Cath Staincliffe - Desperate Measures

Speak to your GP about lifestyle change and weight reduction. ‘I’ve talked to all the afternoon surgery appointments from Tuesday and there’s nothing there,’ Butchers said. ‘It’s like Dr Finlay’s casebook, not a bad word from any of them, the man’s a saint. Thought I’d do the home visits next, confirm the timing?’

‘Who were they?’

Butchers picked up his notes from the desk. ‘Marjorie Keysham, she’s in a nursing home, Halliwell prescribed diamorphine for her. He also called to certify the cause of Peggy Gant’s death, she died at home after an illness, husband’s name is Roy.’

‘Shap can try Keysham, if she’s up to having visitors – send him the details. You check with Roy Gant,’ the boss said.

Shap hated places like this. All floral curtains and the smell of piss under air-freshener. A load of old women with grey perms and twin-sets. And now the ones he was talking to, treating him like an idiot.

He repeated, ‘Dr Halliwell came on Tuesday afternoon, he left a prescription for you.’

Both of the old biddies, Marjorie Keysham and the Matron, shook their heads, acting like he was the one with missing marbles.

‘Tuesday afternoon, diamorphine for Marjorie Keysham.’ Maybe it needed repeating a few times to permeate, Shap thought.

‘I was here,’ the Matron said, ‘we had no visit from Dr Halliwell.’

‘And Tuesday, I go to my reading group,’ Marjorie Keysham said. ‘Besides, I’d remember if I’d seen the doctor, especially if he’d given me morphine. Fantastic stuff, had it when I broke my hip. I’d remember, Sergeant: I’ve got cancer not dementia.’

Both of them bounced their heads up and down like two nodding dogs.

Had Butchers got it arse over tit or had Dr Halliwell been playing hooky? Pretending he was off on home visits when he was actually on the golf course or screwing some bit on the side. Something was going on.

Shap explained the situation to Butchers who got all excited about it, something to do with the prescriptions. He told Shap to come to the surgery and said the boss would want to be in on it too.

When they had all arrived, Butchers showed them the pattern he’d found: a list of patients, all with addresses at nursing homes, all with prescriptions for diamorphine.

‘I’ve rung three of them,’ he said, ‘and it’s the same story. Halliwell has invented these visits and then he’s written the prescriptions.’

‘Always diamorphine? Always nursing homes?’ the boss said.

‘Yes,’ Butchers said.

‘Marjorie Keysham’s prescription was cashed in by Halliwell at Picket’s pharmacy, near the nursing home,’ Shap said. ‘The pharmacy say it’s not uncommon for a GP to pop in with prescriptions. But the actual prescription was for three times the amount that Halliwell entered on the computer records when he got back to work.’

‘And no-one compares the two amounts?’ Richard said.

‘Apparently not,’ Shap said. ‘The only way he’d be found out is if another doctor got called out to the patient, and discovered there’d been no visit, and they’d not had any medicine. Like I did.’

‘What about the drugs budget,’ the boss said, ‘that must have been on the high side?’

‘If he’s been at it for years then it might not be that obvious,’ Richard said.

‘What was Halliwell doing with the drugs?’ the boss said.

‘Flogging them,’ Shap said.

‘Who to?’ the boss said. ‘Find that out and maybe that will lead us to his murderer.’

Back in the incident room, Janine was trying to work out a narrative that fit the evidence to date using Richard as her sounding board. ‘Halliwell and Aaron Matthews were known to each other, Halliwell was his GP. We know Halliwell was stealing drugs and we also know Matthews’ gun killed him. Add in Matthews’ history…’

‘A drug deal gone sour?’ Richard said.

‘It’s a possibility,’ Janine said. ‘And our Dr Halliwell is not exactly the upstanding pillar of the community we thought he was.’

‘Boss. I’ve got the Range Rover, Monday.’

Lisa had been scrolling through CCTV footage of traffic on the high street for Monday and Tuesday evening looking for the Range Rover.

She lined up the footage and played it for them to watch it driving down the high street from the west and then turning off out of view, towards the surgery.

‘Ten to six,’ Lisa said. ‘That’s the only one that matches Dr Gupta’s description, and the time’s right.’

‘Tenner says it’s a knock-off job,’ Shap said, ‘the gang will have used it to run a recce, done the job, then torched it.’

‘The job being to steal Halliwell’s briefcase and the diamorphine?’ Janine said. ‘I don’t know. Yes, the doctor is stealing drugs but the overall amount is chicken feed, a gang dealing in drugs is going to want a much bigger consignment.’

‘Maybe we are back to a splinter group,’ Richard said, ‘youngsters flexing their muscles.’

‘Or Aaron Matthews is a junkie and somehow finds out he can rip off his family doctor for the goods,’ Shap said.

‘How would he find out,’ Janine said, ‘we’ve only just stumbled on it. It’s obviously been the good doctor’s secret for a considerable time.’

Lisa shrugged, ‘I wouldn’t have said Matthews was a junkie.’

‘Tell by looking, can you?’ Shap said.

‘Nothing to show that at his flat, no obvious physical signs,’ Lisa said.

‘And Tuesday?’ Janine said, gesturing to the screen.

‘Nothing,’ Lisa said, ‘this vehicle wasn’t in the area anywhere close to the time of the shooting – not on the tapes and it would have had to pass this camera to reach the surgery.’

Janine sighed, finding the car in the vicinity on the Monday but not on the Tuesday was disappointing.

‘Can we get the plate?’ Richard nodded at the frozen image of the Range Rover.

Lisa wound the tape until the vehicle could be seen from the front and zoomed in. ‘Check it for registered keeper.’

‘It’ll be a knock off,’ Shap repeated.

Lisa accessed the database and typed in the registration number. The screen loaded with the registered owner details.

‘Neil Langan?’ Richard said.

Janine felt a kick in her chest. ‘Langan? We’ve a Dawn Langan. Practice nurse.’

‘Same address?’ Janine asked.

Shap checked Dawn’s details. ‘Yes.’

‘What was Mr Langan doing lurking outside his wife’s place of work on Monday?’ Janine said.

‘Well, he wasn’t giving her a lift home,’ Richard said.

‘Butchers said Dawn was a bit off with him,’ Shap told them, ‘hiding something? She must be sweating cobs.’

Janine rang Butchers at the surgery and explained the situation. Tasked him with speaking to Dawn Langan and establishing her husband’s whereabouts.

‘Dawn, can I have a word?’ Butchers said. ‘It’s actually Neil I hoped to talk to. Is he at home?’

‘No,’ she froze.

‘At work?’

‘No.’

Butchers waited. Dawn’s eyes flicked all over the place.

‘Is that usual?’ Butchers said, ‘Him being off the radar?’

She looked like she’d break, trembling, her chin wobbling, ponytail shivering.

‘Where is he, Dawn?’ Butchers said gently.

‘I don’t know where he is,’ she blurted out, ‘he’s not been into the sorting office. And his phone’s off.’

‘Was he at home in the early hours of Tuesday morning?’ Butchers said, thinking about the attack on Halliwell’s car.

Dawn looked away, as if she daren’t meet Butchers eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered.

‘What about Tuesday evening, around six thirty?’

She didn’t answer. Butchers could hear her breath, jerky and uneven.