Murder and Malpractice

by Mairi Chong

The girl blushed and scuttled away; no doubt eager to tell Anna who had been busily stacking shelves.

  When Fraser went home that night, despite his swift dealing with the missing prescription incident, he still felt a sense of unease. But he had covered himself as best he could. No-one could accuse him of not doing his utmost to rectify the situation and, as the clinic doctor had said, they could hardly leave Kiean without his three doses over the weekend. Still, though, Fraser had a feeling that Kiean had not been telling the truth. But knowing that no good would come of going over and over the matter, Fraser put the thing to rest and turned to his evening ahead.

  Having showered and dressed in something not overly smart, but crisp enough to indicate his interest in her, he arrived at Sarah’s door. It was just after seven-thirty and it seemed that she lived with her parents still. It was her mother who answered, much to Sarah’s embarrassment obviously, as she tore down the stairs clutching her jacket and bag.

  ‘This is nice,’ Fraser said, as they linked arms and walked up the street together to the small Italian bistro. ‘I think we’re going to have a lovely time together, Sarah.’

  Throughout the meal, however, Fraser continued to think distractedly about the Kiean situation. By the end of the main course and with Sarah’s eyes shining by the light of the candle on the table, he had a dreadful realisation. What if Kiean had already cashed in the prescription before coming to his pharmacy? Supposing he had gone to another pharmacy in the area? Fraser had contacted the other two establishments and had warned them to look out for the missing prescription if it mysteriously appeared that afternoon, but what if Kiean had been into one of those already? But no, Fraser decided, this was absurd. They would have of course noticed the name and telephoned Fraser back to say that Kiean had been in already and warned Fraser not to dispense any more of the drug.

  Fraser smiled across at Sarah who was now considering the dessert menu. No, all was well. He was far too suspicious, that was his problem. All that dreadful hospital business was still affecting him and making him doubtful of everyone around. People could be genuine and good.

  Sarah was smiling gently at him. Raising his glass, he toasted his delightful companion for the evening.

  ‘To us, Sarah,’ he said. ‘To new beginnings.’

  6

  Only two days later, on Sunday morning, Fraser was seated at his kitchen table alone. His hand hovered. What had the radio presenter just said? He allowed the spoon to drop. It fell with a clatter in his breakfast cereal, sending a splash of milk and cornflakes onto the table. Fraser didn’t notice. He crossed the kitchen and turned up the volume.

  ‘… in the doorway of a derelict building. Glainkirk Police are appealing for witnesses who might have seen the man: Kiean Watts, on the preceding day. A police spokesperson refused to comment further, but said that the man’s death was currently being treated as unexplained.’

  The reporter moved onto another story and Fraser absentmindedly pressed the button on the radio, silencing it. Dear God, how could it be? He paced the room. The kitchen had already been in excellent order when he moved in, and there had been no need to make many changes. His eyes fell to the matching, floral-patterned mugs that hung in a line. He thought of Sarah, and their evening out together. She would surely be hearing the news herself that morning also. What would she think? A sudden, unexplained death in Glainkirk, and one of their own customers.

  Fraser thought again of the odd encounter with Kiean on Friday morning. He recalled the man’s tale of having lost the prescription for his methadone, and his own sense of unease about the situation. But Kiean’s death could hardly be unexpected, and just because Fraser happened to be the man’s pharmacist, no blame could lie at his door.

  Fraser crossed the room again. ‘Lying in a doorway.’ He had overdosed, more than likely. Probably, he had been given a bad batch of heroin, or whatever else the foolish man might have been taking that weekend. He had taken too much. Kiean had been treading a very fine line all of these years. Yes, it was a marvel he had lasted this long really. People like that were wholly unpredictable. No doubt the police would give the matter little time. A postmortem would be carried out, as was only fitting in a sudden death of this kind, but it would hardly incite police interest, even if excess methadone was found.

  Fraser picked up the half-eaten bowl of cereal and tipped the contents into the sink. The golden flakes heaped and blocked the plughole, but absorbed in his thoughts, Fraser continued to run the tap until the sink was half-filled with murky water.

