The Chemistry of Death dh-1

by Simon Beckett

  I remembered bumping into her as she came out of the chemist's. How happy she'd looked. 'Had it been used?'

  'No. And her husband claimed he didn't know it was there.'

  'But you don't buy something like that unless you're planning to use it. So she must have thought she could be pregnant.'

  Mackenzie nodded, his expression grim. 'And what would a pregnant woman say to someone who'd kidnapped her? "Don't hurt me, I'm having a baby."' He passed a hand over his face. 'Christ. I suppose there's no way of knowing now if she was or not?'

  'Not a chance. Not so early in the term and with the condition the body was in.'

  He nodded, unsurprised. 'If she was, though – or if she only thought she was – then catching this bastard's going to be even harder than we expected.'

  'Why?'

  'Because it means the mutilations aren't planned in advance. He's making it up as he goes along.' Mackenzie rose to his feet, looking tired. 'And if he doesn't know what he's going to do next, what chance have we got?'

  After he'd gone I drove out into the country. I didn't have any destination in mind, just wanted to get away from Manham for an hour or two. I wasn't seeing Jenny that evening. We were both surprised by how suddenly things had developed between us, and after the intensity of the last two days we needed some time apart. I think we both wanted breathing space to stand back and consider this unexpected sea change in our lives, and where it might take us. There was an unspoken sense that neither of us wanted to spoil things by going too fast. After all, if this was what we both felt it to be, what was the hurry?

  I should have known better than to risk tempting fate.

  Before long I found myself on top of a low rise, offering views of the spreading landscape around me. I stopped the car and got out. I sat on a hummock of grass, watching the sun sink towards the waiting marshes. Light blazed golden from the pools and creeks that formed abstract patterns in the reeds. For a while I tried to concentrate on the murders. But it all seemed too far removed from me now. The colours of sky and land slowly deepened towards night, but I felt no compulsion to move.

  For the first time since the accident I felt as if the future had opened up for me. I was finally able to look ahead rather than to the past. I thought about Jenny, and about Kara and Alice, searching myself for any trace of guilt, any sense of betrayal. There was none. Only anticipation. The pain of absence was still there, and always would be. But now there was also an acceptance. My wife and daughter were dead, and I couldn't bring them back. For a long time I'd been dead as well. Now, unexpectedly, I'd come alive again.

  I sat watching the sun set until it was no more than a bright sliver on the horizon, the marsh landscape a uniform dark matt that soaked up the light. When I finally got up, stiff and aching after sitting for so long, I realized I didn't need any more time to think things through. And I didn't want to wait till the next day before I saw Jenny again. I reached for my phone to call her, but it wasn't in my pocket. It wasn't in the Land Rover either. I remembered putting it on my desk when Mackenzie came, and with my mind on other things I must have walked out without it.

  I almost didn't bother going to get it. But I didn't want to turn up unannounced on Jenny's doorstep. Just because I'd resolved my own issues didn't necessarily mean that she had as well. And besides, I was still the village doctor. Manham might have its reservations about me at the moment, but I couldn't bring myself to be out of touch. And so, when I reached the village, I headed to the surgery for my phone.

  The streetlights came on as I drove along the main street. Just before I reached the police trailer in the square I saw a group of men standing in the spill of light from one. One of Scarsdale's vigilante patrols, I guessed. They stared at me as I went past, their faces suspicious in the sickly yellow glare.

  Leaving them behind, I turned off the main street and up the long drive leading to Henry's. The car tyres crunched on the gravel, my headlights splashing on the front of the house as I mounted the rise and dropped down the slope. The windows were dark, which didn't surprise me because Henry usually went to bed early. Not wanting to wake him, rather than use the front door I went round the back to let myself directly into the surgery.

  I'd taken out my keys to unlock the French doors to my office before I noticed that the door to the kitchen stood open. If the light had been on I might have thought nothing of it. But the kitchen was in darkness, and I knew Henry would never have gone to bed without locking up.

