The Chemistry of Death dh-1

by Simon Beckett

  I gave Marina a rueful smile. 'Looks like we'll be working late.'

  In the end, though, it hadn't taken as long as I'd expected. The dog was much smaller, which made life easier. I'd taken the X-rays I needed and then put its body to boil in detergent. Tomorrow when I arrived at the lab there would be nothing left but its skeleton to examine. The thought of the remains of both Sally and her dog lying in the same room struck a chord within me, but I wasn't sure if it was a comforting or mournful note.

  The low sun lanced off the surface of Manham Water, setting the lake on fire as the road bent and dipped in its approach to the village. Squinting, I pulled my sunglasses down from my forehead. For an instant my vision was obscured by the frame, and then I saw a figure walking towards me on the road edge. I was surprised to see someone so close, but they were back-lit by the blinding sun, and I was almost past before I recognized who it was. I stopped and reversed until my open window was level with her.

  'Can I give you a lift home?'

  Linda Yates looked up and down the empty road as if considering the question before answering. 'I'm not going your way.'

  'Doesn't matter. It'll only take a few minutes. Hop in.'

  I leaned across and pushed the door open. When she still hesitated I said, 'It's not far out of my way. I've been meaning to check on Sam anyway.'

  The mention of her son's name seemed to decide her. She climbed in. I remember noticing how she sat close to the door, but at the time I didn't think anything of it.

  'How's he been?' I asked.

  'Better.'

  'Has he gone back to school?'

  She raised a shoulder. 'Doesn't seem much point. They finish tomorrow.'

  That was right. I'd lost track of time, forgotten the school was about to break up for the long summer holiday. 'How about Neil?'

  For the first time something like a smile came and went. But it was a bitter one. 'Oh, he's fine. He's like his dad.'

  There were domestic undercurrents there it was best to avoid. 'Have you been at work?' I asked. I knew she sometimes cleaned for a couple of the village shops.

  'We needed some things from the supermarket.' She lifted the plastic bag she'd been carrying as if to prove it.

  'Bit late to go shopping, isn't it?'

  She glanced at me. By now there was no mistaking her nervousness. 'Somebody's got to do it.'

  'Couldn't…' I searched for her husband's name. 'Couldn't Gary take you?'

  She shrugged. It obviously wasn't an option.

  'I don't know that walking home alone is a good idea right now.'

  Again, that quick, nervous look. She seemed to press herself up against the door even more.

  'Everything all right?' I asked, but I was beginning to see that it wasn't.

  'Fine.'

  'You seem a bit on edge.'

  'Just… be glad to be home, that's all.'

  She was gripping the edge of the door, where the window was open. She seemed ready to fling herself out of it. 'Come on, Linda, what's wrong?'

  'Nothing.' It came out too quickly. And now, belatedly, I began to understand what it was.

  She was scared. Of me.

  'If you'd rather I stopped so you can walk the rest of the way, just say,' I told her, cautiously.

  I could tell from the way she looked at me that I'd been right. I thought back, realized with hindsight how reluctant she'd been to get into the car. But it wasn't as if I was a stranger, for God's sake. I'd been the family's doctor since I arrived, seen Sam through mumps and chickenpox, Neil through a broken arm. It was only a few days earlier that I'd been in her kitchen, when her boys had made the gruesome discovery that had started all this. What the hell's going on?

  After a moment, she shook her head. 'No. It's all right.' Some of the tension had left her, though not all of it.

  'I don't blame you for being wary. I just thought I was doing you a favour.'

  'You are, it's just…'

  'Go on.'

  'It's nothing. Only talk.'

  Until then I'd been putting her reaction down to a general anxiety, an indiscriminate mistrust in the face of what was happening in the village. Now my own unease began to grow as I began to understand it was something more.

  'What sort of talk?'

  'There's a rumour going round… That you'd been arrested.'

  I hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't that.

  'I'm sorry,' she said, as though I might blame her for it. 'It's just stupid gossip.'

