Bannerman filled in the time with phone calls to
London. He spoke to Olive at the lab and then to
the chief technician, Charlie Simmons, who told him
that everything was going smoothly and that there
was nothing to worry about.
‘How about the locum?’ asked Bannerman.
‘He’s about fourteen years old,’ replied Simmons.
‘We should have him trained by the time you
get back.’
Bannerman smiled. It was pretty much the reply
he had expected. He asked to speak to Leeman
but was told that he was carrying out an autopsy.
Bannerman said not to disturb him but to tell him
that he had called and to pass on his regards. He
asked to be transferred to Stella’s extension but
the hospital switchboard cut him off somewhere
in the proceedings and he had to call again simply
to be told that Stella was in theatre. He had barely
replaced the receiver when the phone rang. It was
Angus MacLeod.
‘How can I help you, Dr Bannerman?’ asked MacLeod, in clear, measured tones.
‘I’m looking into the deaths of the three men
from Inverladdie, Doctor,’ replied Bannerman. ‘I
understand you were their doctor.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ replied MacLeod. “There’s no other
practitioner in Achnagelloch.’
‘Perhaps we could talk?’
‘Come on over,’ said MacLeod. ‘When you leave
the hotel turn left. Take the first right after the post
office and my surgery is on your left, half way up
the hill.’
Despite his name and, albeit refined, Scottish accent,
there was nothing about Angus MacLeod’s dress to
suggest Scottishness. Bannerman found this surprising. For some reason he had expected a tweed
jacket at the very least, or perhaps a tartan tie, but no,
MacLeod was wearing a dark, three piece suit with a gold watch chain disappearing into his waistcoat
pocket. His white shirt was crisp and his tie was a
muted dark blue. It went well with his silver hair.
Bannerman reckoned that he could not have been
far short of seventy but, despite the apparent frailty
of his thin body, his voice was strong and his intellect
seemed quick and unimpaired.
‘Good of you to see me Doctor,’ said Bannerman,
stretching out his hand. He found MacLeod’s grasp
firm and free of masonic information. He was shown into what was obviously MacLeod’s consulting room
and invited to sit down.
‘
There’s really not much I can tell you,’ said
MacLeod, placing his elbows on the desk and resting
his chin on folded hands.
Bannerman could imagine him adopting this pos
ture in front of generations of patients … Tell me all
about it Mrs Macpherson, when did you first notice
the swelling …
‘
The condition came on so quickly that there was
very little I could do, except provide some relief from
the pain and give them sedation. One of the men was
dead of course when they found him and another
was raving mad in the streets. Gordon Buchan was
the only one I managed to attend, simply because he had a wife to call me in.’
‘What were your thoughts when you first saw
him?’ asked Bannerman.
MacLeod grimaced slightly at the memory. He
said, ‘‘I once saw a man die of rabies in North
Africa. That’s the only thing I could compare the condition to. Progression into complete dementia
with the patient experiencing the most horrible
nightmares.’
‘‘
I wonder if I might see your case notes on
the men?’ asked Bannerman. ‘‘I’m trying to collect
together every single detail.’
‘Of course,’ replied MacLeod, getting up stiffly
from his chair and opening a three-drawered filing
cabinet. He brought out the relevant files and placed
them on the desk in front of Bannerman.
‘I understand that some kind of viral meningitis
is being blamed for the deaths,’ said MacLeod,
as Bannerman worked his way through the slim
files.
Bannerman met MacLeod’s eyes briefly and said,
That’s what I understand too.’
‘Did you know that the men were employed on
burying dead sheep when they fell ill?’
‘I had heard,’ said Bannerman without raising his eyes this time, although his pulse rate rose a little.
The sheep died of
Scrapie …
Did you know
that?’
This time Bannerman felt he could no longer avoid
MacLeod’s clever probing. He lifted his head and said, ‘Yes Doctor.’
‘Just so as you know,’ said MacLeod gently with a vaguely amused look on his face.
Bannerman closed the files and stacked them
together on the desk. He said, ‘Yes Doctor, you
are perfectly right in your suspicions. The
Scrapie
connection is why I’m here. I apologize for not
having come clean with you right away.’
MacLeod shook his head slightly and made a
gesture with his hands to signify that no offence
had been taken. Then you believe it’s a real pos
sibility?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Bannerman. ‘All the evi
dence seems to point to the men having contracted
sheep
Scrapie.
I’m trying to prove it and find out just
how it happened.’
‘A breach of the species barrier would be no joke,’
said MacLeod.
Bannerman nodded. He had taken a liking to
MacLeod. He felt guilty about having misjudged
the man when he first heard about the length of
his service in the area. He asked, ‘What happened
after the men’s deaths?’
