‘They’ll have to strike him off,’ Richard said.
‘All that training,’ Janine said, ‘down the drain. Now, the post-mortem holds no surprises: our victim is in good health. There was nothing recovered that could lead us to the identity of the assailant or assailants. And I’ve had word through that the formal identification was made by Dr Gupta. So, looking afresh, what do we think? Is a botched robbery still the most likely scenario?’
‘It doesn’t explain the attack on Halliwell’s car several hours earlier,’ said Shap.
There were murmurs of agreement. ‘For that,’ Shap went on, ‘we’re looking for a black vehicle with a powerful engine, and the Range Rover seen by Dr Gupta on the Monday evening fits the specs.’
‘If it’s not an attempted burglary then what?’ Janine said.
‘Gang members, novices or younger brothers upping the stakes to make an impression, it’s a cold-blooded hit and Halliwell’s a random choice,’ said Richard.
‘He was in the wrong place at the wrong time?’ Janine said. ‘I still find it hard to see Halliwell as a gang target. The surgery’s off the beaten track, if they were out to shoot someone why go there to do it?’
No one came up with any answers on that so Janine said, ‘Other angles?’
‘Can we rule out the family?’ Richard said.
‘There’s no kids, just the wife,’ Lisa said.
‘Anything to suggest her involvement?’ Janine said. ‘Lisa, Shap, you broke the news?’
‘She seemed genuinely upset.’ Lisa said, ‘She thought we were there about the damage to the car. She went into shock when she heard.’
‘She could have been practising in front of the mirror,’ Shap said.
‘Shap,’ Janine said, ‘it’s your faith in human nature gets me every time. OK, no concerns around the wife – but let’s be thorough, Lisa check out that her earlier pupils did have their lessons as she said.’
Janine looked at the boards. ‘Butchers, what have we got on patients so far?’
Butchers held up a DVD. ‘Marcie Young’s inquest. Janine nodded for him to play it and the team looked to the large screen up to the left of the incident boards. Butchers played the section where Adele Young gave her reaction to the reporters outside the court. ‘Nothing will bring Marcie back but that doesn’t mean I do nothing. It doesn’t stop here,’ she said firmly. She looked to be mixed race like her daughter, Janine thought. A black man behind her, a family member presumably – Marcie’s father, Janine wondered – pushed forward. ‘This isn’t justice, this is a mockery.’ He stabbed his fingers in the air. But Adele Young stopped him, ‘Wait!’ She turned back to the press. ‘We’ll get an independent review for Marcie and if that doesn’t work we’ll go to the ombudsman. These professionals need to start listening to us, to the families. And we need to stand up for ourselves and for the ones that are vulnerable, like Marcie, because no-one listens to them.’
‘Good speech,’ Janine said.
‘She’s got an axe to grind,’ Richard said.
‘Yeah, but she’s going through the official channels. It’ll be a fair few years before she’s exhausted all the options. At that stage, maybe she’ll think about taking it into her own hands.’
‘Now someone’s beaten her to it,’ Shap said, ‘maybe someone else who thought the official route was a waste of time.’
‘Another disgruntled patient? Could be,’ Janine said. ‘Butchers you’re talking to everyone who had an appointment with Halliwell on Tuesday. Use Shap if you need extra legs. And keep your ears open at the surgery.’
Chapter 17
The methadone replacement programme had a mixed press, Adele knew that. Some people hailed it as a proven route to breaking addiction, others pointed to a number of pitfalls, the addicts who sold the methadone to buy heroin, the problem of withdrawal from the methadone itself.
It was a chance, Adele thought, and Marcie responded better than she had imagined. It was still difficult to accept her daughter was taking the drug. Marcie usually did so in private in her bedroom, the dosage carefully set to give her just enough relief from the craving for heroin. Methadone mimicked the effects too, the rush, the slump of energy, nodding off. It was important to support her in altering her lifestyle and routine, to avoid other drug users, stay clear of the lifestyle, the locations of that world, the GP had explained.
Adele did all she could to encourage her. It would have helped if Marcie had been allowed back to school but she’d been excluded, no one wanted a junkie in the classroom. Or if she could have worked, that would’ve helped with her confidence but at almost fifteen she could only do a few hours and people in the area knew she was a user. She would not be trusted, not even to wash pots, until she had proved herself. Maybe she’d go to college then, Adele thought. Find her feet, learn a trade, have a brighter future.
He’s cut my dose,’ Marcie had said slamming her bag onto the kitchen counter.
‘Already?’
‘Cut it in half.’ There was confusion in her eyes and panic too.
Adele felt an answering burst of alarm. ‘Why? Did he say why?’
‘Just said it’s the best thing, so I don’t get too dependent.’
Of course you’re dependent, Adele thought, you’re an addict, this is a substitute. ‘I’ll have a word with him,’ Adele said, ‘we’ll go in tomorrow. Tell them it’s too soon. Yes?’
Marcie nodded.
Adele had to argue with the receptionist to get in to see him but she held her ground, just kept repeating that there was a serious problem with Marcie’s medication that she needed to discuss with Dr Halliwell. It sounded silly after the third repetition but she kept her voice level and maintained eye contact, with Marcie fidgeting at her side, and as the queue built up behind her she felt the pressure increase on the woman, who finally said, ‘Well, I can’t give you a time, he’s fully booked all morning.’
‘Whenever,’ Adele said. ‘We need to see the doctor and we need to see him today.’
They waited an hour and twenty-five minutes before an apparent no-show meant they got called in.
He greeted them by name. He had a grandfatherly style, smiling, at least to start with.
‘We feel the reduction in Marcie’s dosage is too much, too soon,’ Adele said.
The smile disappeared.
‘I can assure you,’ he said, ‘that I’m satisfied she has stabilized on the current dose and best practice is now to reduce the amount.’
‘But she’s not-’
He held up a finger to silence her, his eyes now flat and cold. ‘We do not simply want to replace one addiction with another.’
‘It’s not enough,’ Marcie said, shakily.
His eyes flicked her way and back. ‘I’ll be the best judge of that,’ he said. ‘In my opinion your best chance of recovery from drug abuse rests in sticking with my treatment plan. Otherwise we are all wasting our time.’
Adele felt a flush of anger, the afterburn of resentment. ‘Based on what?’ she said, sounding more bullish than she meant to.
‘Based on a lifetime’s experience in medical practice.’
‘We could get a second opinion,’ Adele said.
‘That is your prerogative. The relationship between doctor and patient is one of trust and cooperation. If that breaks down…’
He was threatening them, the arrogant wanker. Adele had no idea how easy or hard it might be to find a new GP, to get the help Marcie needed. And if it took some time, if there was a gap in her treatment, she could soon be back on the streets.
‘A cut in half is a big step,’ Adele said, ‘and patients must vary. If that was staggered, say over a month or two.’ She spoke too quickly, babbling.
Dr Halliwell watched her with unforgiving eyes and then said, ‘If I thought that was appropriate then that’s what I would have done. We can’t all be experts.’
Marcie made a little sound, a sigh or a laugh, Adele couldn’t tell.