Bell ignored him and set up the welding set beside
an old Bedford van. He unwound the hoses from the
heads of the cylinders and opened the valve on the
acetylene cylinder; he ignited the torch flame and it
started to burn with a slow licking yellow flame. Bell
stared at it and smiled as if remembering something.
MacKinnon came to stand by his side. He said, ‘I
don’t like having to bawl you out every morning.
Why can’t we talk this thing out?’
Bell ignored him and reached up to turn on the oxygen supply. The yellow flame turned to intense
blue as oxygen entered the flow. It made MacKinnon
angry because neither man was wearing protective
goggles. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
he stormed, covering his eyes.
Bell turned round as if in a trance. He smiled, distantly, and without further hesitation pushed the
torch flame right into MacKinnon’s face. MacKinnon’s
features were transformed into a blackened crater
within seconds and he fell to the floor, his head wreathed in smoke which drifted slowly upwards.
Bell stepped over the body and started to work on the
van as if nothing had happened. He hoisted it up on
the hydraulic lift and positioned himself underneath. He was welding the chassis when the postman came
into the garage and saw MacKinnon’s body. The man
let out a cry of horror.
Bell looked out from under the van and smiled at
him. ‘Hello Neil,’ he said with a smile. ‘How are
things?’
The postman backed away; he thought the smile
on Bell’s face the most terrifying thing he had ever
seen. There was something disturbingly unnatural
about it. Bell stood there as if waiting for an answer,
the welding torch still burning in his hand, its flame
now cutting through the petrol tank of the van. The
postman turned on his heel and ran screaming to
the door. An ear-splitting blast behind him helped
him on his way and sent him sprawling out into
the street.
Neil Campbell struggled to his knees and looked
back in through the maw of the doorway. He saw
the flaming figure of Andrew Bell, hands raised in
the air, pirouetting slowly to the floor in his death
throes. The postman’s eyes didn’t blink. It took
another explosion to break the spell. He didn’t
know it at the time but it was a gas explosion from a neighbouring street.
Bannerman was thinking about going to bed when
the phone rang. These days when the phone rang
at night it was usually Shona but he had spoken to
her already this evening, less than an hour ago.
‘Bannerman.’
‘Doctor Bannerman? This is Angus MacLeod in
Achnagelloch.’
Bannerman was taken aback, but hid it well. He inquired after the GP’s health and asked, ‘What can
I do for you, Doctor?’
‘It’s more what I can do for you,’ replied MacLeod.
‘There was an incident in Stobmor today which I
thought you would be interested in.’
‘Really? What sort of an incident?’
‘A man went berserk.’
‘Berserk,’ repeated Bannerman. He could feel
himself going cold.
‘A garage worker named Andrew Bell went totally
out of control. It appears that he murdered his wife
and his employer before immolating himself. In view
of the deaths in Achnagelloch a few weeks ago, I
thought you might be interested.’
Bannerman saw the awful implications of the news
immediately. If this death was due to the same cause
as the others it meant that the source of disease had not been contained after all! A mixture of fear and
excitement welled up in his throat. ‘What happened
to the man’s body?’ he asked in a voice that was
almost a croak.
‘There was very little of it left,’ replied MacLeod.
‘He was doused in burning petrol and fell on to a
lit welding torch.’
‘What are the chances of getting pathology sam
ples?’ asked Bannerman.
‘Zero, I’m afraid,’ answered MacLeod. ‘We are
not talking about burns Doctor. We are talking
cremation.’
‘Damnation,’ said Bannerman as he realized he
had been thwarted again. It suddenly registered
what MacLeod had said about the man’s occupation.
‘You said he worked in a garage?’ he asked.
‘As a mechanic,’ replied MacLeod.
That doesn’t fit,’ said Bannerman. ‘How long has he been doing that?’
‘About fifteen years and before that he worked in
a fish factory over on the east coast.’
‘But surely there must be some link with the
others?’
‘
There’s a familial connection,’ said MacLeod.
‘Go on,’ said Bannerman.
‘His daughter, May Bell. She is, or was, married to Gordon Buchan.’
‘Bell was May Buchan’s father?’ exclaimed
Bannerman.
‘Yes. Does that help?’
‘I don’t know,’ confessed Bannerman. ‘I’ll let you know if I think of anything, and Doctor?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d appreciate your call. If there should happen to
be any other incidents …’
‘
I’ll let you know,’ promised MacLeod.
‘How the hell? …’ complained Bannerman as he
thought it through. How could Gordon Buchan’s
father-in-law contract the disease? He had nothing to do with sheep! He had worked in a garage for fifteen years. But surely it was too much of a coincidence to
be due to anything else. The overwhelming priority
for the moment was that the killer disease had not
been wiped out. It was alive in Stobmor. It was too
late to call the MRC; he would call Milne first thing
in the morning.
Bannerman got to the hospital a little after eight-
thirty to find that Milne had already called him.
