Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral

by Puckett, Andrew

  ‘What did you do with the stick then?’

  ‘I – I put it down when I tried to see if there was anything I could do for her.’

  ‘Put it down where?’

  ‘On the floor…’

  ‘You don’t sound very sure about that.’

  ‘I was more concerned about Dr Flint than the stick.’

  ‘You see, Dr Callan, Mr Farleigh has told us that you were still holding the stick when he found you with Dr Flint’s—’

  ‘Then he’s a bloody liar!’ Fraser shouted.

  Agnes leaned forward, touched his arm in warning. He swallowed, said, ‘I want to tell you something about Leo Farleigh, Superintendent – if anyone killed Connie, then it was him, he had a lot more motive than me.’

  ‘Tell us about Mr Farleigh’s motive, Dr Callan.’

  Fraser, knowing he hadn’t introduced the subject at the best time or in the best way, glanced at Agnes again before telling them about Connie’s call to him, how she’d said she was worried about the “others”… ‘She could only have meant Leo and Ian Saunders, that they’d have tried to prevent her changing her mind about Alkovin.’

  ‘How could they have known she’d changed her mind?’

  ‘She must have told them – I asked Leo when he arrived if she’d phoned him and he said yes.’

  ‘He’d just found you crouched beside a dead body with a stick in your hand, Dr Callan. He wasn’t going to disagree with you about anything.’

  ‘Are you saying she didn’t phone him?’

  ‘BT have a record of her call to you, but no record of her calling Mr Farleigh.’

  ‘Well, if you know she called me, then why—’

  ‘We know she called you, but not what she said. We have only your word for that, Dr Callan.’

  There was a silence while Fraser absorbed this, then Garrett said, ‘Let’s get back to Mr Farleigh for a moment, doctor. I believe you had an – er – altercation with him quite recently, on Tuesday, 15th June, in fact?’

  ‘We had words, yes.’

  ‘He says you nearly throttled him when he tried to commiserate with you about Miss Templeton.’

  Fraser took a breath and told him what had happened. ‘He was trying to score points, Superintendent, that’s why I lost my temper. It was wrong of me, I know, but I was short of sleep.’

  Garrett said deliberately, ‘PC Booker, one of the officers who tried to arrest you this morning, is in hospital with a suspected fractured jaw – is that because you were short of sleep as well?’

  Fraser closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that, Superintendent, but you know how, and why, it happened,’

  ‘Indeed I do, Dr Callan. The point is, though, that since your fiancée developed leukaemia, you seem to have developed a rather short fuse.’ Barely pausing, he said, ‘You and Dr Flint had a sexual relationship, didn’t you?’

  Fraser said, ‘That was over two years ago—’ at the same time Agnes said, ‘Don’t answer that.’

  Garrett continued as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Even so, it does go some way to explaining the intensity of the hatred between you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t answer, Fraser.’

  Garrett leaned forward and spoke softly. ‘I don’t think you’re a murderer, Dr Callan.’

  Fraser looked up at him.

  ‘I think you’re a man under great stress. Your fiancée’s dangerously ill, your career’s in ruins. There but for fortune – who knows what any of us would do under those circumstances…?’

  Fraser gazed back at him, mesmerised, like a bird by a snake.

  ‘We know that Dr Flint phoned you. Perhaps she did offer some sort of olive branch, asked you to come over and talk about it. Perhaps she then made it clear she still expected your capitulation, and in the heat of the moment, you grabbed the stick… didn’t realise what you were doing. That wouldn’t be murder, Dr Callan, not in my book. We’re human, we all know about human frailty…’

  Fraser closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, as though to clear it, then looked at Agnes. She looked back without expression, as though wanting to know the truth herself.

  He said firmly, ‘That is not what happened.’

  *

  They questioned him through the afternoon and charged him with Connie’s murder in the evening.

  ‘Will I get bail?’ he asked Agnes afterwards.

