Desperate Measures (6 page)

The police tape remained in place. A laminated A4 notice on the gate post explained the surgery was closed. Inside, the phone was ringing, over and over again, cutting off each time as the answer machine kicked in.

The staff were assembled in the waiting room. There was a hushed, shocked atmosphere. Ms Ling sat with a pile of folders on her knees, face drawn. Beside her was the receptionist Vicky Stonnall, young, plump with her head dyed an improbable shiny purple and sporting oversized rings and a golden necklace like a mayoral chain. Opposite them were Dr Gupta and the practice nurse. The doctor wore black-rimmed glasses perched half way down her nose, her hair salt and pepper. Janine judged her to be in her 40s. Nurse Dawn Langan had been crying, nose pink at the end, and had a balled up tissue in her hand. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

‘Have you found Dr McKee?’ Ms Ling asked.

‘We have,’ Janine said, ‘he was involved in a road accident, he’s fine, just cuts and bruises, but that’s why he can’t be here today. Now, we’ll be talking to you each in turn, using the consulting rooms for privacy. Ms Ling, if you could come with us.’

Once Janine and Richard were settled with Ms Ling in the other room, the practice manager said, ‘I’ve already made a list of Don’s appointments yesterday, including his home visits.’

‘Any of these names cause for concern?’ Janine asked.

‘No,’ Ms Ling said.
              ‘How was Dr Halliwell regarded?’

‘Well respected, his list was always full. You hear so much these days about people never seeing the same GP twice in a row, not knowing them but Don believed the doctor-patient relationship was essential. He would care for several generations of the same family. He was very popular.’

‘Did anyone ever threaten him?’

‘Oh, we all get our share of abuse,’ Ms Ling said, ‘it goes with the territory. But it’s a small minority of people.’

‘And what about formal complaints?’ Richard said.

‘Those too,’ Ms Ling said.

‘Anybody spring to mind? Anything current?’ Janine said.
              ‘Adele Young, her daughter Marcie.’

‘Dr Halliwell attended Marcie’s inquest on Monday?’

‘That’s right. Accidental death. Marcie was a heroin user. When she died, from an overdose of street drugs, Mrs Young instigated a formal complaint. She believed that Dr Halliwell had reduced Marcie’s methadone dosage too quickly. The coroner fully exonerated Don. But the internal complaints process still has to run its course.’

‘Sergeant Butchers will follow-up on these and any other complaints, if you can make sure he has all the notes. He’s going to be based here for now,’ Janine said, ‘and will be going through Dr Halliwell’s appointments.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Ms Ling said.

‘How did Dr Halliwell get along with the rest of the staff?’ Janine said.

‘Fine,’ Ms Ling said, ‘well...except for Fraser.’

Janine felt her pulse speed up.

‘They didn’t always see eye to eye,’ Ms Ling said, ‘there was a confrontation yesterday.’

‘A confrontation?’ Richard said.

‘Don informed Fraser that he wouldn’t be made partner. Fraser didn’t take it well.’

‘Did he make any threats?’ Richard said.

‘No,’ Ms Ling said, ‘he was just very angry, disappointed.’

‘Thank you,’ Janine said. ‘If you think of anything else do please tell Sergeant Butchers or contact any of us via the helpline.’

Ms Ling nodded.

As Janine went to ask Dr Gupta to come through, Ms Ling stopped to talk to someone at the fire door. Janine watched Ms Ling guide the caller, who was delivering an oxygen cylinder, along the corridor and heard him ask about Dr Halliwell. The murder had shaken the community to the core. Like Roper said, most of the gang violence was contained within the gangs and their associates but here was a middle class professional gunned down at his place of work. People needed reassurances, and they needed answers.

Receptionist Vicky Stonnall couldn’t think of any reason why someone would harm Dr Halliwell. But when asked to describe the day in detail Vicky said, ‘There were some sort of ructions going on, yesterday. Fraser had a face like thunder. You could have cut the air in chunks.’

‘Do you know what it was about?’ Janine said.

‘Well, him and Dr Halliwell, they didn’t really get on. Dr Halliwell, he’s a bit old-fashioned. Was. It’s weird,’ she said, ‘I keep having to remind myself he’s dead. You never know, do you, you never know what’s round the corner.’

