Donor sd-1 Page 14

  He took a last look round to make sure that everything was as he’d found it, before clicking out the lights and listening for a moment at the door. Everything was quiet. He slipped out into the corridor and made his way back to his office. He let his breath out in a long sigh as he put the things he’d taken into his briefcase and secured the catch. So far so good. There was no denying that he’d got quite a buzz from the whole thing. He walked confidently past the reception desk and said good night with a friendly smile. The adrenalin was coursing through his veins.

  As he neared the Barneses’ street, Dunbar checked that he had the keys ready in his pocket. It was the third time he’d done it; they were still there. He frowned as he remembered the security light outside the house; it would come on when he walked up the path. Despite the lateness of the hour, this might alert the neighbours. People would not come out to ask questions at this time of night; they would phone the police.

  That was the last thing he needed. He tried to remember the angle the light was set at. It had come on almost as soon as he opened the garden gate, so the detector beam must be set high. He should be able to slip under it if he made his approach from the side of the house along the wall.

  He parked the car well away from the bungalow and outside a house whose high conifer hedge meant that the residents wouldn’t be able to see it. He didn’t want it reported as a suspiciously parked vehicle. He walked briskly and purposefully along the street, a man with a briefcase, not the kind of figure to arouse suspicion. There would be no lingering outside the Barneses’ house, no furtive looks to right and left and no hesitation.

  With only one backward glance to check that no one was coming, he scissored his legs over the corner of the Barneses’ fence and dropped to a crouch in the shrubbery. He remained motionless for almost a minute, just looking and listening. No lights had come on in any of the nearby houses. There was no sound of voices.

  Mr Proudfoot’s house was in darkness. Hopefully everyone was asleep. Dunbar moved silently up to the corner of the building and pressed himself to the wall. He stared at the intruder detector above the door as he edged closer. Some of these things had heat sensors as well, he reminded himself, but it was now or never. With the keys ready in his hand he moved directly under it and opened the door as quickly as he could. He was inside and the light still hadn’t come on.

  He closed the curtains of the living room. They were reassuringly heavy and he made sure there were no cracks before switching on his torch. As a further precaution he kept his body between the torch beam and the window area as he opened his briefcase and took out the radiation monitor. He set it to its most sensitive setting and held the probe in front of him as he moved round the room.

  Click… click… click click… Nothing to worry about, just background levels. He moved towards the cupboard by the fireplace where Cyril kept his camera gear. Click, click, clickety, clickety, clickety. The frequency of the clicks started to rise and the signal was markedly stronger. The blood was pounding in his ears as he homed in on the source. It was a white plastic telephone junction box fixed to the wall.

  He moved away from the box and put the probe down on the floor, where it sat giving occasional clicks as it returned to background levels. He brought out the protective glove from his briefcase, along with a screwdriver to remove the cover of the box. With the heavy glove on his right hand making dexterity a lot more difficult, he undid the two starpoint screws retaining the cover and removed it. There was nothing inside.

  He frowned and brought the monitor up to the front of the box again. Once more the clicks increased in frequency and the needle swung round on the meter. There was only one explanation; the box did not contain a source of radioactivity at the moment… but it had done recently.

  The monitor Dunbar was using was a simple one. There was no way he could tell anything about the radiation source from it save for its current level and range. Holding the probe in front of him, he backed away until he was about eight feet from the junction box and the slowing clicks indicated he was out of range. He had to think what to do now. He hadn’t counted on this situation arising at all. He shone the torch around the junction box area and then followed the thin telephone cable leading to it. The cable ran straight through without interruption. There was no need for a junction box at all; it was a fake; it was unnecessary.

  The sole purpose of the box had been to house the radiation source. Someone had deliberately installed it there in order to expose Sheila Barnes and her husband to the effects of radiation damage. Or had Sheila alone been the real target? Because surely this was Medic Ecosse’s doing. They just had to be the number-one suspect. Radiation sources weren’t exactly freely available over the counter but they were common enough in hospitals, where a wide range of isotopes was used for tracing and treatment purposes.

  He looked again at the empty box. The source — and therefore the evidence — had been removed, presumably when it had done its job and Sheila and her husband had been taken into hospital. Was that it? Were they now going to get away with it? Was there nothing he could do to prevent that? He reminded himself that the monitor was still registering so there must still be traces of the substance in the box. Maybe that would be enough to identify the isotope and trace its origins.

  As he wondered how he could take some sort of sample from the inside of the box he remembered Sheila’s make-up tray in the bedroom. Among the things she kept there was a series of little brushes. One of those would be ideal. He went and selected one, then turned his attention to finding a suitable container. His first thought was a plastic 35mm film container from Cyril’s camera cupboard but plastic would not contain the radiation too well. He would need better shielding. His next thought was to try some kitchen foil. He brought some through from the kitchen.

  Very carefully, to avoid dust rising into the air and him inhaling it, he brushed out what little debris there was inside the junction box and collected it on a square of foil. He folded it over into a little packet and checked the outside with the monitor. The reading was still high. The foil was too thin to block the radiation even when folded into several thicknesses; he needed better shielding.

