The Seer by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 6

Four days later, a detective from the Portland Police department arrived at Gordon's office. Patrick had not been at work for three days, and without so much as a phone call, his boss decided that a visit to his apartment would be wise. After calling the police, an officer was sent, and the first thing he noticed was that Patrick's car was still in the driveway. Circling the house, the officer found the curtains drawn, and the shades pulled. Trained to suspect the worst, he entered through the front door of the apartment building, walked through the dimly hallway, assuming he would find evidence of a break-in, or a violent crime. Finally reaching the door of Patrick's apartment, the officer listened intently for even the smallest sound – the creak of a floor board, a sigh, anything that might indicate something suspicious. Hearing nothing, the officer knocked on the door.

“Mr. Green?” he said. “Portland Police! You okay in there?”

There was no response. The officer stepped back from the door, and looking near the floor, noticed a light was still on. Stepping up again, he knelt near the floor, and noticed a strong odor wafting up from under the door. Although he was trained to recognize the scent, it was one he rarely encountered. He quickly assessed that something in the apartment was decomposing, and in the summer, the heat only sped up the process.

Moving away from the door, the officer radioed for backup, reporting the situation as a possible homicide. Within a couple of minutes, the apartment house was surrounded by police, as well as other emergency vehicles. A battering ram was brought in, and the front door of Patrick's apartment was shattered into toothpicks. Officers swarmed in with guns drawn, and quickly discovered the apartment was not the scene of a murder, but an apparent suicide. The found Patrick in his bedroom, lying on his side, his brains scattered on the wall behind him. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that, having acquired a handgun, Patrick had sat on his bed, his back toward the wall, and put the barrel of the gun in his mouth. Pulling the trigger, round exploded out of the barrel, entered his throat, and blew out the back of his skull. Having occurred within the last three days, the trails of blood and brain tissue clung to the wall in a dried clotted mass. Evidence technicians were called in to photograph the room, as well as Patrick's blood soaked remains. Every shard of bone, every clump of hair was located, photographed and cataloged. At the arrival of the county coroner, Patrick's body was zipped into a vinyl bag, and removed. Three hours later, the police left the scene, leaving someone else with the gruesome task of cleaning up the stinking mess of decay.

Now, the detective stood in Gordon's office, inquiring about Patrick's treatment.

“Doctor Richards,” he began. “Do you know a Patrick Green?”

Gordon answered with a quizzical expression. “Yes, Patrick is one of my patients. May I ask what brings you to my office?”

The detective took a small appointment card from his pocket, and laid it on Gordon's desk.

“We found this in his apartment,” he said. “Can I ask you what you were treating him for?” Gordon was bound by confidentiality, and apologetically refused to give the detective any information.

“Doctor Richards,” the detective continued. “Your patient is dead. We believe he committed suicide about three or four days ago.”

Gordon sat back in his chair with a stunned expression.

“How did this happen?” Gordon asked. The detective answered while writing in his notebook.

“He got his hands on a revolver,” he began. “We're still trying to trace it. Do you know if he had any family?” Gordon was still in a state of shock, and his answer was a bit hesitant.

“Uh...no, I don't think so,” he replied. The detective continued scribbling in his notepad.

“Alright, but I still need to know what you were treating him for.”

Gordon knew that within only a few days, he would have to file a report on his patient's suicide with the state, and they would want the file as well. He let out a deep sigh, and gathered his thoughts. His practice was still young, and he had only suspected the possibility that one of patients might commit suicide. He supposed it didn't matter if he gave the detective what he was looking for. His patient was dead, and confidentiality was now pointless. He didn't want to reveal all the details of Patrick's past but instead, gave the detective a brief overview.

“Well,” he began. “Patrick came to me with depression, and some generally anxiety. I prescribed an antidepressant. He came to me once a week, and there didn't seem to be any other issues.” The detective continued his notes.

“So, he never said anything about killing himself?”

“Detective,” Gordon began. “These were stress related issues. Patrick never displayed any signs of psychosis. There were no hallucinations, his thinking was organized, he never expressed any delusions, and never indicated anything that would lead up to something like this.” The detective nodded while he finished his notes, and as he tucked the notepad back into his pocket, he closed the conversation by telling Gordon to notify him in the event he had any more information that might be helpful to their investigation.

Knowing what had happened was just as important as why, and as a logical thinker, driven by the necessity to help his patients, Gordon seemed to be even more concerned about Patrick's death than the police. According to state law, Gordon was obligated to file a report on Patrick's suicide. He fully realized how serious the consequences could be if he was found liable. At the very least, he could be prevented from accepting more patients, or his license to practice could be revoked, and he would have to choose a new line of work. Either way, he couldn't help thinking that he might have missed something. Patrick had never displayed any suicidal tendencies, and there was no hint of even the smallest degree of ideation in his initial assessment. Gordon poured over Patrick's chart for hours, trying to find the cause of his sudden bout of self-destruction, but came up with nothing. He knew that his particular issues could result in a pattern of thought consistent with suicide, but Patrick had never displayed any such pattern, and after thoroughly studying his chart, Gordon was still at a loss to explain what could have led to his suicide.

