Death of a Prime Suspect

by Paul Edmund Norman

‘You’re going to stick around, then?’ Thompson asked Vanessa.

            ‘For a while, yes. Alex and I have more or less picked up where we left off. It may lead to something.’

            She had tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to talk about Sharringford. She smiled, reminding him of Shirley, and Sally, and he smiled back.

            ‘There are an awful lot of loose ends, you know,’ she said, and he nodded.

            ‘An awful lot,’ he agreed.

            'I seem to recall you sitting in this room two years ago, Thompson, complaining of the same thing you are complaining of now.'

            Thompson nodded imperceptibly. Parkinson pressed a key and the computer displayed a list of consultations between him and Thompson.

            'Yes, there it is. I referred you to the guts man at the QE2. You chose not to go.'

            Still he said nothing.

            'Have you lost weight?'

            'A little.'

            'Step onto the scales, will you. The last recorded weight I have is from two years ago. You were fifteen stones and three pounds.'

            Thompson stepped out of his shoes and onto the scales.

            'Now you're......just under fourteen stones. Rapid weight loss?'

            Thompson shrugged his massive shoulders.

            'I told you then I thought you might need treatment.'

            'Something came up. I had to cancel the appointment.'

            'You could have made another.'

            'There was no time.'

            'Now you expect me to do something for you. I'm sorry, Thompson. You've probably left it too late. There are treatments available. They are not pleasant, and there is no guarantee that in your case, with the disease so far advanced......'

            'That's it, then?'

            'You're a fool! An utter fool! You have a young wife, a young family!  What will become of them?'

            'They're provided for.'

            'You can't compensate them for your loss!'

            'I suppose not.'

            'And don't think I'm sympathetic. We get paid good money to tell people what's wrong with them and to advise them what they should do to put it right. You ignored my advice. You chose to postpone important treatment.....'

            'I didn't think it was that bad.'

            'I told you in September two years ago that it was already bad! I referred you to Pocha at the QE2. I can't do more than that. I don't even get told that you cancelled! What were you thinking of, man!'

            'I'm sorry, Ray.'

            'You don't deserve my help. There are mothers and children out there in the waiting room, and old people, who come to me for help and advice. They take it, and some of them get better! You think because you're in a high risk, high profile job, you can please yourself, postpone treatment and come back later when it's too late and expect me to sort you out!'

            Thompson realised that the doctor's anger was directed at the fact that there was nothing he could say or do to alleviate his condition. He suddenly felt extremely vulnerable.

            'Cancer is an indiscriminate killer, Thompson. If we catch it early enough, we can stop some of the damage. Christ! It's just like your own job!  You catch murderers so that they can't murder again! Just think of cancer as a murderer! It has to be caught! Early on!'

            Thompson stood up and put on his jacket.

            'Where are you going?'

            'I thought you said.....'

            'Sit down!'

Parkinson picked up the telephone and pressed a button.

            'Jean, get me Suki Pocha at the QE2 in Lynn, please. Now.'

            The moments passed. 

            Parkinson tapped his fingers restlessly on the polished surface of the desk.

            The telephone rang.

            'Suki? It's Ray Parkinson here. I know. I only ring you when I want something. I have a patient with me who should have seen you two years ago. I'll give you a letter reference if you like? Thompson. Michael Thompson.  Aged forty.....six. Yes. He cancelled. Yes, he's back now, the condition has worsened. Can you see him? Urgently? Thanks. Yes, I'll bring him myself if I have to. Goodbye.'

            He replaced the receiver and turned to Thompson.

            'Two thirty this afternoon.'

            'I can't.....I promised to take Shirley shopping....'

            'Two thirty this afternoon,' Parkinson said firmly. 'It's my afternoon off. I'll drive you.'

            'No. I'll drive myself.'

            'Go shopping in Lynn after.'

            'Ray, what can I expect if I don't have the treatment?'

            'Probably the same as if you have the treatment. Sorry to be so blunt. Frankly I don't rate your chances too highly on this one, Thompson. You might get a couple of years remission. That happens. Then it comes back, a hundred times worse. You think you're in pain now.....'

            'You're trying to frighten me.'

Parkinson nodded slowly.

            'Get out of my consulting room. And don't come back tomorrow with a worse pain and tell me you didn't get to King's Lynn!'

            It was the sort of remark you made if you were pretending to be angry with someone. But Parkinson was not pretending.

            At lunch time, Thompson told his wife that he had to go to the hospital at two thirty.

            'Mike! You promised! No more police work!'

            'I just have to see someone.'

            'Mickey Moore, I suppose!'

            He chose not to answer.

            'We can go on to the town after.'

            'I wanted to go to Norwich!'

            'Tomorrow. Tomorrow we can go to Norwich.'

            'All right. But this is it. Definitely. The finish. How long before the money runs out?'

            'Two years.....maybe three if we're careful. Then I have to start writing my memoirs.'

            'You'd better get started!'

            'We have enough for a while.'

            'The kids need new shoes. Mark needs some bits for his bike. Gail's hockey stick is broken. Sally's.....'

            'There's enough. Enough, all right. Don't worry. Just relax. We have enough money and enough time to enjoy ourselves. The pension is generous. More than adequate.'

            'No more late nights. No more irregular hours. No more leave cancelled.....'

            'Don't go on. You'll drive me back into the force!'

            She put her arms around his neck.

            'I've hated it, really hated it, watching you get caught up with all this danger.....'

            'Someone had to do it, Shirl. Someone still has. I was good at it, that's all.'

            'Time to relax for a while.'

The pain caught him unawares, and he drew his breath in sharply.

            'What's the matter?'

            'Indigestion. That's all. Indigestion.'

            'Make an appointment. See Doctor Parkinson. Go on, make it now.'

            'All right. You go and get ready. I said I'd be at the hospital at two thirty. And we want some time for shopping. I promise it won't take long.'

            She walked to the door.

            'Pick up that phone and make an appointment to see Parkinson.'

            Thompson smiled.

            'Right,' he said.

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