  He was overreacting. No doubt the police would want a quiet word. It was nothing to be concerned over. Indeed, it was to be expected. They would need to talk to him. A drug addict would have to make contact with certain professional people regularly. Himself, Kiean’s psychiatrist, even his GP, might be interviewed as a matter of course. He would be quite ready as an expert witness.

  But Fraser couldn’t settle. All day, he ran over and over that Friday morning in his mind, returning to the interaction with Kiean. He wondering if he had been the cause of the man’s death. Why had he been persuaded to give him those extra three doses of methadone? How had the addict pulled the wool over his eyes, despite his attempts to safeguard against it? The only obvious explanation was that the man had somehow cashed in his other prescription before receiving the drug from Fraser.

  The anticipated telephone call came that Sunday afternoon. An overdose of methadone, at least that was the preliminary findings on postmortem. He spent the rest of the day in turmoil, but come Monday morning, he had gained enough composure to be ready.

  At midday, the policeman arrived, thankfully plain-clothed, as the shop was heaving with customers. Even still, Fraser knew that many eyes might be on him as he led the man through to the consulting room in which he had spoken with unfortunate Kiean only days before. Fraser indicated a seat, and himself, sat across from the visitor. His hands shook and he clasped them tightly in his lap and smiled at the detective.

  The policeman thanked Fraser for seeing him at such short notice and commented on the clear demands of the job. Fraser laughed nervously and told him that it had begun as his vocation but that he was stuck with it now. The detective smiled and stated that he had fallen into his line of work purely by chance, but it paid the bills right enough. After this preliminary exchange, they moved onto the reason for the detective’s appointment.

  ‘I heard of course. Poor Kiean,’ Fraser said, shaking his head. ‘He was one of our regulars, as you know. We had begun to build up a bit of a rapport. We were all shocked to hear. Even the shop girls. Some of them can be a bit of a bother, you know, to deal with? Kiean though, wasn’t like that. I felt quite sorry for the man.’

  The detective nodded. ‘Been coming to this pharmacy for his prescription three years now, I believe, although you have only been here for the past six months, is that so?’

  Fraser nodded.

  ‘We’ve already spoken to his GP, but in fact, it was his psychiatrist who prescribed the stuff. I have a meeting with him later today.’

  Fraser swallowed. ‘Of course. I see. You perhaps want to know about Kiean’s last visit to us? I have the controlled drug register at hand.’

  ‘I wish everyone we questioned was as organised,’ the detective laughed. ‘If you don’t mind?’

  Fraser knew it was going to come out. As he went through the entries over the last few weeks, indicating that really nothing had changed in the drug addict’s dose, he knew that the policeman must find out the truth soon enough.

  ‘It’s quite commonplace actually,’ Fraser said, trying to sound calm but feeling anything but. ‘It seems to be the way the psychiatrists are doing things with the regular ones. Especially if they aren’t planning on changing the dose any time soon.’

  ‘I see,’ said the detective. ‘I thought the reason for going on the stuff on the first place was to reduce it down and stop, but maybe that’s just me.’

  Fraser smiled. ‘No, I wholeheartedly agr
ee.’ he said. ‘Funnily enough, I mentioned it to Kiean and one of my other regulars too. They seemed to think that they’d never get off the stuff, and had no reason for doing so. Kiean, I know for a fact as he told me, was still using heroin to satisfy his needs. I don’t think it’s unusual for that to go on.’

  ‘So, getting back to the last dispensing of the stuff,’ the policeman said.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Fraser laughed. ‘As you can see it was a Friday. I should have explained that weekends are different.’

  The detective looked puzzled. ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, of course, we don’t open on a Saturday afternoon or a Sunday,’ Fraser clarified. ‘So, over the weekend, Kiean was given two take-home doses, to self-administer orally on the prescribed days. His psychiatrist had been recommending this for the last eight months and up until this incident, there had never been an issue.’