  ‘I’ll try, of course,’ she said. ‘But the fact that you fractured a constabularial jaw isn’t going to help. Don’t hold out too much hope.’

  Fraser pressed his lips together. ‘Where will they send me?’

  ‘Here or Shepton Mallet, maybe Gloucester. It shouldn’t be too bad, you’ll probably get a cell to yourself.’

  When Frances came, they just held each other without speaking.

  At last, Fraser said softly, ‘How’re you feeling, hen?’

  ‘All right in myself. Otherwise pretty bloody.’ She held him at arm’s length. She looked drawn, but composed. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Pretty much the same. I didn’t do it, Frances.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said, but it seemed to him that she said it a microsecond too late.

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said again.

  ‘I know. Where are they… where are you going to be?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Shouldn’t be too far away. I’ll phone every day. And write.’

  She tried to smile. ‘And I’ll come and see you every day as soon as this round of treatment’s over.’

  12

  ‘He’s guilty,’ said Garrett. ‘I wouldn’t have charged him otherwise.’

  ‘The evidence you’ve shown me is all circumstantial,’ observed Tom.

  ‘“Some circumstantial evidence is very strong,”’ quoted Garrett, ‘“such as when you find a trout in the milk.” That was Henry David Thoreau in 1850, and it remains as valid today as it was then.’

  ‘Mm,’ said Tom, who’d heard the quotation before and was unimpressed. ‘None of the evidence here strikes me as being quite so substantial as a trout.’

  It was Monday afternoon and Fraser was still in custody at the police station. At his request, Agnes had told Marcus what had happened, and Garrett had given Tom permission to come and see Fraser so long as he spoke to Garrett first.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ he said now. ‘Look at the weight of it – Callan has a nasty, bitter, ongoing row with Dr Flint for over a year and she sends him on sabbatical as a warning. On the day he comes back, he’s heard threatening to kill her if his fiancée gets depressed, which in the circumstances of her illness is quite likely. Sure enough, a couple of months later, she does get depressed and the next day, Callan is suspended from duty for assaulting Dr Flint—’

  ‘Suspended pending enquiry,’ interrupted Tom.

  ‘At the very least, he manhandled her, and whatever the outcome of the enquiry, he hadn’t got much of a career left. Then, two days ago, he’s found kneeling over her body with the murder weapon in his hand. His fingerprints are in the right place for striking the blow and he’s covered in her blood. What more do you want?’

  ‘If that’s a serious question,’ Tom said, ‘I’d want either a witness who actually saw him do it, or some solid forensic evidence. Hasn’t the lab come up with anything yet? Surely, if he’d hit her with that stick hard enough to kill her, there’d be microdots of blood on his clothes,’

  ‘There was blood on his clothes.’

  ‘Microdots?’

  ‘Forensic haven’t finished their investigations yet,’ Garrett said carefully. ‘Besides, microdots aren’t inevitable.’

  Tom said, ‘None of the evidence you’ve shown me actually disproves his story.’

  Garrett snorted. ‘But it’s so tenuous, who else could have killed her in the time? Oh, don’t tell me – Farleigh, who wasn’t even there. I’ve never heard a more obvious attempt to shift the blame.’

  Tom thought for a moment… The evidence against Fraser was strong, but whether it
was strong enough to convince a jury was debatable.

  ‘I’d have thought you needed a bit more before going to court,’ he said.

  ‘And I think you underestimate the strength of our witnesses,’ Garrett said a little more quietly. ‘Especially Farleigh.’

  ‘Who Callan says did it.’

  Garrett continued as though Tom hadn’t spoken: ‘There’s all the difference in the world between kneeling beside a body you’ve just found, and kneeling beside one you’ve just murdered. Farleigh convinces me it’s the latter because of his observation that the stick was still in Callan’s hand.’

  It was a valid point, Tom conceded. He said, ‘How sure are you that Farleigh’s telling the truth?’

  ‘Sure enough. He’s very positive about it.’

