Page 32 of Troubled Blood

“He was something of a bully, Brenner. He thought our receptionists were no better than they should be. Complained about their skirt lengths, their hairstyles.

“But actually, although he was especially rude to ladies, it’s my opinion that he didn’t really like people.”

“Odd,” said Strike. “For a doctor.”

“Oh,” said Gupta, with a chuckle, “that’s by no means as unusual as you might think, Mr. Strike. We doctors are like everybody else. It is a popular myth that all of us must love humanity in the round. The irony is that our biggest liability as a practice was Brenner himself. He was an addict!”

“Really?”

“Barbiturates,” said Gupta. “Barbiturates, yes. A doctor couldn’t get away with it these days, but he over-ordered them in massive quantities. Kept them in a locked cupboard in his consulting room. He was a very difficult man. Emotionally shut down. Unmarried. And this secret addiction.”

“Did you talk to him about it?” asked Strike.

“No,” said Gupta sadly. “I put off doing so. I wanted to be sure of my ground before I broached the subject. From quiet inquiries I made, I suspected that he was still using his old practice address in addition to ours, doubling his order and using multiple pharmacies. It was going to be tricky to prove what he was up to.

“I might never have realized if Janice hadn’t come to me and said she’d happened to walk in on him when his cupboard was open, and seen the quantities he’d amassed. She then admitted that she’d found him slumped at his desk in a groggy state one evening after the last patient had left. I don’t think it ever affected his judgment, though. Not really. I’d noticed that at the end of the day he might have been a little glazed, and so on, but he was nearing retirement. I assumed he was tired.”

“Did Margot know about this addiction?” asked Strike.

“No,” said Gupta, “I didn’t tell her, although I should have done. She was my partner and the person I ought to have confided in, so we could decide what to do.

“But I was afraid she’d storm straight into Dr. Brenner’s consulting room and confront him. Margot wasn’t a woman to back away from doing what she thought was right, and I did sometimes wish that she would exercise a little more tact. The fallout from a confrontation with Brenner was likely to be severe. Delicacy was required—after all, we had no absolute proof—but then Margot went missing, and Dr. Brenner’s barbiturate habit became the least of our worries.”

“Did you and Brenner continue working together after Margot disappeared?” asked Strike.

“For a few months, yes, but he retired not long afterward. I continued to work at St. John’s for a short while, then got a job at another practice. I was glad to go. The St. John’s practice was full of bad associations.”

“How would you describe Margot’s relationships with the other people at work?” Strike asked.

“Well, let’s see,” said Gupta, taking a second fig roll. “Dorothy the secretary never liked her, but I think that was out of loyalty to Dr. Brenner. As I say, Dorothy was a widow. She was one of those fierce women who attach themselves to an employer they can defend and champion. Whenever Margot or I displeased or challenged Joseph in any way, our letters and reports were sure to go straight to the bottom of the typing pile. It was a joke between us. No computers in those days, Mr. Strike. Nothing like nowadays—Aisha,” he said, indicating the top right-hand picture on the wall behind him, “she types everything herself, a computer in her consulting room, everything computerized, which is much more efficient, but we were at the mercy of the typist for all our letters and reports.

“No, Dorothy didn’t like Margot. Civil, but cold. Although,” said Gupta, who had evidently just remembered something, “Dorothy did come to the barbecue, which was a surprise. Margot held a barbecue at her house one Sunday, the summer before she disappeared,” he explained. “She knew that we weren’t pulling together as a team, so she invited us all around to her house. The barbecue was supposed to…” and, wordlessly this time, he again illustrated the point by interlacing his fingers. “I remember being surprised that Dorothy attended, because Brenner had declined. Dorothy brought her son, who was thirteen or fourteen, I think. She must have given birth late, especially for the seventies. A boisterous boy. I remember Margot’s husband telling him off for smashing a valuable bowl.”

A fleeting memory of his nephew Luke carelessly treading on Strike’s new headphones in St. Mawes crossed the detective’s mind.

“Margot and her husband had a very nice house out in Ham. The husband was a doctor too, a hematologist. Big garden. Jheel and I took our girls, but as Brenner didn’t go, and Dorothy was offended by Margot’s husband telling off her son, Margot’s objective wasn’t achieved, I’m afraid. The divisions remained entrenched.”

“Did everyone else attend?”

“Yes, I think so. No—wait. I don’t think the cleaning lady —Wilma!” said Dr. Gupta, looking delighted. “Her name was Wilma! I had no idea I still knew it… but her surname… I’m not even sure I knew it back then… No, Wilma didn’t come. But everyone else, yes.

“Janice brought her own little boy—he was younger than Dorothy’s and far better behaved, as I remember. My girls spent the afternoon playing badminton with the little Beattie boy.”

“Was Janice married?”

“Divorced. Her husband left her for another woman. She got on with it, raised her son alone. Women like Janice always do get on with it. Admirable. Her life wasn’t easy when I knew her, but I believe she married again, later, and I was glad when I heard about it.”

“Did Janice and Margot get along?”

“Oh yes. They had the gift of being able to disagree without taking personal offense.”

“Did they disagree often?”

“No, no,” said Gupta, “but decisions must be made in a working environment. We were—or tried to be—a democratic business…

“No, Margot and Janice were able to have rational disagreements without taking offense. I think they liked and respected each other. Janice was hit hard by Margot’s disappearance. She told me the day I left the practice that a week hadn’t passed since it happened that she hadn’t dreamed about Margot.

“But none of us were ever quite the same afterward,” said Dr. Gupta quietly. “One does not expect a friend to vanish into thin air without leaving a single trace behind them. There is something—uncanny about it.”

---