The White Tower (18 page)

‘I know your type,' he said. ‘You're a parasite, feeding off other people's troubles. I met Moira Howley once. She was such a nice person. If you don't leave now I'm calling security.'

‘Call them. Hospital security's important. There's the physical side. That's obviously important. Then there's the electronic side, that's important too, though perhaps not quite so well looked after as it should be.'

Colin reached for his beeper.

I gave him a goodbye smile, found the entrance I'd come in, and headed out across hectares of sodden car park, the rain a gentle but relentless poc-poc on the working side of my umbrella.

. . .

I rang Brook from my car.

‘That hospital's a snake pit,' he said cheerfully.

For Brook to be interviewing doctors about cancer treatment and radiotherapy machines was a strange turnaround, a joke he would not have dared to script. Somehow, we seemed to be sharing the joke without having made it.

‘Oh, the legal system's very useful when it works their way,' he told me. ‘Their lawyer found out we were applying for another warrant. He met me with a court order blocking it.'

‘So you weren't able to get the accident report?'

‘I will.'

. . .

Eamonn called to complain that the police had been all over the ­hospital.

‘What did you tell them about me?' he asked in a tone of voice I hadn't heard before, petulant with an undercurrent of hysteria.

‘Did someone threaten you?'

Eamonn didn't answer.

‘Tell Detective-Sergeant Brook that Fenshaw threatened you.'

‘I tried to warn Niall,' Eamonn said. ‘I did try to be a friend to him.'

‘I'm sure you did.'

I thought of Moira Howley waiting for her son to offer her some sign, a sign that she, in her fear and anxiety and courage, longed to make herself. There was the shock, and after that came the unravelling.

Nineteen

It was a spring day such as only Melbourne could turn on, the sort I remembered being young in, when months of rain and wind and fog seemed atoned for and forgiven. Southern winters aged a person, seeming to go on forever. But then, one day in September or October, you woke up and everything was different.

It was Zhou Yang Zhu's day off and he'd invited me to his home for lunch. He lived in Hawthorn, in a pleasant, leafy street with a few houses and a lot of flats. It was close to a busy intersection, but as I hurried along looking for number twenty-five, the noise of traffic receded and I could hear blackbirds in the gardens.

I found the right entrance and began to climb the stairs.

A young man came to the door in answer to my knock, wiping his hands on a paper towel. He looked no more than seventeen, with fine straight black hair falling in his eyes, a wide attractive face and braces on his teeth.

I smiled and held out my hand as I introduced myself, thinking that this must be Zhou Yang's younger brother.

He explained to me while he served lunch—I don't know what I'd expected, but it wasn't a three course meal cooked specially for me—that his parents had been living with him, but they'd gone back to Hong Kong, that he was the youngest of the family. Depending on what happened now the handover was completed, he might return as well.

My curiosity got the better of me and I asked about the braces. Zhou Yang's answer was simple. He'd only recently been able to afford them.

All of this was very pleasant, but it wasn't telling me anything about linear accelerators, or Niall Howley. On the phone, I'd told Zhou Yang that Niall's mother had hired me to look into his death.

His dining table stood in front of a large window. I leant back in my chair, savouring the pleasure of looking down over the city. Few Canberrans, among my acquaintance anyway, lived in houses with stairs. The sun warmed Zhou Yang's perfect olive skin. His braces flashed a reminder. I bit my lip, trying to work out how to introduce the Ventac—whether the indirect approach was best, or should I come straight out with it?

When I finally asked a question, his reply was brief.

He knew there'd been an overdose, of course. He gave me a look I was familiar with, gauging how much I'd already learnt, how much he could get away with
not
telling me, a look only partly disguised by his good manners and evident willingness to help.

He pushed a dish of spicy beef towards me. ‘Take some more.'

‘Thank you,' I murmured, beginning to wonder if I shouldn't have insisted on meeting somewhere neutral. On his home turf, he was too much in control, and had the perfect excuse to duck out to the kitchen when he wanted to think about a question, or preferred not to answer it.

‘Why did you leave Canberra?' I asked, thinking to try another tack.

He stared at me without replying.

‘What made you leave?' I prompted.

‘It was not a good place for me.'

‘Why not?'

‘In the beginning,' Zhou Yang pushed his chair back and looked at me, deciding to repay my directness with his own, but uncomfortable about it, ‘it was not too bad. And it was my first job since graduating, you understand, so I had nothing to compare. And I was so busy, I had so much to learn.'

I nodded, thinking of Eve. ‘And then?'

