Chameleon (16 page)

'How so?'

'It was almost as if he expected it.'

'I don't understand,' said Jamieson.

'When I told him he turned ashen and had to sit down. Then he said, 'It's all my fault.'

'You mean he confessed to faking the swab test?' asked an astonished Jamieson.

'Not exactly,' replied Carew. 'He seemed somehow to be talking to himself when he said it. When I asked him what he meant he said that he now knew what had been going on and that it would all be over soon.'

'What did he mean?'

'I don't know and he wouldn't say any more. But now it seems quite obvious what he meant, wouldn't you say? He seemed quite ill, poor man.'

'I'm afraid,' said Crichton, 'that all the evidence points to Dr Richardson being responsible for deliberately engineering a positive swab test on Mr Thelwell. I think the pressure of continuing failure to find the cause of the outbreak must have pushed him too far and he saw a way of relieving it. By contaminating Mr Richardson's swab with the killer strain of Pseudomonas he would at once appear to have identified both the cause and the carrier.'

Jamieson noticed that Ryan had a bemused look on his face and caught his eye. 'Is this for real?' whispered Ryan during a lull and while Crichton and Carew carried on a conversation of their own.

'I'm afraid so,' replied Jamieson

'What's happened?' said a voice at the door.

Jamieson turned to see Clive Evans standing there.

'There's been ... an accident,' replied Carew with what Jamieson thought was an air of melodrama worthy of a school play.

'Dr Richardson is dead. He hanged himself,' said Crichton.

Evans sank down into a chair and shook his head slowly. 'I don't believe it,' he murmured.

'May we ask what brought you here this evening doctor?' asked Carew.

'I'm on call,' said Evans distantly. 'I'm the duty bacteriologist. John was on this afternoon.'

Later on, Jamieson sought out Evans and found him working in his own lab. He had remembered that he had been in Richardson's office when Thelwell's swab had arrived. He also remembered that Richardson had delegated the test to Evans. Now he asked Evans about it.

The Welshman adjusted his spectacles and said, 'That's right, I inoculated the swab into two cultures.'

'Then what?'

'I don't understand,' said Evans.

'What did you do with the cultures? Did you keep them in your lab? Did you put them somewhere else? Did you read the results in the morning? Did you find and identify the Pseudomonas in them?'

'No,' replied Evans looking confused at the line of questioning. 'Dr Richardson said that he wanted to read the tests personally so I put the cultures in the incubator in his lab. He read the results. He found the Pseudomonas and made out the report.'

'Do you think it possible that Dr Richardson could have interfered with the cultures you put in the incubator?' asked Jamieson.

'What kind of a question is that?' exclaimed Evans.

'One I have to ask,' replied Jamieson.

'Anything is possible.'

'Could you tell by looking at the culture dishes whether they had been changed or not?' asked Jamieson.

'I suppose so,' said Evans hesitantly. 'I wrote something on the dishes in marker pen.

'Would you check please?'

Evans left the room briefly and returned with two plastic dishes. He said, 'These are the cultures from Mr Thelwell's swab.'

'Do they have your markings on them?'

Evans examined both sides of the dishes and said with some obvious reluctance, 'No they don't.'

'So Dr Richardson could have substituted different cultures for the ones you inoculated?'

'I suppose so,' agreed Evans with a pained expression. 'But why? What the hell is going on?'

'It has been suggested that Dr Richardson took his own life after having faked a culture result in order to implicate Mr Thelwell as being the cause of the recent infection problem in the hospital.'

'Good God,' said Evans slowly. 'He has been under a lot of strain recently. We all have.'

'You liked Richardson,' said Jamieson.

'Yes,' said Evans.

'But you do think now that he switched the cultures?'

'That's what it seems like and he was suffering from stress ...’

'Suicidal stress?'

'Who's to say?'

Jamieson nodded his agreement but in his head he was remembering the furtive figure of Gordon Thelwell hurrying away from the vicinity of the lab just before he arrived.

