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

by Puckett, Andrew

‘Well, he claimed he was unavailable for the rest of the week, but then he, too, discovered a hitherto unnoticed slot in his diary – for the following morning at his house.’ He gave Tom the address.

  *

  Although Tom planned his interviews in advance to some extent, the tone and timing of his questions tended to follow his on-the-spot judgements of the interviewee’s character and state of mind.

  Ian Saunders now… what would get behind the impermeable smiling mask he presented?

  ‘I believe the pressure for the trial with Alkovin came from yourself and Dr Flint?’

  Ian smiled. ‘That’s correct, although I’m not sure I care for the word pressure.’

  ‘Which of you was the first to hear about the drug?’

  ‘Leo Farleigh put the idea to Connie at a conference, she persuaded me and we both went to John Somersby.’

  ‘Who promptly squashed the idea?’

  Again Ian smiled, although by now it was becoming a little strained.

  ‘It wasn’t promptly, it was after about two weeks – and I fail to see the need for such – er – emotive language.’

  ‘Shall we say veto then? Why did Dr Somersby veto the idea?’

  ‘He said he’d heard rumours of side-effects. He refused, however, to divulge the source of these rumours.’

  ‘But you disagreed with him?’

  ‘Connie and I both disagreed with him.’

  ‘And then he was killed?’

  The smile vanished. ‘What are you trying to suggest, Mr Jones?’

  ‘I’m not trying to suggest anything.’ Yet… ‘I’m merely stating facts.’

  ‘It was at least six months afterwards that he was killed.’

  ‘And then you took over as acting director?’

  Ian compressed his lips before replying. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So it would have been your decision to overturn Dr Somersby’s veto and go ahead with the trial?’

  ‘No, it was a joint decision. Although I was nominally acting director, Connie and I agreed to run the department between us.’

  ‘Were you surprised when she got the director’s job?’

  Ian took a breath before replying. ‘Not entirely, no. We had similar qualifications and experience and there had been a lot of talk about there not being enough women in senior posts, so no, I wasn’t really surprised.’

  ‘So you’re saying she owed her position to political correctness?’

  ‘If you’re trying to suggest there was any animosity between us, Mr Jones, you’d be quite wrong. We ran the department together both before and after she became director.’

  ‘A sort of joint leadership?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So it would be fair to say that you had joint responsibility for the decisions taken thereafter?’

  Ian’s mouth tightened briefly as he realised how he’d been manoeuvred into this admission. He covered it by saying, ‘I’m beginning to feel like a hostile witness at a trial – a legal one, that is. Yes, Connie did usually consult me before taking any decisions, even though she was director.’

  Tom was sure by now that Ian’s strategy was to try and shuffle any blame on to Connie. He said. ‘About nine months into the trial, Dr Callan tried to draw your attention to the side-effects of the drug he’d noticed?’

  ‘He tried to draw Connie’s attention – I really must make it clear that, in the main, his dispute was with Connie.’

  Tom said incredulously, ‘Are you trying to tell me you didn’t agree with her?’

  ‘No, I’m not telling you that. I’m telling you that there were emotive reasons for their quarrel as well as medical ones.’

  ‘You’ll have to explain.’

  ‘Will I really?’ It was Ian’s turn to be incredulous. ‘I can’t believe that you don’t know about the fling they had.’

  ‘Yes, I do know as it happens, from the police, who got it from you. The question is, how did you know?’

  ‘Connie let it slip one evening in her cups,’ He paused, then said, ‘She was drinking a lot in the last year of her life.’

  ‘Why was that, d’you think?’

  ‘I believe the strain of being in charge was more than she’d anticipated.’

  ‘Even though it was a joint leadership?’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘Let’s get back to Alkovin and Dr Callan. He tried to bring to your, and Dr Flint’s, attention the side-effects he’d noticed, didn’t he?’

  ‘One of his patients had tried to kill himself and he took it more personally than perhaps he should. He did tend to become emotionally involved with patients.’

  ‘But that wasn’t the only evidence, was it?’