  I went across and looked inside. Nothing seemed disturbed. I started to reach for the light switch, but checked myself. Some instinct told me something was wrong. I briefly considered phoning the police. But what could I tell them? For all I knew Henry might just have forgotten to close the door after going out into the garden. My stock in the village was low enough as it was without word getting out that I'd made a fool of myself.

  Instead, I went into the hallway. 'Henry?'' I called, loud enough to be heard if he was up and about, not loud enough to wake him.

  There was no reply. His study was at the far end of the hallway, around the corner. Unable to shake the idea that I was overreacting, I set off towards it. The door was slightly ajar, revealing that the light was on inside. I paused, listening for some sign of life or movement. But the thump of my own heart drowned out any lesser sounds. I put my hand on the door and started to push it open.

  Suddenly it was wrenched from my hand. I was knocked aside as a bulky shadow burst from the room. Winded, I lunged for it and felt a waft of air pass in front of me. My hand clutched coarse, greasy cloth and then something crashed into my face. I staggered back as the figure bolted into the kitchen. By the time I reached it the back door was swinging back against its hinges. Without thinking I set off to go after him. And then I remembered Henry.

  Pausing only long enough to close and bolt the door to the garden, I ran back to his study. As I reached it the hall lights came on.

  'David? What the hell's going on?'

  Henry was pushing himself down the hallway from his bedroom, looking dishevelled and startled.

  'Someone was in here. They ran out when I disturbed them.'

  Reaction was setting in now, the aftermath of adrenalin making me shaky. I went into the study. With relief I saw that the steel cabinet was still locked. Whoever had been in here hadn't got into our drug store, at least. Then I noticed the glass case where Henry kept his collection of medicinal relics. The doors were thrown open, the objects and bottles inside scattered.

  Henry swore and started towards it. 'Don't touch anything. The police will want to check for fingerprints,' I warned. 'Any idea what might have been taken?'

  He was peering uncertainly at the mess. 'I'm not sure…'

  But even as he spoke I noticed one obvious absence. As long as I'd worked here there had been an antiquated bottle gathering dust on the top shelf, its green glass vertically ribbed in the long-outmoded warning for poison. Now it was gone.

  Until then I thought the intruder had been looking for drugs. Even Manham had its share of addicts. But I doubted even the most desperate junkie would have taken a bottle of chloroform.

  I was brought back by an exclamation from Henry.

  'My God, David, are you all right?'

  He was staring at my chest. I was about to ask what he meant, but then I saw for myself. I remembered the waft of air I'd felt as I'd grabbed at the intruder in the hallway. Now I understood what it was.

  The front of my shirt had been slashed open.

  19

  After the commotion of the previous night, the next day started off like any other. That was what struck me, later. I should have known from experience that catastrophe doesn't announce itself in advance. But when it came now I was completely unprepared.

  Like everyone else.

  It was almost four o'clock before the police had finished at the surgery. They'd descended on it like a fury, taking photographs, dusting for fingerprints and asking their questions. Mackenzie had arrived
looking tired and frazzled, like a man recently woken from a bad sleep.

  'Go through it again. You're telling me someone broke into the house, took a slice at you and managed to get away, without anyone getting a look at him?'

  I was tired and irritable myself. 'It was dark.'

  'So there was nothing familiar about him?'

  'No, sorry.'

  'And there's no chance you could identify him again?'

  'I wish there was, but I've told you, it was too dark.'

  Henry had been equally unable to help. He'd been in his bedroom all the time, unaware of anything until he'd heard the commotion and emerged to see me returning from my abortive chase. If things had gone differently, Manham might have been waking up to hear of another murder. Perhaps even two.

  Judging by Mackenzie's attitude as he questioned me, he thought that was the least we deserved. 'And you've no idea what else he might have taken?'

  I could only shake my head. The drugs cabinet was undisturbed, and nothing was missing from the fridge where we stored the vaccines and other temperature-reliant medicines. But Henry was the only one who knew what was in the cluttered glass display case, and until the forensics team had finished with it he couldn't say for sure what was missing and what wasn't.

