Alchemist

  The guard shook his head. ‘The ambulance men didn’t say. She was on a stretcher with oxygen.’

  ‘Shit! Where’s she gone? Which hospital?’

  ‘I don’t know that, sir.’

  ‘Paddington.’

  Conor turned, startled; the fire officer was looking at him. ‘Took ’em both to University College Hospital.’

  ‘How do I get there from here?’

  The fire officer gave him directions. Conor thanked him, then went back outside and ran across to his car.

  The Accident and Emergency department of University College Hospital was quiet, with rows of empty seats and only a handful of people waiting. There was a strong, astringent smell of disinfectant, mingled with coffee that had been stewing for too long.

  The window of the reception counter was unattended, and Conor had to wait whilst a woman keyed information into a computer, her back to him. Finally, he called out: ‘Hello?’

  She continued to ignore him for some moments, before turning and coming across to the window. ‘Sorry to keep you, dear, we’re short-staffed this morning. Can I help you?’

  ‘You had a casualty brought in by ambulance about an hour ago – Miss Bannerman – could you tell me how she is?’

  She glanced down at a list on the counter, then frowned. ‘Are you a relative?’

  He heard the wail of a siren approaching outside. ‘I – I – I’m her brother,’ he lied, hoping to hell she didn’t have a brother who was here already. In the States, unless you were a relative hospitals wouldn’t give you any information; he assumed the same was true here.

  The woman went to the back of the room and picked up a phone. She spoke briefly into it, then came back to Conor. ‘Someone will be round to see you in a moment. Take a seat.’

  Conor wondered how long he was going to have to wait and whether he should bring his briefcase with his laptop in from the car and do some work. But a door opened behind him and a white-coated woman with short streaked hair came through and looked at him.

  ‘Mr Bannerman?’

  He stood up. ‘Yes, hi.’ He had no difficulty in saying it quite brazenly.

  Her name tag read: ‘Wendy Phillips. A&E Ward Manager.’ She had a pleasant, efficient air, in spite of her eyes being red with tiredness. He wondered if she had been on duty all night. ‘You are Miss Montana Bannerman’s brother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you like to come through and see her?’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s on a respirator at the moment.’

  ‘Suffering from fumes?’

  ‘We hope it is just fumes and not anything worse – her mouth and throat seem all right but she was frothing from the lungs which could indicate burn damage. But it’s too early to tell yet whether there’s any long-term internal effect; I understand it’s something highly corrosive she’s breathed in.’

  ‘What chemical was it?’

  ‘It’s not any known substance apparently – something undergoing lab trials.’ She walked ahead of him through a wide corridor, lined on one side with trolleys, stretchers and bottles of gas. Two orderlies hurried past them wheeling an empty stretcher.

  A pager clipped to Nurse Phillips’ breast pocket bleeped, and she raised a hand to Conor, signalling him to wait as she lifted up a wall phone, spoke briefly into it, then replaced it and turned to him. ‘There’s a neutralizing agent on its way to us under police escort from the company’s lab in Berkshire.’

  They had stopped outside a room packed with monitoring equipment. Inside, Conor could make out a woman lying on a trolley with an oxygen mask over her face. From the sprawling frizz of blonde hair he realized it must be Montana. A nurse was standing beside her, reading orange digits off a dial and logging them on a sheet attached to a clipboard.

  Conor had seen the expression in the patient’s eyes once before in his life, in his own mother’s eyes, and had never forgotten it. Shock. Total rejection of reality.

  ‘Hi,’ he said softly.

  There was a faint nod in response.

  He smiled down, trying to be reassuring. ‘You OK?’ It was a dumb remark, he knew, but he could not think of anything better.

  There was another nod.

  Instinctively he reached down, balled his fist and touched Monty’s cheek lightly; its cold, clammy touch startled him, and he tried not to let that show. She wasn’t good, definitely wasn’t good. Two orderlies came into the room, followed by a serious-looking man in a grey pin-striped suit.

