FIVE
In the morning Dunbar asked at the desk about his hired car and was told that it was already in the car park. He signed the relevant documents and was given the keys to a dark blue Rover 600Si. It was just after nine. He thought he would let the office day begin before he added his presence to it. He arrived at Medic Ecosse Hospital a little before ten and made himself known at Reception. A pleasant woman in her late thirties, smartly dressed in a dark suit and pristine white blouse that successfully conveyed the impression of cool efficiency, said he was expected. If he cared to take a seat someone would be with him shortly.
The someone in question turned out to be a short, dark-haired young woman, also wearing a business suit, who introduced herself as Ingrid Landes. Her gaze was confident and direct, her handshake firm.
‘Come with me, and I’ll show you to your office, Dr Dunbar. Do you have a car?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ll need this.’ She handed him a hospital parking permit, already inserted in a clear plastic holder for fixing to the windscreen, adding, ‘You’ve been allocated space seventeen round the back of the building. It’s clearly marked.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Dunbar, impressed by the efficient way he’d been met and welcomed. He was even more impressed when he was shown into a well-appointed office, tastefully furnished and equipped with just about everything he could possibly need, including a computer and fax machine.
‘Will this be all right?’ asked Ingrid.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Now, can I get you some coffee while you decide what you want me to do? How do you like it?’
‘Decide what I want you to do?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been assigned to you for the beginning of your stay with us, to help you settle in. But if that doesn’t meet with your approval I’m sure we could just-’
‘No, no,’ interrupted Dunbar. ‘It’s just that I didn’t expect assistance. This is a very nice surprise.’
She gave what he saw as a superior little smile and said, ‘Good. And the coffee?’
‘Black. No sugar.’
She left the room and Dunbar sat down behind the desk. He wondered about her and why she had been assigned to him. He hadn’t requested secretarial assistance. Had she been detailed to keep an eye on him, or was it just a case of creating a good impression, an apple for the inspector? Maybe he was being too suspicious. For the moment he would keep an open mind.
Ingrid returned with coffee and laid it down on the desk. The smell told him it had been made with proper ground coffee. There was only one cup.
‘You’re not having any?’ he asked.
‘I’m trying to cut down,’ said Ingrid with a smile that showed uneven teeth. ‘I was drinking too much of the stuff. It made me jittery. I’ve changed to Perrier.’
‘Then why don’t you get yourself a Perrier and then you can tell me about the hospital? After that perhaps you can show me around? I’d like to get a feel for the place.’
Ingrid went out again. Dunbar got up and walked over to the window. The carpet pile felt uncomfortably deep. It reminded him of walking on the beach and how sand stole your stride pattern. His window looked out on the unremarkable main square in front of the hospital. The central area was grid-lined for parking; the road running round it was double-yellow-lined and one-way. Traffic coming in through the gate was directed to the left and brought round clockwise to pass the front doors.
As he looked towards the entrance, a long, black stretch-limousine turned in through the gates and followed the road arrows to glide silently to a halt at the steps leading up to the main door. The tint on the windows of the car was so dark that the glass almost matched the gleaming paintwork. It was impossible to see inside. The registration plate was foreign. Dunbar guessed it might be in Arabic but the angle he was looking down at made it difficult to tell.
Ingrid returned while he was watching the arrival below, and joined him at the window.
‘Our Omega patient has arrived,’ she said.
‘Omega patient?’
‘Big money. A whole wing has been reserved for her.’
The front doors of the car opened below and two men got out. Both were of Middle Eastern appearance although dressed in western clothes. The driver was wearing uniform. The other, a thickset man wearing a suit of light-grey shiny material, looked all around with eyes hidden by reflecting sunglasses before resting his hand on the rear door handle. He kept his other hand inside his jacket.
‘What on earth?’ murmured Dunbar.
Ingrid did not comment.
Having decided that the hospital and its environs posed no threat to the occupants of the car, the man in the grey suit opened the rear doors and four people got out. All were wearing Arab clothes. There were three women and one man. One of the women was obviously the patient; she was helped by the others through the front doors.
As they disappeared from sight, Dunbar craned his neck to get a better view of the rear of the car but didn’t manage to pick up any more information.
‘Do you get many Omega patients?’ he asked.
‘Not as many as we need, apparently,’ replied Ingrid with a subdued smile.
Dunbar saw the joke and smiled too. ‘I take it she’s not here for an ingrowing toenail?’
‘I really don’t know,’ replied Ingrid. ‘Patient confidentiality is very important. The staff here operate on a need-to-know basis. It’s strict company policy.’
‘Of course.’ He wondered if she really didn’t know. She struck him as being something more than an admin assistant.
Two more vehicles drew up behind the limo, one an unmarked van and the second a Renault Espace carrying six more people who got out and saw to the unloading of the van. Dunbar guessed that the chests and trunks comprised the Omega patient’s luggage. The man in the grey suit took charge of the operation. Ingrid and Dunbar turned away from the window.
‘Who do you normally work for?’ asked Dunbar.
‘I’m on Mr Giordano’s staff.’
‘Are you sure he can spare you?’
‘It was his idea that I be assigned to you.’
‘It was very good of him to spare you; he must be a very busy man.’ Dunbar looked for signs of unease in Ingrid as he spoke; he thought her eyes might give away the fact of an ulterior motive, but he saw nothing. Either it’s all above board, he thought, or Ingrid Landes is a very good actress.
‘Can I ask what sort of work you normally do?’ asked Dunbar.
‘General PA work for Mr Giordano and liaison between the various units of the hospital.’
‘You know why I’m here, I take it?’
‘You’re a watchdog, sent here by the government to protect their latest investment. A sort of guardian of the public purse.’
‘Near enough.’
‘So how can I help you get started?’
‘I’d like to see staff lists for the various units, salary sheets, monthly accounting figures for the last six months, details of any outstanding bills, details of advance bookings for hospital care and services.’
‘I think we anticipated most of these things. You’ll find copies of the relevant computer files on disks in the top drawer of your desk.’
Dunbar slid open the top drawer and found an ID badge with his name on it and a plastic wallet containing four floppy disks. He smiled and said, ‘I’m impressed. You seem to have thought of everything.’
‘We try,’ said Ingrid. ‘The people who come to this hospital are used to the best. They expect it as of right so that’s what we try to give them.’
‘Do you like working here?’
‘Absolutely,’ she replied, as if it were a stupid question. ‘We take a lot of criticism for being private, but we’re good — no one denies that. The doctors, the nurses, even the porters and cleaners, are hand-picked. When everyone knows that, there’s a certain pride about the place, an esprit de corps if you like. It makes people want to do their best. It’s not like British Rail, where all the employees feel anonymous and end up not giving a hoot about the passengers. It’s different. It’s nice. It’s the way things should be.’