Chameleon (15 page)

'Come in before the neighbours start talking,' whispered Sue.

They looked at each other, both taking pleasure in their reunion. 'You are earlier than I thought,' said Sue.

Jamieson nodded and said, 'I think we've found the source of the infection. The consultant surgeon in Gynaecology appears to be a carrier.'

'Poor man,' said Sue, 'How is he taking it?'

'Not well,’ replied Jamieson.

'It can't be easy for him,' said Sue.

Jamieson did not argue. He said, 'It's not absolutely certain yet but the lab will know by tomorrow morning. I'll phone when I get up.'

'I suppose this means that your first job for Sci-Med is now over,' said Sue.

'I suppose it does,' agreed Jamieson. 'Although, to be honest I didn't do much. I merely suggested that the surgeon concerned send in a routine nasal swab. He had done it before of course, but he had been using antiseptic cream at the time so the lab test was negative.'

'And you spotted that?' said Sue.

'Well, yes.'

'Then you solved the problem. Sci-Med should be delighted.'

'Maybe they won't sack me just yet,' smiled Jamieson.

'You're too modest,' insisted Sue. 'We must have a small celebration.' She held up a bottle of German wine that she took from the fridge in the kitchen. 'What do you say?'

'Why not,' agreed Jamieson.

After dinner Jamieson took off his shoes and lay along the couch pleased at the feeling of contentment inside him.

'What like was Kerr Memorial?' asked Sue.

'A gloomy place, dirty, run down, full of people doing their best against the odds. The usual.'

'If the phone call in the morning confirms that the surgeon was to blame, will you have to go back up there?' asked Sue

'Briefly, to tidy things up.'

'Then what?'

'Whatever Sci-Med has in store.'

Sue moved to the couch. She lifted Jamieson's head momentarily to sit down and then replaced it in her lap. 'Did you miss me?' she asked.

'More than I can say.'

'What did you miss most?'

'What do you think?'

'My cooking? suggested Sue.

'No...' replied Jamieson hesitantly as if he were considering.

'My... conversation?'

'Not... exactly.'

'Then what?' asked Sue feigning wide eyed innocence.

'Come closer.'

Sue inclined her head and Jamieson whispered in her ear.

'Scott!' exclaimed Sue.

'You asked and I told you,' said Jamieson matter of factly. And if a man can't tell his wife that then it's a sad state of affairs.' Jamieson was enjoying Sue's discomfort.

'It's not that,' said Sue. 'But you didn't have to be so ...so...'

'Vulgar,' suggested Jamieson with an amused smile. He drew Sue down towards him and whispered hoarsely, 'Yes I did. I feel vulgar. I feel earthy. I want you. I want to rip off your clothes and have you right now. His hand began to move over Sue's knee.

'Scott!' protested Sue. 'Put me down!' But the protest was half hearted and betrayed by laughter. Jamieson could tell from the warmth of Sue's lips when he pulled her face down on his that she too was aroused. He sat up on the couch and turned so that he could have her beneath him. He started taking her clothes off, first her blouse so that she was left with just her bra on her top half while he undid the zip on the side of her skirt.

'I take it we are not going to bed?' asked Sue with a smile.

'Correct.'

'Daddy said he might call round.'

'He's going to have to wait.'

'Sometimes I don't believe how much I love you,' murmured Jamieson as he lay on the cushion gently stroking Sue's hair.

'Believe it,' whispered Sue. 'Please believe it.'

Jamieson rose first in the morning and made the breakfast. It was a beautiful morning and he took the opportunity to stand out in the garden while he waited for the kettle to boil. There was hardly a breath of wind and dew drops hung on spiders' webs in the bushes. A village cat scurried away from its hide where it had been stalking birds as Jamieson neared the spot idly kicking a crab apple that had fallen from its tree. He was up at the top of the garden when he heard the telephone ring.

It was John Richardson. He said, 'I thought I would phone you and then I wouldn't have to wait around for you to call me.'

'Good thinking.'

'I'm afraid the strain from Thelwell is the killer strain. It has the same immunity pattern to antibiotics.

'So that is that,' said Jamieson conclusively.

