Nobody's Perfect

by Douglas Clark

  Christine Blake went on, “Teddy’s been here for donkey’s years. He came from Retail because he couldn’t stand the customers. In those days all the pharmacists here were men. One by one they were promoted or went to better jobs and so, through no fault of his own, Teddy found himself the senior. By then male pharmacists were not available at the salaries Barugt was willing to pay. Pharmacy is about the one profession where women really are taking over from men in a big way, so it was much easier to recruit girls.”

  “So Dieppe got his managership by default?”

  “Entirely. He’s idle. Works harder telling people what he’s got to do than he does doing it. And he’s got no moral courage. In a big firm like this there’s cut-throat competition between departments for shares in the annual expenditure budget. We girls have to fight our own battles. Teddy won’t ask for a thing in case it gets him in bad with the board. And he bows and scrapes if a director even looks at him.”

  “Is there no one to complain to?”

  “Not in this status-ridden company. I’m being frank about Teddy — even disloyal. But he really does drive us up the wall.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “At home with a migraine. He gets one every time there’s a tricky decision to make or there’s a lot of work in.”

  “He went off at lunchtime?”

  She looked sharply at him. “If you knew, why come asking for him?”

  Masters cursed himself and cast about for a facile explanation. “I know he went out at lunchtime. He might have gone home or to a restaurant for lunch and then come back again. Don’t get upset at my inspired guesses.”

  “Detectives are pretty frightening, and murder’s not funny, either.”

  “You know it’s murder?”

  “Would you be here if it wasn’t?”

  “It gives you the something to talk about you were craving just now.”

  “Not a murder among people you know. And not A.A.”

  “You liked Mr Huth?”

  “Liked? How can you like somebody you don’t know? I never saw him from one month’s end to another. But we knew he was fair-minded. That’s the sort of thing you can tell even in the lower ranks. A company takes its lead from the top, and when he wasn’t being slightly megalomaniac, as all big bosses are at times, A.A. was an employee’s dream of a boss. He didn’t interfere himself, he kept slobs like Torr, our Personnel Manager, in place, and he had an eye for improving profits by improving working conditions. He had his drawbacks, but there must be much worse.”

  “What drawbacks?”

  “He didn’t get rid of Teddy and Torr and people like them who make life a misery.”

  “Not drink? Or women? That sort of thing?”

  “If he was a drinker or had women he was very discreet about it. Not a breath of scandal reached us here, and it would have to be some secret if we didn’t get to know about it. No, what I meant was that if you did happen to meet him he was always perfectly charming, but he gave the impression that he was paid such a vast sum every hour of the day and night that for him to spend a minute talking to one of the company’s lesser lights was just pouring money down the drain. It was a peculiar trait, but he gave everybody the same feeling.”

  “In that case, what would be your reaction if you were told he’d called for your personal file?”

  “Good lord, he didn’t, did he?”

  “No. A hypothetical case.”

  “I should be scared stiff.”

  “Of a fair-minded man?”

  “He just didn’t deal with the likes of me. I’m sure he couldn’t fit the name Christine Blake to my particular face. Pay increases are done by departmental directors, so it wouldn’t be anything nice like that. So it could only mean the sack.”

  “Didn’t he ever see departmental managers?”

  “Never. It’s a known thing that he refused to deal with anybody except those who reported direct to him. And that meant directors only unless there was something very special he wanted to ask an expert who was not a director.”

  “You’ve given me a good picture.”

  “Look here, is there something funny going on with the gestapo files?”

  “Gestapo?”

  “That’s what we call them. All sorts of people write reports on anything they like or dislike about us or our work — usually adverse, I suspect — and send them down to Torr for the files. He says it’s to help with deciding on promotions and pay raises, but we think it’s just a particularly nasty brand of American snooping, because we’re never allowed to see what’s written. You know what I mean. Over there they won’t promote a man if his wife’s not just so, no matter what his work’s like. I’m certain it’s Torr’s idea and A.A. was so much out of touch he didn’t know exactly what went on.”

  Masters felt he was beginning to understand the company. Top management could never give him a picture like this. He’d had some qualms about operating in a giant, successful firm. Now he knew that in spite of its sophisticated management techniques it was as prone to anomalies and failures in understanding as any other. He supposed it was a typical set-up, no worse than any other big concern. It succeeded in spite of its shortcomings. He turned to Christine Blake again.

  “Do you make phenobarbitone?”

  “In every known shape, size and form. It’s a useful drug, you know, in spite of the bad reputation it’s got through wrong use. We put it in all our sedatives and euphoriants because it helps in anxiety states, depression, sleeplessness and so on.”

  “These sedatives, they contain only small amounts of phenobarbitone?”

  She nodded.

  “So they’re virtually harmless?”

  “Harmless? Not on your flippin’. All drugs are dangerous. But if you mean are they less dangerous than the pure substance, the answer is yes, but only insofar as somebody would have to take a much bigger overdose before they killed themselves.”

  “What about the pure drug? Do you manufacture that, too?”

  “Of course. It’s useful when properly administered.”

  “For what states?”

