Dr Samantha Willerby Box Set

by A J Waines

  ‘So, no one can fire their work unless he’s around?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s a health and safety thing. The users leave their work for him and collect it afterwards, but he’s the only one who’s allowed to open the door.’

  She seemed more assertive today. It occurred to me that perhaps she wasn’t a ‘party person’ and had been coerced into turning up last night to make up numbers. ‘Miranda put on a great spread yesterday, didn’t she?’ she said, as she poured from the coffee pot. ‘You two are totally different, aren’t you?’

  I gave a chuckle. ‘Like chalk and cheese.’ It was only then that I remembered Miranda had been confiding something to Kurtis last night when I’d walked into the kitchen. I knew it was about me.

  ‘Sugar?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  We walked round to her office. ‘This place has transformed so many people’s lives, as I’m sure Miranda will have told you,’ she said. ‘People come here lost and hopeless and they gain direction, motivation, a real sense of purpose and identity.’

  She offered me a seat. Her office was neat and orderly, like herself. I imagined that everything was filed correctly and would be easy to locate.

  ‘Simon seems to do a good job,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s brilliant. I’m his PA as well as the general administrator here.’ She swung her executive chair from side to side. ‘Our funding has shot up since he joined us two years ago. I’ve been here forever; there’s something about the atmosphere that’s warm and calming. Everyone has a history – there’s a sense we’re all in it together.’

  ‘You too?’ I said softly. There was an air of isolation about her; as though she’d spent her life going it alone.

  ‘I used to be anorexic. I won’t go into details, but this place more or less saved my life. There isn’t just art going on here, there are support groups, meditation, group therapy, one-to-one sessions – everything.’

  I nodded. ‘Simon must get to know a lot of local art people, local sponsors.’

  ‘Definitely. I’m always arranging appointments for him to meet important people.’

  ‘Must have run-ins with them now and again, though. I’ll bet not everyone approves of this kind of project, or is prepared to support it, financially.’

  ‘Are you interested in him?’ she said suddenly. It caught me off guard.

  I snapped my brain into gear. ‘I’m always interested to know about people who have a hand in Miranda’s well-being,’ I said, shifting in my seat.

  ‘I used to have a bit of a thing for him, too,’ she said, misunderstanding me.

  I decided to go along with it.

  ‘I have to say, he’s very attractive,’ I said, meeting her eye with a coy look. ‘Is he married?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, clapping her hands together in excitement. She lifted her shoulders and squeezed her hands between her knees, reminding me of a teenager about to divulge a big secret. ‘Let me give you the lowdown. He’s single. Thirty-five. Keeps his private life to himself, but… I’m not sure if he might be taken, if you know what I mean.’ I let her explain. ‘I happen to know he’s been seeing someone recently. Some art critic, I think. Pretty, dark hair.’

  ‘Art critic?’ I felt my stomach fold in on itself.

  ‘From one of the arty magazines.’ She tapped her lip. ‘I can’t remember which one.’

  ‘They’re definitely dating?’

  ‘Yeah…’ She dropped her gaze, looking apologetic. ‘Sorry to disappoint you. I don’t know how serious it is. I saw them in a restaurant on the South Bank at the beginning of June. I remember, because it was my birthday. It might have been a business meal, of course.’ She inspected her nails. ‘And, thinking about it, I haven’t seen her for a while.’ She was still for a moment, then suddenly got up, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘Look at the time. I’ve got to finish this report. You’re too easy to talk to!’

  ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ I said. I made a mental note that she could be well worth speaking to again.

  I had to pass the kiln room on my way out. The door was ajar, so I slid my head around. There was no one inside, I stepped over the threshold. The kiln resembled a huge fridge with white bricks making a kind of fireplace inside; empty apart from two shelves and a scattering of ashes at the bottom. This was definitely the source of the smell; it reminded me of burnt hair on straightening irons.

