Double Blind (17 page)

Was it possible that money was the source of the threat to Scott? I wrote some notes on a pad I found on Colin’s desk, and moved on to the next file. More clippings, describing Scott’s climb from Member of Parliament to Under Secretary of State for Health, a long and tedious analysis of his political platform, quotes from his speeches, a schedule of his public appearances leading up to election day and what seemed to be a calendar of his other appointments. I typed the dates into the notepad on my smartphone. Knowing where he was going to be each day for the next week might be useful.

By the time Colin lumbered back to the cubicle, I’d finished reading all the files. “Find anything?” he asked.

I held the phone up. “I took notes. I’ll review them at home. Thanks, Colin. I really appreciate that you let me do this. There was more material than I could have imagined, far more than I found on the web.”

“Digital is overrated in my opinion,” he said, tapping one of the folders. “Write it down, file it away. You never know when something might come in useful. It helps, of course, to have a team of researchers on hand to do all the legwork.”

I held out my hand to shake his bear paw. “Thanks again. I’ll let you know how things go.”

He nodded. “My pleasure.”

I had taken a few steps when he called me back. “Kate?” he said, cocking his head to one side. “I don’t have an aura, do I?”

I’d turned my phone off while I was sitting at Colin’s desk. When I remembered to turn it back on, I had three voicemails from Eliza, each one ratcheting up the threat level. The last one was delivered at high volume. She sounded unhinged. “Last chance,” she said. “That story hits the headlines tomorrow, or I will do something that will make you sorry.” I tried calling her back but I just reached her answering machine.

When I opened the door to my flat, the lights were on and music was playing. Although it seemed unlikely that an intruder would make himself so at home, my heart pounded as I edged into the hallway. Then I remembered it was Friday. Josh must be back.

“Kate?”

“Josh.” We hadn’t spoken much during the week. His excuse would be that he’d been busy with work. Mine was that I’d been busy with auras. And I hadn’t been able to put the postcard out of my mind.

He crossed the kitchen to give me a hug. I stood stiffly in his arms, not ready yet to forgive him.

“Tea?” he asked, stepping back. “Maybe wine would be better?”

I nodded, taking off my scarf and coat.

We sat, Josh on the couch, me in an armchair, glasses of wine on the coffee table between us. After an awkward silence, I spoke. “How was your week? Are you home all weekend?”

He winced. “Actually, Alan needs me to go to Cambridge for meetings on Sunday and Monday. It’s a pain, I know, and I’m sorry. You know he’s on a mission to restore the company to its former glory. When a client says jump, he leaps. And he expects the rest of us to as well. But you and I can do something nice tomorrow.”

He picked up his glass and took a drink. “Before that, though, I need to explain about Helena.”

“You don’t have to explain anything. It’s none of my business.”

“I want to. I’ve been thinking about it a lot for the past few days. You were right to be upset that I kept the postcard. I…” He paused, put his glass on the table. “I’ve been trying to work out what to do about it.”

“Are you really sure you want to talk about this?”

I shifted in my chair, trying to get comfortable.

“Let me tell you the history, just so you understand. Helena and I dated all through college. We’d planned to move to London together when we graduated, but her mother got very sick about two weeks before graduation. Helena said she needed to go home to Berlin to be with her and asked me to go too. She said we could hold off on getting jobs for a couple of months. I wouldn’t do it. I already had an offer from Alan Bradley, and he wanted me to start right away. I started just a couple of weeks before you did, right?”

I nodded, remembering how kind he’d been to me when I first joined the firm. We’d been the newbies together, deciphering the politics of the company, reading up on clients, working extra hours to convince Alan he’d made good choices. I think I’d fallen in love with Josh then, but I’d kept my feelings to myself because he seemed so inaccessible.

“I told Helena that I’d start work and go flat-hunting on weekends. As soon as she was able, she could come back to London. It never happened.” He was tapping his fingers on his knee, a nervous habit of his. “I should have gone with her.”

Tears burned my eyes. His words were like slashes at my heart.