  'Why the hell would anyone think that?' I asked, stunned.

  She was fretting at her hands now, no longer afraid of me, only of having to tell me this: 'You've not been at the surgery. People are saying that the police came to see you, that you'd been driven away with that inspector. The one in charge.'

  It was becoming all too clear now. In lieu of any real news, rumour had rushed in to fill the vacuum. And by agreeing to help Mackenzie I'd inadvertently made myself a target. It was so absurd I could have laughed. Except it wasn't funny.

  I realized I was about to drive past Linda's house. I pulled up, still too stunned to speak.

  'I'm sorry,' she said again. 'I just thought…' She didn't finish.

  I tried to think of what I could say that wouldn't involve dredging up my entire past for the village to examine. 'I've been helping the police. Working with them, I mean. I used to be… a sort of specialist. Before I came here.'

  She was listening, but I wasn't sure how much sense this was making to her. Still, at least she didn't look as though she wanted to throw herself out of the car any more.

  'They wanted my advice,' I went on. 'That's why I haven't been in the surgery.'

  I couldn't think of anything else to say. After a moment she looked away. 'It's this place. This village.' She sounded weary. She opened the door.

  'I'd still like to look in on Sam,' I said.

  She gave a nod. Still shaken, I followed her up the path. Inside, the house seemed misty and dim after the brightness of the evening. The TV was playing in the lounge, a cacophony of sound and colour. Her husband and youngest son were watching it, the man slumped in a chair, the boy lying on his stomach in front of the set. They both looked around when we entered. Gary Yates turned to his wife, silently demanding an explanation.

  'Dr Hunter gave me a lift home,' she said, setting down her shopping bags, moving around too quickly. 'He wanted to see how Sam was.'

  Yates seemed unsure of how to react. He was a wiry man in his early thirties, with the pinched, feral look of a tinker about him. He slowly stood up, hands held uncertainly. He decided not to offer them, stuffed them into his pockets instead.

  'Didn't know you were planning to call,' he said.

  'I didn't know myself. But given what's happened I couldn't let Linda walk home by herself.'

  He flushed and looked away. I told myself to ease up. Any points I scored against him would only be extracted from his wife's account after I'd gone.

  I smiled at Sam, who'd been watching from the floor. The fact that he was inside on a summer evening like this said he wasn't fully himself, but he seemed better than the last time I'd seen him. When I asked him what he would do during the school holidays he even smiled at one point, showing some of his old animation.

  'I think he's doing OK,' I told Linda in the kitchen afterwards. 'He'll probably bounce back soon enough now he's over the initial shock.'

  She nodded, but distractedly. She was still ill at ease. 'About earlier…' she began.

  'Forget it. I'm glad you told me.'

  It had never occurred to me that people might get the wrong impression. But perhaps it should have. Only the night before Henry had warned me to be careful. I'd thought he was overreacting, but he obviously knew the village better than I did. It rankled, not so much because of my misjudgement, but because a community I'd considered myself a part of was so readily prepared to think the worst.

  I should have known even then that the worst can always surp
ass expectations.

  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the door to the lounge was shut. There was a question I'd been waiting to ask since I'd stopped to give Linda a lift.

  'On Sunday, after Neil and Sam found the body,' I began, 'you said you knew it was Sally Palmer, because you'd dreamed about her.'

  She busied herself at the sink, rinsing cups. 'Just coincidence, I expect.'

  'That wasn't what you said then.'

  'I was upset. I shouldn't have said anything.'

  'I'm not trying to trick you out. I just…' Just what? I was no longer sure what I was hoping to prove. I ploughed on anyway. 'I wondered if you'd had any more dreams. About Lyn Metcalf.'

  She stopped what she was doing. 'I wouldn't have thought somebody like you would have much time for that sort of thing.'

  'I was just curious.'

  The look she gave me was speculative. Piercing. I felt myself grow uncomfortable under it. Then she gave a quick shake of her head. 'No,' she said. And then she added something so quietly I almost missed it.