‘And the argument?’ Janine said.

‘Fraser’s saying how he was relying on the partnership and how he’s screwed now. Then he starts in about how Dr Halliwell runs his own little empire and no one else can have an opinion.’

‘How did Dr Halliwell respond?’ Richard said.

‘Well …’ Vicky grimaced, ‘…he didn’t usually lose his temper but he went ballistic, he was under a lot of stress, he was shouting, really shouting at Fraser to get out, telling him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’ She shuddered. ‘It was horrible.’

‘He was a good man, a good doctor, a friend,’ Dr Gupta told Janine and Richard.

‘All good?’ Janine said.

‘Well, we had to coax him a little with some of the new initiatives but he was highly regarded by his patients, his list was invariably full.’

‘And his colleagues? Dr McKee?’ Richard said.

There was a pause. Dr Gupta looked uneasy. ‘Don didn’t feel Fraser was right for us,’ she said, ‘in the long term. Fraser would complete his year, then he’d have to look elsewhere.’

‘We understand there was a confrontation yesterday?’ Janine said.

‘That’s right, a row, but you can’t think that has anything to do with the shooting,’ Dr Gupta said.

‘We’re not jumping to any conclusions,’ Janine said, ‘we’re just gathering as much information as we can at the moment. Can you think of anything else, anything out of the ordinary, odd?’

‘No,’ she said, then she froze, her eyes cast upwards as though remembering.

‘Dr Gupta?’ Janine said.

‘It may be nothing but—’

‘Go on.’ Janine said.

‘On Monday, I saw a Range Rover outside, a black one, parked across the road. It was a little odd because surgery had already finished, so they weren’t picking anyone up.’ Janine thought of the 4x4 that had come after McKee. Could it be the same vehicle?

‘Was there someone in it?’ Richard said.

‘A man. I couldn’t see him properly, the windows were quite dark. And I didn’t like to stare.’

‘This was Monday?’ Janine said.

‘Yes,’ Dr Gupta said, ‘at six o’clock.’

‘Did you see the car again?’ Janine said.

‘No.’

‘Did you notice the registration?’ Richard said.

‘Sorry, no.’
              ‘Thank you,’ Janine said. ‘Dr Gupta, we need someone to make a formal identification of the body and Mrs Halliwell has declined. Would you...?’

‘Of course,’ she said.

‘It will be sometime later today after the post-mortem,’ Janie said. ‘Thank you.’

              Dawn Langan was so tearful, apparently in shock and they got next to nothing from her. In between crying, her eyes would cloud over, staring into the distance and Janine would have to repeat the question to get any reply.

‘On Monday, do you remember seeing anyone parked across the street?’ Janine said.

‘No.’

‘And did you notice anyone hanging around when you left on Tuesday?’

Dawn started to cry again. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just so awful.’

‘Something Fraser McKee failed to mention,’ Janine said as they walked to the car. ‘A screaming row.’

‘Shall we jog his memory?’ Richard said.

‘Definitely. It could be a motive but it’s messy, isn’t it? Halliwell sacks McKee in effect, McKee overreacts, some may say, and shoots Halliwell. Meanwhile, the Wilson gang are trashing McKee’s house. McKee flees and is run off the road by forces unknown, maybe Wilson Crew affiliates – in a car similar to the one Dr Gupta saw the evening before.’

‘Where’s the gun?’ Richard said.

‘And why would McKee come to see us if he’s the perpetrator?’ Janine said.

Janine’s phone rang. Shap calling. ‘Boss, I’m at the garage. There’s no match between the cars, they’ve found black paint on Halliwell’s but nothing like that on McKee’s. In fact, no sign that a second vehicle was involved in the crash at all. If he had been rammed, shunted off the road, they would expect to see scratches, paint samples and so on but there’s nothing.
Nada
.’

‘Interesting. Thanks Shap.’ Janine relayed the news to Richard. ‘Something else we need to speak to Fraser McKee about.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’m due at the post-mortem now – you go and sort out a duty solicitor for McKee and we’ll question him under caution as soon as I’m back.’