  “It’s a sedative, an antispasmodic and a hypnotic. Small doses are sedative and antispasmodic. Larger doses are powerful hypnotic and anticonvulsant.”

  “And those are the only reasons for prescribing it?”

  “Oh, no, there are other conditions where it’s valuable. Epilepsy, tetanus, for spastic children and lots more, but they have to be selected individually by a doctor.”

  “When wouldn’t it be used?”

  She laughed and said, “Whenever possible. But I expect you meant to ask when would it be definitely contraindicated?”

  “If that’s the term meaning it definitely should not be used.”

  She thought for a moment. Then: “It’s not as easy to answer as you might think.”

  “You mean I’m a layman asking the too obvious?”

  “Laymen don’t differentiate between side effects, toxicity and tolerance because they all seem to overlap. I’ll try to sort it out for you.”

  He sat back and filled his pipe while she arranged her thoughts. As he struck a match she began:

  “You don’t often get side effects with small doses. That is, with a quarter or half a grain twice or probably three times a day — that’s a maximum of six quarter-grain tablets. Larger doses, according to the reaction of the patient, can produce drowsiness, probably vertigo and nausea, headache and so on. The absolute maximum dose in twenty-four hours — not a day, please note — is ten grains, or forty quarter-grain tablets.”

  “More than that would kill?”

  “Probably but not certainly. It depends on the timing. I think doses of up to a hundred and fifty grains have been taken and the recipient has lived. But I wouldn’t advise anybody to try it unless there’s a stomach pump handy. I think less than thirty grains would definitely be fatal in the great majority of cases if no treatment was given.”

  “Go on.”

  “As I was s
aying, the maximum therapeutic dose is ten grains, taken only under the closest medical supervision. As much as that can produce delirium, stupor, ataxia — that’s incoordination of voluntary muscular movements — skin eruptions, and a score of other nasties. Those are side effects. Now conditions where phenobarbitone should never be used — that is where it is definitely contraindicated — are chiefly in debilitated patients and those with pulmonary diseases, because it makes the breathing shallow; and large doses should not be given to patients with nephritis — that’s inflammation of the kidneys.”

  He became suddenly more interested than ever. “Nephritis? Would you have that with urinary tract infection?”

  “You could have. One of the most serious of the U.T.I. is pyelonephritis which means — wait for it — inflammation of the kidney and renal pelvis. It can destroy the kidneys if it isn’t cleared up, or if it’s exacerbated.”

  He thought she had the right word. He wondered if Huth’s kidneys had been inflamed with his infection, and if the drug which killed him had exacerbated his complaint in his last few hours. He said, “It’s all very interesting, and I’m sure you’re an expert, but the number of tablets you mentioned seems very high to me. Forty!”

  She smiled and ran her fingers through her hair. It was so straight and simply dressed that the upset made not a ha’porth of difference to her appearance. She said: “It’s very difficult explaining everything at once. I didn’t want to confuse you by telling you there were different sizes of tablet. I’ve stuck to the smallest, which weigh fifteen milligrams, with a quarter of a grain of phenobarb in them. There are half-grain and one-grain tablets, weighing thirty and sixty milligrams each. A who wanted to give a larger dose would use larger tablets, and correspondingly fewer of them. Does that answer your question?”

  “Perfectly. What size are the tablets?”

  “The quarter-grain size is minute. Like those little tablets of saccharin you sweeten tea with. Wait here a moment and I’ll show you some.”

  Masters stood just inside the door and watched unobtrusively as she went to her desk, collected a bunch of keys from the centre drawer, and then opened a grey metal cupboard which he saw was packed with bottles of drugs. She stood for a moment, locating what she wanted, and then took three bottles from a shelf. He was back in his seat before she turned round.

  He examined the different sizes of tablets and then asked, “Are they small for their weight?”

  “Very. They’re hard compressed, and though I don’t know what the excipient is — that’s the inert material the tablets are made of — it must be very dense. I could show you quite a few other tablets which weigh the same but are much bigger.”

  As she poured the tablets back he said, “They’re Dangerous Drugs? Under the Act?”

  “Schedule 4.A. To supply them a chemist needs a doctor’s signature, but not the patient’s.”

  “Who signed for these?”

  “Oh, lord,” she groaned. “Teddy, as Company Pharmacist is responsible for all the legal requirements of the Drug Acts. Don’t tell me you’ve spotted something wrong with his system, otherwise he’ll be away with migraine for a month.”

  “Is the cupboard in your office really secure? It looks to me like a tin box I could open with a bent paper clip.”

  “So you watched! I might have known it. It’s your job, of course. And you’re right about the cupboard, but what are we to do? We have to have sample supplies in this department. If we were to ask for something more secure it would mean a capital requisition for a safe. Teddy would rather die than ask for it, and even if he did, they’d fob him off and refuse to fork out. They’d make us store somewhere else and we’d be chasing up and down stairs all day. We’re very careful, you know.”

  “Are you? Who uses the key, other than yourself?”

  “All the pharmacists.”

  “You keep the keys in your desk drawer?”

