Stuart Pawson - Deadly Friends

Natasha had known Dr. Jordan about three years. She met him at the clinic when, she said, she was having her nose fixed. Since then they'd been very close but she knew little about his other acquaintances or his work. It looked as if the doc lived in parallel universes: one at weekends with his showbiz friends, and in the real world from Monday to Friday.

A mobile phone warbled on a bookshelf. Genghis picked it up and took it out of the room. I don't know whether it was for privacy or because he was well-mannered, but I suspected the latter and warmed a little towards him. I was asking Natasha if Dr. Jordan had ever told her about any problems with the anti-abortionists when Genghis returned. He hovered close to her, like a humming bird, as she said: "No, I'm afraid he never mentioned anything like that."

When she finished speaking he said: "Shall I make us all some coffee?

How do you like it, Charlie?"

"Black please," I replied, 'with nothing in it." I was trying to cut down on the sugar, so I might as well impress them with my sophistication.

"That was Curtis," he told Natasha. "They can't come this weekend.

Ewan has lost a filling. He's had a temporary one done but he's to see his orthodontist on Saturday."

"Oh, the poor darling," Natasha sympathised.

"Did you notice," I began, trying to drag the conversation away from Ewan's molars and back to my murder enquiry, 'any changes in the doctor's moods or behaviour at any time? Was anybody putting any pressure on him in any way?"

"Who, for instance?"

"Well, were any ex-girlfriends causing him aggro? Then there's the drugs thing. Do you think he was under any pressure to supply anyone?

Did he have any worries that he wouldn't discuss with you?"

She was silent for a few seconds, looking passably thoughtful. "He was screwing someone at the clinic," she declared, as indifferent as if she were disclosing the colour of his eyes.

"Who?"

"I don't know. I told him I didn't want to know."

"Someone single or someone's wife?"

"I think she was married."

"Well, that's something for us to look at. Anything else?"

"There was something. I remembered after Mr. Makinson called and wondered if I ought to mention it, but he said you were looking for this drugs man and we were fairly certain it was him, so I didn't."

"And what was it?"

"I think someone must have reported Clive formal er mal"

"Malpractice?" I suggested.

"That's it malpractice sometime in the past. I hadn't known him very long a few months and Ewan was doing the pilot for Emergency Doctor.

Did you see it?"

"No, I'm afraid I didn't."

"It was ever so good. I can't think why they didn't go ahead with the series. Well, apparently, he'd been reported to the General Medical what sit for doing a really dangerous operation on the captain of this boat, during a storm. He'd had a heart attack, and the doctor revived him by giving him an electric shock from a table lamp. It was terribly dramatic' "It sounds it," I said. "And was he all right?"

"Who?"

"The captain."

"Oh, him. Yes. And they were all saved. We've a copy of the video somewhere, if you'd like to borrow it."

"Video? Oh, I see. Er, some other time, perhaps, when we've solved this, er, case. So what had this to do with Clive?"

Genghis came in with the coffees and a plate of biscuits and stood near me. "I brought the cream and sugar," he said, 'so you can put your own in." His crotch was level with my face and it was impossible not to notice his preferred side for dressing. The right, just for the record. But he knew how to make good coffee. I told him so and he blushed.

"He's a darling," Natasha said. "He's been very good to me since… since poor Clive was murdered."

For a second or two I thought she was going to show some emotion. "You were telling me about this video," I said, reaching for a biscuit.

"Oh, yes. Well, Ewan asked Clive about how a doctor would feel if he was charged with mal er mal."

"Malpractice."

"Malpractice. Clive threw his hands up and said: "Tell me all about it!"

"As if he'd been through it himself?"

"That's right. He was a big help to Ewan, first-hand experience and all that, but you'd have to ask him about it. I was rehearsing for Humpty Dumpty and didn't need the distraction."

"Of course not."

I was hungry so I had another biscuit and finished my coffee. "That's been very useful, Natasha," I said. "I'd better be on my way before I'm snowed in with you. Was there anything else?"

"No, except…"

"Go on."

"No, it's nothing."

"Now you'll have to tell me."

"Well, I thought of all sorts of things at first. You do, don't you, when someone's been murdered. Who could have done it? And all that.

Should we have noticed something and perhaps prevented it happening?

And then, when Mr. Makinson told us about this drugs man, it all seemed so obvious."

"I see what you mean," I said. "So what was it?"

"It's just that… he used to play squash. He was mad about it. Even took me, once. I was hopeless!" She giggled at the memory of it.

"And what happened?"

"He just stopped going. One weekend I asked him if he'd played at all through the week and he said he'd stopped. Didn't want to play anymore."

"When was this?"

"About a year ago. No, more than that. Summer before last, if I'm not mistaken."

"Where did he play?"

"In Heckley. It must have been near the hospital because he used to play after work or at lunchtime or something."

"Right," I said.

"Do you think it's important?"

I shook my head and smiled. "No, but this malpractice charge might be."

"I'm sorry. We really would like to help you catch whoever did this to poor Clive. He was a lovely man."

I asked a few questions about Dales Diary and the music business. It was interesting, and I was reluctant to leave that fire. Before I was in danger of overstaying my welcome I said: "I'd better go, but there's just one last question I'd like to ask." She looked at me as I picked her photo from the floor. "Will you sign this for me, please?"

There was a thin layer of snow over everything, like a dust sheet over furniture, waiting for the decorators to arrive, but the wipers swept it aside easily enough. Genghis advised me to go the long way, through Burnsall, where the hills were less steep, and to come back if I had any problems. A few cars had preceded me and the snow on the main road had already turned to slush, but the traffic was crawling. We must be the worst winter drivers in the world. It was nearly ten when I arrived home. Annabelle had left a message to call her on the ansa phone "You haven't been working until now, have you, Charles?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied, 'but you could hardly call it work."

"Why is that?"

"I've been to interview an actress called Natasha Wilde. She's the leading lady in Dales Diary, on television."

"Really! And what has she done?"

"Nothing. She was supposed to be the girlfriend of our dead consultant, but she hardly played the devastated fiancee. I've seen greater expressions of sorrow over a spilt drink."

"Perhaps she was acting being brave."

"Perhaps."

"Charles," Annabelle said, hesitantly. "About this weekend."

"I've booked a table at the Wool Exchange, for eight on Friday," I told her.

"Oh."

"Is there a problem?"

"No. No. But Xav rang me earlier tonight and said he'd like to introduce me to a designer that he's thinking of engaging. Apparently he's sacked the others they were taking advantage of him and their suggestions were second rate, as you know. He wants me to be there when he talks to these other people. He says he respects my opinion."

"Well he's right about that. But I thought you were going to do the designs."