  ‘I see,’ the detective said. ‘But surely even if he had taken the two doses together it wouldn’t have killed him, having been on the stuff so long?’

  Fraser smiled. ‘You’d need to speak to a doctor, of course. I do know that if an addict withholds a dose for a time and then takes it, they can quickly become opiate naive and the standard dose that they might usually take quite easily, would become toxic.’

  The policeman nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve heard of that too. Surely though, if he had taken his dose in front of you on the Friday as it says in your book here, then a single day of hoarding it for a double-whammy on the Sunday wouldn’t be enough to kill.’

  Fraser raised his hands in indication of his defeat. ‘True enough,’ he said. ‘I’m not the detective of course. There is a chance he had taken another addict’s also, I suppose. You hear from time to time about illicit quantities doing the rounds. I read in the pharmaceutical journal about the problems they have in the US. Apparently, it is ordinary to find ‘spit methadone’ circulating on the streets.’

  The detective looked confused.

  ‘It’s quite disgusting really,’ Fraser said, warming to the subject and shaking his head, ‘but the addicts pretend to take the stuff in front of the chemist. They hide it at the back of their throat or some even actually swallow the liquid, and then on leaving the shop, they regurgitate it, spitting it out again into a container to sell on. Quite awful to imagine, but it’s possible I suppose. Not something I would expect around here though and definitely not from Kiean.’

  ‘Different world, isn’t it?’ the policeman said contemplatively. ‘The things people do to get a fix. Well, I really must thank you, Mr Edwards. As far as you were aware, nothing unusual occurred on the Friday when you saw Kiean and there was no odd interaction with the man when you saw him last. He could in fact have obtained the supplementary dose from any source illegally.’

  Fraser hesitated and the detective looked at him keenly. ‘Mr Edwards?’ he asked.

  Fraser felt himself go cold and he sat quite still. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. Oh God. This was it. The policeman looked at him still affably but with a bemused expression. Get a bloody grip, Fraser told himself, and forced a slow smile onto his face. ‘A mix-up with the prescriptions, I’m afraid. It seems that Kiean had lost his weekend one. I had to ring through to the psychiatric clinic and get a doctor to check it and fax another. The doctor I spoke with said that there was no funny business going on. Kiean had indeed collected his script that morning at nine-thirty. It was eleven o’clock when he came here. It seems that during that time, he mislaid the thing. He was distracted that morning. Apparently, a friend had died, so he said.’

  The detective nodded. ‘I see. I’m surprised you didn’t mention this at the start. Forgive me for asking, but what if Kiean had cashed in the prescription already, and then come to you with this story of having lost it? That would surely allow him an extra three doses of methadone on top of what he would usually have. His body, I imagine, might well not tolerate that, although of course, I’d need to check with a doctor.’

  Fraser shook his head vehemently. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I checked; you see? I wouldn’t be so trusting as to just go on Kiean’s word. We have only three pharmacies in the town including ourselves. I contacted the other two and warned them to look out for Kiean coming in that afternoon. They didn’t mention him having already been in with a prescription already.’

  ‘I’ll check for myself, of course,’ the policeman said. Fraser felt his manner had changed a good deal since he had first come in. ‘I’m not casting any doubt over what you’ve just said, Mr Edwards,’ he explained rather coldly. ‘I just need to investigate the thing as far as I can. He has to have got more than his usual dose of methadone from somewhere. This little mix-up on Friday certainly seems like the obvious place to start looking.’

  ‘If there’s anything else occurs to you …’ Fraser offered, desperately hoping that the man would leave.

  ‘No, I think that’s all for now. Thank you for your help. I’ll be in touch if anything else occurs.’

  At the door, the detective turned. ‘And you’ve been in this position for how long did we say, Mr Edwards. Just for my records, you see?’ he said.

  Fraser’s chin jutted out, but he gave the answer, knowing he had little choice. ‘I’ve been in Glainkirk for a little over six months now.’

  ‘And before that? Was it another pharmacy post in the community, or a hospital?’

