That’s about the size of it,’ agreed Bannerman, holding his stomach. ‘What hurts most?’ asked Shona. ‘I’d rather not say,’ said Bannerman. Shona smiled sympathetically. She said, ‘You don’t believe in taking the easy way do you Ian?’
‘Character-building stuff,’ said Bannerman through gritted teeth.
‘So who did take the body, and why?’ asked Shona.
‘An embarrassing question,’ said Bannerman.
‘Embarrassing?’
‘Because I haven’t a clue.’
Bannerman changed out of his soiled clothes and cleaned himself up. Shona helped by applying cotton wool soaked in antiseptic to some new superficial cuts and grazes.
‘Will you be fit enough to travel in the morning?’ asked Shona.
‘Yes … if you’ll drive?’
‘Don’t I always?’ said Shona.
Bannerman smiled. It turned out to be more of a grimace.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Brandy.’
‘Large?’
‘Enormous … and Shona?’
‘Yes?’
‘If you get the chance, try to find out who van Gelder was with this evening, will you?’
‘Still playing detective?’ smiled Shona.
‘Not for much longer,’ said Bannerman. ‘But I feel sure I know the man who was sitting in his car. I just can’t place him and it’s bothering me.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Shona.
Shona left the room and Bannerman got to his feet to walk slowly round the room. His aches and pains were beginning to subside and the question of who had taken the body was now uppermost in his mind. Julie Turnbull could not have known about it or she would have raised hell at their meeting, unless, of course, she had arranged it! That seemed to be the most likely explanation. Julie Turnbull had arranged for her husband’s body to be removed from the hospital for safety. Perhaps he should let sleeping dogs lie. His first priority was to get the infected sheep brain to Munro in Edinburgh. Searching for Turnbull’s body would only delay matters. He and Shona would set off for Edinburgh first thing in the morning. Events in Stobmor could take their natural course.
Shona returned with the brandy and the information that the man with van Gelder was his son, Peter.
‘His son?’ exclaimed Bannerman. ‘I asked the barman,’ said Shona. Then I must have been mistaken,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ve never met his son.’
‘Good looking chap. How are you feeling?’
‘Much better.’
‘You’d better get some sleep.’
Bannerman nodded.
‘You look all in,’ said Shona, coming over to him. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘See you in the morning.’
For once the weather was kind to them. The sun shone down on Stobmor from a blue sky and fluffy white clouds raced each other in a stiff breeze. There was a strong smell of the sea in the air as Bannerman loaded the polystyrene box containing the samples into the boot of the car and checked that it wasn’t leaking. He had opened it earlier to replace the ice.
Shona and Bannerman made good time on the journey down to Edinburgh, stopping only twice on the way. Once to have lunch and fill the tank with petrol and the second time to have coffee and stretch their legs in mid-afternoon. Bannerman phoned the Medical Research Council to keep them appraised of his whereabouts.
Once in Edinburgh, they booked in to a small hotel on the south side of the city and Bannerman called Hector Munro at the Neurobiology Unit.
‘Can I bring the samples over?’ he asked.
‘We’re all waiting,’ replied Munro. He gave Bannerman directions on how to find the unit which was situated in the university’s science complex at Kings Buildings in West Mains Road. Before he left, he thought it polite to call Morag Napier at the university medical school and tell her that he had succeeded in getting some infected brain samples.
That’s good news,’ said Morag. ‘How did you manage it?’
Bannerman told her about the sheep carcass that had escaped the lime pit.
‘What a piece of luck,’ said Morag. ‘Will you set up the tests yourself?’
Bannerman said that he was giving them to Munro at the Neurobiology Unit but if she would like some to complete the mouse experiments that her department had started then he would see to it that some tissue was sent to her.
‘Thank you Doctor,’ replied Morag. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what tests you are asking Dr Munro to do so that we don’t duplicate our efforts?’
Bannerman said that a stained brain section was a first priority. Subsequent tests would depend very much on that.
‘Call me when you know,’ said Morag. Bannerman said that he would.
Bannerman spoke into the grille at the side of the entrance door and said who he was. The electric security latch was energized, arid he was allowed to enter. At the top of the stairs he met Hector Munro, who was waiting to greet him.
‘Whatever happened to you?’ exclaimed Munro, when he saw Bannerman’s face.
‘A long story,’ said Bannerman, ‘and it would do me no good to relate it. This is what you’ve been waiting for.’ He handed over the polystyrene package containing the sheep samples.
This is exciting,’ said Munro. ‘Will you wait for the brain section report?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ smiled Bannerman. The samples were taken away by two technicians who had been briefed on what was to be done to them.
‘Coffee?’ asked Munro. ‘Please.’ As the two men sipped their coffee in Munro’s office, Bannerman broached the subject of the MRC report on brain disease. He told Munro what Milne had said about classifying the Achnagelloch agent as a new virus. Munro smiled and said, ‘I suppose he’s right in a way. We can hardly classify this thing as a slow virus if it has an incubation time of two to three weeks.’
‘But the point is that it is a form of Scrapie’ insisted Bannerman.
‘We’ve yet to prove that,’ said Munro.
‘Agreed,’ conceded Bannerman. ‘But if your tests show that to be the case, can I count on your support in making the point forcibly to the government?’
Munro looked at him thoughtfully over the rim of his coffee cup. Take on the government?’ he said. ‘And the farmers? You’re not asking much are you.’
‘All I’m asking is that we tell the truth,’ said Bannerman.
‘Ah yes, the truth,’ said Munro slowly. ‘Wouldst it were so simple.’
‘Isn’t it?’ asked Bannerman.
‘I don’t think it is. We have to consider what is right in this case as well as what the truth of the matter is. We are talking about half-a-dozen deaths here, probably as a result of some freak, biological accident. Against that, we have the whole future of the meat trade in this country.’
‘But if it has happened once it could happen again.’
‘Maybe,’ said Munro, looking down at his desk.
‘Then I can’t count on your support?’
‘Look around you, Doctor; this unit exists on government grants …’
Bannerman smiled ruefully.
‘Let’s wait and see what the tests tell us,’ said Munro.
Bannerman nodded with an air of resignation.
The buzzer on Munro’s internal phone sounded. He answered it and held a brief conversation before saying to Bannerman, ‘Excuse me, there’s a problem.’
Munro returned ten minutes later and stood in the doorway of his office. He said, ‘I don’t quite know how to tell you this.’
Bannerman turned to face him.
‘My people have done a couple of brain sections …’
‘And?’ asked Bannerman.
‘They’re quite normal. No sign of Scrapie damage at all.’
‘But that’s impossible!’ protested Bannerman. ‘Come and see for yourself.’
Munro led the way through to a laboratory where one of the sections was set up under the microscope. Bannerman sat down and examined the preparation for himself. It seemed perfectly healthy. ‘I just don’t believe it,’ he murmured.
‘We’ve also carried out an antibody test for Scrapie associated fibrils. It was negative.’