‘I ask myself—what should I expect?' Zhou Yang ran his lips over his braces, heaped food into his bowl and began to eat. Each of his movements now seemed a subtle way of distancing himself from me.

He swallowed and said, ‘Work became difficult. There were jokes.'

‘What kind of jokes?'

‘Anti-Chinese. Racist jokes.' His skin darkened, the memory bringing back an angry flush.

‘Like what?'

‘At first I try to ignore and do my job, that is all.'

‘Who told these jokes?'

‘Colin Rasmussen.'

‘Did he tell them in front of the others? How did they react?'

Zhou Yang bent his head once more over his bowl of food. I gave him a moment, then asked, ‘What did you do?'

‘I tell Dr Fenshaw.'

‘What did he do?'

‘Nothing.'

‘And?'

‘I talk to Niall one day when he is my partner.'

‘What did Niall do?'

‘Colin call Niall a—a pansy.'

‘What happened after that?'

‘Niall tell me to complain. He tell me people to write to.'

‘And did you? Complain?'

Zhou Yang shook his head.

‘What do you think caused the accident?'

‘I think Tanya must have typed incorrect dose rate.'

‘Who told you she'd done that?'

‘We all talk about it.'

‘Who said it was Tanya's fault?'

‘Colin was with Tanya in the control room.'

‘If Colin saw Tanya making a mistake, why didn't he point it out to her? Why didn't she correct it?'

‘I think Colin has to leave.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't know.'

There we are, I thought. Zhou Yang had been humiliated and all he'd wanted was to finish out his time and leave. He did not challenge Colin's version of events, even though it was Colin who'd humiliated him. And here I was reminding him of it, expecting truthfulness in return.

‘When you were entering treatment data,' I said, ‘did you ever get a message that you didn't understand?'

‘Once I get—it says Malfunction 12.'

‘Malfunction 12? That's all?'

He nodded.

‘What did you do?'

‘I check, and Brian, who is with me, he checks too. Then we call Dr Fenshaw. He tell us we must have make mistake and start again.'

‘Did Fenshaw come and see the message for himself?'

‘Dr Fenshaw is angry at anything that delays treatment.'

‘So what did he do?'

‘He authorise to go ahead with treatment.'

‘And everything was all right? Your data was correct and the patient was successfully treated?'

‘Yes.'

‘If you wouldn't mind helping me with one more thing,' I said. ‘What was the date you left?'

‘May the eighteenth.'

I pulled out a fresh copy of the numbers and glanced at it, even though I already knew the combination wasn't there.

I watched Zhou Yang closely as I handed him the list and explained where it had been found.

‘Why do you think Niall Howley recorded Tanya's date of departure, but not yours?'

Zhou Yang stared at the numbers, as I'd so often done.

‘Could it be,' I said, ‘because these here—' I pointed to the combination after 1602, ‘refer to another overdose, a second accident which couldn't be Tanya's fault because she was no longer there?'

Zhou Yang nodded again, this time almost imperceptibly.

‘So we have two overdoses, 8000 rads and 15,000 rads. On the twentieth of January and the eighth of April. What happened to the patient?'

‘Mrs Slater was her name. She did not die straight away.'

‘When did she die?'

‘A few weeks later. She was going to die anyway.'

‘Who got the blame? Did you?'

A quick flash of rebellious anger in Zhou Yang's dark eyes suggested I might have been mistaken about him. He said reproachfully, ‘Shirley. It was Shirley.'

‘Were you Shirley's partner?'

‘No, Niall is Shirley's partner.'

Zhou Yang claimed he didn't know a lot about the second overdose, though he was able to confirm the date. Nobody had talked about it the way they had about Tanya's. It had happened only three weeks before he was due to leave the hospital.

‘When Niall talked to you, did he seem depressed?'

‘Oh no. Niall was not, was never—' Zhou Yang paused, searching for the right word. ‘A quiet guy, but not—'

‘Do you think Niall believed himself responsible for the second overdose? That it was his fault?'

‘I think Niall tell Shirley not to proceed with treatment, but Shirley is worried about what Dr Fenshaw will say.'

‘Did Niall argue with Fenshaw?'

Zhou Yang nodded, then said he didn't want to talk about it any more. The remains of the large meal, the dishes we had barely touched, looked back at us reproachfully.

. . .

I rang Brook from the airport. ‘There was a second overdose. After Tanya left, so it couldn't have been her. Zhou Yang, the guy I've just been talking to, said that Niall was operating the Ventac when it happened. His partner's name was Shirley Henderson. I've an address for her in Perth.'

‘Will this Zhou Yang sign a statement? Testify in court?'