  He was facing the depressing thought that he might have to wait until Sci-Med sent up a suitable container before it would be safe to transport the sample, when he remembered that the bungalow was quite old. Although it was unlikely still to have any original lead piping in it after all the health scares of a few years ago, it might have remnants of these days. It was worth looking. He took the torch through into the kitchen and examined the piping under the sinks. It was modern. Copper, steel and plastic. The same applied to the bathroom.

  There was one last possibility: the cistern in the loft. Did the Barneses have a loft ladder? They did. Dunbar found the short pole with the hook on the end and used it to open the hatch cover and swing down the ladder. He climbed up the metal treads, torch in hand, and swung the beam around the dark recesses of the roof space. He saw a grey plastic cistern and modern piping, mostly wrapped in plastic lagging.

  It was plain that the plumbing in the house had been entirely re-done in the not too distant past. He was about to close the hatch when he saw, below the red plastic tank used to back up the central-heating water supply, something lying between the rafters. He picked it up. It had once been part of an overflow pipe from the old cistern. It was about eight inches long and, more importantly, it was made of lead.

  He closed up the loft and brought the pipe down into the living room. He slipped the little foil packet inside it and, using the handle of the screwdriver, flattened the ends of the pipe to seal the packet inside. He ran the probe over the outside and was pleased to hear that the radiation was now in check. He could hear only background clicks. He screwed the plastic cover back on the junction box and stood up. He had a sick, hollow feeling in his stomach as if he had been going up too fast in a lift. It was one thing being afraid of what you were up against, but when you didn’t know what
that was it made you doubly fearful. He looked back at the junction box and wondered who had installed it. It must have been so easy. Someone posing as a telephone engineer perhaps? Supposedly checking a fault in the line? He could see how it could have been done without arousing any suspicion.

  He put his things back into his briefcase along with the lead-shielded sample of debris and shone the torch around the floor area to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. He composed himself for a few moments before preparing to run the gauntlet of the security light once more.

  This time he wasn’t so lucky. He had only taken one sideways step with his back pressed against the wall when the light clicked on, illuminating him and the garden. He felt as if he had just come on stage at the London Palladium. Instinctively he sprinted to the corner of the house and threw himself flat in the shrubbery. As he did so a light came on in the Proudfoots’ upstairs bedroom and a face appeared at the window; a hand started clearing a patch in the condensation on the glass in order to see out.

  Dunbar wasn’t at all sure about his cover so he was reluctant to move a muscle lest movement attract attention. He couldn’t even afford to turn his head to look up at the bedroom window. His peripheral vision suggested that there was someone still there.

  At that moment a cat chose to saunter across the garden path, sniffing the night air and haughtily ignoring the human being at the window above him. The cat sensed Dunbar’s presence and stopped in its tracks to stare at him. Dunbar closed his eyes and prayed. This could go either way. Either the neighbour would think that the cat had triggered the light and go back to bed or he would notice that the cat had found something and get suspicious himself.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the bedroom light went off and all was quiet again. The cat moved off to more interesting things and Dunbar lay stock still for a further three minutes until the security light had reset itself. Moving slowly backwards and out of range, he quickly glanced both ways in the street before jumping over the fence and walking briskly back to his car. The night air and the icy cold did nothing to help his state of mind. He was filled with apprehension. He had become involved in something that was much bigger than he could ever have imagined at the outset. Sheila Barnes and her husband getting cancer had been no accident.

  Thinking about Sheila made him wonder about Lisa. If they — whoever they were — had set out to murder Sheila Barnes, might they not try to do the same to Lisa? Dunbar’s foot flew to the brake pedal and the tyres squealed in protest. He executed a three-point turn with more noise than elegance and started racing through the streets to her flat.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked a sleepy-voiced Lisa.

  ‘Steven Dunbar. I have to talk to you!’ said Dunbar into the entryphone.

  ‘Do you know what time it is?’ she protested.

  ‘I have to see you. It’s important.’

  ‘It had better be,’ said Lisa, releasing the lock.

  Dunbar sprinted up the stairs, carrying his briefcase under his right arm. Lisa was waiting for him at her front door, wearing dressing gown and slippers. Her arms were crossed over her body in deference to the cold. She quickly ushered him inside.

  ‘This had better be good.’

  ‘I think you’re in danger.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  The sleep had gone from Lisa. She was now wide awake and alert. She watched as Dunbar, ignoring her, brought out the radiation monitor from his briefcase and unclipped the probe. He went directly to the telephone and started tracing the cable back along the wall. There was no sign of any new junction box.

  ‘Have you had any visits from a telephone engineer in the past few weeks?’ he asked, starting to move the probe to other areas of the room.

  ‘Telephone engineer? Will you please tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘Any other workmen calling unexpectedly?’

  ‘No, no one.’

  Dunbar began to relax.

  ‘Will you please tell me what all this is about?’ said Lisa.

  ‘I’d better just check your bedroom.’

