by Mairi Chong
They had advised her not to drink on top of the medication, but Cathy had ignored this recommendation right from the very start. She needed some small pleasure in her life, she reasoned, and at times of stress, alcohol could certainly be relied upon to give her the required letup. Doctors, she supposed, always made the worst patients. This thought came to her again, as she refilled the glass, and laughed. The sound echoed around the bare kitchen, bouncing off the shiny cupboard doors, back to her. When had she last cooked in here, she wondered?
Things had been far worse before her enforced break from work though. Back then, she had really struggled. She had not taken enough of the practice’s opiates to be physically addicted thank God, but she had been emotionally dependent on the drugs.
Cathy walked through to the living room with her wine and remembered James’s reaction on hearing what she had done all those months ago. He had been so disappointed in her; she could see it in his face. Mark had ransacked her consultation room for any remaining drugs, so terrified was he of her concealing them. It had been a truly awful time. Her lowest point, if she was honest. Guilt gnawed at Cathy as she remembered her fury, directed particularly at Mark. He had been forthright as always, storming into her room and accusing her not only of drug abuse but stealing. ‘Malpractice,’ he had shouted. She had argued that it was no different from him taking antibiotics from the store when he had had a chest infection, but she knew she was on shaky ground. Mark had questioned her fitness to practice ever again, and only James had managed to convince him of her need for support, not anger.
Cathy wondered how much the rest of the practice knew about her disgrace. Sometimes she suspected it when she looked at Irene or Tracy. Nothing had been said, but she supposed that they knew. They certainly knew about her breakdown, everyone knew that. Cathy wondered what Mark had said to Tracy about practice business. She was sure the young nurse knew more about their private affairs than she should.
And what of poor Tracy now? She had been almost inconsolable on hearing of her boyfriend’s death. It turned out that she had moved in with Mark only the month before. Cathy recalled the young nurse’s reaction up in the coffee room, and then, when Irene had suggested that she come and stay at her house for the next few nights, she had nearly exploded.
‘I need to feel near him,’ Tracy had sobbed. The rest of the practice members had looked on in embarrassed silence.
But in reality, it would have been ridiculous to return to Mark’s house alone. Even Tracy had to admit that she might feel strange. So, Irene had had her way and Tracy had agreed to stay with her, on the understanding that it might just be for the one night.
Cathy recalled watching her practice team waiting their turn up in the coffee room. Huddled together at the far end, some sitting, others standing, looking out of the long windows that ran the length of the room and trying to comprehend what had happened that day.
The only positive, as Brenda had said, was that the young trainee; Tom, had called in sick that day. When Cathy had heard that he was absent after only a week in the post, she had found herself doubting his enthusiasm. She had felt somewhat uneasy in the man’s presence since he had come. Now she supposed, he must find a new trainer. She doubted if she or James would feel able to step in after all that had happened.
Cathy thought too of their most recent permanent addition to the team, their practice pharmacist and wondered what on earth he must be thinking about the whole affair. Only a few weeks into the new job and he had found himself embroiled in a sudden death. Cathy had caught his eye and he had quickly turned away, his face pale. What a dreadful day it had been for all of them.
Cathy had backed the young pharmacist when he arrived. He had hit the ground running as far as the work was concerned, taking Mark aside and asking for his advice on auditing the high-risk cardiovasculars. That, Cathy had thought at the time, was rather clever of the man. He must surely have known that Mark would be the hardest nut to crack. Even still, Mark had held him at arm’s length and when questioned, he refused to admit that the idea to employ him had been a good one. Over the past few weeks, there had been several concise yet friendly emails sent out suggesting ways in which the GPs might tighten up on their prescribing. ‘Quick fixes’ that might make a real impact on the budget very rapidly, Fraser had said.
Cathy held her glass of wine to the light now, and watched the liquid slosh dangerously high up the side. How the practice might continue now, was beyond her. Goodness knows how any of them would continue to work there, walking past Mark’s door having seen the waxy features and staring eyes. She took another slug of wine.
