Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

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.

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.