The ringing of the doorbell roused Norma from sleep. She was on her bed, fully clothed, a sour taste in her mouth and drool on the pillow.

Perhaps they’d leave, go away, if she just ignored it. But it went again, three short peals.

Norma wiped at her face, glimpsed herself in the mirror as she passed, face drawn, deep shadows under her eyes, hair tangled. No time to improve on her appearance.

Yvette was at the door. Had she not heard? Had the family not seen the news? The picture of Don, the headlines,
FAMILY GP SHOT DEAD
.

Yvette’s family were from the Congo, recent immigrants. Sometimes Norma used a French word, Yvette’s first language, to explain what she wanted from the teenager’s playing.

‘Mrs Halliday,’ the girl smiled, her face bright, eyes clear. She didn’t know. For a moment Norma considered letting her in, going ahead with a lesson anyway but swiftly realized this was foolish. She would not be able to listen to the music without getting upset. ‘Yvette, I am sorry but the lesson is cancelled,’ she said. ‘My husband, he’s …
il est mort. Je suis desolee
.’

The girl’s smile disappeared and she swallowed. ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ she said and she scuffed one shoe against the step. Gawky.

‘No more lessons,’ Norma said, ‘
Finis
, finished.’

Yvette nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘bye-bye. Thank you,
merci beaucoup
.’ She walked away, down the drive.

‘
Au revoir
,’ Norma whispered. She had a sudden powerful memory of that wonderful summer in France, those weeks before she started university. Of Pierre, her first lover, her only lover apart from Don.

There was a small copse on the outskirts of the village, in a hollow below the road, where all the teenagers liked to meet. Pierre had arrived in the village over the winter, moving in with his grandmother, so Norma had not met him on previous holidays. He was the quiet type, on the edge of the group, enjoying the games and jokes, volunteering little. But his eyes were always on her and she felt the attraction too. He was sallow-skinned with brown eyes, long curling eyelashes and a crooked smile and he could play the harmonica.

The relationships in the group fluctuated. Some more serious than others, some of the local kids had a series of flings with les Anglais who visited and it was commonplace for couples to indulge in petting as the night wore on, moving away into the trees if things got more intense.

Norma kept a diary back then and each night chronicled the state of play with Pierre. On the second week, she moved away from the campfire with him, giddy from the wine but flushed with desire too. He had a rubber Johnny. She felt a lurch of embarrassment when he pulled it from his pocket and asked her to hold his lighter so he could see to put it on. But then he kissed her again and touched her and she didn’t want it to stop.

She was level-headed enough to know it was only a holiday romance and when he asked for her address, so they could write, she had smiled and said she was moving to university so she didn’t have one yet.

She never saw him again.

In the dining room, Norma got out her work diary. She made a list of current pupils and their phone numbers, seven in all not counting Yvette. Then she began to ring them. She rehearsed what she would say, a bereavement in the family, giving up teaching. In five cases she got an answerphone which made it easier. She spoke to a further three parents who sounded either shocked or embarrassed (they obviously knew about Don) and were as eager to keep things brief as she was. The other call, the last, was to Leo Johnson’s house. Leo answered and said no, neither his mum nor dad were in. What did she want? Leo had an uncomfortable habit of saying whatever came into his head. Norma decided not to go into the reasons for terminating the lessons but just said, ‘I’m not going to be doing lessons anymore, Leo, can you let your parents know?’

‘Not on Saturday?’

‘That’s right. Not on Saturday. Not ever. I’m retiring.’

‘You are quite old,’ he said.

‘I am, yes,’ she said, ‘bye-bye, Leo.’

‘Bye, Miss. Miss?’ he said quickly.

‘Yes Leo?’

‘Was that man your husband? The one what was shot?’

‘Yes,’ Norma said.

‘Who shot him?’

‘Nobody knows,’ she said, ‘the police are trying to find out.’

‘OK Miss, bye Miss.’

Norma hung up the phone. She stared at the paper beside it where she had scrawled
dead
,
dead
,
dead
over and over and underlined it. ‘Oh, Don,’ she whispered.

She heard the door, and his footsteps and, shivering, she stumbled to the hall.

But there was no one there.

Just her.

Alone.