  ‘We looked at that evidence very carefully, Mr Jones. It was badly put together, much of it hearsay and some, we felt, frankly exaggerated.’

  ‘D’you still think that?’

  Ian said carefully, ‘I think that Connie’s decision to ignore it, based on what we knew at the time, was the right one.’

  Tom declined the offered bait. ‘But then, a few months later, after a successful suicide, Dr Callan assembled more data, including some from Birmingham, and still you wouldn’t listen. In fact, you sent him away on sabbatical to shut him up.’

  Ian was smiling again. ‘You seem to be suggesting that I was personally responsible for that, Mr Jones.’

  He told Tom what had happened and his account didn’t differ significantly from Fraser’s. ‘The fact is, I was beginning to have doubts about Alkovin myself by then—’

  Here it comes.

  ‘—but Connie was furious with Fraser for going behind her back, which made her react perhaps more strongly than she should.’

  ‘So you’re trying to tell me now that you had worries about Alkovin then?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Ian said, ignoring the scorn in Tom’s voice. ‘As I was telling you, Fraser went first to Robert Swann, our junior consultant, and he came to me. We agreed that there were grounds for disquiet, but felt we had no choice but to tell Connie. Predictably, perhaps, she erupted. Speak to Robert, he’ll confirm what I say.’

  I bet he will, thought Tom. Which way to go…? Saunders obviously thought he’d successfully offloaded the responsibility. He said, ‘What I’m having difficulty with, Dr Saunders, is that if you were worried then, why didn’t you do something then?’

  ‘With Connie’s frame of mind at that time, it was frankly impossible. Now, we’re recommending prophylactic antidepressants for all our patients on Alkovin.’

  ‘Since when was this?’

  ‘Since Frances Templeton’s unhappy experience.’

  ‘D’you think Dr Callan killed Dr Flint?’

  If Ian felt any surprise at the timing of this question, he didn’t show it.

  ‘It grieves me to say so, but I can see no other explanation. We know that Fraser was in a highly volatile state because of Frances’ illness and depression, and that he held Connie personally responsible for that depression – to the extent of threatening her. Then she had him suspended for assaulting her – I was there at the time—’

  ‘You actually saw it?’

  ‘I heard Connie scream and went to investigate…’ He described what he’d seen, and again, his account didn’t differ in its facts from Fraser’s, although he managed to imply a greater violence on his part. ‘So I’m afraid I’m forced to the conclusion that he did kill her.’

  ‘Did you know that the value of Parc-Reed shares has doubled in the last year?’

  Ian went still. ‘I… believe I’d heard something to that effect. What’s the relevance?’

  ‘Do you own, or have you owned any Parc-Reed shares?’

  ‘This is becoming positively McCarthyite.’

  Tom made no reply to this, and after a pause Ian went on, ‘I’m sure a glance at the public register will have already given you the answer to that question.’

  ‘There are ways of buying shares other than through the public register.’

  ‘I�
��ll take your word for that,’ Ian said in a still voice. ‘Am I to know the point of these questions?’

  Tom said carefully, ‘Dr Callan, when he came to see us, was at a loss for an explanation of your persistent refusal to address his concerns over Alkovin,’

  ‘I thought I’d already made that clear to you, Mr Jones. Had it been me, I would have given his concerns more attention. But it wasn’t me, it was Dr Flint, with whom Dr Callan had an emotionally destructive relationship.’

  ‘And yet it was Dr Flint who phoned Dr Callan, told him that she’d changed her mind and asked him to come to her house to discuss it.’

  ‘I believe I’m right in saying that we have only Dr Callan’s word for that.’

  ‘She told him she was worried about “the others”. D’you have any idea who these “others” might be?’

  Ian regarded Tom with frank loathing for a moment before replying: ‘Dr Callan has been charged with murder and I question the need to take seriously anything he may have said. I’m a busy man, Mr Jones.’ He stood up. ‘Was there anything else before I take you along to Mr Stroud?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tom, not moving. ‘Where were you on Saturday morning, between say ten and twelve?’

