Donor by Ken McClure

four people got out. All were wearing Arab clothes. There were three women and one man. One of the women was obviously the patient; she was helped by the others through the front doors.
    As they disappeared from sight, Dunbar craned his neck to get a better view of the rear of the car but didn’t manage to pick up any more information.
    ‘Do you get many Omega patients?’ he asked.
    ‘Not as many as we need, apparently,’ replied Ingrid with a subdued smile.
    Dunbar saw the joke and smiled too. ‘I take it she’s not here for an ingrowing toenail?’
    ‘I really don’t know,’ replied Ingrid. ‘Patient confidentiality is very important. The staff here operate on a need-to-know basis. It’s strict company policy.’
    ‘Of course.’ He wondered if she really didn’t know. She struck him as being something more than an admin assistant.
    Two more vehicles drew up behind the limo, one an unmarked van and the second a Renault Espace carrying six more people who got out and saw to the unloading of the van. Dunbar guessed that the chests and trunks comprised the Omega patient’s luggage. The man in the grey suit took charge of the operation. Ingrid and Dunbar turned away from the window.
    ‘Who do you normally work for?’ asked Dunbar.
    ‘I’m on Mr Giordano’s staff.’
    ‘Are you sure he can spare you?’
    ‘It was his idea that I be assigned to you.’
    ‘It was very good of him to spare you; he must be a very busy man.’ Dunbar looked for signs of unease in Ingrid as he spoke; he thought her eyes might give away the fact of an ulterior motive, but he saw nothing. Either it’s all above board, he thought, or Ingrid Landes is a very good actress.
    ‘Can I ask what sort of work you normally do?’ asked Dunbar.
    ‘General PA work for Mr Giordano and liaison between the various units of the hospital.’
    ‘You know why I’m here, I take it?’
    ‘You’re a watchdog, sent here by the government to protect their latest investment. A sort of guardian of the public purse.’
    ‘Near enough.’
    ‘So how can I help you get started?’
    ‘I’d like to see staff lists for the various units, salary sheets, monthly accounting figures for the last six months, details of any outstanding bills, details of advance bookings for hospital care and services.’
    ‘I think we anticipated most of these things. You’ll find copies of the relevant computer files on disks in the top drawer of your desk.’
    Dunbar slid open the top drawer and found an ID badge with his name on it and a plastic wallet containing four floppy disks. He smiled and said, ‘I’m impressed. You seem to have thought of everything.’
    ‘We try,’ said Ingrid. ‘The people who come to this hospital are used to the best. They expect it as of right so that’s what we try to give them.’
    ‘Do you like working here?’
    ‘Absolutely,’ she replied, as if it were a stupid question. ‘We take a lot of criticism for being private, but we’re good – no one denies that. The doctors, the nurses, even the porters and cleaners, are hand-picked. When everyone knows that, there’s a certain pride about the place, an esprit de corps if you like. It makes people want to do their best. It’s not like British Rail, where all the employees feel anonymous and end up not giving a hoot about the passengers. It’s different. It’s nice. It’s the way things should be.’
    Dunbar nodded. It didn’t seem likely that he would be getting any tittle-tattle or scandal from Ingrid Landes. He decided to press her a little to see how strong her loyalty was.
    ‘It’s a very artificial environment,’ he said.
    She took the bait. ‘How so?’
    ‘The very fact that it’s a private hospital means you can pick and choose your clientele. That makes things a lot easier, don’t you think?’
    ‘I don’t think we pick and choose. We take anyone who wants to come here and—’
    ‘Can afford to.’
    ‘That’s unfair. Many of our patients are covered by