Sacrifice

'No, I haven't changed my mind,' he said.

OK, maybe I wasn't reading the situation too well. I decided to quieten down for a while.

'I think it would help to see exactly what we're dealing with here,' said Gifford. 'Who's got the X-rays?'

'Kenn,' said Andy Dunn, 'this is really not-'

'I have,' said Dana, ignoring her boss. From her bag she pulled the folder I'd given her that morning. She took out the large panoramic film taken in the hospital morgue and then the half-dozen smaller, overlapping shots – the ones that were definitely Melissa's – that I'd printed off the dental intranet site the night before.

'What do you think, Richard?' said Gifford.

Richard McDouglas looked at the films on his desk. So did the rest of us. From time to time, I looked up at his face but it was unreadable; a frown of concentration crinkling his brow, his lips curled in a scowl. Once, I risked looking at Dana but she was staring into space. I didn't want to look at anyone else.

After about five minutes, McDouglas shook his head.

'I can't see it,' he said. Sighs of relief all around the table.

Oh, for heaven's sake! 'Dr McDouglas,' I said quickly, before anyone else had a chance to open their mouths. 'Could you look at the second molar in the upper left quadrant?' He looked at Gifford, then at Dunn, but neither of them spoke. 'Look on the panoramic radiograph first, please.'

He did so.

'Would you say that molar has been crowned?'

He nodded. 'It would appear so.'

'Now look at the same tooth on your own X-rays.' I pushed the relevant film towards him. 'There, has that tooth been crowned?'

He nodded again, but didn't speak.

'Now, please look in the upper right quadrant. Do you agree there's a molar missing?'

'Difficult to say. Could be one of the pre-molars.'

'Whatever.' I pushed another film in front of him. The look of distaste on his face was a picture. I was being unreasonably aggressive, but enough was enough. 'This is the corresponding quadrant for Mrs Gair's X-rays. Is there a molar, or pre-molar missing?'

He counted the teeth.

'Yes, there is.'

Gifford leaned forward. He and Andy Dunn exchanged a glance. I was about to play my trump card.

'Dr McDouglas, could you please look at the root of this tooth.' I pointed to a tooth on the panoramic X-ray. 'I think this is the second pre-molar, am I right?'

He nodded.

'The root has a very distinctive curvature. Would you say it's mesial or distal?'

He pretended to study it but the answer was obvious.

'The curvature is distal.'

'And this one?' I indicated the same tooth on Melissa's X-ray.

He stared down. 'Miss Hamilton is correct,' he said eventually. 'There are sufficient similarities to merit a proper investigation.'

Stephen Gair pointed to the panoramic, then looked at Gifford. 'Are you saying this is my wife? That my wife is in your morgue? What the hell is going on here?'

'OK, that's it.' Andy Dunn had a loud voice and the proper air of authority when he needed it. 'We're going down to the station. Mr Gair, can you come with us, please? You too, Dr McDouglas.

At that moment, my beeper sounded. I excused myself and went out into the hallway to make a call. One of my patients was nearing the end of the second stage of labour and the baby was showing signs of distress. The midwife thought an emergency Caesar might be needed. I went back in and explained.

'I'll give you a hand,' said Gifford. 'Catch up with you later, Andy'

Andy Dunn opened his mouth, but Gifford was too fast for him. He had the doors open and me out of there before anyone had time to object. I caught Dana's eye; she looked surprised and not entirely happy and I couldn't help feeling that we were being deliberately separated.

Once outside, Gifford strode ahead and I followed as best I could. It was difficult to keep up as we crossed the car park and walked up the flagged path that led to the main door of the hospital, so I walked faster than I really had the energy for and wondered when he was going to open his mouth and ball me out for the trouble I'd caused.

I had so many words bubbling inside me I didn't trust myself to get them out in the right order once I'd begun. I wanted to accuse him, to demand an explanation, to vindicate myself. At the same time, I was determined not to let myself down by incoherent babbling. It was up to him to speak first, to offer some sort of explanation and I was determined he was going to do it.

He still hadn't said a word as we entered the hospital, turned left past A &E and carried on towards the maternity unit. At the stairs he turned and started to climb.

'I thought you were coming to give me a hand?' I said, realizing I sounded like a nagging wife but not caring. I had the moral high ground now and I wasn't budging.

He was on the fourth step up but he stopped and turned. The light from the staircase window shone brightly behind him and I couldn't see his expression.

'Do you need help?' he asked.

Instantly I felt stupid. Of course I didn't need help. But I wasn't about to be ignored either. Two nurses and a porter were coming along the corridor. Their conversation faded as they took in the obvious tension between us. 'You said you were coming with me,' I said, not bothering to lower my voice.

Kenn had noticed the others too. 'I needed to get away,' he said. 'There are things I have to do.' He turned and continued up the stairs. I stayed where I was, watching him. 'You're needed in maternity, Miss Hamilton,' he said firmly. 'Come and see me when you're done.'

The three staff members passed me and followed him up. One of them, a nurse I knew slightly, didn't even bother to hide the curious look and the half-smile she shot in my direction. She thought I was in trouble and wasn't in the least bit sorry.

I could hardly follow Gifford up the stairs, demanding an explanation in front of half the hospital. And he was right, I was needed in maternity. I turned, continued on down the corridor and, stopping only to scrub my hands and tie back my hair, strode into the delivery room.

There were two midwives in attendance; one a middle-aged, local woman who'd been doing the job for twenty years and had made no secret of the fact that she thought me superfluous. The other was a student, a young girl in her mid twenties. I couldn't remember her name.

The mother-to-be was Maura Lennon, thirty-five years old and about to produce her first child. She lay back on the bed, eyes huge, face pale and shiny with sweat. She was shivering violently, which I didn't like. Her husband sat by her side, nervously glancing towards the machine that was monitoring his baby's heartbeat. As I approached, Maura moaned and Jenny, the older of the two midwives, raised her up.

'Come on now, Maura, push as hard as you can.'

Maura's face screwed up and she pushed as I took Jenny's place at the foot of the bed. The baby's head was visible but didn't look as though it was coming out in the next few minutes. Which was what it needed to do. Maura was exhausted and the pain had become too much for her. She pushed, but it was a feeble attempt and as the contraction died away she fell back, whimpering. I glanced at the monitor. The baby's heartbeat slowed noticeably.

'How long has it been doing that?' I asked.

'About ten minutes,' replied Jenny. 'Maura's had no pain relief apart from gas and air, she won't let me cut her, she doesn't want forceps and she doesn't want a Caesarean.'

I glanced at the desk. Maura's birth plan, bound in red card, lay on it. I picked it up and flicked through. About four pages, closely typed. I wondered if anyone but the mother-to-be had actually read it. I certainly wasn't about to.