He would need material from the people who had died, tissue, serum, and for that he would need help, top brass help and that meant Tyson…or did it? He was still smarting from the way he had made a fool of himself over the Doctor David Malcolm affair. He did not want it to happen again. Could he possibly do it alone?
It occurred to Fenton that maybe it had been done already! Perhaps the Pathology Department had already screened tissue from the victims for infective agents? If that were so then his suggestion would be about as popular with Pathology as his last one had been with the Police. That would be the last straw. He could just see MacDougal, the consultant pathologist and not the most patient of men, sneering at him and saying, "Do you imagine that we are all stupid down here Fenton?"
He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Ten past four, four hours before he would get up and go to the hospital, four hours in which to decide. Outside the wind began to rise and moan through wires on the roof. The bedroom window rattled as it denied entry to the night. Thoughts of a commando style raid on the Pathology Lab conjured up visions of being caught and the implausible explanation that he would have to offer to the police. Inspector Jamieson's superior little smile appeared in the glow from the clock. There had to be another way.
The other way presented itself as an obvious little idea that made Fenton feel stupid for not having thought of it sooner. The Medical Records Department! He could simply go along and request the file on one of the victims. There might not be one for Susan Daniels or the Wilson woman but there would certainly be one for the Watson boy for he had been a patient at the time. His file would contain a full post mortem report and details of all the lab tests requested.
Fenton got up at seven and was in the lab by eight. He had left Jenny sleeping, partly because she needed the rest but partly to avoid any discussion about what he was going to do. He got straight to work on his excuse for the medical records people and thumbed through the day book until he found the last entry for Timothy Watson, a blood glucose estimation. He copied down details of the result and took a virgin report form from Liz Scott's desk. Using two fingers and a great deal of concentration he tapped out a stuttering copy of the original report before getting ink over his hands as he altered the date stamp to match the date of the request in the day book. He now had his excuse, a biochemistry report to insert into the Watson Boy's file.
The Medical Records Department was situated in the Administration Block and smelled of dust and old cardboard. It had a blue carpeted floor that deadened the footsteps of two young girls as they moved up and down narrow gangways between towering rows of patients' files. Cecil McClay looked over his glasses as Fenton entered through the swing doors and approached his desk. He continued writing and finished the sentence before saying, "Yes?"
McClay managed to endow the single word with the suggestion that Fenton was intruding but Fenton had been prepared for it for he knew McClay of old. The man had been Medical Records Officer at the Princess Mary for over twenty years and, like many time servers, had assumed proprietorial rights over his department. To him medical records were an end in themselves. Outsiders wanting to see them were a nuisance to be discouraged wherever possible.
Had Fenton been on a legitimate errand McClay's attitude might have been as a red rag to a bull but, as it was, he was sweetness and light. He apologised for the inconvenience and asked if he 'might possibly' take a look at the file on Timothy Watson.
"Your authority?"
"My own, I'm Fenton, Biochemistry. I have a report to add to the file. It must have been overlooked."
"Leave it there. I'll see that it's entered." The eyes dropped down behind the glasses.
"Actually…I really would like to make sure that this is the only one we overlooked…" Fenton hoped his smile looked more genuine than it felt.
McClay considered for a moment then swung round in his chair and said to one of the girls, "Hilary! Watson, Tee, March three, Ward four."
The girl handed the file to Fenton with a look that promised more than a cardboard file should he choose to follow it up. He smiled and took it to a vacant desk.
The post mortem findings were brief; Timothy Watson had died from loss of blood. Cross reference was made to the haematology report which described high anti-coagulant activity in the sample and complete failure of the clotting mechanisms in the boy's blood. No mention was made anywhere of specimens having been taken and sent for bacterial or viral investigation. His idea was still valid. Everything was yet to play for.
Fenton looked at the short hand on the back of the pathology report and found what specimens had been taken at autopsy and how they had been stored. Four ticks under 'F' were dismissed as being useless because samples fixed in formalin would have lost all biological activity. There were two ticks under 'FR' for freezer, one was serum and the other heart tissue, either of these would do for his purpose. He made a mental note of the reference numbers, closed the file and laid it gently on McClay's desk. "Thank you," he said. McClay grunted in response and did not look up.
The question of how to get his hands on the post mortem samples occupied Fenton's mind for the remainder of the morning. He knew a few people in Pathology but not well enough for what he wanted. He would have to 'borrow' them on his own but how? Forced entry was out of the question. He was prepared to manipulate matters, use a little deception, generate 'misunderstandings', flirt around the edges of illegality but not to brazenly cross the line.
The idea came to him as he washed up before going to lunch. The Pathology Department had a washroom too. If he could find some reason to go to Pathology at around five- thirty he could sneak in there and hide until everyone had left. Then he could find the specimens at his leisure and let himself out. The idea became the plan.
At twenty minutes past five Fenton left the biochemistry department with his pulse rate rising for there now seemed to be a dozen reasons for not going ahead with the plan and more occurred to him with every step he took towards the pathology lab. He came to the double green doors and paused for a moment to steady himself. His mouth was as dry as the desert. Only a brief thought of Jenny made him push open the doors and walk through.
The sickly sweet smell of formaldehyde engulfed him as he approached the reception desk and smiled at the girl technician who stood there. The girl smiled back and read his coat badge. "What can I do for you Mr Fenton?"
Fenton held up the empty brown bottle that he had brought with him from biochemistry and said, "I've run out of this stuff and the stores closed at five. Could you possibly let me have some until the morning?"
The girl took the reagent bottle from him and read the label. "Of course," she said and left him alone for a moment. Fenton looked anxiously over his shoulder to see the entrance to the male cloakroom. It would be immediately to his right as he left the reception area. The sound of a door opening made him spin round in time to see the consultant MacDougal leave his office and walk across the front of Reception. Fenton smiled, MacDougal ignored him.
The technician returned with a full bottle of reagent and handed it to him with a smile. "There you go," she said.
Fenton thanked her and promised that he would return a full one in the morning. He left the reception area and side-stepped smartly into the gents' cloakroom to find it empty. He breathed a sigh of relief, so far so good. He chose the end cubicle and sat down to wait with a glance at his watch; he did not lock the door, just pushed it almost shut, reasoning that anyone in doubt as to whether or not a cubicle was occupied would automatically use one of the other two. A locked door would be a sure sign of occupancy and might attract attention. If he was discovered he would simply flush the toilet and leave.