  Mackenzie squeezed the bridge of his nose. His eyes were red-rimmed and angry. 'Chloroform.' He sounded disgusted. 'I don't even know if you've broken any laws having something like that on the premises. I didn't think doctors used it any more.'

  'They don't. It was just a curio of Henry's. There's even an old stomach pump in there somewhere.'

  'I wouldn't care about a stomach pump, but this bastard's dangerous enough as it is without a bottle full of bloody anaesthetic!' He stopped himself. 'How the hell did he get in here anyway?'

  'I let him in.'

  We both turned as Henry came through the doorway. We were in my office, one of the few downstairs rooms where we knew we wouldn't compromise any evidence, as I locked it every night. I'd insisted that Henry have a break from the questioning. The break-in had badly rattled him, and he hadn't improved after almost an hour of interrogation. He seemed a little recovered now, although his colour still wasn't good.

  'You let him in,' Mackenzie repeated flatly. 'You said earlier you didn't know anyone was in the house.'

  'That's right. But it's still my fault. I've been thinking back, and…' He took a deep breath. 'Well, I… I can't seem to remember actually locking the kitchen door before I went to bed.'

  'I thought you said it was locked.'

  'Yes, I assumed it was. I mean, I always lock it. As a rule, that is.'

  'But not tonight.'

  'I'm not certain.' Henry cleared his throat, his discomfort painful to see. 'Apparently not.'

  'And what about the cabinet? Was that unlocked as well?'

  'I don't know.' Henry sounded exhausted. 'The keys are in my desk drawer. He might have found them, or…' His voice trailed off.

  Mackenzie looked as though he were trying hard to keep hold of his temper. 'How many people knew about the chloroform?'

  'Lord knows. It's been here longer than I have. I never considered it a secret.'

  'So anyone who came in here could have seen it?'

  'It's possible, I suppose,' Henry conceded, grudgingly.

  'This is a doctor's surgery,' I told Mackenzie. 'Everybody knows there's going to be dangerous substances here. Tranquillizers, sedatives, whatever.'

  'Which are supposed to be locked away,' Mackenzie said. 'The bottom line is this man was able to just walk in here and start helping himself.'

  'Look, I didn't bloody invite him!' Henry flashed. 'Don't you think I feel bad enough already? I've been a doctor for thirty years, and nothing like this has ever happened before!'

  'But it happened tonight,' Mackenzie reminded him. 'The one night you forgot to lock the door.'

  Henry looked down at his lap. 'Actually… it might not be the only time. There have been a couple of occasions recently when I've… I've got up and found the door still open. Only one or two. I generally remind myself to lock up,' he added, hurriedly. 'But… well, lately I seem to have been getting a bit… forgetful.'

  'Forgetful.' Mackenzie's voice was toneless. 'But this is the first time anyone's actually broken in, is it?'

  I was about to answer for Henry, say that of course it was. Then I caught his anguished expression.

  'Well, I…' He crossed and uncrossed his hands. 'I'm not sure.'

  Mackenzie continued to stare at him. Henry gave a lost shrug.

  'The thing is, I suppose there have been a couple of times I thought the cabinet seemed… rearranged.'

  'Rearranged? You mean things were missing?'

  'I don't know, I was never very sure. It could have been my memory playing tricks.' He gave me a shame-filled glance. 'I'm sorry, David. I should have told you. But I hoped… Well, I thought if I made more of an effort…'

  He lifted his hands, let them fall helplessly. I didn't know what to say. I felt worse than ever for forcing him to stand in for me recently. Apart from his disability, I'd always thought of him as being physically sound. Now, in the early hours of the morning, I saw signs I'd overlooked before. There were hollows under his eyes, and the skin around his silver-stubbled chin and neck hung loosely. Even taking into account the shock he'd had, he looked ill and old.

  I caught Mackenzie's eye, willing him not to push too hard. Thin-lipped, he led me aside, leaving Henry to sit disconsolately with a cup of tea a young policewoman had made for him.

  'You realize what this means?' Mackenzie said.

  'I know.'

  'This might not be the first time this has happened.'

