sheaths so that they would not be dulled he snapped shut the case and put out the light before opening the door. He paused in the basement area for a moment to listen for footsteps but all was quiet. The rain was still falling. That was good. There would not be many people on the streets. But the whores would be there. They were always there, whatever the weather. If all went well he would be back within two hours.
*****
Gordon Thelwell called the hospital at a quarter to one to say that he had just arrived home and understood that his houseman, Dean, had been trying to contact him earlier in the evening. He spoke to the night staff-nurse in charge of the ward where Sally Jenkins lay and was given a report on her current condition and an outline of the treatment prescribed for her by Phillip Morton.
'Appalling!' exclaimed Thelwell. 'This whole hospital is a cesspit of infection.'
The nurse remained silent and waited for Thelwell to continue. He asked her what specimens had been sent to the lab and she told him after referring to the ward lab records book.
'I hope they're not just lying in the collection basket,' said Thelwell.
'They were marked urgent and the duty microbiologist was called out to deal with them sir,' replied the nurse.
Thelwell grunted and asked if Dean was still in the ward.
'No sir,' replied the nurse. 'Mrs Jenkins seems to be stable at the moment sir. Dr Deans left about fifteen minutes ago.'
Thelwell grunted and asked to be informed if there was any change in the patient's condition.
'Of course sir,' said the nurse.
'We'll see how she is in the morning.'
'Yes sir.'
'Trouble dear?' asked Marion Thelwell, sitting up in bed and blinking against the light which her husband had switched on.
'One of my patients. She may have a wound site infection,' replied Thelwell distantly.
Marion Thelwell stopped blinking and looked concerned. 'Not another problem case,' she sighed. I thought you were going to use the Orthopaedic Theatre today?' she said.
'I did use the Orthopaedic theatre,' snapped Thelwell.
'Yes dear.'
Thelwell regretted his sharpness and apologised saying, 'I'm afraid I'm a bit on edge. This business is getting me down.'
'I understand dear. Come to bed.'
'Later.'
'Yes dear.'
Scott Jamieson woke at three in the morning. He usually did when something was troubling him. It was no comfort to know that he was one of thousands in the country who woke regularly at this time. Nature had decreed that three in the morning was the hour when people with problems ranging from the unmanageable size of their mortgage to true manic depression would wake to face their personal hell. Optimism required daylight. Despair thrived in the dark.
He felt alone as he lay in the subdued night-light of the strange ward listening to the sounds of the night. He missed not having Sue next to him. He missed not being able to stretch his arm over her sleeping body to cuddle in to her. He resolved to oppose any possible suggestion in the years to come that they change to single beds. It irked him that he had got off to such a bad start in his new job. Almost subconsciously he flexed the fingers of both hands beneath the bandages to assess how painful they were. It was academic really for he had already decided to start his investigation in the morning however badly he felt. As it happened, they did not feel too bad at all.
His impatience to get on with the job was not entirely due to his inability to come to terms with imposed idleness. It was reinforced with the belief that if he did not get on with the investigation Sci-Med might well feel obliged to send in someone else and that would mean that he had failed, a completely unacceptable state of affairs for Scott Jamieson whatever extenuating circumstance there might be.
As Jamieson closed his eyes and tried to get back to sleep in the ward, the telephone rang beside John Richardson's bed and woke him from a deep sleep. He took a few
*****
Gordon Thelwell called the hospital at a quarter to one to say that he had just arrived home and understood that his houseman, Dean, had been trying to contact him earlier in the evening. He spoke to the night staff-nurse in charge of the ward where Sally Jenkins lay and was given a report on her current condition and an outline of the treatment prescribed for her by Phillip Morton.
'Appalling!' exclaimed Thelwell. 'This whole hospital is a cesspit of infection.'
The nurse remained silent and waited for Thelwell to continue. He asked her what specimens had been sent to the lab and she told him after referring to the ward lab records book.
'I hope they're not just lying in the collection basket,' said Thelwell.
'They were marked urgent and the duty microbiologist was called out to deal with them sir,' replied the nurse.
Thelwell grunted and asked if Dean was still in the ward.
'No sir,' replied the nurse. 'Mrs Jenkins seems to be stable at the moment sir. Dr Deans left about fifteen minutes ago.'
Thelwell grunted and asked to be informed if there was any change in the patient's condition.
'Of course sir,' said the nurse.
'We'll see how she is in the morning.'
'Yes sir.'
'Trouble dear?' asked Marion Thelwell, sitting up in bed and blinking against the light which her husband had switched on.
'One of my patients. She may have a wound site infection,' replied Thelwell distantly.
Marion Thelwell stopped blinking and looked concerned. 'Not another problem case,' she sighed. I thought you were going to use the Orthopaedic Theatre today?' she said.
'I did use the Orthopaedic theatre,' snapped Thelwell.
'Yes dear.'
Thelwell regretted his sharpness and apologised saying, 'I'm afraid I'm a bit on edge. This business is getting me down.'
'I understand dear. Come to bed.'
'Later.'
'Yes dear.'
Scott Jamieson woke at three in the morning. He usually did when something was troubling him. It was no comfort to know that he was one of thousands in the country who woke regularly at this time. Nature had decreed that three in the morning was the hour when people with problems ranging from the unmanageable size of their mortgage to true manic depression would wake to face their personal hell. Optimism required daylight. Despair thrived in the dark.
He felt alone as he lay in the subdued night-light of the strange ward listening to the sounds of the night. He missed not having Sue next to him. He missed not being able to stretch his arm over her sleeping body to cuddle in to her. He resolved to oppose any possible suggestion in the years to come that they change to single beds. It irked him that he had got off to such a bad start in his new job. Almost subconsciously he flexed the fingers of both hands beneath the bandages to assess how painful they were. It was academic really for he had already decided to start his investigation in the morning however badly he felt. As it happened, they did not feel too bad at all.
His impatience to get on with the job was not entirely due to his inability to come to terms with imposed idleness. It was reinforced with the belief that if he did not get on with the investigation Sci-Med might well feel obliged to send in someone else and that would mean that he had failed, a completely unacceptable state of affairs for Scott Jamieson whatever extenuating circumstance there might be.
As Jamieson closed his eyes and tried to get back to sleep in the ward, the telephone rang beside John Richardson's bed and woke him from a deep sleep. He took a few
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