  ‘As I’ve already told the police, at home with my wife.’

  There was no point in going any further, so Tom smiled and said, ‘Thank you, Dr Saunders. I’ll see Mr Stroud now, if I may.’

  ‘I’ll take you there.’

  16

  In Fraser’s dream, Frances was in a whirlpool and he was reaching down, trying to take her outstretched hand, when a Welsh sergeant major shouted at him and pulled him back and he could only watch as she—

  ‘Wakey wakey rise and shine, my lovely boys.’

  He opened his eyes as a fist banged against the door and there was a click as it was unlocked.

  ‘Feckin’ bastard,’ he shouted before he could stop himself and heard Petru chuckle.

  The door slid open and a bulky prison officer stepped in. ‘Fucking bastard, is it? So who’s the comedian in here, then?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Fraser said. ‘I was dreaming.’

  ‘Well, I don’t like dreams like that.’ He pointed his baton, gave him a playful jab on the nose with it. ‘OK?’

  ‘OK,’ said Fraser. ‘Sorry.’

  The officer left and Fraser looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock and he felt terrible.

  They got up and went along to the shower room. Ilie ‘slopped out’, took the chemical bog and emptied its contents into a sluice. Then they dressed and went to breakfast. Some sense of irony in Fraser’s nature made him choose porridge.

  At the table, Ilie said, ‘Fraser, you come class?’

  ‘What class?’

  ‘Eenglish.’

  Might as well. ‘All right.’

  The class was ‘English as a foreign language’, which was of no use whatsoever to Fraser, although, as the teacher explained to him, his presence might be a great deal of use to the others there.

  How the hell do you teach English to a bunch of assorted foreigners (besides the four Romanians, there were a Dutchman, a Finn and two Spaniards) while having no knowledge of their various languages?

  The teacher, an attractive woman in her forties, started with a picture, a treasure chest. She spelt the word chest, and from there went to church, chopper and so on. Fraser soon picked it up and found that he could really help, and for the first time since his arrival, actually forgot where he was for a moment.

  After the English class came the exercise period and Fraser, assuming he’d be in the same group as the Romanians, tagged along with them.

  ‘Class – good?’ Ilie asked as they went up a wide flight of stairs, watched by an officer on the next landing.

  Fraser nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You come again?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ilie touched his shoulder, aware that the benefit was all one way.

  As they went through the door at the top, daylight exploded around Fraser and he stopped dead, blinded and disorientated. I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. Am I becoming institutionalised already?

  The two other Romanians had started talking to his cell mates and he wandered over to the rail by himself, looking round as his eyes became accustomed to the brightness.

  The upper deck forming the exercise yard was about fifty by a hundred feet and a fence beyond the rail ran all the way round the perimeter. This was constructed of what seemed to be a continuous sheet of metal with oval holes cut into it so that it consisted more of hole than metal. The effect was like a chain link fence; the difference being that if you were foolish enough to try and climb it, your fingers would be cut to pieces on the sharp metal edges. It extended up for about ten feet, where it inclined inwards and was coiled about with razor wire.

  He looked round the yard. Prisoners wandered in groups, chatting, smoking, chewing gum. Two or three officers guarded them. They talked to the prisoners amicably enough when addressed, but watchfully, always watchful.

  He peered through the fence and after a while it ceased to obstruct his vision. The sea twinkled and flashed with white horses and sunlight. Gulls bobbed in the swell and the air was heavy with salt. In the distance lay the multi-coloured tinsel of a town – Weymouth, he assumed. To the right, a soft, indistinct coastline and to the left, the causeway to the island.

  Boats were scattered around: big, small, some moored to buoys, others to the wharf. Some were smart, some scruffy – as he watched, a herring gull that was perched on one of the latter defecated as it rose screaming into the air, leaving a new smear down the cabin window.