Jamieson lay on the bed in his room and tried to think calmly and rationally. It was difficult; his mind was cluttered with doubts and suspicions. What had Thelwell been doing near the lab if he had not been to see Richardson at the lab? If Richardson really had faked the test results in order to take the pressure off himself and his department, why on earth had he behaved the way he had on the telephone when he himself had seemed to inject doubts about the result? Surely it would have been in his own interest to have made the report seem as conclusive as possible? Instead it was he who had wanted to delay the final report and talk to him first. What about? Jamieson wondered.

He got up and went over to the radiator to place his hands on it while he looked out of the window at the courtyard below. Perhaps it was the darkness or the rain or the gloomy buildings that encouraged the thought but he remembered the parallel that Ryan had drawn over their respective jobs. They were both seeking killers. Ryan was looking for a crazed psychopath while he sought the source of an unfeeling, mindless bacterial killer. Both were killing women in the city.

Jamieson took out a note book from his brief case and started to make notes about what he already knew. The infection at Kerr Memorial had been caused by a particularly virulent strain of Pseudomonas which was very difficult to treat. The organism had been isolated from the naso-pharynx of the surgeon in charge of the affected unit. That should have been the end of the story but at Kerr Memorial it seemed more like the beginning.

The bacteriologist who had identified the cause of the outbreak was now dead and the evidence suggested that he had taken his own life after faking the lab result which implicated the surgeon. Where did that leave things? Jamieson was reluctantly left to conclude that he would not now be going home. He was back at square one.

Perhaps it was even worse than that. Things had become even more complicated than when he had started the investigation. The infecting organism itself was becoming a bit of a puzzle for although it was an every-day sort of germ this particular strain seemed to be unique in terms of its virulence and resistance to treatment. The Sci-Med labs had failed to come up with any explanation for the virulence of the organism but for some reason the deceased Richardson had been less surprised about that than anyone else. Just what was it that Richardson had realised? And could that knowledge in some way be connected with his death? Jamieson pursed his lips in frustration as he failed to come up with an answer.

Jamieson decided he had better turn his attention to more immediate matters. His first job would be to see Thelwell in the morning and inform him that the ban on his operating was still in force despite his negative result from the Public Health Lab. While there was still some doubt over the tests, he would have to insist on three negatives in a row, taken on separate days and under supervision.

* * * * *

'This is ridiculous!' exploded Thelwell. 'The Public Health Service has completely exonerated me. It's quite obvious that Richardson fabricated the whole result in order to cover up his own incompetence. At least it's obvious to anyone with an IQ greater than that of an earthworm!'

Jamieson ignored the comment. He had come prepared for Thelwell at his worst and had not been disappointed. He was determined to keep his temper. 'Your single negative from PHS is insufficient to clear you and you know it. Several more tests will have to be made and under properly controlled conditions before you can be pronounced free from contamination.

'Free from contamination!' stormed Thelwell. 'I was never contaminated in the first place! It was that moron Richardson who made everything up!'

'That has yet to be established beyond doubt,' said Jamieson calmly.

Thelwell became almost speechless with anger and frustration. 'The man committed suicide didn't he? As soon as he was faced with the PHS report he strung himself from the rafters! What more do you want?'

'Two more negative tests from the PHS.' replied Jamieson.

'And meanwhile my lists keep getting longer and longer.' said Thelwell shaking his head in exasperation.

'Better your lists than the obituary columns.'

'I want it placed on record that I object most strongly to your attitude and interference in my department,' hissed Thelwell through gritted teeth.

'I would have thought that the safety of your patients would have been at least as important to you as it is to me,' said Jamieson.

'What's that supposed to mean?' snapped Thelwell.

Despite his intention to confine himself to the investigation in hand Jamieson permitted himself one little deviation and one comment slipped out. He said, 'Your enthusiasm for the operating table in the circumstances, suggests a certain disregard for the consequences. The source of the outbreak in your department has still not been established. Don't you care about these women?'

