‘Dr Halliwell,’ Richard said, ‘he would usually carry a bag?’
‘Yes, a briefcase,’ said Ms Ling.
‘What would be in it?’ Janine said.
‘His prescription pad and first aid kit,’ said Ms Ling.
‘Any drugs?’ said Richard.
‘Only small amounts, single doses for emergency use,’ Ms Ling said.
‘Thank you,’ Janine said, ‘the surgery will have to remain closed until we have completed our inquiries here.’
‘Of course. I’ll get the staff details for you,’ Ms Ling said.
Janine nodded to Butchers to accompany the manager.
Lisa came over. ‘Boss, this is the doctor who was in the news yesterday over the Marcie Young inquest.’
‘Really?’ Janine, on a rare day off, hadn’t caught the news.
‘He’ll be getting more than his fifteen minutes, then,’ said Shap.
Janine glanced at him, always pushing it, was Shap: the cynical comments, the asides and put-downs. He smiled at her. Leave it, Janine thought, pick your battles.
‘Marcie Young, that was an overdose, wasn’t it?’ Janine said.
‘Her mother thought the GP was to blame,’ Richard said.
‘The coroner returned a verdict of misadventure/accidental death,’ Lisa said.
‘We’ll include that in the briefing, ‘Janine said. At this stage it was impossible to tell what was significant and what was trivia. The only way not to overlook essential details was to collect everything and use systems to collate and cross-reference all the data so it was accessible to the team at a moment’s notice.
A news crew had pitched up and wanted the police to make a statement but Janine had spoken to someone at the Press Office and agreed that no details at all would be released until next of kin had been informed.
Butchers and Shap and Lisa had been contacting other practice staff and now reported back.
‘We’ve spoken to everyone but Fraser McKee, one of the other two GPs, the registrar,’ Butchers said. ‘He’s not answering his phone or his mobile.’
‘You take a car over to his house,’ Janine said, ‘and see if he’s there. Shap, Lisa, can you notify next of kin?’
Shap looked pissed off. It was not a job anyone liked doing. He’d probably palm it off on Lisa but then Lisa needed to gain experience in all aspects of the job so that was no bad thing.
Janine watched them go and then walked to her own car. She needed to get back to the station and set all the wheels in motion for the launch of a murder inquiry.
Chapter 6
Butchers parked outside the new-build townhouse where Dr Fraser McKee lived. One of three stuck on the side of a fenced-off brown site where further development was planned.
The central house, McKee’s was a wreck. The door hanging off and two windows smashed. He stared for a moment at the scene of destruction. Then rang into HQ.
‘Can we have an area car to 4, Rosedale View, Stretford. Serious criminal damage to the property, the area is going to need a forensic exam and the building secured.’
His request logged, he made his way up to the house. On the threshold he paused and called out, ‘Dr McKee? Is there anyone there? This is the police.’ No response. Butchers couldn’t hear any sound from inside the house.
Butchers edged past the lopsided door and into the open plan living-room and kitchen-diner. The place was a wreck. Bookshelves had been tipped over, a large TV, its screen fractured, was on the floor next to a sofa. The sofa had been slashed and foam stuffing pulled out. A coffee table lay splintered. It looked like a sledgehammer had been taken to the place.
The kitchen was similarly ruined: cabinets buckled and broken, appliances (kettle, toaster, coffee-maker) ripped from their sockets and bashed up. Crockery and foodstuffs were strewn about.
Upstairs the destruction continued. Someone, Butchers thought, had been very, very angry. McKee himself – that would account for the fact that he hadn’t rung and reported the attack? Or someone else? Had McKee even made it home?
Butchers logged into the database and established what car the GP owned. Then he made a second call. ‘Sergeant Butchers, to control. Issue all units to be on the lookout for a grey Peugeot, four zero seven. Registration: mike, alpha, zero, six, foxtrot, mike, delta. And the registered owner, currently missing, Doctor Fraser McKee: white male, late twenties, medium build, dark hair. Thank you.’
Butchers rang the boss next. ‘McKee’s not home and his car’s missing. Someone has done his house over big style. I’ve put out an obs for McKee and his car. I’ll speak to the neighbours now, to see if anyone saw what happened, if they’ve heard from him.’
Janine turned to Richard. ‘The photo of McKee?’
Richard held it up.
‘Can we get it copied?’ Janine said. ‘McKee’s car’s gone, Butchers says his house is wrecked. Looks like someone’s got it in for him. The whole thing just got bigger.’
‘Could he be a second victim?’ Richard said.
Janine shook her head, it was an appalling prospect.
‘Or he’s involved?’ Richard said.
‘And he’s demolished his own house to put us off the scent?’ Janine said.
Richard shrugged.
If he was the second victim, Janine thought, then who was behind it all? Two GPs targeted. Why? It seemed so bizarre. Some cases, some killings, it was obvious who’d done what and why. Most people knew their killers, most killers left plenty of evidence and it was only a matter of time before they were caught, questioned and charged.
But this? Early days, Janine told herself, the picture would become clearer. The priority now was to find Fraser McKee and hopefully find him safe and well.
Lisa looked up at Dr Halliwell’s home. It was similar to the surgery, perhaps a bit smaller but still a sizable detached house with stained glass windows and black and white trim to the roof. Two lavender shrubs grew in huge urns either side of the door. Piano music could be heard coming from inside. The front garden was laid with paved brick. Everything said des res apart from the car at the far side of the drive which was badly crushed. The driver’s side, which was facing them, was caved in, the windows crazed, the front end crumpled. It looked just like someone had forced it against the boundary wall. Lisa glanced at Shap, what on earth was going on?
‘That’s not a bit of mindless vandalism, is it?’ Shap said. ‘That’s been rammed. It’s a total write-off. We’ve had Halliwell shot, McKee’s house damaged, now Halliwell’s car…’
They walked up to the door and Shap knocked.
The music carried on and a woman opened the door. She was thin with ash-blonde hair, and was dressed in a pleated navy skirt and powder blue blouse, pearls at her neck and in her ears. A classic look, Lisa thought, timeless. The sort of thing you could get in the boring bits at M &S if you wanted. Never go out of fashion. Never in fashion either, as far as Lisa was concerned.
‘Mrs Halliwell? Norma?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m DC Goodall,’ Lisa said, ‘and this is Sergeant Shap, may we come in?’
The woman gave a frown. ‘They told Don they’d send someone tomorrow.’
What’s she on about, Lisa wondered, crossed wires somewhere?
Norma Halliwell showed them into the hallway, black and white tiles on the floor, polished wood banisters and thick cream carpets on the stairs. Cream, thought Lisa, how did they keep them clean?
‘Will it take long?’ Norma Halliwell said, ‘Only I have a pupil.’ She gestured to the front room where the piano music was playing.
‘Perhaps you could ask them to leave?’ Lisa said.
Norma Halliwell made a little sound of surprise.
‘It could take a while,’ Lisa said.
For a moment it looked like she might argue the toss about it but then the woman said, ‘Very well.’ She disappeared into the room. The music stopped.