  I reached my hand inside to feel how warm it was and saw something small near the back catching the light. I thought at first it was a chip of marble or a stone from a piece of jewellery. I picked it up and played with it between my fingertips.

  A tooth.

  Animal or human, it was still incongruous.

  Instinctively I took a step back, my other hand over my mouth. What was it doing here? Whatever the explanation, it didn’t seem right. As I stood examining it, the sound of footsteps came from out of the blue. With nowhere to hide, I darted towards the space behind the open door, the tooth tight in my hand. The steps receded. Before I crept out, I took a scrap of paper from my bag and wrote down the make of the kiln, shown in raised lettering on the front. There was a label on the side that stated the capacity and model type, so I took that down too, before taking broad innocent strides towards the exit. The tooth bit into my palm all the way to the police station.

  Chapter 34

  Unfortunately none of the key officers I’d already met were available, so I stood in reception trying to work out what to do. I didn’t want to hang around. I needed to get back to the boat to welcome Aiden. I had the choice of taking the tooth with me, or leaving it with the desk sergeant.

  I wasn’t sure how serious my find was. There could be a simple explanation, but it struck me as odd to say the least. Under what circumstances did a tooth belong in a kiln designed for firing ceramics? I opened my palm and stared at it again. It was human, I was sure of it; a human molar. I wanted rid of it, so I asked the desk sergeant for a small envelope and left it with a note in capital letters begging either DI Foxton or Jeremy to call me as soon as they could.

  All manner of wild speculations swam around my head. Was someone using teeth as part of their ceramic designs? In a tooth-fairy necklace for a child perhaps or some kind of novelty fancy-dress costume for Halloween? Or had this tooth been part of some obscure sacrifice? Rachel had told me herself that Simon was the only one allowed to operate it. What was he up to?

  A horrifying thought occurred to me. Was it actually feasible to burn a body to cinders inside a ceramic kiln? I shook my head. No way – surely I was leaping to a preposterous conclusion.

  An idea came to me which could clear this up, one way or the other. If I was quick, I could get there and back before Aiden returned at lunchtime.

  Dodd & Son Funeral Directors were easy to find, just off Islington High Street sandwiched between a letting agency and a Spanish tapas bar. There were sample headstones in the window, candles and flowers. They made death appear almost tasteful. Jeremy said this was the place Katarina Bartek’s husband had been laid to rest before his funeral. It was where Katarina had been hours before she’d died. I wanted to get a look at the place, but it wasn’t my main reason for going there.

  The door gave an unexpectedly shrill ting as I walked in and a woman came through from the back, poised to offer her condolences.

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ I said. I lowered my voice to sound suitably mournful. ‘My uncle has just died and I’m looking at a few places to see where…’ I was surprised at how easily little white lies were slithering out of my mouth these days.

  ‘You’ve come to the right place,’ she said, adopting a stooping position in the manner of people trained to offer endless sympathy.

  Probably in her fifties, she had a Princess Diana haircut that was fading to grey at the sides and held her hands clasped in front of her pleated skirt. She showed me to a seat at the desk. There were leaflets advertising different styles of coffins, tombstones and memorials, and others explaini
ng services and cremations. The lit candle, surrounded by a wreath of white roses was a nice touch. As soon as I sat down, however, I realised the roses were plastic. The candle, too, was phony, its flickering flame powered by battery.

  The woman pulled up her seat, pen at the ready.

  ‘I wanted to ask a few questions, first, if that’s okay?’ I said.

  She nodded sagely, as if she’d expected this.

  ‘My uncle wanted to be cremated,’ I said. ‘This is going to sound really weird, but how hot does the temperature… get to, when the… you know…?’

  She sat back. ‘Goodness, that is an unusual question. Most people want to know what happens to the ashes or whether they are allowed to watch the coffin go into the cremator.’

  ‘Grief does funny things,’ I surmised, tapping a finger on her desk.

  She got up and said she’d be back in a moment.

