Free Scalpel by Paul Carson Page A

O'Connell Street, the city's main thoroughfare. The square had fallen into disrepair over the years and new office blocks now replaced the old, mainly Georgian buildings. In the centre was a small overgrown garden, railed off from the roads and poorly maintained by Dublin Corporation.
    The front of the hospital was an impressive grey stone structure covering three levels. The massive wooden front door was flanked on both sides by granite columns and the upper floors had six large windows on each level. The hospital complex was divided into four wings: North, South, East and West. This had little to do with geography and everything to do with convenience, the wings added over the years and pointing in every direction but that which their names suggested.
    The hospital was protected by high walls and there were usually only two entrances open at any one time, the main front door and a small service door at the back. Dean Lynch avoided the main entrance and slipped into the car park through a side gate, moving quietly along the edge of the building until he found the door that was used by cleaners to dump rubbish. It was open, as usual, and within minutes he was inside the basement. He listened carefully before going any further, but confident of every move. He had been this way many times before. He knew how to slip in and out of the hospital unnoticed and often used this route when he wanted to raid the supply stores for fresh needles and syringes.
    Checking carefully, he edged past the pipes and humming turbines of the hospital generator to the stairwell leading to the upper floors. Within minutes he was on the outpatients' level of East Wing and into the corridor alongside his consulting room.
    The reception area was in total darkness, the patient chairs scattered aimlessly in every direction. One or two well-worn glossy magazines lay on the floor. Lynch slipped off his shoes and left them inside his room, closing the door quietly. Stealthily he padded along towards the laboratory. There were no lights in any of the examination rooms, the library empty with only a corner light giving a faint glow onto the darkness outside the door. He turned it off, closed the door and moved towards the laboratory. In the gloom the only noise was the soft padding of his feet.
     
     
    Inside lab assistant Mary Dwyer was finishing off the last blood reports from one of the gynaecology wards. She glanced at her watch for the third time in as many minutes and mentally calculated how long it would take her to get home at this hour. Her parents were very unhappy about the extra duty she had to put in at the hospital. She considered briefly ringing them but dismissed the thought just as quickly. They would have to learn she was a big girl now and able to handle herself. Being an only child sure has its drawbacks she thought as she set up a full blood count screen for Ward Four.
    Through the half open door Dean Lynch quickly assessed the situation. As expected at this time of night there was only one assistant staying late to deal with emergencies. From where he stood he could make out a white coat and a head of reddish-brown hair bent over the desk in front. Lynch squinted closer, double checking no one else was in the lab.
    Mary Dwyer stood up briefly to reach for paperwork and Lynch made a note of her frame, slim but not skinny. He checked his watch. It was 9.16 pm. Still in stockinged feet he made his way back to the consulting room, picked up the internal phone and dialled.
     
     
    'Damn,' fumed Mary Dwyer when she put down the phone. 'Damn, damn. A bloody AIDS test at this hour of the night. It'll take an hour to get a result on that.'
    She was still obviously angry when Dean Lynch entered the lab and put the small blood filled bottle down on the counter in front of her.
    'Dr Lynch, is this test really necessary tonight? I mean it'll take an hour to get a result. Could it not wait until tomorrow?'
    Dean Lynch controlled the urge to smack her