‘Yes, I did. He’d been a lab worker himself once and thought that entitled him to tell me how to do my job.’
‘You can’t have enjoyed that very much,’ Tom said.
‘I didn’t. I don’t tell the doctors how to treat patients and I don’t expect them to tell me how to manage my staff.’
‘Fair enough, I’d have thought. What happened exactly?’
‘Well, I went to point out to Steve Lovell that he’d issued an unauthorised result – there’s no harm in the lad, he just needed putting right – and Dr Callan overruled me.’
‘What, there and then?’
‘Yes. I pointed out to him that it was against regulations and he just pooh-poohed me. None of the other doctors ever had.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Tom. Get off the subject… ‘You said just now that Dr Flint was a lady – would you say the same of Dr Saunders?’
‘Yes. Although in his case,’ he added with a chuckle, ‘I’d say gent.’
Tom chuckled too. ‘Sure. How about Dr Somersby?’
‘…Oh yes, he was a gent too.’ A fraction’s hesitation.
‘Were you aware that Dr Callan had recommended you be offered early retirement?’
Terry’s eyes flashed. ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ he said evenly.
‘Early retirement doesn’t appeal to you?’
‘I believe I still have some service left in me.’
‘Of course,’ said Tom. ‘Well, I think that’s all I need from you for now.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘You’re very welcome.’
They shook hands again and Tom left.
Is he a fruitcase or what…? He’d egged Terry on, then cut the interview short, hopefully before he could get any inkling of his interest.
But Terry was also, he realised as he climbed into his car, potential dynamite in court – for either side, depending on how he was handled.
He had a pub lunch, then drove up to the downs that overlooked the city and lit a cheroot. It was tempting to go and see Agnes and tell her about Terry now, but on reflection he decided to wait until he’d seen Leo the next day. He went back to the hotel and wrote up the two interviews.
*
Leo lived in a large detached house in a close on the edge the city; there was no doubt, Tom thought as he drew up beside it the next morning, that repping, Leo-style, had doctoring beat for money
The man himself came to the door and showed Tom into a living-room. One glance told Tom that Leo lived alone, and had done for some time – it was clean and tidy enough, but completely devoid of the touches a woman would have given it.
‘Coffee?’
‘Please.’
‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Milk but no sugar, thanks.’
The sofa that Tom sank into was of real leather. There was a large TV and a small bookcase with no fiction. Large reproductions of Picasso and other relatively modern artists graced the walls. Nothing wrong with that, Tom reflected, but it was as though Leo had marched into a shop and said, ‘I’ll take that one, that one and that one…’
Leo came back into the room with a tray. ‘There you go.’ He wore designer jeans, a cashmere sweater and loafers – very casual, and very expensive. He took a mug and sat down himself. ‘Fire away.’
The words somehow suggested to Tom that Leo considered himself fireproof, so he decided to mix his metaphors and shoot from the hip.
‘Dr Callan told us when he came to see us that he thought there was corruption involved in the taking on and trial of Alkovin.’
‘Well, he would say something like that, wouldn’t he?’ Not fazed in the least.
‘How d’you mean?’ Tom asked.
‘I mean that he isn’t really in a position to pontificate on anything at the moment, is he? Not when he’s banged up in prison charged with murder.’
And in no small part due to you, Tom thought. ‘Nevertheless, such allegations have to be investigated.’
Leo leaned forward. ‘From the out, Fraser was obsessed with Alkovin’s alleged side-effects – so some idea of conspiracy or corruption would be the only explanation that could satisfy him.’
His accent, Tom thought, was a mixture of local and mid-Atlantic. ‘Are you saying he’s wrong about the side-effects?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘It does seem to me that there’s some acceptance of them now. Even Dr Saunders told me yesterday that there’s a case for treating patients on Alkovin with prophylactic antidepressants.’
Leo shrugged. ‘Maybe there’s occasional transient depression, although it’s far from proven that Alkovin is the cause. The fact remains that it’s an invaluable drug for treating lymphoblastic leukaemia.’
‘I wouldn’t have described what Frances Templeton went through as transient.’
‘She’s an exception.’
‘The one that proves the rule, perhaps?’
Leo leaned back. ‘Those are your words.’
‘Where was Alkovin developed?’
‘In the States, by our parent company.’
He explained how after successful Phase One and Two trials there, the company wanted to introduce it to the UK.
Phase One and Two trials? Tom queried.
Phase One, Leo told him, was to use the drug on terminal patients who had nothing to lose and perhaps something to gain, while Phase Two was a direct comparison of the drug on nonterminal patients with other, established drugs. ‘If there were any serious side-effects, we’d have learned about them at that stage,’ he said.
‘Wouldn’t that depend on how long the trials lasted? I understand these side-effects don’t appear until after the second or third round of treatment.’
‘The trials are designed to take that into account.’
‘And yet,’ Tom persisted, ‘Dr Somersby refused to take on the drug over here because of what an American colleague had told him about it.’
‘That was hearsay, the source of which Dr Somersby refused to divulge. We made enquiries, but picked up nothing ourselves.’
‘We?’
‘Myself and my own American colleagues.’