  “Always.”

  “Overnight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the office locked?”

  “Good heavens, no. The cleaners have to come in.”

  “Is your desk locked?”

  “Usually. There have been times …”

  “When you’ve forgotten or gone off early? I know. What about lunchtime? Do you all go together?”

  “All the girls. Teddy minds the shop until we get back.”

  “And he’s in here working with the door shut, while anybody can come and go unnoticed in your office where you’ve left your drawer open so that he can get the keys if he wants them.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” she confessed. “This office is a right of way to the back stairs and so many people pass through we never even notice them.”

  “What sort of a check do you keep on your private stocks?”

  “None. But it could be done. There’ll be a signed request from a doctor for every scheduled pill sent out. You’d have to check back through the letter files to find it, though.”

  Masters stood up. “I’d rather you didn’t say too much of what we’ve talked about. You know I’m interested in phenobarbitone, but I may be mistaken, and I don’t want to start rumours.”

  “I’ll stall the girls somehow, but they’ll be like a pack of hungry wolves.”

  “It’s nearly a quarter past five. Hometime for you. Why not dash off and avoid awkward questions?”

  She stood up and said with a grin. “If you’d invite me over to see the Black Museum I really would have some thing to tell them.”

  He said, “I’m not letting you add my scalp to those others. But I’ll see you again.”

  *

  He’d remembered Mrs Ballot.

  She didn’t often get the chance to go home with the office staff at five fifteen, but because she wasn’t allowed to clean Huth’s office she had her hat and coat on ready to go when Masters found her in the cleaners’ locker-room on the ground floor.

  He didn’t like the look of her. She was ugly and overdressed. He thought she must have bought her coat and hat for best some years before and had now replaced them with another set. She might have looked in place in chapel on a Sunday night with an eye veil dotted in sequins, but not in Barugt House. Her lower lip protruded and showed a line of whitish pink flesh that looked unhealthy.

  “Mrs Pallot?” he asked.

  “That’s me.” The voice was hoarse and she showed the tip of her tongue as she spoke. “What d’you want?”

  “I’m Chief Inspector Masters.”

  “I thought you was a copper. You pick your time, don’t you? I’m off home so don’t be long-winded.”

  “Miss Krick told me about your arrangement for cleaning Mr Huth’s office, so I won’t ask about that. But I should like to know if you dusted a brown medicine bottle on the desk yesterday morning.”

  “There wasn’t no bottle — leastways not a medicine bottle. Plenty of booze in the cupboards.”

  “You knew he kept drink there?”

  “Seeing there was empty glasses to wash most days I’d be daft if I didn’t.”

  “How many glasses?”

  “Just one or two. Until this week, that is. Then there’s been three or four a day. He’d probably taken to drink, and no wonder with that Miss Krick always about. She’s as fussy as her backside that one.”

  “Would you say Mr Huth was a big drinker?”

  “Big? Not him. Not nearly so big as my old man, but he took a drop more than most knew. Not that it mattered if he did. He was a nice feller. A real gentleman.”

  “I’ve heard he took very little.”

  She grinned knowingly. Her teeth were badly stained. “That’s because he was clever. He didn’t want the others to drink overmuch in the directors’ dining-room. So he pretended to have just one in there. But he could have a private nip when he felt like it. None of the others kept any in their offices.”

  “You were with Miss Krick when she found him?”

  She buttoned up her collar and flung her head. �
��Was I, indeed? She was with me, you mean. Getting hysterics all over the place.”

  “Who told the police?”

  “I did. I could see he hadn’t died natural. I’ve seen too many dead ’uns not to know. Dialled 999, I did.”

  “You’ve got your head screwed on.”

  “It’s commonsense. Now if you’ve heard all you came for I’ll get home and get my old man’s tea.”

  He let her go. She brushed past him in the doorway, banging his shins with her full shopping bag. He watched her paddle away out of sight and then walked to the lifts. The other three were waiting in Huth’s office.

  Green said, “They’ll let me have a report on Dopey Cordner tonight. The boys were pleased with the news.” Masters knew Green would have laid it on thick at the Yard about how he had discovered the Metathiazanone and the postal slips. He decided he didn’t give a damn. It might result in the dope squad taking Green off his back.

  “I was lucky,” said Brant. “They keep a tally of all outside calls except those to the factory. That’s a permanent open line, so they don’t keep count. Torr made five calls.”

  “Who to?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve only got the numbers. I’ll have them checked overnight. It’s bloody funny really, because they didn’t use to book calls, but Torr made them start. Now he’s perhaps going to get the chop because of it.”

  Masters said, “Did you find anything, Hill? You did? Can it wait until morning? The building’s nearly empty now, so we shan’t see much more of the staff today. I’m going to Huth’s house in Richmond. I’ll go home by tube.”

  “Do you want me with you?” asked Green.

  “No. It’d be bad for your blood pressure. Big house. No egalitarianism. Besides, there’s still one more job here for you to do before you go. Get hold of the night security man who should be coming on now, and ask him if Huth’s car was here last night when he came on, and if it was here all night.”