Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

Tonight, though, it was doing good business, but it was far from a party atmosphere. The nods I received were solemn, the conversation low and subdued. The landlord lifted his chin in silent enquiry as I reached the bar. He was blind in one eye, the milky cast emphasizing the resemblance to an ageing Labrador.

Tint, please, Jack.'

'You been out on the search?' he asked as he set the glass in front of me. When I nodded he waved away my money. 'On the house.'

I barely had time to take a drink before a hand fell on my shoulder. 'Thought you might come in tonight.'

I looked up at the giant who'd materialized beside me. 'Hi, Ben.'

Ben Anders topped six feet four, and seemed half as broad again. A warden at Hickling Broad nature reserve, he'd lived in the village all his life. We rarely saw much of each other, but I liked him. He was easy company, someone I felt as comfortable maintaining a silence with as talking to. He had a pleasant, almost dreamy smile in a heavy-boned face that looked as though it had been screwed up and only partially smoothed out again. Set in its tanned leather, his eyes seemed incongruously bright and green.

Normally they held a twinkle of good humour, but there was no humour in them now. He propped an elbow on the bar. 'Bad business.'

'Lousy.'

'I saw Lyn a couple of days ago. Not a care in the world. And then Sally Palmer, as well. It's like being struck by lightning twice.'

'I know.'

'I hope to Christ she's just buggered off somewhere. But it's not looking good, is it?'

'Not very, no.'

'God, poor Marcus. Doesn't bear thinking about what the poor bastard must be going through.' He pitched his voice lower so it wouldn't carry. 'There's a rumour going around that Sally Palmer was cut up pretty bad. If it's the same man who took Lyn… Jesus, makes you want to break the fucker's neck, doesn't it?'

I looked down into my glass. Obviously word hadn't got out that I'd helped the police. I was glad, but it made me feel awkward now, as if keeping quiet about my involvement were making me a liar.

Ben slowly shook his massive head. 'You think there's any chance for her?'

'I don't know.'

It was as honest an answer as I could give. I remembered what Mackenzie had said earlier. If I was right, then Sally Palmer hadn't been killed until around three days after she'd disappeared. I wasn't a psychological profiler but I knew that serial killers followed a pattern. Which meant, if this was the same man, there was a chance that Lyn might still be alive.

Still alive. God, could she be? And if she was, for how long? I told myself I'd done what I could, given the police as much as could reasonably be expected of me. But it felt like a cheap rationalization.

I realized Ben was looking at me. 'Sorry?'

'I said are you OK? You look pretty bushed.'

'It's just been a long day.'

'You can say that again.' His expression soured as he looked towards the doorway. 'And just when you think it can't get any worse…'

I turned to see the dark figure of Reverend Scarsdale blocking out the light as he entered. Conversations died away as he advanced stern-faced to the bar.

'Don't suppose he'll be getting them in,' Ben muttered.

Scarsdale cleared his throat. 'Gentlemen.' His eyes drifted disapprovingly over the few women in the pub, but he didn't bother to acknowledge them. 'I thought you should know that I will be holding a prayer service tomorrow evening for Lyn Metcalf and Sally Palmer.'

His voice was a dry baritone that carried effortlessly.

'I'm sure all of you' – he let his gaze run around the pub – 'all of you will be there tomorrow evening to show your respect for the dead and support for the living.' He paused before stiffly inclining his head. 'Thank you.'

As he headed for the door he stopped in front of me. Even in summer there seemed an odour of mildew about him. I could see the white dusting of dandruff on the black wool of his jacket, smell the mothball taint of his breath.

'I trust I'll see you as well, Dr Hunter.'

'Patients allowing.'

'I'm sure no-one will be selfish enough to keep you from your duty.' I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. He favoured me with a humourless smile. 'Besides, I think you'll find most of them will be at the church. Tragedies draw communities like this together. Coming from the city you'll probably find that strange. But we know where our priorities lie here.'

With a final terse nod, he left. 'There goes a real Christian,' Ben said. He raised his empty glass, more like a half-pint in his big hand. 'Ah, well, you ready for another?'

I declined. Scarsdale's appearance hadn't improved my mood. I was about to finish my drink and go home when someone spoke behind me.

'Dr Hunter?'

It was the young teacher I'd met at the school the day before. Her smile faltered at my expression. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude…'

'No, that's OK. I mean, no, you aren't.'

'I'm Sam's teacher. We met yesterday?' she said, uncertainly.

Normally I'm bad at remembering names, but I recalled hers straight away. Jenny. Jenny Hammond.

'Sure. How is he?'

'OK, I think. I mean, he didn't come to school today. But he seemed better by the time his mother collected him yesterday afternoon.'

I'd meant to check on him, but other things had intervened. 'I'm sure he'll be fine. There's no problem with him being off, is there?'

'Oh, no, not at all. I just thought I'd… you know, say hello, that's all.'

She looked embarrassed. I'd assumed she'd come over to ask something about Sam. Belatedly, it occurred to me she might just be being friendly.

'So, are you with some of the other teachers?' I asked.

'No, I'm by myself. I went on the search and then… well, my housemate's out, and it just didn't feel like a night for sitting in alone, you know?'

I knew. There was a silence for a while.

'Can I get you a drink?' I asked, just as she said, 'Well, I'll see you later.' We laughed, self-consciously. 'What would you like?'

'No, it's all right, really.'

'I was just going to get myself another.' I realized as I said it that my glass was still half-full. I hoped she wouldn't notice.

'A bottle of Becks, then. Thanks.'

Ben had just finished getting served as I leaned on the bar. 'Changed your mind? Here, let me.' He started putting his hand in his pocket.

'No, it's all right. I'm getting someone else's.'

He glanced behind me. His mouth twisted in a smile. 'Fair enough. See you later.'

I nodded, conscious of my face burning. By the time I was served I'd finished the rest of my beer. I ordered myself another and took the drinks over to where Jenny was standing.

'Cheers.' She raised the bottle in a little toast and took a drink. 'I know the landlord doesn't like you doing it, but it just doesn't taste the same from a glass.'

'And it's less to wash up, so you're actually doing him a favour.'

'I'll remember that next time he tells me off.' She grew more serious. 'I just can't believe what's happened. It's so awful, isn't it? I mean, two of them, from here? I thought places like this were supposed to be safe.'

'Was that why you came?'

I didn't mean it to sound as intrusive as it did. She looked down at the bottle she was holding. 'Let's just say I was tired of living in a city.'

'Where was that?'

'Norwich.'

She had started to peel the label from the bottle. As if realizing what she was doing she suddenly stopped. Her expression cleared as she smiled at me.

'Anyway, how about you? We've already established you're not a local either.'

'Nope. London, originally.'

'So what made you come to Manham? The bright lights and scintillating night-life?'

'Something like that.' I saw that she was expecting more. 'Same as you, I suppose. I wanted a change.'