  I would have asked her more, but at that moment the door opened. Gary Yates regarded us with suspicion.

  'I thought you'd gone.'

  'I'm just going,' I said.

  He went to the fridge, opened its rust-edged door.

  A skewed fridge magnet on it said 'Start the day with a smile'. It showed a grinning crocodile. He took out a can of beer and opened it. As if I wasn't there he took a long pull, giving a stifled belch as he lowered the can.

  'Bye, then,' I said to Linda. She bobbed her head, nervously.

  Her husband watched through the window as I went back to the Land Rover. As I drove into the village I thought about what Linda Yates had said. After she'd denied dreaming about Lyn Metcalf, she'd added something else. Just two words, barely loud enough for me to hear.

  Not yet.

  Ridiculous as the rumours about me were, I couldn't afford to ignore them. It was better to meet them head on than let the whispers get out of hand, but I still felt an unaccustomed apprehension as I headed for the Lamb. The garlands on the Martyr's Stone were limp and dying now. I hoped it wasn't an omen as I drove by the police trailer parked by the village square. Two bored-looking policemen sat outside it in the evening sunshine. They stared incuriously at me as I passed. I parked outside the pub, took a deep breath and pushed open the doors.

  When I stepped inside my first thought was that Linda Yates had exaggerated. People glanced my way, but there were the usual nods and acknowledgements. A little subdued, perhaps, but that was only to be expected. No-one was going to be laughing and joking around here for a while yet.

  I went to the bar and ordered a beer. Ben Anders was on his mobile in the corner. He held up his hand in greeting before going on with his conversation. Jack pulled my drink as contemplatively as ever, placidly watching the golden liquid chase the suds up the glass. Henry's warning the previous night had been misplaced, I thought with relief. People knew me better than that.

  Then someone further along the bar cleared his throat. 'Been away?'

  It was Carl Brenner. And as I turned to him I realized that the room had gone quiet.

  Henry had been right after all, I realized.

  'Hear you've not been around much the last couple of days,' Brenner went on. He had a jaundiced, heavy-lidded look about him that told me he was in his cups.

  'Not much, no.'

  'How come?'

  'There were some things I needed to do.' As much as I wanted to end the rumours about me, I wasn't going to be bullied into anything. Or give the village tongues even more to wag about.

  'That's not what I heard.' There was a yellow anger burning in his eyes, waiting only for a target. 'I heard you were with the police.'

  The pub seemed very quiet now. 'That's right.'

  'So what did they want?'

  'Just advice.'

  'Advice?' He made no attempt to hide his disbelief. 'About what?'

  'You'll have to ask them that.'

  'I'm asking you.'

  His anger had found its focus now. I looked away from it, around the room. Some people were staring into their drinks. Others stared back at me. Not yet condemning, but waiting.

  'If someone's got something to say, say it,' I said, as calmly as I was able. I held their gazes until, one by one, the faces turned away.

  'All right, if nobody else is going to, I will.' Carl Brenner had risen to his feet. He aggressively swigged what was left in his glass and banged it down. 'You've been-'

  'I'd be careful if I were you.'

  Ben Anders had materialized beside me. I was pleased to see him, not just because of his reassuring physical presence, but because it was a welcome sign of support.

  'Stay out of this,' Brenner said.

  'Stay out of what? Just trying to stop you from saying something you'll regret tomorrow.'

  'I won't regret anything.'

  'Good. How's Scott?'

  The question took away some of Brenner's bluster. 'What?'

  'Your brother. How's his leg? The one Dr Hunter fixed up the other night.'

  Brenner fidgeted, sullen but deflated. 'It's all right.'

  'Good thing the doc here doesn't charge for out-of-surgery hours,' Ben said, affably. His gaze took in the rest of the room. 'I daresay most of us have had cause to be grateful for that some time or another.'

  He let his words hang, then clapped his hands together and turned to the bar. 'Anyway, when you've got a minute, Jack, I'll have another.'