  ‘Between 1,400 and 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit,’ she recited, on her return.

  ‘Does everything… go… even his teeth. Do they get destroyed too?’

  She tried to hide a fleeting frown, but wasn’t quick enough.

  A man in a black suit came through from the back. He’d heard my questions. ‘Interestingly enough,’ he said, ‘one part of the body that is often intact following cremation is the teeth. False teeth, too.’ He held out his hand by way of a welcome. It felt dusty and too warm. ‘Henry Dodd,’ he said.

  ‘Er… Pauline Watson,’ I said, snatching at the first name I could think of. ‘How long does it take?’

  ‘It depends on the size of the person, but usually between forty-five and ninety minutes. Have we got you registered?’ he said, turning to the receptionist.

  ‘Can I see where he will be?’ I said, ignoring them both. ‘If the mortuary isn’t in use, that is.’

  ‘It’s not normal practice to–’

  ‘Oh, well…’ I reached for my bag, ready to leave.

  He rubbed his hands together. ‘But I think we’ve got time this morning, Sally, don’t you?’

  Dodd led me through a corridor along to the mortuary. He opened the door and put on a bright strip light. The room was chilled and everything inside seemed to be made of brushed aluminium. The smell reminded me of a particular day at senior school when I’d walked into the biology lab to be confronted by rows of cloudy brown jars, each with a dead frog inside.

  ‘The deceased are kept here,’ he said, pointing to the long fridges. ‘We offer embalming, if the family wish to view the body.’ He pointed to various machines on wheels sprouting plastic tubes and a vessel resembling a bidet.

  I noticed there was a back door leading into a rear car park, with tall wooden gates open onto the street. Two shiny black hearses sat in waiting. Presumably business wasn’t brisk.

  ‘You’d set off from here to the crematorium?’ I said, peering out of the window.

  ‘That’s right. A standard hearse, or we can arrange a horse-drawn carriage, or whatever you like.’ I felt sorry for him. He was trying his best to secure my custom.

  We went back along the corridor and he showed me the chapel of rest. ‘This is where you would view your uncle, if that’s what you wanted. And that’s it, really.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s really helpful.’

  He was suitably over-effusive and left me in the capable hands of Sally at reception. She pulled out a set of forms and I began to wonder what sort of hole I’d dug for myself. I wrote Pauline Watson where it asked for my name and then stopped.

  ‘I knew Katarina Bartek,’ I said, without emotion.

  ‘Really? Terrible business,’ she said tutting.

  ‘Her husband was here, wasn’t he?’

  ‘It was all very unfortunate. Poor grief-stricken woman insisted on saying one final farewell to him, but we hadn’t got him into the chapel of rest at that stage, he was still in the mortuary – he wasn’t ready.’

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘I didn’t know her well, but she could be a pretty forceful woman, I understand,’ I said, the pen still poised in the air.

  ‘Too right. She barged in, I’m afraid. Very upset. Not sure she really knew what she was doing. We told her she’d have to come back and see him when he was ready.’

  ‘You saw her leave?’

  ‘Yes, it was just before we were closing.’ She stopped and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Then we heard the terrible news. Both of them dead now. Mr and Mrs. So extraordinary.’

  I put down the pen.

  ‘Listen, I’m very sorry, but I’m not feeling too well. Can I come back and finish this later?’ I staggered to my feet and half doubled-over, made a dash for the door and ran out into the street. The bell reverberated after me as if to denounce my wrongdoing to the world.

  Chapter 35

  I flung my arms around Aiden’s neck the moment he was helped on to the boat. He let me hold him; his body limp and bony. I was practically keeping him upright.

  Two officers were with him, the more senior one indicating we should move inside. I dropped my arms, feeling unprofessional after my heartfelt welcome, then swiftly convinced myself it was the only decent, human thing to do after the ordeal he’d been through.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to Aiden. ‘I couldn’t stop them taking you away. Are you okay?’

