ‘I’m grateful to you,’ he said.
‘Just don’t upset her,’ said MacLeod.
Bannerman left the hotel, assuring Shona that he shouldn’t be any longer than half an hour. He had dressed casually, hoping that this might help dispel Julie Turnbull’s initial impression of him as a ghoul, hell-bent on stealing her husband’s brain. Shona had suggested that a suit and tie might be deemed more respectful but Bannerman decided that Julie would have seen enough black ties in the last twenty-four hours. He wore a sweater, slacks and a leather jerkin.
Bannerman followed MacLeod’s directions and found the house in a quiet street three blocks north of the primary school where Julie worked. The blinds were half drawn. There was an air of nearness and order about the place, an air which extended to others in the row with one exception. The house which stood three doors away from the Turnbull’s cottage had two wrecked cars in its drive. Its garden was unkempt and a motor cycle with its back wheel missing was propped up against the front wall. There’s always one,’ thought Bannerman.
Julie Turnbull was wearing black. Her face was pale and her eyes were ringed with redness. She took a pace back to indicate that Bannerman should come in but didn’t say anything until they were in the living-room. ‘I really didn’t want to see you Dr Bannerman but Dr MacLeod persuaded me that I should.’
‘I’m grateful to you, Mrs Turnbull,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Please believe me when I say that you have my deepest sympathy. I met your husband on several occasions when I was last here and I liked him a lot.’
‘What is it you want to know?’ asked Julie Turnbull.
‘I want to know if Colin knew any of the other men who died recently in Achnagelloch and Stobmor.’
‘He knew the man who worked at the garage. Colin had his car serviced there.’
‘Were they close friends?’
‘No.’
‘How about the men from Inverladdie Farm?’
‘He didn’t know them at all.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘He may have known them to nod to in the street, but no better than that,’ said Julie. ‘He steered clear of sheep farmers whenever he could.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Colin was a clever man, Dr Bannerman. He worked as a labourer but he had a good brain. He was bored by constant talk of sheep. He resented the fact that so much of the life of the town revolved around sheep and sheep farming. I think that’s what made him decide to do a part-time degree. It exercised his mind. It gave him the stimulation he needed.’
Bannerman nodded. He asked, ‘Did you and Colin ever eat apart?’
Julie Turnbull’s face registered surprise at the question. She half shrugged her shoulders in bewilderment and said, ‘No, not that I can think of, except for lunch of course.’
‘Lunch?’
‘Colin took sandwiches to the quarry.’
‘Who made them?’
‘Me. What are you suggesting Doctor? That Colin was killed by something he ate?’
Bannerman was reluctant to commit himself to a straight answer. He said, ‘Mrs Turnbull it’s important that I establish certain details about Colin’s diet over the past two weeks or so. Please bear with me.’
‘What details?’ asked Julie Turnbull.
‘Sheep products in particular. Mutton, lamb.’
‘That’s easy, none.’
‘None?’
‘Colin disliked sheep meat. He never ate it at all.’
‘Never?’ repeated Bannerman, feeling failure descend on him like a lead yoke.
‘Never.’
‘Does this mean that Colin was vegetarian?’
‘No. He liked nothing better than a good steak. He simply didn’t like mutton or lamb.’
Bannerman tried desperately to think of another way that Turnbull could have contracted the disease. He knew he would probably not have another chance to question Julie Turnbull. He asked a broad general question, ‘Did anything change about Colin’s lifestyle in the past two to three weeks? Did he do anything out of the ordinary or different?’
Julie shook her head slowly as she considered. ‘No, I don’t think so, except for the geological survey of course.’
‘Tell me about that,’ said Bannerman.
‘He’s been doing geology for his degree. He thought he would impress Mr van Gelder if he carried out a survey of the land in the surrounding area.’
‘I remember him saying something about that the last time I saw him,’ said Bannerman. ‘He was hoping for a better job with the company.’
‘That’s right,’ replied Julie. She paused as she considered that this would not now ever happen.
‘When did he do this Mrs Turnbull?’
‘At the weekends.’
‘Was he out last weekend?’ Julie Turnbull nodded.