Barry Maitland: Dark Mirror

‘That’s terrible…’ Kathy hesitated, wondering how best to put this. ‘But it’s not something we can… cover up.’

‘Good Lord, no!’ Sundeep was shocked. ‘No one’s suggesting such a thing. No, no. We… I just want to find out what really happened. If it was murder…’

‘If?’

‘Well, I suppose you’d have to consider suicide. I saw that, too, in India, but only because the poison was available. And there are old self-harm scars on her wrists. But it would be a very unpleasant way to kill yourself. No, I was thinking, if it was a deliberate poisoning, how was it done, in a public place in the middle of the day?’

‘Her food or drink?’

‘Yes, a lethal drink-spiking, say. And then, was she deliberately targeted, or might it have been anyone? And if the latter, have there been other cases? It would be easy to misdiagnose, you see. Arsenic is not something one would normally test for, especially if the symptoms were masked, as here. And there might be no autopsy.’

‘A serial poisoner?’

‘Or something else; India isn’t the only country where arsenic wouldn’t be hard to find.’

The suggestion hung in the air for a moment.

‘A terrorist? Surely we’re getting ahead of ourselves, Sundeep?’

‘Yes, yes. I’m not wanting to go off the deep end, but with all these terror warnings, and it being such an unusual poison these days

… I’ve advised the National Poisons Information Service and started phoning around colleagues in other hospitals.’

Kathy sighed inwardly. This was a babysitting job. Sundeep was having a panic attack. ‘All right. I’ll check our sources. What do we know about Marion?’

‘Not much. Age mid-twenties. I understand the hospital hasn’t been able to trace her next of kin yet. They say she was a student. I have her things.’ He indicated a number of bagged items on the bench against the wall.

‘And she collapsed in a library?’

‘In the London Library-you know it? Just off Piccadilly. Apparently she’s a regular there. They say she just returned from a lunch break and collapsed. I have a copy of the ambulance officer’s report.’

‘If she was poisoned, how long would it have happened before she collapsed?’

‘That depends on the concentration of the dose. She could have been feeling ill for hours, or it might have been more rapid, something in her lunch. I won’t be able to make a time estimate until I get the lab results.’

The pathologist’s assistant came towards them carrying a blue plastic bag. She looked at Sundeep through her visor and he gave a brief nod, at which she began to pack the bag, containing the remains of the soft organs, into Marion’s belly.

‘And were they right?’ Kathy asked. ‘Was she pregnant?’

‘No, she wasn’t.’

Kathy put on gloves and began to go through the woman’s possessions. There was an elegant watch-Omega-and three rings: ruby, amethyst and diamond stones on generous gold bands. ‘Which fingers?’

He showed her. ‘Not engagement or wedding rings, I assume. I think the hospital established that she wasn’t married.’

‘But nice things,’ Kathy said. ‘Not a penniless student. What about the clothes?’

She checked the labels. ‘Very nice.’

Marion’s wallet contained sixty-five pounds in cash, a credit card, a driver’s licence with an address in Stamford Street, SE1, and some receipts, as well as a number of identity and membership cards, including a student card for London University. Her bag contained make-up, keys, a phone and a thick notebook with handwritten entries that might have related to her studies. There was also a bag of sweets.

‘If their blood-sugar balance is unsteady,’ Sundeep said, ‘diabetics sometimes carry sugary sweets to help them adjust it. Maybe the same with the lunchtime drink. The sweetness would tend to disguise the taste of arsenic.’

‘Okay. I’ll make some calls, Sundeep.’

‘Use my office across the corridor, Kathy.’ He started to take off his jacket. ‘I have autopsies to perform. But thank you for coming so quickly. I’m sorry if I’m wasting your time. You’ll let me know?’

‘Of course. And ring me as soon as you get the test results.’

‘They’ve promised to do a Marsh test straight away. I may be completely wrong. Let’s hope I am, eh?’

Kathy led the way to Sundeep’s office. Pip’s face was very pale against her dark lipstick and eye shadow.

‘You okay?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, yes…’ She swallowed.

‘You’re not going to be sick?’

‘No.’

‘Just sit down for a bit.’

Kathy took the big chair behind Sundeep’s desk and began by putting a call through to the anti-terrorist hotline, reporting Sundeep’s fears. They promised to get back to her. Then she ran a check on Marion Summers, quickly establishing that she wasn’t known to the police. She got the number for the student administration office at the university, giving them Marion’s name and student number, and was told that she was enrolled as a PhD student in the Department of European Literature. Their computer had no record of her next of kin. Kathy followed with a call to the London Library, arranging to meet the librarian mentioned on the ambulance officer’s report, and requesting contact details for the other person mentioned, a Mr Nigel Ogilvie. Apparently Mr Ogilvie, a regular, was at the library and would be asked to make himself available. Kathy thanked them and said she was on her way.

‘I’ve never seen that before,’ Pip said as she hung up. Kathy thought she was referring to the autopsy, but then saw that she was staring at Marion’s mobile, whose buttons she’d been working. ‘No call log, no phone book-no numbers listed at all.’

‘Maybe it’s brand new.’

Pip held it up for her to see the scuffed surface of the cover. ‘She must have wiped the memory.’

‘We’ll have to check the phone records.’

Kathy drove them back to the Scotland Yard annexe at Queen Anne’s Gate where Brock’s team was housed, and dropped Pip outside. ‘I want you to get on to the PNC. You’re looking for reported cases of suspected poisonings, drink-spikings leading to illness or death, unexplained deaths that could have been down to poison, anything like that. Use your imagination. If Sundeep’s right it’s possible that other cases may have been misdiagnosed. Start with the London area in the past seven days. Also any mention of arsenic.’

Pip looked downcast. ‘You’re not sending me back to the office as a punishment for feeling dodgy back there, are you?’

‘Of course not. We all feel like that the first few times.’

She managed a pale grin. ‘All right, boss. I’m on it.’ three

T he librarian approved of the detective as soon as she introduced herself in the entrance hall. They were physically similar for a start, both women lean in build, with blonde hair cut short. The inspector’s name, Kolla, was intriguing, and she wondered where it came from. It made her think of the Kola Peninsula in Russia, and she imagined it having some Nordic source. Her own name, Rayner, was originally Danish. She identified with the police officer’s manner, too-friendly, brisk and searching, she felt, for nuances in the replies she gave. And perhaps that was to be expected, for the professions of librarian and detective were not so dissimilar, were they? Both processing information, seeking cross-references, patterns of order in the blizzard of data.

‘I phoned the hospital first thing this morning and got the terrible news that Marion had died,’ the librarian said. ‘I was appalled of course, we all were, although we realised that something was very seriously wrong. I’ve never seen anything like that before.’ She shook her head sadly.