Capital Offence

Chapter 32

Wednesday 19th June

7 days left

 

“Come.”

The door opened and a white coated technician stepped forward to a wooden desk where a man in a well cut khaki uniform sat reading a letter. The technician clicked his heels together in a crisp but understated fashion, and saluted.

“I’ve got what you asked for, sir.”

“And...”

“There was a blood sample in store.”

Lieutenant Colonel Peter Maitland looked impassive. There was nobody in the Glenlivet Highlanders, officer or Jock, who felt truly comfortable in Maitland’s presence. The man was formidably intelligent, and possessed real physical presence. He was capable of being highly sociable - the post of Commanding Officer had a political dimension. He could take off the local Speyside accent with great comic effect, but you always felt this was more of an aptitude for observation and camouflage rather than a genuine harking back to some supposed farming roots. The man’s family had come from around the Dornoch Firth all right, but they’d farmed a four thousand acre estate with the help of a small army of agricultural labourers. The family seat was Scottish baronial - if an estate agent ever got within sniffing distance of it he would have had no hesitation in calling it a castle.

So - a man with expansive social skills born of the confidence of command. And a man feared and respected by his men.

The Medical Orderly tried his best to return the Colonel’s scrutiny without looking uncomfortable.

“A sample?”

“Yes, sir. I was tasked to go through our records to see if there was any sort of blood or tissue sample held for a Thomas Byrne. I came up with this.”

The Orderly held up a box containing a rack of small glass phials, each containing a liquid the colour of vintage port.

“And what is that?”

“Blood samples, sir. This one at the front is Private Byrne’s. We take them routinely to monitor the effects of immunisation programmes. It also gives us a cross check in case of any subsequent concerns about chemical or drug side effects.”

“Stuff we give the lawyers when someone shouts Gulf War syndrome?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long do we keep these?”

“The records go back quite a few years. But, quite honestly, sir, it’s been a bit erratic from time to time.”

“Do we need to keep these samples?”

“I doubt it, sir. The men concerned all left the Regiment at least fifteen years ago.”

“So I can pass these on without needing to arrange for them to be returned?”

“I would have thought so, sir. As far as I’m concerned anyway.”

“Good man.”

“You want all of them, then?”

“That’s correct.”

The MO nodded, a little surprised.

“Sir...”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask what they’re needed for, sir?”

“No. You may not.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

The MO placed the samples on the Colonel’s desk, came back to attention, saluted and left, closing the door firmly behind him. The Colonel returned his salute, then pulled the small rack of phials across the desk towards him and examined them. Each was labelled and sealed. That was awkward. It would be difficult to transfer the contents from one phial to another without buggering up the seal. The phial would have to be cleaned thoroughly to prevent any risk of cross-sample contamination, and that would dirty the label too.