Stephen Booth - Dying to Sin

‘You have no idea what’s normal on a farm,’ protested Cooper.

Fry raised an eyebrow, but took it well. ‘Fair point. I’ve got a copy of the report here, so let’s run through the results, then. Gavin, are you listening?’

‘All ears,’ said Murfin, though, as far as Cooper could see, he was concentrating on a chocolate bar he’d found somewhere. Not one that had disappeared from the packed lunches the other day, was it?

‘First of all, hydrogen peroxide,’ said Fry. ‘That’s basically plain water with an extra oxygen atom, according to the chemist. I didn’t know that.’

‘Hair bleach?’

‘I’m thinking peroxide blondes,’ said Murfin. ‘Jean Harlow, Marilyn Monroe.’

‘Yes, back in the fifties and sixties, that was the popular way to dye your hair at home.’

‘Do people still use it?’ asked Cooper. ‘I heard it turns your hair orange.’

Fry gave him a challenging look. ‘How would I know, Ben?’

‘I’ve no idea. Sorry.’

‘Isn’t it used as a fuel, too?’ suggested Murfin. ‘I think it was leaking hydrogen peroxide that blew up that Russian submarine a few years ago.’

‘The Kursk , yes. How did you know that, Gavin?’

‘I’ve got a teenage lad. He’s interested in things like that, so I get lectured about them at the dinner table.’

‘The chemist’s report says that about half of hydrogen peroxide produced is used to bleach wood pulp or paper, as an alternative to chlorine-based bleaches. He also suggests mouthwash, contact-lens cleaning solutions, and dental-bleaching gels.’

‘More to the point,’ said Cooper, ‘it’s added to animal feed sometimes, to help fibre digestion. And it’s in some fertilizers, too. I think you can even use hydrogen peroxide in septic tank systems. It oxidizes the slime.’

‘Lovely. So no surprise to find it on a farm, then?’

‘What else is there in the report?’ persisted Cooper.

Fry sighed. ‘Dilute hydrochloric acid, also known as muriatic acid. Bricklayers use it to clean mortar off bricks, because the acid dissolves the lime in mortar. It’s used for cleaning concrete, too. It doesn’t take a big leap of the imagination to figure out where that came from. The builders have been at Pity Wood Farm for weeks.’

‘Isn’t hydrochloric acid dangerous?’ said Murfin. ‘It sounds dangerous.’

‘In the concentrated form, yes — you’d get a pretty severe burn without protective gear. But this is a commercial solution, and less dangerous. I’d still wear gloves and a face mask, though, if I were you.’

‘Next?’ asked Cooper.

‘Potassium hydroxide, also known as lye.’

‘Drain cleaner.’

‘Problems with the drains at Pity Wood? I should say so. What about you, Ben?’

‘OK.’

Fry turned to the second page of the report. ‘Iodine tincture.’

Cooper had used that himself many times, spraying it on to the umbilical cords of new-born lambs and calves as a disinfectant. There were always cans of iodine aerosol standing around at home.

Fry looked up for a comment, but got none. She was smiling now, feeling that she’d been proved right. She was on the home stretch if Cooper wasn’t even commenting.

‘Methanol,’ she said. ‘Even I know that’s antifreeze. Everyone has it, if they own a car. I’ve got some myself.’ There was a continued silence, and she pressed on quickly. ‘Last couple now. Propan-2-ol. Isopropyl alcohol. Any takers?’

‘Rubbing alcohol,’ said Cooper. ‘It’s an antiseptic and cleaner.’

‘And in everyone’s first-aid box,’ said Fry cheerfully. ‘Even farmers who cut themselves use it, I bet.’

‘Unless they drink the stuff,’ said Murfin.

‘Really?’

‘Well, just something I’ve heard.’

Fry shook her head, but didn’t seem downhearted. ‘And finally … something called pseudoephedrine.’ She stumbled over the last word and tried again, shifting the emphasis on the syllables. ‘Pseudoephedrine.’

‘What the heck is that?’

‘It says here it’s the active ingredient in proprietary decongestants, such as Sudafed. But there seems to be an awful lot of it.’

‘Someone had sinus problems at Pity Wood,’ suggested Murfin. ‘I’m not surprised. I reckon you’d be permanently bunged up with a cold, if you lived there. I was sneezing myself when I was up at the farm yesterday.’

Fry stared at him for a moment, as if horrified at the idea of Murfin with a head cold. Cooper could practically see her mind working, pieces falling into place in that efficient, clockwork way her brain had. There were no leaps of intuition with Fry, just the logical adding of one item of information with another, to come up with a final answer, already checked and validated.

At that moment, DI Hitchens entered the CID room with an envelope in his hand. He handed it to Fry with a slightly sheepish look.

‘Diane, here are your tickets for Dublin. I hope you’ve got your passport.’ Fry put the chemist’s report down. ‘I’m ready, sir.’

‘Good. Your flight leaves at one twenty-five.’

* * *

They’d booked her on a cheap Ryanair flight, of course. The fare to Dublin was less than it would have cost her to catch a bus to Sheffield and back. Robin Hood Airport, too — which meant she had to drive right over to Doncaster to catch her flight.

Fry checked in, went through security, and decided to have a drink at the airside bar. And then she had to sit and wait. An hour’s flight to Dublin, and an hour twiddling her thumbs. She watched her fellow passengers waiting patiently near the gate for boarding. Most of them seemed to have books or magazines, mindless stuff to while away the time. If only she could sit still and turn her brain off for an hour, the way these people were able to do.

When she’d finished her drink, Fry began to prowl the departure lounge, feeling restless and uneasy. She noted that ThomsonFly operated flights to Prague from this airport. That would have been handy for Nadezda Halak, she supposed, the Czech Republic being right next door to Slovakia. In fact, they used to be one country, didn’t they, before parts of Eastern Europe began to break up? But had Czechoslovakia separated before, or after, Nadezda arrived in the UK?

Fry found she had no idea. She couldn’t even guess. In fact, she knew nothing else about Slovakia, except that it was where the photocopier paper was made that they used in the office. It said so on the packaging.

She hated being so ignorant of important facts. And this could be an important one, since it made a difference to the nationality of the victim. Damn. It was an overlooked detail, and she didn’t like them. The wrong loose end could unravel a case completely.

She took her notebook out of her bag and jotted down a reminder to herself. She supposed she could call someone back in Edendale on her mobile, but she didn’t want to seem like a pest, some sad character who couldn’t leave her desk behind. Everyone else in the office seemed to be convinced that she was the lucky one to be flying to Ireland. A day off, they called it. A jaunt, a little jolly. She’d been conscious of envious glances, as if she was the teacher’s pet. ‘ Don’t drink too much Guinness, Diane. And watch out for those leprechauns .’

Fry became aware that she was getting a headache. And she hadn’t brought her Lemsip capsules with her, so it was guaranteed that an hour in the recycled air of an economy class cabin would make her cold twice as bad. It had been lurking around for days now, barely suppressed by the medication, irritating her nose and throat. If she didn’t do something, she would arrive in Dublin with a sore throat, barely able to speak.