Steven was to hear from McClintock much sooner than he expected when he called just after eight pm.
‘ We have to meet,’ he said.
Steven was about to make a joke about McClintock never appearing to go home but the policeman’s tone stopped him.
‘ All right,’ he said. ‘The pub in Inverleith?’
‘ Too near headquarters,’ said McClintock. ‘Somewhere out of town. Do you know Queensferry?’
‘ Down by the Forth Bridge?’ said Steven.
‘ That’s right. There’s a hotel on the water called the Sealscraig. I’ll meet you in the bar in an hour.’
‘ I’ll be there,’ said Steven. The line went dead before he could say anything else.
He asked at the desk for directions and was told that he should follow road signs for the Forth Road Bridge but take the opening off to the right at the roundabout before it. He did this and found himself descending a steep hill into the village some ten minutes ahead of time. He parked the car by the waterfront and got out to look up at the rail bridge where a small commuter diesel was just about to complete its crossing from Fife. The noise of the train, amplified by the steel girders, stopped abruptly as it reached the permanent way. It was as if some giant hand had lifted it off the track.
Along to his left and lying below and between the rail and the road bridges, he could see the Sealscraig Hotel. On a dark, misty night its yellow lights seemed welcoming and were reflected on the smooth oily surface of the water as he got nearer and entered to start climbing the stairs leading up to the bar.
McClintock was already standing there. He didn’t smile although he gave a nod of recognition and ordered another beer.
‘ Let’s sit down,’ said McClintock as Steven’s beer appeared. The bar was less than a quarter full so it wasn’t difficult to find a table where they could speak freely but they still kept their voices down.
‘ Something’s wrong?’ said Steven, alarmed at just how worried McClintock seemed to be.
‘ I wanted to tell you this before I told anyone else,’ said McClintock, ‘but first, the DNA fingerprint you asked me to check, where did you get it?’
Steven told him how Susan Givens had uncovered it by amplifying up the faint ghost bands present on the gel that convicted David Little. ‘She used a computer imaging programme to intensify them and then she eliminated the main ones. You’ve come up with a match, haven’t you?’ he said, suddenly realising why McClintock had asked the question.
‘ McClintock nodded and looked down at the table.
‘ Well, c’mon,’ Steven prompted. ‘Out with it.’
‘ I think I’d rather it was anyone else on Earth,’ said McClintock. ‘But it’s Hector Combe’s DNA.’
‘ Sweet Jesus Christ,’ whispered Steven. ‘You’re sure?’
‘ There’s no doubt.’
‘ So he did kill her,’ said Steven after taking a moment to come to terms with enormity of the finding. ‘Little was stitched up.’
‘ But Little’s semen was in her too,’ McClintock reminded him, but the spectre of a huge miscarriage of justice was already in his eyes.
‘ The lab must have fixed it,’ said Steven. ‘No one else could have done it. There’s no other explanation. They must have altered the evidence to clear Combe and convict Little.’
‘ But why?’
Steven shook his head. ‘God knows but someone in the lab must have cleaned up Julie — that’s where the traces of Virkon came from — and then contaminated her with David Little’s semen before taking new forensic samples.’
‘ How?’ asked McClintock again.
‘ I don’t know how, I don’t know who and I don’t know why but that’s what must have happened. Combe was guilty all along.’
‘ Christ almighty,’ whispered McClintock. ‘The press will bury us this time.’
Steven was having his own nightmare. In it, Combe recited, this little piggy went to market… Snap!
‘ What blood group was Combe?’ he asked suddenly as an idea came to him.
‘ I’ve no idea,’ said McClintock. ‘But it’ll be in the records. What difference does it make?’
‘ The scrapings under Julie’s fingernails must have come from Combe not Little,’ said Steven. ‘Julie scratched his face just like he told Lawson she did. I have to know what blood group he was.’
‘ If you say so but what do we do about this in the meantime? I haven’t told Santini. I haven’t told anyone except you. I didn’t even tell the lab where the DNA profile came from.’
‘ Sit on it for the time being,’ said Steven. ‘Don’t tell a soul.’
‘ What are you going to do?’
‘ I’m going to talk to a nurse.’
NINETEEN
McClintock drove off, having promised to find out as quickly as he could about Hector Combe’s blood group, although still not clear about why. For his part, Steven hurried back to his car and drove directly to the Western General Hospital where he rushed up to the ward where he’d last spoken to Samantha Egan. It was going to be a long shot at this time of night — just before ten — but worth a try.
‘ I don’t suppose Sister Egan is still on duty?’ he asked the staff nurse who challenged him when he entered.
The girl shook her head. ‘No way,’ she said in an Australian accent. ‘The night staff took over more than an hour ago.’
Steven screwed up his face. ‘A pity,’ he said. ‘It’s important I speak with her. He showed the girl his ID.
‘ You might still be lucky,’ said the girl. ‘I’m pretty sure she’ll still be in the hospital. She and some of the other sisters were having a little get-together when they went off duty. One of the gang is leaving so they were planning to break out the Bulgarian red and get stuck into some peanuts.’
Steven smiled and asked, ‘Do you know where?’
‘ I think she said it was in the nursing manager’s office. Want me to phone her?’
Steven said not; he’d rather go up there himself. The nurse gave him directions.
The female laughter coming from inside the room stopped when he knocked on the door. After a short delay, a tall woman with a wineglass in her hand opened it. Steven apologised for the intrusion, showed his ID and explained why he was there. The woman turned and said over her shoulder, ‘Sam, it appears the police have finally caught up with you.’
Steven was invited into a small sitting room where he apologised again for interrupting and said to a bemused-looking Samantha Egan that he had to speak to her.
‘ Use my office, Sam,’ said the tall woman.
Samantha led Steven through to an adjoining office and closed the door behind them.
‘ I didn’t expect to see you again,’ she said as she sat down. ‘How can I help this time?’
‘ This is going to sound very strange,’ said Steven. ‘But during our last conversation you told me about some kind of mistake you made in Ronald Lee’s lab over a blood grouping?’
‘ Yes, that’s largely why I gave up lab work,’ said Samantha.
‘ As I recall, you had been asked to group the blood found in the scrapings taken from under Julie Summers’ fingernails?’
‘ That’s right.’
‘ Can you remember what you thought the blood group was?’
‘ I’m not liable to forget,’ said Samantha. ‘We are talking about two simple and straightforward tests here. I was devastated when John told me I’d got both the ABO grouping and the Rhesus factor wrong: I just couldn’t believe it. But when he repeated the tests in front of me it was obvious that he was right. I realised then that if I could screw up something as simple as a blood grouping, there was no hope at all for me in lab work. I thought the blood in the scrapings was O negative: to my embarrassment, it was A positive.’
‘ That is exactly what I wanted to know,’ said Steven.
‘ This is all very mysterious,’ said Samantha. ‘And rather upsetting if I may so. It was something I really didn’t want to be reminded of.’