‘Yes,’ replied Ross. He seemed wryly amused at Dunbar’s choice of word. ‘Most unfortunate.’
‘How is the research going?’
‘Quite well, thank you, but progress is never as fast as one would like.’
‘I suppose not.’
Dunbar shook hands with Ross and Hatfull and followed Ingrid into the elevator.
‘I wasn’t supposed to know about Omega patients, was I?’ he asked as they descended.
Ingrid smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. Dr Ross was just a bit surprised that you knew about them. We don’t get that many, and you’ve only been here five minutes.’
‘Why Omega?’
‘The last letter of the Greek alphabet for the last word in care and attention,’ said Ingrid. ‘Nothing’s too good for them. Nothing’s too much trouble.’
‘At a price,’ said Dunbar.
‘Of course. They’re used to being pampered. Most of our patients are. Do you know what they’re really paying for at Medic Ecosse?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Secrecy,’ she said. ‘Absolute discretion. People who come here for cosmetic surgery don’t want their friends to know they’re having it done. People who come here because they’re ill don’t want their enemies to know about it. Any suggestion of ill health at the top can trigger a coup or wipe millions off share values. Complete confidentiality is probably the most valuable commodity we offer.’
‘I’m surprised you told me about Omega patients at all,’ said Dunbar.
‘I just thought as you’re going to be going through the books you were going to find out everything that goes on anyway.’
‘True.’
‘I promise you, you are going to be sick of the word “confidential” before you’re through,’ said Ingrid. ‘People here think twice before they’ll tell you the time. They’re not being obstructive. Their job depends on it.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Dunbar. ‘But I do have the right to request any information I feel I need.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she mimicked. ‘Is there anything else you want to see?’
‘Not at the moment. I think I’ll make a start on the paperwork and maybe have a wander around later on my own if there’s time.’
‘Don’t forget your ID badge.’
Dunbar nodded.
‘So you won’t be needing me any more today?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ll make a note of any questions and maybe we can talk again in the morning.’
Ingrid looked at her watch and said, ‘It’s lunch-time. Would you like to try the staff restaurant or do you have other plans?’
‘No other plans,’ said Dunbar.
As they walked towards the restaurant he asked, ‘Which wing is the Omega patient in?’
‘The east wing of Obstetrics.’
‘Then she’s having a baby?’
‘That would be my guess too,’ replied Ingrid. ‘Here we are.’ She pushed open a swing door and ushered Dunbar in first. The staff restaurant at Medic Ecosse was a light, bright self-service facility which, judging by the crowd, was very popular. Dunbar opted for a tuna salad and looked around for a table while Ingrid collected her baked potato. He saw two nurses about to vacate a table by the window and timed his approach to coincide with their leaving. He waved to Ingrid, who had momentarily lost sight of him.
‘You’ve done this before,’ she said as she joined him.
‘London-trained,’ he replied. ‘Push or die. Is it always this busy?’
‘Most days,’ replied Ingrid. ‘There aren’t too many other places round here. Apart from that the meals are heavily subsidized.’
‘I noticed.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Ingrid.
‘The price of a tuna salad isn’t going to make much difference to government investment in Medic Ecosse,’ he assured her.
‘What is?’ she asked.
‘It’s quite simple really. You must either attract more paying patients or charge the patients you’re already getting a lot more.’
‘I think our prices are pretty well in the top of the range as it is,’ said Ingrid.
‘That’s my impression too,’ said Dunbar. ‘So it’s a case of developing a marketing strategy that will you bring you more custom, identifying your strengths and capitalizing on them.’
‘Our patients seem well satisfied with the treatment they get here,’ said Ingrid.
Dunbar smiled ruefully and said, ‘The trouble is they can’t tell anyone about it. You said yourself that they don’t want people to know they’ve been here. You’re selling confidentiality.’
‘I hadn’t considered the down-side of it,’ said Ingrid. ‘I suppose we can hardly ask them to tell all their friends!’
‘Apart from that, their friends will be pretending there’s nothing wrong with them anyway!’ said Dunbar with an extravagant shrug that made Ingrid smile.
‘Dr Ross mentioned an NHS patient getting plastic surgery here tomorrow?’ he went on.
‘That’s right,’ replied Ingrid. ‘It’s a face reconstruction, a young girl. She was born with a protruding jaw that disfigured her whole appearance. The surgeons are going to fix it so that she can lead a normal life.’
‘I take it the hospital has put out a press release?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Ingrid. ‘I’m told the results will be quite dramatic, so the before and after pictures should be spectacular.’
Dunbar nodded. ‘Especially as there’s no scarring with that particular operation. They do all the cutting from inside the mouth, even removing portions of jawbone from either side. It should be very good publicity for the hospital.’
Ingrid said quietly, ‘I don’t think that’s the only reason the surgeons are doing it.’
‘Of course not,’ he conceded. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded cynical. The hospital needs as much good publicity as it can get.’
‘You seemed very interested in Dr Ross’s unit this morning. Is transplant technology a particular interest of yours?’
‘Not really,’ he said, immediately on his guard.
‘You seemed very interested in the logistics of transplants and what happened to the donor organs when they arrived,’ she persisted.
Alarm bells rang in Dunbar’s head. If Ingrid thought that, the chances were that Ross and Hatfull must have thought the same. Damn it! Had he overplayed his hand on his very first day? ‘I was just curious,’ he lied.
SIX
Dunbar spent the afternoon looking through the computerized staff and accounting files provided by Leo Giordano’s office. He found it all extremely boring but felt obliged to identify some questions to ask in the next few days, in order to make his role in the hospital seem genuine. As for the real purpose of his visit, he was just looking and learning. So far, everything about the hospital, and the transplant unit in particular, seemed impressive. Its record in terms of successful transplants was second to none, it was staffed by people of the highest calibre, the equipment was state-of-the-art, it was led by one of the finest transplant surgeons in the country, if not the world, and the unit was not under pressure — the usual cause of things going wrong in a hospital. If first impressions were anything to go by, Ross’s unit was the last place on earth he was going to find evidence of mix-ups or sloppiness.
The thing that still bothered him, of course, was the same thing that had bothered the Sci-Med computer, the fact that the same allegation had been made not once but twice, by two trained nurses, who didn’t know each other. At least, he had assumed they didn’t know each other. Was it possible that they did? He took the Sci-Med personnel files from his briefcase and checked the dates. Sheila Barnes had left Medic Ecosse almost two years before Lisa Fairfax started work there.
He would have to talk to them, he decided. If he ruled out sloppiness or bad management as possibilities, he would have to consider alternative explanations for the women’s allegations. Those would include malice and hysteria. He would have a word with Staff Nurse Fairfax first, find out what made her tick. You could usually tell more from a two-minute conversation with someone than from reading a fifty-page personnel file.