‘He might. What's happening with the court order?'

‘We're appealing. I'll get back over to the hospital.'

. . .

On my way to Eamonn's that night I thought how strange it was that it had never occurred to me to front up there before. I'd been to Tanya Wishart's flat and Zhou Yang's, I'd flown thousands of kilometres to visit Sorley Fallon, but I'd never even asked myself where Eamonn lived.

Lights were on and his car was in the driveway. 13 Beechwood Avenue Kingston was a large house with a spacious, well-kept garden. Luxurious for a man living on his own on a nurse's salary. Even after looking up the address, I'd still half believed that 13 Beechwood Avenue must be a block of flats.

I thought I'd try the back door first. If I was lucky, it might just be open. I parked in a side street and looked to see if there was a back gate leading to a laneway. No luck. A path down the side of the house led me to the back door, which was well and truly locked. Close up, I could hear music. Curtains were drawn in the front rooms, and lights on in two of them. What was Eamonn doing? I'd rung the hospital before setting out and learnt that he'd worked an early shift that day, and was scheduled to start early again in the morning.

Blinds were pulled at the back, over locked windows which I assumed belonged to the kitchen and laundry. I could try to force one of them, but Eamonn might hear me in spite of the music. Ivan hadn't wanted me to go at all. I half expected Brook to appear in a squad car with a couple of constables, in response to Ivan telling him where I was. Ivan couldn't leave the kids to follow me himself, but I knew I mightn't have much time.

I knocked on the front door. In less than two seconds, I heard movement, footsteps behind it. The door had an eyepiece. I made sure I was standing where Eamonn could see me.

‘What do you want?'

‘Some answers. If you let me in, I give you my word that they won't go further than me. If not, I'm going straight to the police to tell them you knew where Niall was going on the night he died.'

I held my breath while Eamonn digested this in silence.

When he opened the door, I pushed past him and headed for the living room.

Eamonn switched the CD player off and turned to face me.

‘I didn't know where he was going. He wouldn't tell me. If he had I would have followed him. I wouldn't have let him keep such a mad appointment on his own. I should have followed him anyway. Don't think I haven't blamed myself for that every day for the last four months. You know what I did? I came home, listened to music and went to bed. I was
asleep
while he was—'

‘Who did he meet?'

‘He wouldn't tell me, wouldn't name names.'

‘But you guessed?'

‘I'm sure it was Fenshaw.'

‘Why?'

‘Because he and Niall were locked in battle, and Niall had met him, I mean met him outside the hospital before.'

‘Where?'

‘Not the tower. Regatta Point. Niall told me about it afterwards. He was
elated
that Fenshaw had agreed to meet him.'

‘Regatta Point was his idea?'

‘No. I mean I don't think so. But setting up a meeting away from the hospital was. Niall's big mistake was believing that if he could only get Fenshaw on his own, he could convince him to get rid of the Ventac. Niall was seduced by mystery, cloak and dagger bullshit. Regatta Point? Why not. Telstra Tower? Even better. As soon as Fenshaw dug his heels in over the Ventac, Niall should have gone to the police or press, or both. But he was in awe of Fenshaw. Not in love with him, though he probably wouldn't have said no. To his credit, I don't think Fenshaw ever put that on him. Everything else but. Niall kept believing that Fenshaw would come round to his point of view. I knew better. I knew what he was really like.'

‘What did you know?'

‘He caught me with a patient once. A boy. It wasn't anything, but he could have made it into something any time he wanted. And he made sure I never forgot.'

‘What were you doing?'

‘I was holding him. His name was Michael. He was very sick. I took care of him for weeks, then he—his mother took him home to die. He was fifteen. One afternoon, I was holding him, hugging him. His head was on my shoulder. I looked up and there was Fenshaw standing in the doorway with that smile on his face.'

‘Did he threaten you directly?'

‘He knew he didn't have to. I love nursing and he knows that too. Nursing's my whole life.'

‘I know about the second overdose,' I said.

Eamonn nodded. ‘Niall was struggling to get the hospital board to undertake a full inquiry. One that went further than exchanging clichés about what the Ventacs could and couldn't do, and then getting bogged down in arguments about human error. You see, Fenshaw claimed that in both overdoses, human error was the cause. And the board accepted that because, when they were exhaustively tested, no one could replicate the Ventac's error, nobody could find a technical fault. It was driving Niall mad. He didn't give up though. He kept on writing letters. He'd convinced about half the board. He didn't want bad publicity any more than Fenshaw did, but he was terrified that the next time it happened, someone would be killed.'