‘But after Dr Somersby had been murdered, and Alkovin taken on, Dr Callan repeatedly produced evidence to the contrary – didn’t this make you wonder at all?’
‘Sure it did. We looked at Dr Callan’s evidence very carefully on each occasion and concluded that it didn’t stand up.’
‘We?’
‘Myself, Dr Flint and Dr Saunders.’
‘I didn’t realise you were qualified to make medical judgements, Mr Farleigh,’ Tom sniped.
‘Perhaps not on my own, Mr Jones, no. Certainly no more than you are to question me about it now.’
‘Touché,’ Tom said, understanding why Leo was such a successful company rep. ‘It seems ironic though, doesn’t it, that after all Dr Callan’s efforts, his fiancée should be the one to prove him right?’
‘Frances’ unfortunate experience is in no way proof of anything. What it does explain is Fraser’s emotional judgements concerning Alkovin, not to mention the subsequent tragedy.’
Time for a switch. ‘Are you aware of how much Parc-Reed shares have risen over the last year?’
‘Sure. We’re all very pleased about it.’ No hesitation, not bothered in the least.
‘How many do you own?’
‘Two thousand. A company bonus. A lot of us got them.’
‘Someone who owned a large block would make a lot of money.’
‘I imagine they would.’
‘How much of that rise is due to the apparent success of Alkovin?’
Leo spread his hands and shrugged. ‘You tell me. I expect it has some bearing.’
‘So it would be to the advantage of someone owning a lot of shares if any – er – negative information concerning Alkovin could be suppressed?’
Leo leaned back in his chair with an expression of frank dislike. ‘Just what are you getting at, Mr Jones?’
; ‘I’d have thought that was obvious. Dr Callan says that Alkovin is dangerous and I’ve just outlined a very clear motive for suppressing such information.’
‘As I told you just now, I own two thousand Parc-Reed shares given me as a bonus by the company. You can check that on the public register, if you haven’t already. I don’t know how many other people own and I don’t think there’s any point in further discussion of this topic.’
He got to his feet, but Tom said deliberately, ‘I haven’t finished yet.’
They stared at each other a moment before Leo resumed his seat. Tom said, ‘Dr Callan told me that Dr Flint had come round to his way of thinking, that’s why she phoned and asked him to come to her house that Saturday.’
‘And I repeat,’ said Leo, ‘he would say something like that, wouldn’t he?’
‘Why were you there, Mr Farleigh?’
‘I’d just been faxed some new data on Alkovin from the States that I thought she’d want to see.’
‘On a Saturday?’
‘Sure. I’m married to my job, Mr Jones. So was she.’
‘But Dr Callan says you told him that Dr Flint had phoned you.’
‘No, he asked me whether she had phoned me and I said yes. I’d just found Dr Callan with her dead body – I’d have agreed with anything he said at that moment. My one idea was to get the police as quickly as possible.’
‘D’you still have this data you were going to show her?’
‘Sure I do, it’s somewhere at the office. D’you want me to look it out for you?’
‘If you would, please.’
‘Was there anything else before you go?’
There wasn’t a lot. Tom had just about exhausted his locker and Leo knew it. ‘Yes. You said in your statement to the police that Dr Callan was still holding the stick when you found him with Dr Flint’s body?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Would you show me?’
Leo gave a short laugh. ‘What d’you mean, show you?’
Tom looked round the room, got up and fetched an umbrella. ‘This’ll do for the stick.’ He handed it to the bemused Leo. ‘And this’ll do for Dr Flint.’ He placed a cushion on the floor. ‘Now, show me what Dr Callan was doing when you found him.’
With a look at Tom, Leo knelt beside the cushion, touched it with his left hand while holding the umbrella in his right. ‘He was touching her head, like this, and holding the stick like this…’ He somehow managed to imbue the pose with infinite malice.
‘OK, thanks,’ said Tom. ‘That’ll be all for now – oh, that material you’re going to send me – will you be in your office this afternoon? I’ll come and collect it.’
‘I hadn’t intended to be.’
‘Tomorrow morning, then? I really would like to see it.’
‘All right,’ Leo said resignedly. ‘Tomorrow morning. D’you know how to find us?’ He gave him instructions.
17
Tom phoned Agnes from his car and she told him she could see him in half an hour, so he smoked a contemplative cheroot while he thought about Leo and the things he’d said. Would a guilty person have reacted with such in-your-face defiance? he wondered. Or maybe he really did consider himself fireproof…
He made some notes in his book, then drove down to the city centre and looked for somewhere to park.
‘I’m sure they’re both liars,’ he told Agnes in her office, ‘but I don’t know how much that helps you.’
‘What are they lying about, exactly?’ She was wearing a blue dress that set off the colour of her limpid eyes.
‘Well, Saunders firstly tried to heap all the blame for Alkovin on to Dr Flint, then waxed most indignant when I brought up the subject of shares.’
‘Protesting too much?’
‘Far too much. Farleigh more or less looked me in the eye and dared me to prove it.’ He gave her the gist of the two interviews.
‘But you think all three of them had shares and were trying to up the price?’