The living room was too quiet. Cathy shut the curtains and then turned on the television, at least finding some comfort in the chatter of voices in the background. She must phone Suzalinna and speak. Perhaps she would know more. The police had been very vague, reluctant to comment on the cause of death.
As she sat in her armchair, Cathy went over her interview with the detectives that afternoon. It wasn’t unusual for the GPs to deal with the police. Often, they came into the practice to take a statement following an accusation of assault, and if one of the GPs had examined the alleged victim, they were asked to detail any of their findings if it didn’t breach their confidentiality agreement with the patient. But the circumstances were of course, rather different this time. She had lost a colleague and in the most traumatic of circumstances.
The police had been kind. The more senior of the two, she supposed, had taken the lead. He had introduced himself as DCI Rodgers. He was a middle-aged man, dressed in a navy suit. His hair was prematurely thinning. His colleague was introduced as DS Milne. He was a slightly younger man and less weathered by the rigours of the job.
As she sat there, Cathy wondered if she had always been this cold and detached. She heard herself telling the police that she’d help in any way she could.
‘We just need to go through the day’s events with you, Doctor, if you don’t mind? I know this has been a long and upsetting day for everyone, so the quicker we can get the details sorted, the sooner we can all get home,’ said DCI Rodgers.
Cathy nodded. She felt like she was watching herself in a play.
‘You arrived at the practice at what time this morning, please?’ he asked, and his colleague stood expectantly, his hand poised and ready to write in his notebook.
‘Seven forty-five exactly,’ Cathy said, trying to focus. ‘I’m usually here at about that time. It gives me a chance to get the computer on. Sometimes it takes forever to get logged on and I often like to check some of the lab results before kicking off.’ She noticed that she was jogging her leg up and down repeatedly, so stopped this, catching the young policeman’s eye.
DCI Rodgers nodded. ‘And you were the first in the building, Dr Moreland?’
‘Oh God no. seven forty-five is late really. It’s usually Brenda that opens, but this morning she was at her meeting. Mark was always in early so he must have done it, or Bert – he practically lives here.’
‘Bert?’ The detective looked at her questioningly.
‘The handyman. Oh God! I forgot about him,’ Cathy said, her hand going up to her mouth. ‘He wasn’t upstairs with us, was he? Has he left, or is he in the cupboard?’
‘In the cupboard?’ Both policemen now looked incredulous and DS Milne had begun to get up from his chair.
‘He has a cupboard,’ Cathy explained. ‘Well, it’s really a small room of his own, but it has no windows so we call it a cupboard.’ Cathy knew that she was gabbling and tried to slow herself down. ‘He was here,’ she continued, considering. ‘He got to Tracy before me when she was doing her fainting thing. I don’t know where he went.’
The more senior officer turned to his colleague.
‘Better go and check,’ he said, and DS Milne left the room.
Turning back to her, the detective looked grim. ‘Listen, Doctor, let’s be frank with one another, shall we? What do you really think has happened here today? You trie
d to help him, Dr Hope, didn’t you? So, what’s your professional opinion?’
Cathy felt as if the tone in the room had shifted now the other man had gone. She tried to think.
‘His mouth was a mess. It was horrible,’ she said, picturing his greasy skin and the gaping hole of a mouth. Shaking herself from this image she continued. ‘I assume he must have taken something orally, something caustic, an acid maybe. I don’t know why though.’
‘Yes, something caustic. Well, the postmortem will hopefully tell us exactly what he took. Was there any reason that you can think of, for him taking anything himself deliberately?’
‘Suicide? Oh God no,’ Cathy replied with feeling. ‘Mark would be the last person; I would have thought. I can’t imagine him doing it on purpose. He might have swallowed something accidentally but surely …’
‘Why is it impossible to believe that he could have killed himself?’ the detective asked.
‘Well, he was in the middle of his morning surgery for one thing. He had patients waiting. Why would anyone choose to do it at that time?’
