Cath Staincliffe - Desperate Measures

Dr Halliwell gave his condolences when he arrived in the early afternoon. He said he’d finished his home calls and thought it was best to visit Roy last so he could take as much time as they needed. Roy offered him tea but the doctor said he was popping home after this. He explained that, as Peggy’s death was expected, Roy was free to call the undertaker and could take the doctor’s death certificate to the registry office.

‘She was at home with you, where she wanted to be,’ Dr Halliwell said.

Roy gave a nod.

‘It will get easier, life goes on,’ the GP said.

Roy bit his cheek, didn’t trust himself to answer. He took the piece of paper from the doctor and put it on the arm of the chair.

‘There’ll be a lot to sort out now, with all the arrangements,’ Dr Halliwell said. ‘It’ll keep you busy. But you may find things a bit harder after that, with time on your hands. Any problems sleeping, anything like that, do come and see me. Now I’ll leave you to it unless there’s anything else?’ He spread his hands.

Rory shook his head.

Once Dr Halliwell had gone, Roy picked up the death certificate, his hands shaking, the paper trembling and the words shivering on the page.

Now, Roy pulled up outside the house and parked.

Inside, the curtains were still closed, the place cold. He had turned the heating off. He sat in the chair in the room and closed his eyes and imagined Peggy’s hand in his.

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?