  Tom said slowly, thinking aloud, ‘If it is true, then I imagine you’re thinking that Callan must have had another row with her, hit her spontaneously, and then knelt beside her aghast at what he’d done.’

  ‘With the stick still in his hand,’ Garrett said. ‘I’d be more than happy to go along with that. Manslaughter, a crime passionnel – especially in view of their previous sexual relationship.’

  Tom had been wondering when that would come up. To him, the sex angle was a red herring – or should that be trout?

  Whichever it was, to a jury, sex might equate with guilt…

  *

  ‘I didn’t do it, Mr Jones,’ Fraser said quietly.

  Tom had listened carefully while he’d told him how he’d found Connie’s body, and then again gone over the events that had led up to it. ‘I had no reason to kill her,’ he said, ‘She was coming round to my point of view.’

  ‘Unfortunately, we only have your word for that.’

  ‘Why else would she ring me?’

  ‘To put more pressure on you, remind you who was treating your fiancée, perhaps?’

  ‘That’s not what she said on the phone.’

  ‘Maybe she was hoping that a mixture of reason and threats would bring you round. Maybe she intended to seduce you.’

  ‘Ach, not that again… I’m engaged and my fiancée is sick…’

  ‘In her mind, that might have made you all the more susceptible.’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘In which case, hell hath no fury. She slapped you – again – and you retaliated.’

  Fraser shook his head. ‘That’s ridiculous – an’ I think you know it.’ He managed a smile. ‘Y’ can put your fishin’ rod away now.’

  Tom smiled back. ‘It might not seem ridiculous to a jury,’ he said. Then, ‘Let’s get back to the stick – are you sure you weren’t holding it when Farleigh arrived?’

  ‘Yes, I am sure.’

  ‘Difficult to be that certain, I’d have thought, in the circumstances.’

  ‘I dropped it on the floor,’ Fraser said slowly. ‘I mind looking at it, noticing the stain on the knob and realising it must be what she’d been hit with…’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tom, ‘but hit minutes before, or seconds before?’

  ‘The blood was dry.’

  ‘How d’you know? Did you touch it?’

  ‘No, I didn’t touch it,’ Fraser said wearily, ‘it just looked dry.’

  ‘OK,’ Tom said. ‘You come in through the door, you see the body – when did you drop the stick?’

  After a pause, Fraser said, ‘I can’t remember exactly.’

  ‘So when Farleigh came in, you might have still been holding it—’

  ‘The stick was on the floor,’ Fraser interrupted suddenly, ‘because I realised it was bloody after he’d come in.’

  ‘So he was standing there when you saw it and realised it was bloody?’

  ‘No, he’d gone to phone the police by then…’

  ‘So you could have dropped it after he came in?’

  ‘No! I’m sure it was on the floor when he came in.’

  ‘Did you hear him arrive?’

  ‘N-no…’

  ‘Was his car outside at that stage?’

  ‘I think so – yes, I saw it when the police brought us down here.’

  ‘Was it there when you arrived at the house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So he got there after you, and yet you say he killed her.’

  ‘Listen, Mr Jones…’ Fraser took a breath, tried to gather himself together. ‘Assume for a moment that I’m telling the truth, that Connie rang and told me she’d had second thoughts… I’d already told you and your boss that I thought there was some sort of corruption going on, that Connie and Ian and Leo were deliberately suppressing the truth about Alkovin… so if Connie did change her mind, then both Leo and Ian would have a motive for killing her.’

  ‘But how could they have known she’d changed her mind?’

  ‘I asked Leo at the time if she’d phoned him and he said yes.’

  ‘But he denied it later, said he was humouring you. And there’s no record of any call to him.’

  ‘He was there, on the spot – why? Something must have brought him there…’

  ‘But he arrived after you.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there before, does it?’

  Tom thought about this, said, ‘Are you saying he was there all the time, or that he came back?’

  ‘Either. He could have parked at the back earlier, then driven his car round, put it next to mine, then come in to discover me with Connie’s body.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you have heard his car if he’d done that?’

  ‘I didn’t hear it anyway.’