The expected outburst did not occur. Instead Jamieson was treated to the spectacle of Thelwell having some kind of fit. At least that was what it seemed like for he went quite white and his hands started to tremble violently. It was some time before he could speak. Jamieson waited patiently for the onslaught to begin.

'What right have you to say such a thing?' rasped Thelwell hoarsely.

Jamieson was taken aback by Thelwell's reaction to what he had said for, even by Thelwell's standards, the result had been dramatic. He had the distinct feeling that Thelwell's exaggerated reaction to any kind of criticism might indicate some underlying clinical disorder. He said, 'Mr Thelwell, this kind of conversation is getting us nowhere. I suggest we talk again after your series of tests and after the police investigation into Dr Richardson's death.'

'What investigation? The man committed suicide.'

'That's for the police to decide when they have gathered all the facts.'

'What facts? What are you suggesting?'

'I'm not suggesting anything but they will probably want to know why you were seen near the bacteriology lab at eight o'clock last night.'

Thelwell turned so pale that Jamieson thought he must faint. He did not but he appeared to grow very weak. He clutched the edge of the table. 'By whom?' he whispered.

'By me,' replied Jamieson.

'I see.'

Thelwell hung his head and there was silence in the room for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke again. 'I don't suppose you will believe this but I just went there to have it out with him about the test. I didn't intend to but when I was passing the hospital on my way to choir practice I saw his light on and I called in on him.'

'And?'

'He was dead when I went in, hanging from the beam like a carcase in a butcher's shop.

'Why didn't you call the police?' asked Jamieson quietly.

'Because of what people would think. Because of what you are thinking now.'

'What I think is not important. It's the police you have to convince.'

Gordon Thomas Thelwell was questioned by the police for over two hours that same afternoon. He was allowed to go home shortly after five and Jamieson, who had been waiting for the outcome at the lab, took a call from Ryan. 'We've let him go,' said Ryan.

'What convinced you?' asked Jamieson.

'The PM report suggests that it could have been suicide. There were no other signs of injury and the man had been under severe stress. It would have been better if he had left a note but there we have it. If we don't have a murder we can't have a killer.'

'What did you think of Thelwell?' asked Jamieson.

'A weirdo,' replied Ryan. 'If you ask me Richardson wasn't the only one suffering from stress in that hospital of yours.'

Jamieson had a short meeting with Carew to discuss the re-scheduling of the surgery lists in Gynaecology and the continuing microbiological investigation into the cause of the outbreak.

'Doctor Evans will be in charge of Bacteriology until a locum consultant is appointed. Phillip Morton will continue to operate in Gynaecology but only on emergency cases meantime.’

'I've requested that a small team from the Public Health Department be called in to help with the investigation,' said Jamieson.

'What exactly will they be doing?' asked Carew.

'Just what Richardson's people have been doing all along,' replied Jamieson. 'Taking swabs from all the likely places in the theatres and wards and hoping to get lucky. The more people we have doing it the better our chances.'

'Do you still want the Pseudomonas culture?' asked Moira Lippman when Jamieson came into the lab on the following morning.

Jamieson, who had temporarily forgotten about the biochemistry he had planned to carry out, thought for a moment and then decided that he might as well go ahead with the tests. It would give him something to do while he waited to see if the surgical infection problem would re-occur. He said that he did and would make a start immediately. Moira Lippman smiled and helped him to gown up.

Jamieson found the lab work therapeutic, a brief respite from wrestling with the greater problems of the hospital. He was not familiar enough with the protocols involved in setting up the tests that he could perform them without thinking, so he had to concentrate on what he was doing and refer to lab manuals where necessary. While he was doing that he could not think about anything else.

Just before he was about to return to the residency in late afternoon, Jamieson had a call from Thelwell. His heart sank when he heard Thelwell's voice but the surgeon had calmed down considerably since their last meeting. 'What can I do for you Mr Thelwell?' he asked.