Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Ten

Martin stared at Penhale in disbelief,

'What do you mean; you think you may have killed Anthony Oakwood? Either you killed him or you didn't.'

'Yes, well, the thing is, I saw him the day before he died and he was being so annoying that I thought to myself that I'd like to kill him. And the next day, there's a big blank in my memory from eleven o'clock until one o'clock.'

'You fell asleep I expect. Where were you when you woke up?'

'At my desk in the police station.'

'We probably need to review your medication. But that doesn't explain why you think you killed Anthony Oakwood.'

'Sleepwalking, Doc. What if I killed him in my sleep?'

'Nonsense!'

'Or what if, I killed him and then blanked it out of my mind?'

'Highly unlikely. That only happens when the murderer is extremely traumatised, usually because they've killed a close family member.'

'But you can't rule it out. There was no sign of a struggle, which means that Mr Oakwood was killed by someone he trusted. Someone who was strong enough to overpower him quickly. That's me.'

'Firstly, we won't know what happened until the autopsy's been completed and forensics have finished analysing the scene. Secondly, it's highly unlikely that you could have overpowered Anthony Oakwood without there being any signs of a struggle.'

'What if I knocked him out using my truncheon?'

'There'd have been head trauma and there wasn't. You didn't kill him. Go home and get some rest. It's time for Peter's last feed…And make an appointment to have a blood test.'

Still protesting his guilt, Penhale reluctantly left.

Martin gave Peter his last bottle of the day and put him to bed. Later, he took out one of his medical journals but found himself thinking about Penhale's confession instead; utter nonsense but could Penhale be using it as a double bluff? Did he kill Anthony Oakwood whilst fully aware of his actions and could he now be trying to lay the ground for a plea of diminished responsibility? But Penhale was as transparent as glass and had about as much brain activity as a mouse in a coma. No, it was inconceivable that Penhale could have planned such an elaborate justification. Surely?

The next morning, Martin got to the surgery early, determined to get some jobs done before the first patients arrived. To his surprise, Pauline had already opened up. When he walked in, Pauline started guiltily and tried to hide what she was doing. Without a word, Martin held out his hand. Pauline reluctantly passed him the piece of paper in her hand, saying,

'I'm sorry, Doctor Ellingham. I forgot to do it yesterday.'

Martin looked at the piece of paper in his hand and was surprised to see that it was the lab sheet to go with some blood samples. Since becoming practice phlebotomist, Pauline had been very efficient. The only lapse had been when she had been a gambling addict. He looked at her sharply,

'Are you still going to your Gamblers Anonymous meetings?'

'Yes, Doctor. I'm not gambling again, I promise. I just can't seem to remember anything at the moment.'

Martin looked at Pauline closely, noticing that she had used make-up to conceal the bags under her eyes,

'Hmm. You look tired. Any insomnia?'

'I keep waking up early. Five-thirty most mornings.'

'Any physical reason? Do you need to urinate or move your bowels? Are you hungry or thirsty?'

'No.'

'Any pain or stiffness?'

'No, I'm just wide awake and I can't get back to sleep. Even at the weekend it's the same; I'm awake by six no matter how late I've gone to bed.'

'And you're not suffering from indigestion or heartburn, even very mildly?'

'No.'

'It's probably stress but I think it would be a good idea to do some blood tests just in case.'

Martin swallowed, realising that he would have to take Pauline's blood. Knowing that waiting would make it worse, he said,

'Come through and I'll do it now.'

Pauline followed him into the converted storeroom where she took blood and sat on the chair. Bracing himself, Martin found a suitable vein, swabbed her skin and inserted the needle. Squinting out of the corner of his eyes at the syringe, Martin drew up enough blood for the tests he needed. By the time he'd withdrawn the needle and put cotton wool on Pauline's arm, Martin was shaking and feeling nauseous. He dropped the needle into the tray, saying,

'Full bloods please, Pauline, including thyroid and liver function.'

He left Pauline to put the blood into tubes and do the paperwork, eager to be away from the blood.

Surgery that morning was mostly routine though Martin still found his time being wasted by malingerers. Surely even the inbred cretins who lived in Port Wenn should have realised by now that he was not a soft touch for a sick note. Yet he still had people come though the door thinking that they could get away with faking their symptoms despite being too stupid to realise that Doctor Rogers in Wadebridge was far more likely to give them a sick note than Martin was.

At twelve, Martin went to collect the repeat prescriptions from Pauline, intending to sign them quickly before collecting Peter from Aunty Joan. Pauline had just picked up her bag ready to go for lunch, when the surgery door opened.

Her automatic, 'Sorry, we're closed,' died on her lips as Mrs Jenkins came into the surgery.

Mrs Jenkins paused just inside the door, saying,

'I'm sorry to come at the end of surgery but it's urgent.'

'That's all right. Isn't it, Doc?'

'Yes,' agreed Martin, curiously, 'Can you find Mrs Jenkins notes, please.'

'Yes, Doctor Ellingham.'

Martin waited impatiently whilst Pauline found Mrs Jenkins notes then said,

'Come through.'

Once Mrs Jenkins had sat down in his consulting room, Martin took out her notes and read the last entry; Mrs Jenkins had needed some antibiotics for a chest infection in March 1987. Prior to that she had come to see Doctor Sims in 1973 with a fungal infection of her toenails.

'What seems to be the problem?'

'I'm fine but I came to see you because I didn't know what else to do. It's Bert Large; I'm worried that he might have killed Anthony Oakwood.'