Twelve

Outside the main entrance to Three Counties Hospital Dr. David Coleman paused to look around him. It was a few minutes after eight on a warm, mid-August morning, with promise already of a hot and sultry day ahead. At this moment there was little activity outside the hospital. Beside himself, the only other people in sight were a janitor, hosing some of yesterday’s dust from a section of the forecourt, and a middle-aged nurse who had just alighted from a bus on the opposite side of the street. The main stream of hospital business, he supposed, would not begin to flow for another hour or so.

David Coleman surveyed the block of buildings which comprised Three Counties. Certainly, he decided, the hospital’s builders could never be accused of having wasted money on aesthetic frills. The architecture was strictly utilitarian, the facings of plain brick unadorned by any other masonry. The effect was a succession of conventional rectangles: walls, doors, and windows. Only near the main doorway did the pattern vary, and here a single foundation stone announced, “Laid by His Honor Mayor Hugo Stouting, April 1918.” As he walked up the entry steps David Coleman found himself wondering what kind of a man that long-forgotten dignitary had been.

Carl Bannister was sorting papers on Dr. Pearson’s desk when Coleman knocked and entered the pathologist’s office.

“Good morning.”

Surprised, the senior lab technician looked up. It was unusual to have visitors this early. Most people around the hospital knew that Joe Pearson seldom arrived before ten o’clock, sometimes later.

“Good morning.” He returned the greeting, not too affably. Bannister was never at his best in the early morning. He asked, “Are you looking for Dr. Pearson?”

“In a way, yes. I’m starting work here today.” Seeing the other start, he added, “I’m Dr. Coleman.”

The effect, Coleman thought, was somewhat like letting off firecrackers under a hen. Bannister put down his papers hurriedly and came around the desk, almost at a run, his bald head gleaming. “Oh, excuse me, Doctor. I didn’t realize. I’d heard you were coming, but we had no idea it would be this soon.”

Coleman said calmly, “Dr. Pearson is expecting me. Is he in, by the way?”

Bannister seemed shocked. “You’re too early for him. He won’t be here for another two hours.” His face creased in a confidential man-to-man smile. It seemed to say: I expect you’ll keep the same kind of hours yourself as soon as the newness wears off.

“I see.”

As Coleman glanced around him Bannister remembered an omission. He said, “Oh, by the way, Doctor, I’m Carl Bannister—senior lab technician.” With careful geniality he added, “I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” Bannister made a habit of taking no chances with anybody senior to himself.

“Yes, I expect we will.” Coleman was not sure how much the idea appealed to him. But he shook hands with Bannister, then looked around for a place to hang the light raincoat he had brought; the morning forecast predicted thunder showers later in the day. Once again Bannister was alert to serve and please.

“Let me take your coat.” He found a wire hanger and carefully put coat and hanger on a rack near the door.

“Thank you,” Coleman said.

“That’s perfectly all right, Doctor. Now, would you like me to show you around the labs?”

Coleman hesitated. Perhaps he ought to wait for Dr. Pearson. On the other hand, two hours was a long time to sit around and he might as well be doing something in the meantime. The labs would be his domain anyway. What was the difference? He said, “I saw part of the labs with Dr. Pearson when I was here a few weeks ago. But I’ll take another look if you’re not too busy.”

“Well, of course, we’re always busy around here, Doctor. But I’ll be glad to take the time for you. In fact, it’ll be a pleasure.” The working of Bannister’s mind was incredibly transparent.

“This way, please.” Bannister had opened the door of the serology lab and stood back for Coleman to enter. John Alexander, who had not seen Bannister since their argument the night before, looked up from the centrifuge in which he had just placed a blood sample.

“Doctor, this is John Alexander. He just started work here.” Carl Bannister was warming to his role of showman. He added facetiously, “Still wet behind the ears from technology school, eh, John?”

“If you say so.” Alexander answered uncomfortably, resenting the condescension but not wanting to be rude.

Coleman moved forward, offering his hand. “I’m Dr. Coleman.”

As they shook hands Alexander said interestedly, “You mean you’re the new pathologist, Doctor?”

“That’s right.” Coleman glanced around him. As he had on the previous visit, he could see that a lot of changes would need to be made in here.

Bannister said expansively, “You just look around, Doctor—at anything you want.”

“Thank you.” Turning back to Alexander, Coleman asked, “What are you working on now?”

“It’s a blood sensitization.” He indicated the centrifuge. “This specimen happens to be from my wife.”

“Really.” Coleman found himself thinking this young lab assistant was a good deal more impressive than Bannister. In appearance anyway. “When is your wife having her child?” he asked.

“In just over four months, Doctor.” Alexander balanced the centrifuge and switched it on, then reached over to set a timing dial. Coleman noticed that all the movements were economical and quick. There was a sense of fluidity in the way this man used his hands. Politely Alexander asked, “Are you married, Doctor?”

“No.” Coleman shook his head.

Alexander seemed on the point of asking another question, then appeared to change his mind.

“Did you want to ask me something?”

For a moment there was a pause. Then John Alexander made up his mind. “Yes, Doctor,” he said. “I do.”

Whether this meant trouble or not, Alexander thought, at least he would bring his doubts out into the open. Last night, after the dispute with Bannister, he had been tempted to drop the whole subject of the extra test on blood samples coming to the lab. He remembered only too clearly the dressing down he had received from Dr. Pearson on the last occasion he had chosen to make a suggestion. This new doctor, though, certainly seemed easier to deal with. And even if he considered Alexander wrong, it didn’t seem likely there would be any big scene. He took the plunge. “It’s about the blood tests we’re doing—for sensitization.”

As they had been speaking he had become aware of Banister in the background, the older technician moving his bald head from side to side, intent on missing nothing that was said. Now he moved forward, annoyed and aggressive, to put Alexander in his place. “Now listen! If that’s what you were talking about last night, you leave it alone!”

Coleman asked curiously, “What was it you were talking about last night?”

Ignoring the question, Bannister continued to lecture Alexander. “I don’t want Dr. Coleman bothered with stuff like that five minutes after he gets here. Forget it! Understand?” He turned to Coleman, the automatic smile switched on. “It’s just some bee he’s got in his bonnet, Doctor. Now, if you’ll come with me, I’ll show you our histology setup.” He put a hand on Coleman’s arm to steer him away.

For the space of several seconds Coleman did nothing. Then, deliberately, he reached down and removed the hand from his sleeve. “Just a moment,” he said quietly. Then to Alexander, “Is this something medical? To do with the laboratory?”

Deliberately avoiding Bannister’s scowl, Alexander answered, “Yes, it is.”

“All right, let’s hear it.”

“It came up, really, because of this blood-sensitization test—the one for my wife,” Alexander said. “She’s Rh negative; I’m Rh positive.”

Coleman smiled. “Well, that applies to plenty of people. There’s no problem—that is, as long as the sensitization test shows a negative result.”