“I don’t mean it that way,” he said, reaching out to take my hand. “I don’t wish I was with her. I just think it would have been the right thing to do. She needed me and I abandoned her. I didn’t even make time to visit Berlin to see her at weekends because I was too busy at work.”

“What happened? Why didn’t she come to London?”

“When her mother died, her father was distraught. She stayed on to look after him. It was supposed to be just for a few weeks, but it dragged on. I flew to Berlin then, to talk to her, but it was too late, I suppose. We broke up officially, even though at that point we hadn’t seen each other for months anyway.”

“It doesn’t seem to me that this is your fault,” I said. I didn’t mean to criticize Helena, but I wanted to reassure him.

He shrugged. “I’ve always felt guilty that I left her to deal with things by herself at such a critical time in her life. God knows how I’d feel if my mother were sick. It was selfish of me. And I put my work first. Who does that?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Pulling my hand away, I stood up. My body felt tense and twitchy. “So now she’s moved to Munich,” I said. “That must be a good sign, don’t you think? That she’s getting on with her life?”

“I suppose so.” He pulled the postcard from his inside jacket pocket. I gasped, a sharp intake of breath. He was carrying it around with him?

“Do you still love her?” I asked. I hated hearing my voice tremble when I said it.

“Of course not. I love you.” He looked at the card. “I’ve been trying to decide whether to email her. Just to wish her well. It would be the right thing to do. Wouldn’t it?” He looked at me, eyebrows raised as though seeking my permission.

“Of course,” I said, even though I felt as though I had a lead weight pressing against my chest.

***

On Sunday morning, we woke late and moved slowly. Josh planned to take an early afternoon train to Cambridge for his meeting there. I decided to make brunch, something to keep my mind off postcards and auras. I’d texted Anita a half dozen times the day before to make sure she was safe. Finally, she’d told me she was applying for a restraining order against me and to stop stalking her at once. At least that had made me smile.

I peeled some oranges, careful to remove every piece of white pith, and swept the nubbly skins into the rubbish bin. The citrussy smell reminded me of my last trip to Spain’s central coast, where orange groves stretched for miles beside the azure Mediterranean Sea. Maybe Anita and I could go back there together, when this was all over. It would be good to focus on something positive for the future. I cracked eggs into a bowl, snipped chives, and ground salt. The motions of cooking were soothing and distracting. By the time the food was ready, I was feeling calmer.

“Want a glass of bubbly?” Josh asked, looking in the fridge.

“I think we finished it last night,” I said. “Coffee’s fine for me.” I rarely drank during the day, except at weddings or funerals. Not like Eliza Chapman, I thought, as I remembered her mid-afternoon glass of wine. I had an idea.

“I’ll come with you to Cambridge,” I said to Josh, handing him a plate. “I think Eliza Chapman is planning to make trouble. I want to find out what she’s thinking.”

I was glad to see his face light up. “Excellent. We’ll get another few hours together that way.”

We were able to find good seats on the train and used the time to prepare Josh for his meeting. I found myself enjoying the work talk. It took my mind off Helena, the postcard, and auras. When the train pulled into the station, Josh went off to find a taxi to take him to his first appointment and I decided to walk to Eliza’s house.

The residential roads were quiet. One or two sleepy-looking students rode past me on bikes, but mostly, the streets were empty of pedestrians or moving cars. When I reached Eliza’s house, I traversed the short, narrow path to the front door and rang the bell. Inside, her cat meowed loudly but no one came to the door. I waited a couple of minutes, then pushed the letterbox open and peered into the hallway. The cat was sitting in the middle of the hall, its eyes shining green in the gloom. Obviously, Eliza wasn’t home, which was strange. I’d got the impression she never went anywhere.

I crossed a strip of scrubby lawn and leaned on the windowsill to take a look through the window. The book-filled living room was empty. Just as I turned away, the cat sprinted into the room, jumped on to the back of the sofa and stared at me. There seemed to be nothing to do but wait. Maybe Eliza had gone to the shops. I tried calling the number I had for her, but heard the phone ring inside the house. She either didn’t have a mobile phone or she hadn’t used it to call me.