The detective shook his head, but said nothing.
‘And anyway,’ Cathy went on, ‘he was so meticulous about time-keeping, actually, he was meticulous about everything.’ Cathy thought of Mark. His perfect suit and waistcoat combination, his matching tie and slicked-back hair. Even his teeth were even and white and perfect.
Still, the detective didn’t speak. She sat in silence, until she could bear it no more.
‘Well, he’d at least have left a note,’ she continued with exasperation. ‘He wouldn’t have done it without explanation.’
DCI Rodgers looked at her sharply.
‘Oh, you looked then, did you? For a note?’ The question hung in the air for a moment or two.
Cathy felt uncomfortable. ‘After the paramedics left,’ she said. ‘In case there was a clue as to what he had taken. So that we could inform the hospital if it was a known poison.’
The detective looked doubtful. ‘I see, but you knew he was, and I am sorry to be frank Doctor, but you knew, to all intents and purposes, that he was dead or dying when he left here didn’t you, Dr Moreland?’
Cathy felt her face redden. ‘It depends what you mean,’ she said obstinately. ‘Clinically, as long as cardiopulmonary resuscitation is taking place, as it was in his room with us, in the ambulance, and in A&E, he was still classed as living.’
The detective smiled but said nothing.
‘He had a non-shockable cardiac rhythm,’ Cathy admitted, ‘so the chances of revival were slim.’
‘As I said, you thought he was essentially dead?’ said DCI Rodgers, allowing tiredness to enter his voice.
‘Yes.’
DS Milne had come back in at that moment and Cathy forced herself to take a slow, deep breath.
‘Found him,’ he said. ‘The handyman’s upstairs with the rest of them now in the coffee room.’
‘Right, so back to suicide,’ said DCI Rodgers, returning to Cathy. ‘You say that Dr Mark Hope would not, under any circumstances, have killed himself during morning surgery. Does that mean that you think it even conceivable for him to have planned to do it at some other time?’
‘No, no,’ Cathy said. ‘That’s not what I meant at all. I was just saying that was just one reason for him not killing himself …’
‘That, and the lack of suicide note?’
‘Yes. But mainly because he wasn’t the type. He was so real, so opinionated about everything.’ Cathy looked around exasperatedly, almost appealing now to the other detective. ‘He was so full of life,’ she explained.
‘When you say opinionated, Dr Moreland?’
It wasn’t coming out as it should, Cathy thought, and turning to DS Milne again, rather than her interrogator: ‘Just that he got wound up about things. He wasn’t depressed. He was enthusiastic. A strong character.’
The young detective smiled understandingly but his pen continued to scrawl across the notebook page. She turned back to the other man.
‘Just to be clear,’ he said. ‘You’re saying he was a strong character and was stirred up? Have I got that correct?’
Cathy felt wretched. They seemed to twist everything she said. Shaking her head, she sighed. ‘No. I didn’t mean anything. He did have opinions, like everyone does. He was animated when he disagreed with people. It’s who he was.’
‘Recently?’ the detective asked.
Cathy sighed once more. remembering the practice meeting just a few nights ago and James’s exasperation at his partner’s rudeness.
‘There has been some disharmony between the partners over recent months,’ she said unhappily.
It all came out, well the majority of it anyway. She told them briefly about her own ill-health and without going into too much detail, explained that her absence had undoubtedly put pressure on the other two doctors, despite the help from her locum-cover, Linda. She told them about Mark’s new relationship with Tracy, their practice nurse, and the concern it had caused. Finally, when pushed, she found herself telling them about the last impromptu practice meeting, and James’s unexpected outburst.
Sitting in her living room now, Cathy felt lightheaded. It must be the exhaustion, and the wine on an empty stomach, she thought ruefully. She wondered what the police had said to James after her. When they had parted, he had said very little on the subject. Getting up unsteadily, Cathy emptied the rest of the bottle into her glass.