  ‘Dr Goode, this is the patient’s brother,’ Wendy Phillips said.

  Conor felt a twinge of embarrassment and waited for an awkward question as the doctor studied him briefly, but his manner was polite and gentle. ‘We’re going to take your sister up to X-ray. We are also going to give her an MRI scan which will help us look at the inside of her lungs. I gather it’s a pretty invasive substance she’s inhaled fumes from, so we need to find out the exact extent of any damage.’

  ‘Do you think it’s serious?’ Conor asked quietly.

  They had moved a few steps away from Monty. ‘There’s no burn damage to the lips or internally in the mouth, nostrils or the upper larynx, which is a good sign, but she was unconscious and barely breathing when the paramedics got to her; as we don’t know anything about this chemical we’ve no way of telling at the moment what internal damage it may have caused.’

  Conor looked worriedly back at Monty. ‘How’s the other person who was in the lab?’

  The doctor stiffened, glanced at the ward manager, then indicated that Conor should follow him out into the corridor. Two nurses walked past them as Dr Goode spoke quietly. ‘I’m afraid there wasn’t anything we could do for him.’

  ‘He’s dead?’ Conor said, incredulously.

  ‘He was dead on arrival. Completely covered in this acid. One of the ambulance crew suffered burns and breathing problems from it as well – God knows what the hell they were brewing up there.’ The doctor glanced at his watch. ‘The tests are going to take a good couple of hours – I can put you in a room, if you like. I gather someone from the company’s on their way and there’s a neutralizing agent for this chemical being sent down as well – although I’m told it isn’t very effective.’

  ‘I guess there’s nothing much I can do right now. But maybe I can come back later?’

  The doctor brightened. ‘I think that would be the best thing. Phone us around lunch time – ask for Nurse Phillips or myself, and we can let you know how things are.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that.’ Conor thanked him and left.

  As he drove back to the office, thoughts churned in his mind. He had arrived at a quarter to seven, which was pretty damned early. Miss Bannerman and the technician had already long been taken to the hospital, so they must have been in a good half hour earlier at the very least. That would have put the time around six to a quarter after six. Six o’clock in the morning was one hell of an hour for anyone to be at work. So what were they doing?

  Something they did not want anyone else to know about, for sure. It was further evidence that his instincts about Montana Bannerman were correct. She was going to be of use to him. Very definitely. He hoped to hell she wasn’t too badly injured.

  29

  Monty’s throat felt as if it was on fire, and her eyes were smarting.

  ‘We’re going to take your mask off and see how you feel without oxygen, all right?’

  She stared up at a stocky man with a thick-set Neanderthal face and an unkempt tangle of wiry, thinning hair; more hair sprouted from his neck and over the top of his shirt collar. He was flanked on either side by nurses, and there was a cluster of people behind him.

  A hand descended, something slid around the back of her head, then she saw a Perspex mask being lifted away and she had a moment of panic as it suddenly became harder to breathe. Her lungs were raw as if she had smoked too many cigarettes, and there was a vile, bitter taste in her mouth.

  Something in the doctor’s expres
sion worried her. She took several fast breaths, afraid suddenly. Perspiration broke out on her skin as she thought of the damage she might have done to herself; irreparable damage. She remembered vividly Jake Seals’ words a couple of days ago in the laboratory.

  Dump a gallon of this in a swimming pool and it would strip your hide off in seconds. It’s really horrible. Get it on your bare skin and there is nothing you can do – there is nothing that will neutralize it.

  She saw Seals lying on the floor. His body disappearing in the explosion of vapour when she’d turned on the shower. She remembered going to phone the ambulance, struggling with the dial, then nothing more. ‘How – how is – he?’ Her voice sounded strange, much higher than usual, squeaky.

  ‘Your colleague?’

  She nodded, hoping desperately there had been some miracle.

  ‘Not good,’ the doctor said gently.

  ‘Is he – alive?’

  The reply seemed to take an age. ‘I’m afraid he didn’t make it.’ Pause. ‘You did everything you could.’