  He filled his lungs with the salty, springy air and walked slowly round the perimeter. There were benches and a few tables, bare torsos, several languages and always the fence. Another seagull wheeled and wailed overhead and the sound made him stop and clench his eyes shut in misery…

  After a moment, he opened them again and resumed walking. No one seemed to have noticed him. He still felt disorientated, utterly detached from what was going on around him.

  From nowhere, the words Physician heal thyself flashed into his mind and he thought, Institutionalised be buggered, I’m still in shock. The realisation didn’t heal him, but the understanding helped.

  The exercise period ended and Ilie came to find him.

  ‘You come – machine shop?’

  Fraser smiled and shook his head. ‘I’ll see you back in the cell, Ilie.’

  He wanted time to explore his new-found understanding.

  *

  Ian silently led Tom to Terry’s room, knocked on the door and opened it – a tangible sign of rank, Tom reflected; you might knock at an underling’s door, but you don’t wait for an invitation before going in.

  ‘Oh, hello, Dr Saunders.’ The man inside got to his feet.

  ‘Terry, this is Mr Jones from the Department of Health. He wants to interrogate you. I’ll leave you to it.’ He withdrew, obviously still smarting from his own interrogation.

  ‘Er – come in, Mr Jones.’ Tom took the proffered hand, which was rock hard. ‘Have a seat… Interrogate, I think Dr Saunders said?’

  ‘Just his sense of fun, I expect,’ Tom said as he sat down.

  ‘I see. Well, how can I help you?’

  Tom began explaining about Fraser’s allegation, but Terry interrupted him: ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Drug treatment is outside my area of competence.’

  This didn’t altogether surprise Tom, bearing in mind Fraser’s description and his own observations – the rigidity of body and handshake, the I-know-my-place speech and accent.

  ‘I appreciate that,’ he said, ‘but you can probably help more than you think. For instance, I believe you overheard Dr Callan apparently threatening Dr Flint?’

  ‘Well, yes, I did, and there was no apparently about it.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me what happened?’

  Of course he would… ‘We
ll, it was Saturday – I always come in of a Saturday to make sure everything’s all right…’

  That figures.

  ‘I saw Dr Callan coming in and said hello, since I hadn’t seen him for three months. He was rather brusque and I remember thinking at the time he must have heard about Frances – she’s his fiancée.’

  ‘I know about Frances,’ said Tom.

  ‘Well, he was looking pale and angry and I saw him go into Dr Flint’s room. I needed to see her myself as it happened, nothing really urgent, but instinct made me go down after a few minutes and I heard the whole thing.’

  He paused – for effect, Tom assumed. ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘They were arguing – he called her something… blinkered bitch, I think it was. Anyway, she told him to go, very calm like, and he said he’d hold her personally responsible if anything happened to Frances. Then she said, and I remember this exactly, “Are you threatening me, Fraser?” And he said, “Yes, I am threatening you…”’

  ‘Are you sure those are the exact words?’

  ‘Yes, I am sure.’ Terry’s mild eyes gazed back at him.

  ‘All right, go on.’

  ‘Well, she laughed at him, said, “What can you do to me?” Then she said, “You only know about violence, don’t you? Are you going to kill me?” And then—’

  ‘How exactly did she say that?’ Tom interrupted. ‘Was she still laughing at him?’

  ‘Oh yes, she didn’t take him seriously, see, more’s the pity. Anyway, he said, “If anything happens to Frances, I will kill you.” Then he realised I was there an’ looked round and I’m telling you, one look at his face made me take him seriously.’

  This would be powerful stuff in a courtroom, Tom realised.

  ‘You don’t like Dr Callan much, do you?’

  Again, the honest serving man’s look. ‘No, Mr Jones, I can’t say that I do.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  Terry thought for a moment, then said, ‘Dr Flint was a lady. Dr Callan is a jumped-up nobody.’

  When he was sure Terry wasn’t going to add anything, Tom said, ‘You and he had crossed swords before, hadn’t you?’

  ‘That depends on what you mean by crossed swords.’

  ‘Didn’t you have a disagreement with him about issuing lab results?’