  He didn’t need words to tell me that the answer was a resounding no. He looked shaken and terrified, just like the day I’d first met him. His body constantly trembling, his limbs jerking in spasms as he tried to stay on his feet. His pupils were too big and roved everywhere, but focused on nothing.

  I poured him a glass of water and ushered him to a seat in the saloon, as if I was the one who owned the boat and he’d never been here before.

  ‘I’m staying with you, okay?’ I told him. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  The officers followed.

  The younger one stood only a foot away from Aiden with his back to him, as though he wasn’t even in the room. ‘He’s lost the plot, this one. Sure you can handle him?’

  I raised my hand to swat away the ignorant comment.

  In contrast, the older officer walked over to Aiden and raised his voice. He used simple words and broke each one down into punchy syllables as if Aiden was not only deaf, but also intellectually disabled.

  ‘You’re not to leave the boat, un-der-stand?’ he said. My cheeks were on fire.

  I rounded on them both. ‘That was all Aiden wanted, all along!’ I exploded. ‘And for your information, Aiden is not deaf, nor does he have any disabilities. He and I both find it insulting and patronising that you’re treating him in this way. I will be speaking to senior officers about this.’ I took their names, feeling a glimmer of superiority beneath my outrage.

  ‘He’s still a suspect,’ said the senior one, straightening up, backing off a step. ‘We’ll need to check on his movements on a regular basis.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem,’ I said. ‘Call before you turn up. Now, I’d like you to leave.’

  I caught the young officer giving the other one a look. They clambered out without another word and left us alone.

  Aiden sat immobile in front of the television watching nothing but reflections in the blank screen. I made a mint tea and left it beside him. He didn’t even blink, so I gave him some space and went into my cabin, leaving the door open so he could come to me if he needed anything.

  The stray tooth had been on my mind ever since I’d discovered it. It had to be sinister. What acceptable reason could there be for a tooth in a kiln? I’d got half the information I needed from the funeral parlour, but I now needed to use the internet to get the other half.

  I pored over my laptop, running key words through the search engine and clicking on various sites. Then I found the answer I was chasing. I was about to call Jeremy, when his number flashed up on my phone.

  I burst in first. ‘Have you checked the tooth I handed in?’ I didn’t wait for a response. ‘The kiln at CCAP is more than capable of reducing a human body to
cinders.’

  ‘What exactly are you talking about?’ There was a snide edge to his voice.

  ‘Bisque firing requires 1,600˚F, glazing usually around 2,372˚F, but a human body needs only 1,000 degrees to burn to–’

  ‘And because you found one tooth you think–’

  ‘The missing women, Honoré and Pippa, you need to check.’ It was my turn to cut him short. ‘The tooth could belong to one of them.’

  ‘No way,’ he said. ‘That’s absolutely impossible.’

  ‘What? How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because a constable has already taken your tooth along to a local dentist and found out it didn’t belong to a human at all, that’s why.’

  All the air rushed out of my lungs at once. ‘Oh. What is it, then?’

  ‘It’s part of a manufactured set of dentures. And a simple phone call to the dentists of both Honoré Craig-Doyle and Pippa French confirmed that neither of them had false teeth.’ He waited for this sliver of information, flung at me like a lethal spear, to hit the target.

  ‘But, maybe there are more women who’ve disappeared,’ I stuttered. ‘Maybe, the tooth is from a woman who hasn’t been reported missing yet.’

  ‘We can’t carry out investigations on the basis of events that haven’t yet taken place,’ he said curtly. I could sense him resisting the urge to scoff at me. ‘Besides, we’ve already carried out extensive searches at CCAP.’

  I was taken aback. ‘You’ve searched the place?’

  Silence.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Keep away from that place,’ he said, raising his voice.

  ‘My sister works there,’ I said smugly.

  ‘You know what I mean. You had no business snooping around the kiln. That’s not why you’re involved. Your job is to get something out of Aiden, nothing else, understand?’