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The final straw came not long after and concerned John Lester, a twenty-year-old heroin addict, found dead in his flat. His father was a rich businessman and had paid a lot of money to have his son treated at a private clinic; the treatment involved inserting under the skin of the groins tiny slow-release beads of heroin, the theory being that this constant supply of heroin would stop the patient craving more, and the supply would eventually decline to zero, thereby gradually weaning him off the drug. This was not a big enough hit for John Lester, though, and he decided to top it up by a heroin injection, which resulted in an overdose costing him his life.

Clive tried to tell Dr Zaitoun that he really ought to read the notes carefully but, as usual, he didn’t listen. He did the post-mortem in his usual ten minutes and wasn’t even going to take blood and urine for toxicology until Clive reminded him. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose we’d better.’

‘What about these beads?’ asked Clive. ‘Best we keep a hold of them just in case?’

Dr Zaitoun looked perplexed for a moment, then: ‘I don’t think we need them.’

Clive said with a frown, ‘I’m not sure . . .’

But the good Dr Zaitoun was definite. ‘No, it will be fine; I’ll have no use for them. The guy died of a heroin overdose. All we need is a level from the blood.’

Clive looked really unhappy, but clamped his jaw shut. ‘OK,’ he said tersely, at which Dr Zaitoun smiled and left the dissection room.

What Clive did next flabbergasted me. He took a scalpel and, opening up both groins, he took out the tiny white beads, putting them into a sterile pot. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

‘Doing his job for him, the twat. This won’t finish here, Michelle, you wait and see. This will jump up and bite him on the arse, this case.’

Clive was right of course. Ed came down to the mortuary a few days later looking a worried man. He sat in the chair by Clive’s desk, while I made him an instant coffee, and Maddie (who had been dealing with undertakers) came and joined us. He asked, ‘So, all in all, what’s the general opinion of Dr Zaitoun?’

I think Ed wasn’t quite sure what hit him as Clive gave him exactly what he thought about Dr Zaitoun, and Maddie and I chipped in with some choice observations. Looking slightly shell-shocked, he sat quietly for a moment, and then groaned. ‘Oh, bugger.’

Clive then made faces at Maddie and me, indicating that we should find other things to do in the mortuary because this was going to be managers’ talk, so we made ourselves scarce. Afterwards, when Ed had gone, Clive gave us the low-down. ‘It’s not only down here that the twat doesn’t function. Apparently half the hospital’s complaining about him.’ As we absorbed this, Clive went on, ‘The last nail in the coffin is that heroin death. The Coroner’s received his report and is seriously shouting the odds about it.’

Trying hard to remember the events of that PM, Maddie and I looked at Clive questioningly, and he explained. ‘His report just goes on about death being due to a heroin overdose and doesn’t mention the implanted beads.’

Maddie asked, ‘Do they matter?’

Clive made a face. ‘Only a lot. According to Ed, this treatment with the beads isn’t licensed. The General Medical Council was already interested and, now that someone’s died, they’ve moved into overdrive.’ I didn’t know much about how this all worked, but I knew enough to realize it was serious. Mention the GMC to a doctor and they will usually go white and start shaking. Clive went on, ‘The Coroner’s not happy that Dr Zaitoun’s report doesn’t go into great detail on the implanted beads and, apparently, he’s had to tell the Coroner he neglected to keep them as evidence.’

Maddie said, ‘But you kept them, didn’t you?’

Clive looked Maddie in the eye, and then grinned suddenly. ‘I haven’t worked here for years not to see a cock-up before it happens.’

This was the beginning of the end as far as Dr Zaitoun was concerned, although it only came slowly. Clive revealed that he had kept the beads and produced