Within the week, Gordon was notified by certified letter that representatives of the state’s board of psychiatry would be visiting him. The date and time of their arrival was also mentioned. He made a copy of Patrick's file in the event the state relieved him of the original, allowing him to continue studying it. He cleared his schedule for the day of their arrival, and as planned, they showed up two days later. Two men, dressed in suits, and carrying brief cases, opened his office door without so much a knock. Gordon surmised that they presented themselves this way to establish an intimidating presence, but Gordon was unmoved by their transparent attempt to weaken him, and inviting them to sit, fought back with a calm, professional demeanor.

“Doctor Richards?”

The first man to enter seemed to be more aggressive, while the second appeared to be there only as an additional presence.

“I'm Herbert Thomas. This is my associate James Motter. We're here to ask you a few questions about one of your former patients, Patrick Green.”

He spoke very matter-of-factly, presenting a copy of Gordon's report.

“Are you familiar with what happened?”

Gordon's response was immediate. “Before we get into this discussion, are you a psychiatrist?” The man looked up from his legal pad, and offered a slightly defensive reply. “Yes, Doctor Richards. I assure you I am a board certified psychiatrist.” Removing a folder from his briefcase, Mr. Thomas began reviewing Gordon's credentials, reading them aloud.

“Well,” he began. “It seems that you've come pretty far in this field, but I'm a bit concerned about your lack of experience. Tell me doctor, did you have Mr. Green on any antidepressants?”

Gordon referred to the chart still open on his desk.

“Yes,” he began. “I prescribed him a starting dose of ten milligrams of Escitalopram, and two weeks later, increased it to twenty. It's a pretty standard dose.” Mr. Thomas was already writing notes.

“So, you diagnosed him with depression, correct?”

“Yes,” Gordon answered. “Depression and anxiety.” Mr. Thomas paused in his notes.

“Anxiety?” he began. “Were you prescribing anything for that?”

Again, Gordon was quick with an answer. “I didn't want to do that too soon until I could be certain he wouldn't abuse them. As you know, that class of drugs can be addictive.” Mr. Thomas nodded in agreement. “Yes, I'm well aware of that, doctor.”

He took a moment to jot down a few more notes.

“Did your patients display any symptoms of psychosis?”

“Not according to his initial assessment,” Gordon replied.

Gordon had accurately predicted every question put to him, but there was one more he did not expect.

“Alright, Doctor Richards,” Mr. Thomas began. “Just one more question. Did you recommend anything to your patient that might be considered unorthodox? Something that isn't normally part of treatment?” Reflecting back on his advice about using a floatation tank he wasn't sure if Patrick's experience may have had something to do with his suicide. However, in regards to the question being asked, Gordon would have to lie, and he would have to be very convincing.

“Well,” he began. “I recommend meditation to a lot of my patients. Is that what you mean?” Mr. Thomas gave Gordon's question a moment of thought.

“I guess what I'm asking is if you may have suggested the use of any supplements or herbal remedies,” he said. “As you probably know, there are some very dangerous things being marketed as supplements that can alter a person's behavior.”

Gordon nodded his head.

“I know what the dangers are, and I would never suggest that even a healthy person use them.” Mr. Thomas was finishing the last of his notes when one more issue came to his mind. This too was one that Gordon had expected.

“Well,” he began. “I think we have what we need for now, but I need your patient's file as part of our investigation.”

Gordon's manipulation of Mr. Thomas' last question may have saved his career, but his future was looking more than a questionable. At least, in his mind.

He asked Mr. Thomas to present the necessary paperwork, giving him the authority to take the chart, as required by state law. Secretly, Gordon was terrified by the idea of an investigation, but also knew that everything had to be done by the book. Mr. Thomas quickly produced the paperwork from his briefcase, and relieved Gordon of his former patient's chart. Slipping it back into his briefcase, Mr. Thomas and his associate got up from their seats, leaving Gordon deeply concerned.

“You have to understand, Doctor Richards,” Thomas began. “An incident like this has to be looked into. It's a matter of public welfare. You'll be hearing from us.” His colleague, Mr. Motter followed him out, closing the door behind them. As soon as the door closed, Gordon leaned forward with his elbows on the desk, and his hands on his forehead. His career was just getting started, and now, he faced the possibility of being closed by the state. He considered his options, entertaining the idea of working in a hospital, or doing research. Certainly, there were a few large research institutions where work could be had. Trying not to get ahead of himself, Gordon would, with great difficulty, remain focused on both his patients, and finding out what had happened that pushed Patrick into suicide.