Free The Verge Practice by Barry Maitland

board.’
    Rex suddenly rose to his feet, snatched up the newspaper report of the weekend riots and threw it onto the table in front of Robert. ‘I think we all understand very well how the police service operates, thank you. And if the police hierarchy is so bloody stupid that they can’t understand the words of ordinary members of the community without having them dressed up and interpreted, then I’m not interested in having my name associated with this bit of whitewashing.’
    He turned and marched out of the room.
    The meeting sat in stunned silence for a moment, then Desmond got hurriedly to his feet and ran after the departed Rex. Robert looked shocked, unused, perhaps, to displays of naked anger in his usual line of work, or possibly contemplating a committee-selection disaster. Everyone else was silent, reluctant to speak out now in front of the bureaucrat. Robert must have sensed his isolation, and with an embarrassed little cough rose to his feet. ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured, and made for the door.
    ‘Well,’ Jay said, ‘maybe this’ll be more interesting than I expected.’
    Brock’s visit to Charles Verge’s doctor was less contentious.
    The surgery was in a quiet cul-de-sac mews in Belgravia, and the doctor had a grave dignity to suit. ‘I made a statement some months ago, Chief Inspector. I don’t really see what I can add.’
    ‘We’re going back over some of the old ground just to make sure nothing was missed.’
    ‘You’re still no nearer to finding Charles, then? I really don’t think I can throw any light on where you might look.’
    And as Brock took the doctor back over his earlier statement, he tended to agree. Charles Verge had been his patient for over ten years, during which time he had seen his doctor two or three times each year, for an annual check-up and for other minor ailments—a recurring tennis elbow, some lower back pain, a couple of viral infections, and a spell of about a year following his divorce when he had been prescribed an anti-depressant. The only remotely unusual thing about the record was the fact that Verge hadn’t seen his doctor at all in the twelve months leading up to his disappearance, a longer gap than any previously.
    ‘I put that down to everything going well—with his marriage I mean.’
    ‘You noticed a difference when he remarried?’
    ‘Certainly. He seemed rejuvenated.’
    ‘You were Ms Norinaga’s doctor, too, weren’t you?’
    ‘Yes, since their marriage. The last time I saw her was a month before the tragedy.’
    Brock consulted his notes. ‘That was for a prescription for a contraceptive pill, wasn’t it? Did she discuss her sex life with you?’
    ‘Very little. She was a woman of few words, and it wasn’t a language problem. She was very articulate and spoke English fluently. She was just very private.’
    ‘There was no suggestion of any difficulties with her husband?’
    ‘Not at all.’
    ‘Tell me about this period when you prescribed antidepressants for Mr Verge.’
    The doctor consulted his file. ‘It was seven years ago, around the time of his divorce. I do recall him saying that he had experienced periodic spells of what he called “despair” before, when he lost confidence in himself, but this instance was clearly related to the breakdown of his marriage.’
    ‘I’m surprised. I mean, the picture I’ve been getting is of a man with supreme confidence in himself.’
    ‘Mmm, he certainly gave that impression, but the marriage breakdown took its toll. His symptoms were classic—sleeplessness, lack of energy, poor appetite. I had him on Zoloft for fourteen months, moderate dose, then he came off it and the symptoms didn’t recur.’
    ‘And nothing more recently?’
    ‘No.’
    As he showed Brock out, the doctor seemed to feel a sudden surge of sympathy for the policeman with his rather weary stoop and disappointed frown. ‘Haven’t been much help, have I? But to be honest, you’re not likely to catch him now, are