  It was as though someone had suddenly opened a window to let in a clean breeze. The atmosphere cleared as people stirred, some of them looking slightly shamefaced as they went back to their conversations. I became aware of sweat damping the small of my back. It had nothing to do with the heat in the airless bar.

  'Would you like a whisky?' Ben asked. 'You look as though you could use one.'

  'No thanks. But I'll get yours.'

  'No need.'

  'It's the least I can do.'

  'Forget it. The bastards just needed reminding of a few things.' He glanced across at where Brenner was staring moodily into his empty glass. 'And that bastard needs someone to give him a sorting. I'm pretty certain he's been milking nests at the reserve. Endangered ones. Normally once the eggs have hatched we're OK, but we've been losing adult birds as well. Marsh harriers, even bitterns. I haven't caught him yet, but one of these days…'

  He smiled as Jack set his pint down. 'Good man.' He took a long drink and gave an appreciative sigh. 'So what have you been doing?' He gave me a sidelong glance. 'Don't worry, I'm just curious. But it's obvious something's been taking you away from here.'

  I hesitated, but he'd earned some sort of explanation. Without going into too many details, I told him.

  'Jesus,' he said.

  'Now you see why I don't talk about it. Or didn't,' I added.

  'You sure you wouldn't just rather tell people? Get it out in the open?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'I can spread the word, if you like. Put it about what you've been doing.'

  I could see the sense in that. But it still went against the grain. I never used to talk about my work, and old habits died hard. Perhaps I was just being stubborn, but the dead had rights to privacy just as much as the living. Once word got out what I'd been doing there would be no end to the morbid curiosity. And I was far from sure how Manham would feel about its doctor's unorthodox activities. I was well aware that my two vocations might not sit comfortably with each other in some people's eyes.

  'No thanks,' I told him.

  'Your choice. But there's still going to be talk.'

  Although I knew as much, my stomach still sank. Ben gave a shrug.

  'They're scared. They know the killer must live around here. But they'd still rather it be an outsider.'

  'I'm not an outsider. I've been here for three years.' It rang false even as I said it. I might live and work in Manham, but I couldn't claim to belong. I'd just had
proof of that.

  'Doesn't matter. You could live here for thirty, you're still from a city. Push comes to shove, people look at you and think "foreigner".'

  'In that case it won't matter what I say, will it? But I don't think everyone's that bad.'

  'No, not everyone. But it only takes a few.' He looked solemn. 'Let's just hope they catch the bastard soon.'

  I didn't stay long after that. The beer tasted sour and stale, though I knew it was as well kept as ever. There was still a numbness when I thought about what had happened, like the deadened moment before the pain sweeps in from a wound. I wanted to be in my own house when it finally caught up with me.

  As I drove from the pub I saw Scarsdale leaving the church. Perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed to be striding taller than before. Out of everyone, he was the only person who was flourishing from the events that had overtaken the village. Nothing like tragedy and fear to make a man of the cloth the man of the moment, I thought, and straight away felt ashamed. He was only doing his job, the same as me. I shouldn't let my dislike of him colour my thinking. God knew, I should have had enough of prejudice for one night.

  A guilty conscience made me raise a hand in acknowledgement as I approached. He looked directly back at me, and for a moment I thought he wasn't going to deign to respond. Then he gave his head a short downward tilt.

  I couldn't shake the feeling that he knew what I was thinking.

  12

  By Friday the press had started to drift away. The lack of any developments meant Manham was already losing its hold on the media's fickle interest. If something else happened they would be back. Until then Sally Palmer and Lyn Metcalf would steadily diminish in airtime and column inches, until their names faded altogether from the public consciousness.

  As I drove into the lab that morning, though, my thoughts weren't on the fading media presence or, I'm ashamed to say, the two victims. Even the shock of finding myself regarded with suspicion in the village had been temporarily displaced. No, what fretted away at me was something far more trivial.