‘
I requested that post-mortems be carried out by
the MRC instead of the area pathologist.’
‘Why?’
‘The symptoms displayed by the men suggested
acute brain disease to me and I was aware of
the MRC’s national survey. I called Stoddart in
Edinburgh and he sent up a chap named Gill and
his research assistant, Dr Napier. I must confess I
was quite surprised to get George’s letter saying
that meningitis was being blamed but I didn’t say
anything.’
‘Why not?’
‘I know my place,’ grinned MacLeod. ‘GPs are
the equivalent of village idiots as far as the medical
establishment are concerned.’
Bannerman smiled and asked, ‘Do you know
Stoddart personally?’
‘
I once taught him basic anatomy,’ said MacLeod.
‘
I think he forgot,’ said Bannerman and MacLeod’s
face broke into a huge grin.
‘
I didn’t realize you had taught medicine,’ said
Bannerman.
‘Just for three years,’ replied MacLeod, ‘I had a
spell in Africa in the fifties, playing at being the saviour of the dark continent and then a lectureship
at Edinburgh - a different sort of jungle.’
‘And that’s where you met Stoddart?’
‘He was one of my students. In fact I think I can say
that I was responsible for directing Stoddart towards
a career in pathology.’
‘Really?’
‘
I didn’t want him getting his hands on any
live
patients,’ smiled MacLeod.
Both men laughed.
‘It hasn’t stopped him getting to the top,’ said
Bannerman.
‘Intellectual short-coming seldom does in my
experience,’ said MacLeod.
‘So academia wasn’t for you?’ said Bannerman.
‘It certainly wasn’t,’ agreed MacLeod. ‘Academics
are more institutionalized than prisoners in jail, only
they don’t realize it.’
‘Why general practice?’ asked Bannerman.
‘I wanted to be part of a community, not some
thing outside it. As a GP I’m at the heart of
things. I’m in at the beginning and I’m there at
the end. It was what I wanted to do and I’ve never
regretted it.’
‘There’s not too many people can say that about
their lives,’ said Bannerman.
‘On the contrary, Doctor,’ said MacLeod. ‘A lot of
people
say
it but whether or not it’s true is an entirely
different matter.’
‘Point taken,’ conceded Bannerman.
‘Would you join me in a drink, Doctor?’ asked
MacLeod, opening his desk drawer and taking out a
bottle. ‘But first be warned that if you should happen to say, “It’s a little early for me” I may be inspired to
violence.’
Bannerman smiled and said, ‘I would be hon
oured.’
MacLeod poured the whisky and Bannerman asked, ‘What happened about the examination of
the bodies?’
‘They were taken to the small cottage hospital
facility we have at Stobmor. Dr Gill performed
elementary examinations and then Dr Napier took
over the brunt of the laboratory work while Gill
went around asking questions. After a few days
it was decided that the bodies would be taken to
Edinburgh for full autopsy.’
‘I didn’t realize you had a hospital in the area,’
said Bannerman.
‘It’s more of a clinic, really,’ replied MacLeod. ‘But
we have a nursing sister and it’s somewhere where
small or emergency operations can be carried out,
should the need arise.’
Bannerman wondered about MacLeod’s ability to
operate at his age but did not say anything. MacLeod
smiled as he read his mind and said, ‘We can call on
a surgical rota from Inverness and Glasgow.’
‘I see,’ said Bannerman.
‘And now you are going to ask me about the power
station,’ said MacLeod.
‘I am?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you know that?’ asked Bannerman who
was increasingly enjoying MacLeod’s company.
‘If you are looking for a likely cause of muta
tion in a virus, you could hardly ignore the pres
ence of a nuclear power station next door could
you?’
‘Once again I have to take my hat off to you
Doctor,’ said Bannerman, with a smile. ‘Has the presence of the station caused any health problems
in the area?’
‘It’s hard to be objective,’ replied MacLeod. The
population is so small up here that it’s difficult to
gather meaningful statistics.’
‘You have a higher than average childhood leu
kaemia incidence,’ said Bannerman. ‘I’ve had a look
at the figures for the area.’
That’s a good example,’ said MacLeod. Two years
ago our figures were slightly below the national average. Two cases last year, one in Stobmor and
another in one of the outlying farms, were enough
to push us into the “statistically higher than average”
category. It could have been chance.’
Bannerman nodded and said, ‘I thought that
might be the case.’
‘Lies, damned lies and statistics,’ sighed MacLeod.
‘But that’s not to say that the children didn’t get it
from the presence of the station. We just can’t prove
it one way or the other.’
That brings me to my next question,’ said
Bannerman. ‘Do you have any radiation monitoring
equipment?’
MacLeod said that he had, adding, ‘I was given
it when they opened the station, a battery operated
Geiger counter and calibration kit.’