'Ostensibly,' said Richardson, his voice pregnant with hesitation.

'I don't understand.' said Jamieson. 'You have found the source of the infection. Thelwell was carrying the bug. It all fits. What more conclusive evidence could you hope for?'

'I know that's how it seems,' agreed Richardson but I want to talk to you before we say any more.'

'What about?'

'I'd rather not say on the telephone. Perhaps you could come in to the lab on your return?'

'That won't be until tomorrow evening unless of course there’s some good reason for coming back sooner?'

'Tomorrow evening will be fine. I'll stay behind in the lab until you get here. Any idea what time that will be?'

'About eight.'

'Fine.'

'Who was that?' asked Sue from the bedroom.

'John Richardson, the Consultant Bacteriologist at Kerr Memorial.' said Jamieson thoughtfully. ‘The surgeon was carrying the killer strain.'

'So it's all over?'

'I think so,' said Jamieson distantly. 'But Richardson wants to talk to me before he makes the report.' Jamieson came back inside to get on with making the breakfast.

Sue dressed and came downstairs. She sensed that Jamieson was troubled about something and asked what it was.

'Richardson,' said Jamieson.

'What about him?'

Jamieson paused while he inserted bread into the toaster then he said, 'It was as if he really didn't believe what he was telling me.'

'You mean he thinks he's made a mistake?' asked Sue.

Jamieson smiled wryly. 'That's what Thelwell would maintain. He thinks that Richardson in some way engineered the whole thing.'

'Good Lord, what a place,' said Sue. 'And what do you believe?' she asked.

'I saw the culture. It was Pseudomonas.' said Jamieson. 'He didn't make that up.'

'Then I can't see the problem,' said Sue.

'Neither can I,' confessed Jamieson. 'That's what's bothering me. But if there is one I'll find out tomorrow night.'

* * * * *

The traffic was light on Sunday evening and this, combined with the fact that he had had such an enjoyable week-end, ensured that Jamieson did not lose his temper once on the journey north. He was still in a good mood when he got into his room and unpacked his bag. He would have a coffee before going down to see Richardson then he would come back and write up his report for Sci-Med. If there was time after that and Richardson had introduced no new problems he would go out for a couple of drinks at a nearby hotel and then have an early night.

As he rounded the corner to cross the courtyard to where the steps leading down to the lab were he saw a figure hurrying along the far side. Jamieson recognised the walk. It was Gordon Thelwell. He wondered what the surgeon was doing in the hospital at this time of night.

Jamieson took extra care on the stone steps to the lab for the light was failing and the nearest wall lamp was faulty. He pushed open the door and fumbled for the switch before finding it at the third attempt and clicking it on.

He could see a light coming from under John Richardson's door but when he knocked there was no reply. He tried again and then entered to find the room empty. The desk lamp was on and some papers were lying there as if Richardson had been reading them. The swivel chair behind the desk had been swung to the right as if Richardson had just got up from it. Thinking that Richardson had just stepped out for a moment to go to the lavatory perhaps, Jamieson sat down to wait. The minutes passed and Jamieson had to abandon his theory. He left the room to go in search of Richardson.

A quick search of the ground floor failed to reveal any sign of the consultant. Calling out his name did not help either. Jamieson started down the stairs to the basement. He stopped on the third step when he thought he heard something. It sounded like a creaking tree. 'Is anyone there?' he asked. The steady timbre of his voice thankfully breaking the silence which was breeding a distinct unease in him. There was no reply. Just the creaking sound again. 'Dr Richardson?'

Jamieson reached the bottom of the stairs and was feeling for the next light switch when something hard brushed against his face. He took in breath sharply and stepped backwards, throwing up his hands to push away whatever it was. When he touched it he knew exactly what it was. It was a foot, a human foot wearing a shoe but it was at face level!

Jamieson's pulse rate soared and he broke out in a sweat as he continued his frantic, flat handed search for the light switch like a mime artist faced with an imaginary wall. At last he found it and lit up a nightmare. John Richardson was hanging from one of the wooden support beams in the ceiling. He was hanging by a leather strap that had bitten deep into his fleshy neck. His eyes bulged out of their sockets and his tongue, blue and distended, lolled out of his mouth at one corner. The creaking sound was being made by his body revolving slowly in response to the positive air flow through the lab.