  ‘Starting a car tends to make more noise than just driving it.’

  ‘From the back of the house? I don’t know, maybe you’re right, maybe he drove away after he’d killed her and then came back.’

  ‘Why would he have done that?’

  ‘I don’t know… maybe he left something there – Yes! That would explain why he was so eager to phone the police, to get back into the house… I found him over by Connie’s desk…’

  ‘He’d have been eager to phone the police anyway if he’d just found you with a dead body,’ said Tom.

  ‘Ach, I don’t know,’ Fraser said, burying his face in his hands.

  Tom stared at him, genuinely unsure of what to believe, then Fraser looked up again.

  ‘It all hinges on Alkovin, doesn’t it?’ His face was animated, feverish almost. ‘Would I have come to you in the first place if I didn’t believe it was dangerous?’

  ‘I’m sure you believe it is, but that doesn’t necessarily make it true.’

  ‘Ah for God’s sake, Frances is the living proof of it – what more d’you want?’

  ‘You’re assuming cause and effect…’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, I am – who’s the feckin’ doctor, you or me?’ He closed his eyes for a moment, pressed his lips together. ‘Sorry. Look, if you don’t believe me, why don’t you ring up Dr Weisman in New York? He’ll tell you.’

  Tom leaned forward and said softly, ‘I will, but assuming he confirms what you say, doesn’t that give you rather a good motive for killing Dr Flint?

  Fraser let out a groan. ‘I keep telling you, not if she’d changed her mind, not if she was coming round – I can see you don’t believe me, but for the sake of justice, will you look into it? Give Leo Farleigh and Ian Saunders some of what you’ve been giving me and then see what you think.’

  ‘All right,’ said Tom, ‘I’ll do that.’

  *

  ‘Still got doubts?’

  Garrett had asked Tom to come and see him again after he’d finished with Fraser.

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  Garrett nodded to himself as if this were no more than he’d expected. He said, ‘When Callan came to see you last week, did he say anything about the previous director, Dr Somersby?’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ Tom said slowly. ‘He was murdered too, wasn’t he, about two years ago?’ He looked at Garrett quizzically.

  ‘That’s two directors murdered in two years – what wo
uld you normally think about that?’

  ‘You’re not suggesting he did both of them?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘By all accounts he and Somersby liked each other…’

  ‘By his account, mostly. It was my case,’ he added, ‘and I can’t help thinking now that it’s more likely that one person did both murders.’

  ‘You didn’t suspect him at the time though, did you?’

  ‘No, more’s the pity, we might have looked at his car. From Somersby’s injuries, we thought it was a low slung car, and Callan has a sports car. We’re looking at it now, although it’s far too late for any direct evidence.’

  ‘Who did you suspect at the time?’

  Garrett shrugged. ‘Farleigh, Saunders, Dr Flint herself – take your pick…’ He gave Tom a résumé of what they’d done and copies of the case notes.

  *

  Fraser hadn’t cried since he was twelve. He’d seen a boy of thirteen cry when he was bullied and remembered how he’d never thereafter shaken off the sobriquet Blub. He’d trained himself not to cry under any circumstances.

  Now, as he stared stony-faced at the cell wall, he had to exercise that will-power more than at any time he could remember.

  So they thought he’d killed JS as well, did they? It just proved they were mad -

  Or that I am…

  As this thought went through his mind, something inside him shifted and he twitched violently.

  What if they are right?

  Was it possible to murder someone and then remember nothing about it?

  No, no – the stick, I remember picking up the stick…

  But he hadn’t noticed the blood on the knob at the time, had he?

  Because I just didn’t notice it? Or because it wasn’t there at that stage?

  13

  ‘No. I don’t think he did it, Mr Jones.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Agnes Croft considered for a moment – not her opinion, but the words to describe it. It was the following morning and they were in her office.

  ‘Because there’s no direct evidence against him, because his story is plausible in itself and, finally, because I believe him as a person.’

  ‘What if there were direct evidence?’