Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

“Sergeant,” Kincaid interrupted her firmly. “I know it’s a bit awkward for you, but I’m in charge of the Malik investigation now, so anything comes directly to me. I’m sure DI Weller will have a chance to make that clear when he comes in. Now, where would I find Dr. Kaleem?”

“At the London, sir.”

“I want you to set up the team in charge of going over the Maliks’ house,” Kincaid told Cullen as they drove the short distance to the Royal London. “I want our lads, not Bethnal Green. And I want them to go through everything with a fine-tooth comb, including any records of Sandra Gilles’s business transactions. The one thing we do know about this Ritchie is that he was one of Sandra Gilles’s clients.”

Glancing at his watch as the bulk of the hospital came into view, Kincaid added, “Oh, and, Doug, drop me at the front and I’ll meet you at the mortuary in about ten minutes.”

Cullen glanced at him for an instant, then shifted his gaze back to the road. “Right, guv.”

“It will probably take you that long to park in this warren,” Kincaid said, but didn’t offer any further explanation. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss Gemma’s personal business with Doug, especially considering Cullen’s pouting over Gemma’s involvement in the case.

He jumped out of the car as Cullen stopped on the double yellows in front of the main building. Admittedly, the hospital’s venerable original building was quite hideous, but looking at the disparate styles of the mushrooming annexes, Kincaid couldn’t help but think the planners would have been better served by sticking with uniform ugliness.

A quick query at the main information desk sent him outside again, and a brisk walk took him to the building that housed Vi Walters’s ward. He found her alone, and dozing, but when he came in she opened her eyes and gave him a delighted smile. “Duncan! What are you doing here? Did you come all this way to see me?”

He kissed her cheek. “I was in the neighborhood. A new case,” he said. “But I couldn’t pass up a chance to check on you and make sure you were behaving yourself. I can’t stay long.” He was waffling, he knew, covering his shock. She seemed to have shrunk since he’d last seen her, and her skin was almost translucent. Her left arm was neatly bandaged.

“Sit, then,” she said. “You look wilted as an old lettuce. Is it hot?”

He stayed beside the bed, hand on the rail. “Broiling.” Thank God the wards had air-conditioning.

“You’d never know it in here.” Vi gave a shiver, and he realized that her bed was heaped with blankets. “Always did like a touch of the sun,” she added, a little wistfully.

“Well, you should be home soon, and you can toast yourself to your heart’s content.”

Vi started to lift her bandaged arm, then seemed to think better of it and waggled her fingers at him instead. “Maybe tomorrow. I’ve got my own personal plug, as of this morning. No more sticking me black and blue with needles.”

Gemma had told him about the chemo port, and he wasn’t at all sure that was a good sign. “You’re brilliant,” he said. “A regular bionic woman. Gemma’s coming in to admire the handiwork a bit later, I think.”

“She shouldn’t come all this way.” Vi sounded a little fretful. “I’ve told her a dozen times.”

“I’m glad she listens to you,” he tossed back, grinning.

“Oh, go on with you.” Vi shook her head, but her smile was back. “Give us another kiss, then, and go on about your business.”

When he leaned down and touched his cheek to hers, it was cool. At least she no longer had a fever. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Duncan.” She touched his hand as he straightened up. “About Gemma. You know she’s been stubborn as a mule since she was in nappies. Don’t let her balk.”

Kincaid gave her a gentle squeeze in return. “And you know as well as I do that no one can make Gemma do anything.”

If it had been cold on Vi’s ward, it was arctic in the hallway leading to the mortuary. Kincaid pulled up the knot of his tie and shrugged the lapels of his jacket a little closer together, wondering if the denizens of these depths lived in thermal underwear. But a consultant wearing a coat and tie walked briskly towards him, showing no evidence of Eskimo bundling. The man gave a curt nod as they passed, shoulders almost brushing, but Kincaid stopped. “Dr. Kaleem?”

“What?” The consultant looked startled.

“Can you tell me where to find Dr. Kaleem?”

“Oh. Office just down the hall. No one could miss it.” The tone was impatient, as if implying that no one sensible would have had to ask.

“Thanks,” Kincaid said, shrugging as he went on. Suddenly, he caught the distinctive smell that had been masked by the cold, decay compounded with chemicals, and he heard Cullen’s voice. Then, when he reached the office, he saw that the passing consultant might have been referring to the office itself rather than Kincaid’s navigational abilities.

Books covered the shelves, made towers on the floor, and overflowed the surface of the desk, where a computer monitor looked as if it were fighting for its life. File boxes were interspersed with the books, and the only visible spot on the wall was covered with an intricate bit of graffiti art. There were no chairs other than the one behind the desk.

Louise Phillips’s office sprang to Kincaid’s mind, but while Phillips’s clutter had seemed indicative of carelessness, this room somehow conveyed enthusiasm, as if its occupant’s interests had overruled the limits of the physical space.

The voice he’d heard responding to Cullen’s was male, with a cut-glass accent, and now seemed to be coming from beneath the desk. “Bloody printer’s jammed.” There was a thump, then a whir, followed by an exclamation of satisfaction. “Kicking it sometimes helps. I love technology.”

A man emerged, holding a sheaf of papers victoriously aloft. Kincaid grinned. No wonder Coat-and-Tie had radiated disapproval. For if this was Dr. Kaleem, the pathologist was at the very least a sartorial nonconformist. He wore a faded, rock band T-shirt and tattered jeans, and his blue-black hair was gelled into spikes. He was also, as Gemma had curiously failed to mention, extraordinarily good-looking.

“Rashid Kaleem,” he confirmed, transferring the papers to his left hand and reaching across the desk to shake Kincaid’s right. “You must be Superintendent Kincaid. Sergeant Cullen here has been telling me you’re taking over from DI Weller.” He glanced round, as if thinking of asking them to sit, then propped himself on a corner of his desk, pushing a stack of books precariously aside as he did so.

“I was telling Sergeant Cullen,” Kaleem continued, “that I managed to rush the tox scans. I was curious about this case.” He tapped a page. “Your victim was loaded with Valium, which was not too surprising.”

“Then he did commit suicide,” said Cullen, sounding almost disappointed.

“No, wait.” Kaleem waved the papers at them. “That’s not all. I found ketamine as well, and while the high concentration of the two drugs could certainly prove fatal, it’s an unlikely suicide cocktail.”

Kincaid stared at him. “What the hell was Naz Malik doing with ketamine in his system?” The veterinary tranquilizer was cheap and popular as a street drug, and made veterinary clinics obvious targets for robbery.

“It’s possible he might have taken the Valium, valid prescription or not, and bought the ketamine off a street dealer to boost the high. In which case, he might have died from an accidental overdose,” said Kaleem.

“But you don’t think so.”

“No. This guy would have been out of it. It’s like I told the old-It’s like I told DI Weller. I don’t believe the victim could have got himself into the park in his condition, and there was no evidence indicating that he took pills or used a needle on the site. Nor did I find any puncture marks on the body. So my guess is that somebody walked him, or half carried him, to the spot where he was found. And then there’s the head.”