‘Farleigh, certainly. The other two? Well, maybe they started out genuinely believing in the drug and didn’t see any harm in a little part-time insider dealing… but there’s no doubt that when Callan tried to warn them about the side-effects, they not only wilfully ignored him, but actively tried to suppress him… So yes, I do.’
‘D’you think either of them killed Somersby?’
‘The police didn’t think so… and it would imply a level of premeditation and ruthlessness I wouldn’t have credited them with.’
‘Not even Farleigh?’
‘Well, possibly Farleigh…’
Agnes leaned forward slightly. ‘Could either Farleigh or Saunders have killed Dr Flint?’
‘Again, the police don’t think so.’
‘But what do you think, Mr Jones?’
After a pause, Tom sighed. ‘I don’t know.’
‘All right… but it would still help Fraser if we could show they were corrupt, wouldn’t it?’
Tom took a breath, released it. ‘It might. But then again, supposing we were able to prove it, the prosecution could argue that the fact Dr Flint used Alkovin on Callan’s fiancée knowing its dangers makes an even stronger motive for him killing her.’
‘But her phone call – she’d changed her mind about it.’
‘We still only have his word for that.’
‘But if you’re right about Saunders and Farleigh, it gives them a motive for killing her as well, doesn’t it?’
‘Only if they knew she changed her mind – assuming she did change it. And how could they know? Callan himself said she told him she was worried in case they found out.’
‘No he didn’t,’ Agnes said. She rummaged among the papers on her desk for a moment. ‘He said that she told him to come as soon as he could, because “I’m worried about the others.”‘ She looked up. ‘I think the best defence is that they were all three corrupt, and that Farleigh and Saunders have just as strong motives for killing her as Fraser.’
‘You could be right,’ agreed Tom, ‘but how the hell we go about proving it, I’ve no idea.’
‘What about the public register of shares?’
‘We’ve already looked,’ he said, and told her what he’d discovered about nominee accounts.
‘But couldn’t we get a court order to make the broker tell us the truth?’
‘Certainly we could, so long as we first found which broker they’d used. There are thousands of them and they’re bound to have picked one miles away – Liverpool, or somewhere. Besides,’ he continued, ‘I don’t mind betting they’ve already taken the money and run.’
‘Sold the shares, you mean? Mightn’t that be the way of nailing them?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘There must be records of share sales. Couldn’t we look up recent large sales and trace them back to the brokers?’
‘We could try, but millions, billions, of shares change hands every day. And their blocks wouldn’t be that large compared with the big insurance companies and pension funds.’ He paused. ‘I’ll look into it when I get back.’
She said tentatively, There is one other possibility…’
He waited.
‘I had a phone call from the police this morning. Sebi Flint, that’s Dr Flint’s son, is her executor and he’s asked them whether he can start going through some of her effects. Garrett rang to ask whether I had any objections.’
‘And had you?’
‘I said no at the time, but it’s occurred to me since that she might have had an address book or something, some record of the name of her broker.’
Tom’s mind raced as he mentally kicked himself – he’d been in the house, at her desk, only two days before…
‘Did the police give any indication of when Master Flint would be likely to start?’ he asked.
‘No. Obviously, they’d have had to get back to him first—’
‘Which they’ve probably already done by now.’
‘But would he necessarily
want to start immediately?’
‘He might. What are you suggesting, that we tell Garrett?’
Agnes made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a snort. ‘A minute’s exposure to him and Sebi’d certainly destroy any evidence. You, on the other hand…’
‘Yes?’ said Tom when he realised she wasn’t going to go on.
‘Well, you’re more subtle, more…’ She waved her hand in the air.
‘Yes?’
‘All right, you’re more devious and less scrupulous, more likely to find something.’
Tom decided he rather liked Agnes Croft. He smiled and said, ‘I may or may not be worthy of your flattery… D’you happen to know where Sebi’s staying at the moment?’
‘Yes – with his father.’
‘D’you know his number?’ A nod. ‘Ring him now, tell him you need to talk to him now, here in your office… Go on.’
She found the number, dialled, waited. ‘No answer.’
‘Keep trying, and get him in here if you can.’ He gave her his car phone number and stood up. ‘Keep me in touch.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To his mother’s.’
*
He parked in the road and walked up the tree-lined drive – Bugger! There was a white Nissan outside the house, Sebi’s, he assumed. Nothing to lose, try to bluff him…
He rang the bell and a fresh-faced youth in his late teens with blue eyes and fair hair opened the door. Tom apologised for intruding, explained who he was and showed him his identification.
‘You can ring the Department of Health and check if you like,’ he said.
‘I think I will,’ said Sebi, and shut the door.
He opened it again a few minutes later and said without a great deal of enthusiasm, ‘You’d better come in.’ He led him through the tiled outer hall (the marks had been removed) to an inner hall and then into a living-room. It was elegantly furnished with plenty of books and pictures, although it already held the slight mustiness of disuse.
‘Have a seat.’ Sebi indicated an armchair.
Now for the tricky bit, thought Tom, and told him about Fraser’s visit to himself and Marcus just before his mother’s death.
Sebi stiffened. ‘Are you telling me you’re trying to help the man who murdered my mother?’
Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral Page 14