  Fraser had a slight fit of coughing and efficiently blew his nose. When he answered though, he had himself in hand once more.

  ‘Hospital pharmacy,’ he returned, in what he hoped was a normal voice. ‘I didn’t much enjoy it to be fair. Much happier serving a community than dispensing to faceless numbers.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ the detective nodded. ‘I hope we won’t need to bother you again.’

  When he was alone, Fraser found himself quite moved. He loosened his tie and rubbed his face with both hands. Oh God, what a horrible experience it had been. That might so easily have been the end of him. Fraser wished he had never set eyes on Kiean Watts. What if they found that he was the cause of the blasted man’s death? He had tried to deal with the difficult situation as best he could. He could hardly have sent Kiean away empty-handed after all. Withdrawing from the drug over the weekend would have almost definitely killed him if Fraser had been unsympathetic to the man.

  Fraser paced the room. What of the detective’s final question? What had he asked that for? Did he plan to go rooting through Fraser’s past employment now to check up on him? With rising panic, Fraser allowed his thoughts to move to Jackson, the devious junior doctor who had ensnared him. What if the story of Fraser’s past misdemeanour was to come out? What on earth might the detective think if he knew? Illegally procuring and distributing prescription medication was a grave matter indeed and on top of that, Fraser found himself with the blame of a drug addict’s death on his hands. Fraser knew that if the Jackson story emerged, he would be undoubtedly ruined.

  All afternoon, Fraser attempted to work stolidly. Repeatedly, he reassured himself of his safety. He had most certainly done the right thing that Friday and had nothing to worry about. When all was said and done, he had faced a difficult situation and had dealt with it appropriately. The detective had not blamed him at all.

  Despite this, Fraser still found himself far from content. On the contrary, even though he had planned an evening with Sarah, something to which he had been looking forward, the thought of dinner and drinks made him quite queasy. He had been too hasty in doling out the methadone, this he now knew to be true. His intention had been only to do good. He had never meant to cause the death of a man. Oh God, when one considered it in those terms it was too dreadful.

  But the only thing for it was to keep his head and to plough on as normal. The police questioning had been a horrible experience. Even though he was still somewhat rattled by the day’s events, Fraser continued with his plans to take out his charming assistant, who as the weeks had passed, had grown on him considerably.

  The dinn
er turned out to be a happy distraction and kept him from thinking of his problems. Admittedly, he perhaps drank a little more wine than he might normally have done, especially when young Sarah directed the conversation back to the sad events of the weekend and the loss of one of their customers.

  ‘I suppose it was going to happen one day or another,’ she said. ‘I know he was unpleasant at times, but you have to wonder what it was that started him on that path in the first place. Something must have made him resort to that. Poor creature.’

  Fraser smiled at this rather innocent interpretation of things, but he was somewhat displeased when the girl continued to pursue the topic.

  ‘And the police coming in too,’ she said. ‘I felt so bad for you, Fraser. You looked quite stressed when the man arrived.’

  Fraser shook his head rapidly. ‘Not a bit of it. I don’t know what made you think it. I’m quite used to dealing with these sorts of things. It was to be expected, them wanting to talk to me. After all, it was methadone that killed him and I dispense the stuff.’

  Although they had only been dating one another for a short time, partly to distract himself from the day’s events, and perhaps because he was afraid of returning to his immaculate house alone, Fraser touched the girl’s arm.

  ‘I think we should head back to mine for a coffee,’ he said rather seriously.

  The girl must surely have understood what he meant for she blushed as was her habit, and refused to meet his eye.

  Fraser mercifully slept well, but he awoke with a dry mouth and heavy head. Sarah had gone an hour before, waking him briefly to kiss him goodbye and to say that she would see him at work later. He had turned over and fallen asleep once more. As he later showered and dressed, he imagined the young girl returning home, perhaps sneaking into her parents’ house, hoping that her night-time absence would go unnoticed. He trusted that she wouldn’t become too imprudent at work and try to speak to him in indiscreet tones in front of Anna or the customers.