I walked up and down the long street twice, wondering if I should give up and go back to London. It was bitterly cold. I remembered someone telling me that the winds blew straight from Siberia across the Fens to Cambridge. On a day like today, it was easy to imagine the boreal temperatures of the faraway tundra.

When I passed Eliza’s the second time, I noticed the lace curtains twitch at the window of the house next door. A dog barked as I ventured up the path to the front door, and a woman in a pink robe and curlers opened it before I had a chance to knock.

“You looking for Eliza?” she asked, holding the dog by its collar. It was large and brown with lots of teeth bared in my direction.

“Yes, I am. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“She said she was going on a trip. Couple of days, she said. I’m feeding the cat for her ’til she gets home.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

The woman frowned. “Not really. She said it was very important. She was going to meet a man, I think?”

What did that mean? Was she going to London to talk to Colin Butler? Or was she going after Scott herself? But what would she do? Hit him over the head with a book? Thanking the neighbor, I began the walk back to the station.

On the way, I called Detective Clarke to tell him what the neighbor had said.

“I appreciate the help,” he said. “But I hope the list of people you suspect doesn’t get too much longer. Have you heard from Chris Melrose at all?”

Chris. I’d almost forgotten about him. “No. Nothing. Have you?”

“Would I be asking you, if I had? I’ve put out an alert for him. I expect we’ll pick him up soon, but if you hear from him, let me know immediately, all right?”

“Of course.”

I made my way back to the station and caught the next train back to London. I felt as though I’d done all I could about Eliza. I’d notified Detective Clarke and could only hope that he’d take my concerns seriously.

Standing in the main concourse of Kings Cross station, I texted Anita. She said she was working an afternoon shift at the hospital, but had an hour or so free and wanted me to go over. Grace had an update on Dr. Reid’s death.

When I got there, Anita led the way to the keypad-protected lift, where I braced for another encounter with the autopsy room. In fact we bypassed it, going to Grace’s office, where a faint odor of antiseptic and Chanel Number Five hung in the air.

“Glad you’re here,” said Grace. “I’m supposed to have today off, but I have a ton of reports to write, so here I am. I can’t stop thinking about Dr. Reid.”

She glared at her computer screen as though it was guilty of preventing her from writing.

“I wanted to give you an update. First of all, the analysis of the drip bag turned up more or less what we expected. There were traces of insulin, digitoxin and barbiturates.”

“And did you hear back from Ted?” Anita asked.

Grace nodded. “Yes. Ted says that no one doctor ordered that mix of drugs. There were lots of individual prescriptions for insulin and for digitoxin, and a wide array of sedatives, of course. So, it’s almost impossible to pinpoint a specific physician who could have gained access to all of the medications.”

“But someone must have acquired all three drugs,” said Anita. “Which means they either stole drugs from somewhere in the hospital, or they bought them through outside sources.”

Grace nodded her agreement. “Neither is hard to do. We’re talking about very small amounts needed to achieve the desired effect. A vial here and there.”

She tapped her fingernails on the desk. “There’s something else. They tested the IV and the vials for fingerprints. Dr. Reid’s showed up.”

Anita shook her head. “That’s inconclusive. Whoever did it wore gloves.”

“And pressed Dr. Reid’s fingers against the IV bag and the bottles,” I said. “It would have been easy enough to do.”

Grace nodded. “Agreed.”

Anita pressed her forehead to the desk in a dramatic show of frustration. “So where does that leave us?”

Grace went to a small refrigerator in the corner, and handed us each a bottle of water.

“We have to come at it from a different angle,” I said. “If we can’t pinpoint who might have done this, we have to look for motive.
Why
would anyone want to kill Dr. Reid? It sounds as though any one of the medical staff in the hospital could have set up an IV, but why would anyone want to? If it was murder, it wasn’t random. It was premeditated, which means that whoever did it had a reason.”

“The staff all admired Dr. Reid,” Anita said. “No one would want to do him harm.”

I put my hand on her arm to get her attention. Her fingers were beating out a staccato on the desk, and she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this,” I said. “It’s just too upsetting for you.”