  'I know.'

  'Good, because your friend over there could be looking at losing his licence. It'd be bad enough if it was just junkies, but this is a serial killer we're talking about. And now it looks as though he's been able to waltz in here and help himself for Christ knows how long!'

  I stopped myself before I could say 'I know' again. 'He'd have to have some medical knowledge to know what to take. And how to use it.'

  'Oh, come on! The man's a killer! You think he's going to worry about giving the right dose? And you don't need to be a brain surgeon to know what to do with chloroform.'

  'If he'd been in here before why didn't he take the entire bottle?' I asked.

  'Perhaps he didn't want anyone to know what he'd taken. If he'd not been surprised tonight we wouldn't have found out now, would we?'

  I'd been unable to argue with that. I felt as culpable as if I'd been the negligent one instead of Henry. I was his partner, I should have been more aware of what was going on. Of what was happening to him.

  Finally, the police had done as much as they could, and I'd gone home. The dawn chorus was already starting when my head touched the pillow.

  Almost immediately, it seemed, I was awake again.

  It was the first time in days that I'd had the dream. It had been as vivid as ever, but for once it hadn't left me with a renewed sense of loss. I felt saddened but calm. Alice hadn't been there, only Kara. We'd talked about Jenny. It's all right, she'd told me, smiling. This is how it should be.

  It had seemed almost like a leave-taking; long-delayed but inevitable. Yet the memory of Kara's final words, delivered with the slight furrow of concern I knew so well, had left a lingering unease.

  Be careful.

  But of what I should be careful, I didn't know. I puzzled over it for a while before realizing I was only trying to analyse my own subconscious.

  It was just a dream, after all.

  I got up and showered. Although I'd only been in bed a few hours I felt as rested as if I'd just had a full night's sleep. I set off early for the lab so I could check on Henry on my way in. I was worried about him after what had happened the night before. He'd looked awful, and I couldn't help but feel responsible. If he hadn't been so tired from all the extra work I'd forced on him he might not have forgotten to lock the
surgery door in the first place.

  I let myself into the house and called him. There was no answer. I went into the kitchen but there was no sign of him there either. Trying to ignore the prickle of unease, I told myself he was probably still sleeping. As I turned to leave the kitchen I glanced out of the window and stopped dead. Across the garden I could glimpse part of the old wooden jetty where it jutted into the lake. Henry's wheelchair was on it.

  It was empty.

  I ran out of the back door, shouting his name. The entrance to the jetty was further down the garden, obscured by shrubs and trees. I couldn't see onto it until I reached the gate, and then I slowed, relieved. Next to the empty chair, Henry was perched precariously on the jetty's edge, trying to lower himself into the dinghy. His face was flushed with effort and concentration as his legs dangled uselessly over the boat.

  'For God's sake, Henry, what are you doing?'

  He flashed me an angry look but didn't stop. 'I'm going out in the boat. What's it bloody look like?'

  He was grunting as his arms took the strain of his weight. I hesitated, wanting to help him but knowing better than to try. At least if he fell in now I was there to drag him out.

  'Come on, Henry, you know you shouldn't be doing this.'

  'Mind your own bloody business!'

  I stared at him in surprise. His mouth was set but quivering. He carried on with his futile attempt for a moment longer, and then the struggle abruptly went out of him. He sank back against a wooden post, covering his eyes.

  'I'm sorry, David. I didn't mean that.'

  'Do you want a hand back into the chair?'

  'Give me a minute to catch my breath.'

  I sat down next to him on the rough planks of the jetty. His chest was still labouring, his shirt stuck to him with sweat. 'How long have you been here?'

  'I don't know. A while.' He gave a weak smile. 'Seemed like a good idea at the time.'

  'Henry…' I didn't know what to say. 'What the hell were you thinking of? You know you can't get into the boat by yourself.'

  'I know, I know, it's just…' His expression darkened. 'That bloody policeman. The way he looked at me last night. Spoke to me, like I was some… some senile old fool! I know I made a mistake; I should have checked the locks. But to have someone patronize me like that…'