Jamieson stared at the spectre for some seconds, unable to do anything. He was mesmerised by the sheer horror of Richardson's appearance, his cyanosed complexion and bulbous eyes. Incongruously, the watch on his wrist was still going. In the silence Jamieson could hear its tick and saw the second hand continue its sweep round the face as the dial passed in front of him. He thought about cutting Richardson down but that would be easier said than done. Apart from the physical difficulties involved in doing this, there was no point. Richardson was very clearly dead; there was no possibility of resuscitation. The police would probably prefer that everything was left exactly as it was.

Jamieson called them from the nearest lab phone. When he had done that he asked the telephone operator on duty in the hospital front office to call out both the medical superintendent and the hospital secretary. He did not say why, just that it was very important and that they should come right away. Jamieson replaced the phone and the lab was returned to silence. At times like this he wished that he still smoked. He had given up some five years before but right now it would have been awfully nice to light up a cigarette.

Jamieson stood in the background while the police photographer took pictures of Richardson from every angle before the corpse was cut down and laid out on the floor. The Inspector in charge saw to it that the forensic people were doing their thing and then came over to Jamieson. 'I understand you found the body,' he said. 'I'm Ryan. Is there some place where we can talk?'

Jamieson nodded and led the way to Richardson's office. He thought that Carew and Crichton would both call in there first when they arrived. When they did he could tell them what had happened.

Jamieson gave Ryan details of how and when he had discovered Richardson's body. He said who and what he was and what he was doing at Kerr Memorial.

'You and me both,' replied the Inspector when Jamieson said that he had been investigating the cause of an outbreak which had resulted in the deaths of three women patients at the hospital.

'I beg your pardon?'

'I'm investigating the deaths of a couple of women myself,’ said the policeman.

'Oh, the murders? I read in the paper that you were looking for a gang in connection with the latest killing,' said Jamieson.

'They were involved,' said the policeman. 'But they didn't do the actual killing. Our nutter did that.'

'Nutter?'

'A ripper,' said Ryan. 'Forensic told us. The woman was badly beaten and mutilated but she was dissected just like the first.'

'God, it sounds awful,' said Jamieson. 'Do you have any ideas to go on?'

Ryan shook his head and said, 'This is always the worst kind of killer to find. Most murders are domestic, plenty of leads and ready-made suspects. When it's a nutter, it's different. It's odds on he's a loner with no friends or family and there will be no personal motive connected with the victims. At best it will be some kind of general obsession, at worst no rhyme or reason at all other than the fact that the victims were in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

'I see,' said Jamieson. 'If it's any comfort I thought I had found my killer or rather, he had.' Jamieson gestured with his head to where Richardson had been found. Now I'm not at all sure about what's going on.'

Carew and Crichton arrived almost together and were shocked at the news. Jamieson noted that both of them immediately assumed that Richardson had committed suicide. 'Why?' asked Jamieson, pre-empting Ryan's question.

'John has been under a great deal of pressure over this infection problem,' said Carew. 'Much more than he ever showed. It's pretty clear that it just got all too much for him.'

'But a lot of that pressure was relieved on Friday.' said Jamieson. 'Dr Richardson called me at home. He had proof that Mr Thelwell had been carrying the bug that was causing the infection.'

Carew and Crichton exchanged glances.

'Mr Thelwell did not believe him,' said Carew.

'Worse than that,' said Crichton. 'He insisted that Dr Richardson had deliberately fabricated the result. He insisted that the opinion of another lab be sought.'

'And?'

'The Public Health Service carried out a second swab test on Mr Thelwell on Saturday. He got the result this morning. It was negative.'

'I see,' said Jamieson slowly, still reluctant to believe that Richardson had really falsified the lab test. 'That in itself isn't conclusive,' he said. He mentioned Thelwell's use of antiseptic creams in earlier tests.

'When I told Dr Richardson this morning about the PHS result he behaved very strangely.' said Carew.