  Lisa said, ‘Dunbar, I’ve heard some crummy lines in my time, but this takes the prize.’

  Dunbar didn’t smile. He said, ‘It looks as if Sheila Barnes and her husband didn’t get cancer through some quirk of fate. I think someone may have planted a radiation source in their house.’

  Lisa’s eyes went as round as saucers. ‘A radiation source? You mean it could be murder?’

  Dunbar nodded. ‘Could be.’

  ‘But why? I mean who?’

  ‘Only one name comes to mind,’ said Dunbar.

  ‘You mean Medic Ecosse?’ exclaimed Lisa.

  Dunbar shrugged. ‘You can’t buy radioactive isotopes at the corner shop. Who else would have access?’

  Lisa sank into a chair and held her hands to her face.

  Dunbar said, ‘I had the awful thought they might be doing the same to you.’

  Lisa shook her head slowly. The confidence had gone from her eyes. She looked like a little girl who had suddenly become very afraid.

  He put down the probe and wrapped his arms round her for a few moments. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything here,’ he assured her. ‘But I’d better check the other rooms.’

  She nodded and led the way. The flat was clean.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Dunbar inquired gently when they returned to the living room.

  Lisa looked up and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Where do we go from here?’ she asked.

  ‘Until I know for sure, I have to assume that they did this to Sheila to shut her up about the child who died, although the method is positively bizarre. We could call in the police right now but that might stop us finding out what’s behind it all.’

  ‘Then you do believe there’s something in what Sheila Barnes and I have been staying?’ asked Lisa.

  ‘I think I did even before this.’

  ‘Supposing you don’t call the police. What’s the alternative?’

  ‘Sci-Med can continue the investigation in secret.’

  ‘I want to know why Amy died,’ said Lisa. ‘I want someone to pay for it.’

  Dunbar nodded.

  ‘On the other hand, I’m scared,’ she confessed.

  Dunbar did not offer false reassurance.

  ‘What about the radiation source you mentioned? What’s going to happen to it?’

  ‘It had already been removed but I found traces of it. They’d concealed it in a telephone junction box on the wall — that’s why I was checking your phone line. I collected some debris from the box. I’m going to ask the Sci-Med people if they can identify the isotope and find out where it came from. There aren’t many establishments that supply radioactive materials in the UK, and they’re all obliged to keep strict records.’

  ‘So they’ll be able to tell if it was ordered through Medic Ecosse?’

  ‘That’s my hope,’ said Dunbar. ‘If we can show that Sheila was murdered, and link her death to Medic Ecosse, all the stops will be pulled out in a search for the motive. If we call in the police right now and then find that we can’t link the two, the whole thing will be blown.’

  ‘Who else would want to kill Sheila Barnes?’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Dunbar, but there was hesitation in his voice.

  ‘Something’s troubling you?’

  ‘I can’t help thinking it was a very odd way to shut someone up. You’d think they’d want to do it as quickly as possible, not let nature take its course.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lisa flatly. ‘Very reassuring.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was just thinking out loud. Obviously they must think time’s on their side. What do you think?’

  ‘Let’s see what your people come up with before we call in the police,’ said Lisa.

  ‘If you’re sure?’ said Dunbar
.

  She nodded uncertainly, as if she was using up every ounce of bravery she could muster in the gesture.

  ‘Good girl. In the meantime don’t open the door to any tradesmen unless they’ve got proper identification and credentials. Even at that, I’m going to arrange for surveillance outside.’

  Lisa nodded again.

  As soon as he got back to the hotel, Dunbar established a modem link with the Sci-Med office in London, using his notebook computer, and sent a two-word message, GLASGOW RED. Sci-Med would now know they had a criminal case on their hands, and any request made by Dunbar would be given priority. At some point in the next few days he would have to justify his action. If at all possible he would have to do it in person in London but, as he was the man on the ground right now, the decision was his.

  After a few moments his computer bleeped, and Sci-Med’s reply came up on the screen: GLASGOW GREEN. His message had been received. There followed an instruction to adopt one of three encrypting procedures available on Sci-Med computers. From now on, to ensure complete security, all his messages would be encoded automatically before travelling down the phone lines, as would the return messages from Sci-Med. Dunbar did as instructed and was asked if he had any immediate requests. He asked for discreet, low-level surveillance at Lisa’s address. He didn’t believe she was in any immediate danger, but it was as well to think ahead. He was assured that this would be done. Asked if there was anything else, he replied that there was nothing that couldn’t wait until daybreak. He needed some sleep; it was two thirty in the morning.

  Despite the lateness of the hour, sleep did not come easily. The events of the day went round in his head like scenes on a fairground carousel. The more he searched for answers, the bigger the questions seemed to get. Even niggling little worries demanded his attention. He was thinking about how he would return the equipment he’d borrowed from Radiology when a thought struck him. At the hospital, when he’d seen the surgical team get into the lift with the child, they’d taken her up to the second floor. He’d thought nothing of it at the time but now he realized that that would have taken them up to the east wing of Obstetrics, the one being used for the Omega patient. Why were they taking the child up there?