  She bit her lip, which felt puffy. ‘No, I – I –’ She tried to think, to go back to the lab, to replay the scenario in her mind. She’d left him lying there, hissing and screeching under the shower. Eaten alive by acid.

  She could taste the coppery tang of blood and the sharper, sourer, sulphurous taste of the chemical; could smell it in her nostrils. It was eating its way through her, too. That’s why there were so many people looking at her. Medical students; they had been brought along to watch her die in agony. Like Mr Seals, but more slowly.

  ‘There was nothing more you could have done,’ the doctor said. ‘You did all the right things.’

  She thought fleetingly of the defiant, arrogant Jake Seals in the pub on Monday, suddenly clamming up and refusing to talk any more about the company, as if something had scared him. He had not seemed like a man to be easily scared. Then yesterday, quietly telling her he had got the pills she wanted, still looking scared.

  What had happened to those Maternox? Were they destroyed by the acid, or still lying around in the lab somewhere? Could she get a message to Mr Wentworth before she, too, died?

  ‘How does your throat feel?’ the doctor asked.

  She looked back at him and swallowed, testing it. ‘OK – a bit sore.’

  ‘The scans we’ve done have shown up a small oedema in your lungs, but it’s nothing to worry about – it’s more a reaction to the irritant – there’s no sign of any permanent damage. You may have suffered a tiny amount of burn and scarring to some internal tissue, which will cause you some tenderness for a while – but it should heal up in a couple of weeks. You need to take it very easy for a few days.’

  Her first thought was not relief but that he was lying. Even if he was telling the truth, how could he be sure? He didn’t know how destructive the acid was; no one did.

  She breathed in again. The metallic smell was sweetened suddenly with the scent of flowers. She turned her head and saw a large bouquet on the table beside her, and suddenly noticed her father sitting by the bed. His presence immediately comforted her.

  Dressed in a white polo-neck sweater and tweed jacket, absorbing everything that was going on, giving the impression he was presiding over the room like a tribal chieftain, he winked as he caught her eye. And the simple gesture flooded her with warmth and a burst of confidence.

  ‘You were very brave, darling, trying to help the poor chap,’ he said.

  ‘I did the wrong things. I shouldn’t have put water on; I should have stayed with him.’

  ‘Water was the right thing; there wasn’t anything else you could have done.’

  ‘I’ll come back in the morning,’ the doctor said. ‘See how you’re getting on.’ He turned to her father. ‘Good to see you again, Dick.’

  ‘You too. I really appreciate this.’

  Monty watched the two men shaking hands, then, as the entourage moved off, her father leaned over to her. ‘Gordon Lanscomb. He’s the top respiratory man in the country. I worked with him on that government genetics advisory board a few years back – you couldn’t be in better hands.’

  She smiled her acknowledgement. ‘What’s the tune?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Half past four.’

  The news surprised her. ‘Four? In the afternoon?’

  ‘You’ve been asleep for a while, darling. How are you feeling?’

  ‘OK,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m OK.’ She watched him for a while. ‘You don’t need to stay – it’s nice that you’re here, but you have a lot to do – tonight – you have something on, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ve got that talk at Sussex University – I’ll have to leave in a sec. I’ll be back in the morning.’

  ‘How long do I have to stay in?’

  ‘Gordon thinks a couple of days – they want to let your lungs settle down, keep you under observation.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t worry, you’re a tough little thing.’

  ‘It’s that chemical that worries me.’

  ‘The healthy human body’s a pretty resilient thing. They’ve given you a cocktail of anti-carcinogen drugs that are pretty effective – they’re used in the nuclear power industry for workers who have accidental radiation exposure – you’ll be fine. Dr Crowe rang me a short while ago – said if you’d prefer they could arrange to have you moved to one of the Bendix clinics. They’re superb hospitals, but I think with Gordon Lanscomb being the consultant, I’d rather you stayed here. Up to you?’ He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I’ll stay here.’

