Content Warning: Murder, drug use, jealous obsession.
This is a playthrough of Error of Judgment by Kay W.
A Simple Mistake
I am a simple man, really. A humble doctor. Nevermind that my license was revoked. The headlines were entirely overblown. They were already dead. Who did I hurt?
I only hurt myself, as always. No license, no income. I didn’t have a choice. I continued to practice. Practice. That’s a great word for what I was doing. Eventually, I’d have gotten it right.
But that bastard caught me. Spying through the window? Who does that? I had no choice really. He was going to expose me. Or blackmail me. Or something.
I guess we’ll never know. I just wanted him to stop. Listen. But he wouldn’t. He was leaving. With pictures. Pictures! I grabbed him. He shouldn’t have fought. Didn’t he see the scalpel? It was his own fault. Rest in peace, Arthur Breen.
And this detective. Smythe, that’s his name. He’s a piece of work, all right. Fun at a party, but he’s got a reputation all across town. Best in the business. No piece of evidence is too small to escape his notice.
Lucky me, I’m as smart as they come.
Call me Dr. Harris. Noah Harris.
The Arrival
Smythe came poking around Arthur’s office. Poor Arthur must have wandered off after work. It was a risk bringing his car back, but it was worth it. He left a trail a naked mole-rat could follow. I certainly couldn’t leave it outside my lab. The last thing I needed was the detective bringing the DEA into my place of business. Not after the mayor’s son had his little episode from beta formula #523. By formula #781, I nearly had it right. Ten, twenty more tests and I’d put it on the market. Damn you, Arthur. I lost an entire batch while cleaning bits of you out of my carpet.
The Meeting
The knock on the door made me jump. Do they train the police to knock that way? Terrible for my peace of mind. I let him in. Nevermind the steam. I’ve got a cold and mint-infused steam is the best, I say. I don’t say that it’s the best at covering the smell of my manufacturing process. Some things are better left a mystery.
Yes, I’m aware that Arthur is missing. I watch the news. Yes, I’m aware that his wife used to be my wife. Yes, I remember how painful the divorce was. I was a successful doctor, surgeon to the stars! And now I live here. Yes, I remember the fight, the fights. Oh, god, the fights. They were already dead, after all. Hardly worth fighting over.
No, I don’t still have the key to my old office next to Arthur’s. No, of course I don’t harbor feelings towards him. Of course I’m not seeing my wife, er, ex-wife behind his back. Maybe he ran off to Cabo with his neighbor’s wife when the neighbor’s practice fell apart. Again. Doesn’t need a car to fly to Mexico, right? It’s time for you to go. It’s none of your damn business why our wedding pictures are hanging on the wall.
Good day, sir.
The Hunt
He just will not give up. It’s not the first time a doctor has disappeared. Personally, I think his cook did it. Arthur’s child looks suspiciously flour-covered. In a fit of jealousy, his personal chef made a fantastic new meat pie! I wish I would have thought of that before. Some damning evidence hidden in the kitchen would have been wonderful. Alas, I’m left with showering bullshit and hoping for the best. Anything to keep Smythe out of my basement. The lab is bad enough, but the pile of lime in the root cellar isn’t for the garden. Ahh, the garden. Another great idea formed far too late to be of help. Arthur always was a secret drunk, Mr. Smythe. I knew, but kept his secret. I’m sure you’ll find him passed out in the alley behind a bar.
No, you can’t look around. It doesn’t matter why my wedding album is on the table. Maybe the Widow Breen can finally come home. It doesn’t matter that this was never her home. We can move. I just need to get on my feet.
I want the detective to leave. I think I spoiled another batch because of him.
The Conclusion
Smythe has called a meeting. Said there were a few people who should speak to each other about the missing Dr. Breen. Five o’clock, he said. I have until 5.
Arthur’s coat. If I go there now, I can hide Arthur’s coat in the shed. His pen–his damned monogrammed fountain pen–is still in the pocket. I’m sure the gardener has lime. It’s perfect! Another false trail. Nobody will ever know what happened to that bastard. Rat me out to the press, the medical board, and my beloved, will you? You’ll rot alone while I console your bride.
The lovely Widow Breen was there when the gardener found the jacket, half covered in lime. Her beautiful rosy cheeks went white as a sheet moments before she threw that vase at the chef. Thousand year old craftsmanship gone with a crash. Maybe there was something to the child, after all. No matter. It will be all right, my dear. Let the good Detective Smythe deal with that jealous, angry man. Shh. I’ve got you. It’s all right. Everything will be all right from now on.