Bannerman phoned him back and lit a cigarette
while he waited for an answer.
‘Bad news I’m afraid,’ said Milne.
‘You’re going to tell me that there has been another
case,’ said Bannerman.
‘How did you know?’
‘MacLeod, the local GP, phoned me last night.’
‘I just don’t understand it,’ said Milne. The man
is a garage mechanic.’
‘Me neither,’ agreed Bannerman.
‘I’m calling a special meeting for ten-thirty. Can
you make it?’
Bannerman said that he could.
Cecil Allison from the Prime Minister’s office was
the last to arrive at the meeting. Bannerman was
looking out of the window at the rain while the only
other two, Hugh Milne and the secretary of the MRC,
Sir John Flowers, discussed some internal matter.
Bannerman saw the dark Rover draw up at the door
and Allison get out; he returned to the table.
‘So sorry to have kept you,’ said Allison, ‘I’ve been
a bit snowed under this morning.’ He beamed at the
others and sat down.
Flowers said, ‘Dr Bannerman thinks that we
should mount a full scale investigation into the
deaths at Stobmor and Achnagelloch; the time
for low-profile sniffing around is past. I think I
agree.’
Allison, urbane as ever, spread his palms in front of him in a gesture which appealed for calm. ‘As I
understand it,’ he said smoothly, ‘there has been another death.’
‘Another three if we count the man’s wife and
employer,’ said Milne, ‘and pretty horrific deaths they were, too.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Allison, his eyes betraying the slightest suggestion of irritation, ‘but for the pur
poses of our interest, i.e. the brain disease problem,
there has been only one. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Flowers.
‘And this man had nothing to do with sheep or
cattle at all?’
‘No,’ said Flowers.
‘So the connection …’ Allison made the word
‘connection’ sound inappropriate, ‘has been made entirely through his irrational behaviour?’
‘His symptoms were identical by all accounts,’ said
Bannerman, ‘and he was related to one of the men
who died.’
‘His symptoms, as I have been led to believe,
amount to deranged behaviour. Is that right?’
‘Well, yes,’ agreed Milne.
‘Nothing more specific than that?’
‘No,’ agreed Flowers. ‘I suppose you could call
it that.’
‘
The point I am making, gentlemen,’ said Allison
leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and create the impression of being about to impart a
confidence, ‘is that this sort of thing happens all
the time and all over the country. A man near the
end of his tether grabs a rifle and shoots his way on
to the front pages of the dailys. We’ve read about
it all before! Her Majesty’s Government is continu
ally under pressure to review firearm regulations
because of it!’
Bannerman had expected Allison to play things
down; doing this was almost a government reflex, but he had to admit that Allison had a point. The
man was good at his job; he had made a convincing
argument and was now waiting to see the strength of
the opposition. Bannerman steeled himself to keep
his temper and said, ‘My feeling is that this incident,
happening as it did in Stobmor, is just too much of
a coincidence. I firmly believe that this latest death
is connected with the others and that there might
be more if we do nothing. We have to pursue the
source of this outbreak and identify it.’
Flowers and Milne sat on the sidelines, waiting
for Allison’s response. When he spoke there was
a much colder, harder edge to his voice. He said to
Flowers, ‘Until yesterday you were prepared to give
Her Majesty’s Government a statement saying that
there was no evidence of a direct link between brain
disease in animals and similar conditions in man. Now, because of one man going off his head and
running amok … are you saying that you won’t?’
Flowers said calmly, ‘I think we must wait a little
longer before giving you the reassurance you seek.’
‘How much longer?’ asked Allison. He enun
ciated each word as if giving an elocution lesson.
‘Until we are satisfied Mr Allison,’ replied Flowers,
earning Bannerman’s admiration for his steadiness under strong pressure from the government’s man.
Allison too seemed to sense that Flowers could not
be bullied into committing the Council to something
that he wasn’t happy about. His manner relaxed a
little and he said, ‘Will you at least concede that this latest death
might
be due to the factors I’ve outlined. The man could have simply gone berserk after some
domestic upheaval?’
Flowers, Milne and Bannerman all nodded.
‘
In that case,’ said Allison, ‘I have a proposal.’
Bannerman moved defensively in his chair but
didn’t speak.
‘If we launch a major investigation right now,’ said Allison, ‘the press will have a field day - Killer Brain
Disease Stalks Scottish Town - that sort of thing.
The truth will be totally lost under banner headlines
and the damage to the farming community will be
inestimable.’
‘What do you propose?’ asked Milne.
I propose that we do nothing,’ said Allison.
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing, for an agreed period and if during
that period there have been no further cases of
people running amok and murdering their wives
then we regard the
Scrapie
affair in Achnagelloch as
an isolated incident which is now closed. You issue
an interim report on brain disease in this country
stating that, although there has been a rise, the
statistics do not signify a connection with farm
animals. If, on the other hand, there is another
case, then you are free to go ahead and investigate
in any way you choose.’