Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [74]
‘I’m sorry,’ said Susannah. ‘I didn’t mean. . . I just don’t see what business it is of yours.’
‘Oh, I agree,’ said Oldfield. ‘It’s none of my business whatsoever. Tell me what I need to know and it will stay that way.’ Susannah got the faintest impression of the man licking his dry lips with a narrow, pallid tongue. ‘If you can’t help me. . . Then it might not just be Dr Bartholomew’s professional integrity that I’m forced to investigate.’
‘I honestly don’t know anything about Liz’s past,’ said Susannah. ‘I’m sorry.’
Oldfield held her gaze for a moment longer, giving Susannah still longer to think of some scrap of information, some nugget that might be useful to him.
Then he turned his back to her, and moved through into the house.
‘A pity,’ he said.
‘Wait!’ said Susannah suddenly. Something had come to mind, some conversation she now barely remembered, a fragment that her subconscious had dredged back to life in barely the nick of time.
Oldfield turned to her, triumphant. ‘Yes?’ he asked quietly.
‘He. . . Joe. . . He did once talk about a stressful time that he and Liz had been through. It was before she came here, though they were both living locally.’
‘Yes?’ Oldfield’s eyes twitched in anticipation.
‘Something about a patient who died. . . It was. . . No, I don’t remember now.’
Oldfield almost laughed. ‘But, my dear, you must. You simply must remember.’
Susannah threw her cigarette to the floor, stamped on it, trying to get the gears of her mind working. ‘A mercy killing. That was the phrase he used.
A bloke in his forties, I think. Liz was one of the doctors that assisted his suicide.’
‘And did Mr Bartholomew say what happened?’
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‘I think it went to court. Liz was found innocent and the GMC took no further action against her.’
‘Thank you,’ said Oldfield. ‘That’s just the sort of thing I’ve been searching for.
Something as important as this should have been stated on Dr Bartholomew’s application.’
He looked up at the great, dark house that
dwarfed them both, clearly dreaming of the moment when he would be in charge. ‘I am in your debt, my dear.’ He paused, clearly enjoying the moment.
‘I don’t think it would be wrong of me to suggest that we might be seeing a few changes around here in the very near future.’
With a final nod of thanks, and a cold, grey smile, Oldfield disappeared inside the building.
131
Fourteen
Basket Case
(Where’s Your Head At?)
Laska found Liz’s door open. The office beyond was impeccably tidy with barely a sheet of paper or a folder out of place. The only jarring element was a series of framed cartoons on the walls; the one closest to Laska was of a patient lying down on a couch while a doctor took notes. The psychiatrist, who resembled Sigmund Freud, was saying ‘I’d like you to join my research group. There are just ten of us – myself, Mr Smith, and Mr Smith’s eight other personalities.’
Liz looked up from behind the desk and noticed what Laska was staring at.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘It’s not very funny, is it?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that,’ said Laska cautiously. For all she knew, the artist could be Liz’s brother or something. ‘I mean, it could be worse. It could have been a variation on You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it helps.’
‘You know, if I go to one more dinner party where someone says that to me. . . Well, I might not be responsible for my actions.’
Laska was still staring at the cartoon. ‘And, of course, that type of “split personality” isn’t what schizophrenia is all about. It’s the fragmentation of one’s psychological functioning.’
Liz nodded. ‘Mike is always saying how well read you are.’
Laska took an automatic step back from the framed picture. ‘Yeah, well,’
she said dismissively. ‘That’s just head knowledge. Any idiot can read books.’
‘But to want to read about such things, when you yourself have had psychiatric problems. . . Don’t do yourself down, Laska, that’s pretty rare.’
‘I suppose,’ said Laska. ‘Look, Dr Bartholomew. . . Liz. . .