  ‘Sensible.’ Then he frowned. ‘Tell me what actually happened, darling. And why on earth were you in so early?’

  Monty tried to collect her thoughts, not wanting to say too much to her father. ‘Mr Seals said he was leaving in a few weeks and wanted to have a blitz on getting everything straight for us before he did. We thought the best thing was to have a few really early mornings, get in before the phones started.’

  ‘Were you there when the accident happened? Did you see it?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘That’s the danger of doing anything when you’re overtired. He must have tripped, I suppose – but surely to God the man had more sense than to carry a chemical that lethal with its cap removed? And no protective eye-wear?’

  ‘He said something about a wolf.’

  ‘Did you say wolf?’ her father echoed.

  ‘I didn’t understand either.’

  The scientist looked at her quizzically. ‘Wolf?’ He took Monty’s left hand and examined it thoroughly. ‘You didn’t get any of this stuff on your skin, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I’ve noticed too many wolves wandering around the building. Have you?’

  She managed a half-smile back. ‘I think he – he was delirious. I just heard an alarm ringing when I got out of the lift and ran straight down. He – he –’ Her voice faltered.

  ‘It’s OK, don’t talk about it now.’ Dr Bannerman turned towards the flowers, changing the subject. ‘Wonder who these are from? A secret admirer?’

  Monty turned her head towards them, fighting back tears. She reached up an arm. Anticipating her, Dick Bannerman pulled the envelope off the top and handed it to her. She opened it carefully and read the short message inside.

  ‘I understand you were extremely brave this morning. Our thoughts are with you for what you have been through. We are all very proud of you. Neil Rorke.’

  The note cheered her, and she passed it to her father. ‘I think that’s very kind, don’t you, Daddy?’

  ‘About the least he could do. Probably trying to fend off a lawsuit from you.’

  She chided him. ‘That’s a bit harsh! He’s a really nice man – he did keep his word about Walt –’ She bit her lip. She had not told her father the news about Walter Hoggin being made redundant and then reinstated.

  ‘Walt?’

  ‘I – I really do like Sir Neil,’ she said hastily.

 
‘I prefer him to Crowe. Not that there’s much of a contest.’

  There was a sharp knock on the door, then it opened and a man looked in. ‘Miss Bannerman?’ he said, without apologizing for his intrusion.

  ‘Yes?’

  His appearance instantly told her he was not a medic. He possessed more the air of a bank manager. In his mid-forties, he had a smoothly good-looking face with neatly delineated features beneath close-cropped black hair. A raincoat was neatly folded over his arm.

  ‘Detective Superintendent Levine,’ he said by way of introduction in a crisp voice that carried a faint Scottish burr. Acknowledging her father’s existence with only a cursory nod, he walked across to the bed, fished from his breast pocket a wallet, which he opened in a slick one-handed motion to show Monty his warrant card. ‘I wonder if I might have a few words with you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Could this not wait until tomorrow?’ Dick Bannerman said, a trace aggressively.

  ‘It’s OK, Daddy,’ Monty said.

  Bannerman looked at the detective, stood up then leaned down and kissed Monty. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right – I’ll leave you to it. I’ll come by first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Don’t, Daddy, there’s no need – you have so much to do at the moment.’

  He squeezed her hand gently and looked into her eyes. ‘You matter more than any of it, darling. OK?’

  She kissed him goodbye. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.

  The policeman waited until the scientist had closed the door behind him, then sat down, resting his coat on his lap. Sharp grey eyes studied her carefully and perfect white teeth transmitted to her the fleeting illusion of a smile. His skin had the kind of light tan acquired from sun-beds, and his trim physique suggested a man who kept himself in shape, perhaps obsessively. There was something altogether rather clinical about him, Monty thought, which was furthered by his very formal way of speaking.

  ‘I won’t take up much of your time, Miss Bannerman, but as you are the only person who saw what happened you’ll appreciate my need to talk to you.’ He sat very straight, with perfect posture.