17
‘Come on then, darling, tell us everything. Have the police been in asking you twenty questions then? It sounds too awful to imagine,’ Suzalinna said.
The meal was arranged several weeks before and although Cathy had wanted nothing more than to be alone with her thoughts, her old medical-school friend wouldn’t consider it.
‘Stuck on all alone at home brooding over it all, darling? No. I’m not having it. You come at seven. Saj has already planned a south Indian curry. It’s something he’s been going on about making for months now and he needs a guinea pig. Prepare to have your head blown off though.’
So, she had come, and as the conversation flowed and Cathy watched her two friends lovingly bicker over who was dishing up, Cathy smiled. Not many men would tolerate Suzalinna’s sharp wit, but Saj, pleasant and kind in his manner, did what he often did, and placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. Suzalinna quietened and glanced sideways and up at her husband. That was enough. Saj saw Cathy watching them with amusement, and grinned across at her. Not for the first time, Cathy found herself envying her friends’ companionship. She loved them both dearly, and following the past few months of her own mental illness, they had proved themselves to be loyal and devoted to her also.
Saj threw a sideways glance at his wife, presumably wondering if she was being rather insensitive in her lust for detail, but Cathy laughed, knowing her friend only too well.
‘Yes, as you can imagine. I totally put my foot in it from the start though and they ended up twisting everything I said. It must have been the nerves, I suppose. It’s not every day, is it, after all?’
Saj nodded, but said nothing, moving to fill both his wife’s and Cathy glasses with wine. Suzalinna waved him out of the way, but Cathy grinned up at him and mouthed her thank you.
‘So, have they decided if it was an accident or suicide?’ Suzalinna asked. ‘Seriously, we all got a bit of a shock when he was wheeled into Resus that day. Even the more practised amongst the team.’
‘They mentioned suicide at first, but you know what I think about that scenario,’ said Cathy, taking a sip of wine. ‘In the middle of his morning surgery? And why? Why would Mark kill himself?’ Cathy asked them both. ‘He’s cruising along at work; he’s living in his immaculate house. He’s finished with his ex-wife and had a nubile, young nurse in tow. Seriously,’ Cathy said with feeling, ‘why would he?’
Saj shook his head but didn’t speak.
‘Well, you’d know better than anyone I suppose, being his partner, darling,’ Suzal
inna said. ‘What’s James saying about it all? Is he in shock?’
‘Horrified, of course, as is everyone. We’ve had to shut up shop this last two days to allow the police to come in. Our phones are being redirected to the out-of-hours hub. Poor Brenda, our practice manager, is having kittens.’ Cathy looked around at them both. ‘God knows how we’ll get over it.’
‘What about the girlfriend? Have the police been asking her about it? She was the first to find him, wasn’t she?’
‘Tracy? Yes, she’s taken it very badly, although it all comes over a bit false, if you know what I mean? Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she’s upset, but really? They’d only been dating for a few months but the way she’s carrying on, you’d think they were soulmates. She keeps showing off a ring he gave her. Says that they were engaged, but I never heard Mark mention anything of the kind. I feel bad saying it, but it is all rather uncomfortable.’
‘Well if it wasn’t suicide, the alternative is, of course, far worse. And you said that the police thought it was something in the coffee?’
‘Well, not exactly. That’s what the rest of us are assuming. The police haven’t said a thing, as far as I’m aware. But it’s the only explanation really.’ Cathy placed her glass of wine on the table. ‘So, we have a routine every day,’ she said, settling into her story. ‘After morning surgery, we head upstairs for a quick cup of tea or coffee and then the on-call doctor, it was James that day, either does house visits or sees drop-ins that come to the practice late. Both Mark and I were booked up with another four or five patients after coffee break and we were then due to go out on house calls. Fortunately, it was quiet that day, as it happens,’ Cathy continued. ‘Anyway, we have this routine of going up and chatting to the office girls and sometimes the nurses come upstairs too. Often, it’s the only time we can have an informal conversation during the day. I do my prescriptions upstairs while I chat.’