Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

But the low sun was already starting to pierce the gloom, turning the canopy of leaves into a glowing latticework. The woodland here was ancient, a wilderness of creeper-strangled trunks and swampy, treacherous ground. Cutting through it was a warren of meandering paths that could lure the unwary into its depths. When they'd first moved into the house Lyn had made the mistake of exploring it during one of her morning runs. It had been hours before she'd emerged onto a familiar stretch by pure luck. Marcus had been frantic – and furious – when she'd finally made it back home. Since then she'd kept to the same path going both in and out.

The halfway point for her six-mile route was a small clearing, in the centre of which was an old standing stone. It might have been part of a stone circle once, or just a gatepost. No-one knew any more. Overgrown with lichen and grass, its history and secrets were long forgotten. But it was a convenient marker, and Lyn had fallen into the habit of patting its rough surface before setting off back. The clearing wasn't far now, a few minutes at most. Breathing deeply but steadily, Lyn thought about breakfast to goad herself to run faster.

She wasn't sure when the unease started. It was more a growing awareness, a subliminal itch that finally tipped into conscious thought. Suddenly, the woods seemed unnaturally quiet. Oppressive. The thud of her feet on the path sounded too loud in the stillness. She tried to ignore the feeling, but it persisted. Grew stronger. She fought the temptation to look around. What the hell was the matter with her? It wasn't as if she hadn't done this run most mornings for the past two years. She'd never been bothered before.

But she was now. The back of her neck prickled, as though something was watching her. Don't be stupid, she told herself. But the urge to look back was growing. She kept her eyes on the path. The only other living thing she'd ever seen here was a deer. This didn't feel like a deer, though. That's because it isn't. It's nothing. Just your imagination. Your period's three days late and you're letting it get to you.

The thought distracted her, but only briefly. She risked a quick glance, had time to see only dark branches and the path twisting out of sight before her foot stubbed against something. She stumbled, windmilling her arms for balance, heart thumping as she just managed to keep upright. Idiot! The clearing was just ahead of her now, an oasis of dappled sunbeams in the choked woodland. She put on an extra spurt of speed, slapped her hand onto the rough surface of the standing stone and quickly turned around.

Nothing. Just the trees, shadowed and brooding.

What did you expect? Pixies? But she didn't leave the clearing. There was no birdsong, no whisper of insects. The wood seemed to hold its breath in pensive silence. Lyn was suddenly afraid to break it, loath to leave the clearing's sanctuary and feel the trees close in around her again. So what are you going to do? Stay here all day?

Without giving herself time to think, she pushed off from the stone again. Five minutes and she'd be back out in the open. Open fields, open water, open sky. She pictured it in her mind. The unease was still there, but less urgent. And the shadowy woods were growing lighter, the sun throwing its light ahead of her now. She began to relax, and that was when she saw something on the ground ahead of her.

She stopped a few feet away. Splayed out on the centre of the path like an offering was a dead rabbit. No, not a rabbit. A hare, its soft fur matted with blood.

It hadn't been there before.

Lyn quickly looked around. But the trees offered no clue as to where it had come from. She stepped around it, then broke into a run again. A fox, she told herself, as she settled back into her rhythm. She must have disturbed it. But a fox wouldn't have left its prey behind, disturbed or not. And the hare didn't look as if it had been just dropped. The way it was laid out looked…

Looked deliberate.

That was stupid, though. She pushed the thought from her mind as she pounded down the path. And then she was out of the wood and back in the open, with the lake spread out before her. The anxiety she'd felt a few minutes before sloughed away, fading with every step. In the sunlight it seemed absurd. Embarrassing, even.

Later, her husband Marcus would remember that the local news was on the radio as she came in. As he put bread in the toaster and chopped a banana he told Lyn that a body had been found only a few miles away. It must have sparked a connection, even then, because she told him about finding the dead hare. But she'd laughed about it, making a joke of how it had spooked her. As the bread popped out of the toaster the incident already seemed insignificant to both of them.

When she came back from the shower, it wasn't mentioned again.

I was halfway through the morning surgery when Mackenzie arrived. Janice brought the news along with the next patient's notes. Her eyes were wide with intrigue.

'There's a policeman here to see you. A Chief Inspector Mackenzie.'

For some reason I wasn't surprised. I looked down at the patient's notes. Ann Benchley, an eighty-year-old woman with chronic arthritis. A regular.

'How many more are there to see?' I asked, stalling.

'Another three after this.'

'Tell him I won't be long. And tell Mrs Benchley to come through.'

She looked surprised, but said nothing. By now I doubted there was anyone in the village who didn't know that a body had been found the day before. But so far no-one seemed to have made the connection with Sally Palmer. I wondered how long it would stay that way.

I pretended to study the notes until Janice had gone. I knew Mackenzie wouldn't have come unless it was important, and I doubted any of that morning's patients were urgent cases. I wasn't sure why I was keeping him waiting, other than a deep reluctance to hear whatever he had to say.

I tried not to think what it might be as I saw my next patient. I looked sympathetic as Mrs Benchley displayed her gnarled hands, made the soothing and ultimately useless noises expected of me as I wrote her another prescription, and smiled vaguely as she hobbled out, satisfied. After that, though, I couldn't put it off any longer.

'Send him in,' I told Janice.

'He doesn't look very happy,' she warned me.

No, Mackenzie didn't look very happy. There was an angry flush to his face, and his jaw jutted truculently.

'Good of you to see me, Dr Hunter,' he said, his sarcasm barely concealed. He carried a leather folder. He held it on his lap as he sat down opposite me, uninvited.

'What can I do for you, Inspector?'

'Just a couple of points I'd like to clarify.'

'Have you identified the body?'

'Not yet.'

He took out the packet of mints and popped one in his mouth. I waited. I'd known enough policemen not to be discomforted by the games they played.

'I didn't think places like this were around any more. You know, small, family doctor, home visits, all that sort of thing,' he said, looking around. His eyes settled on the bookshelves. 'Lot of stuff on psychology, I see. That an interest of yours?'

'They're not mine, they're my partner's.'

'Ah. So how many patients do the two of you have?'

I wondered where this was going. 'Five, six hundred altogether, perhaps.'

'As many as that?'

'It's a small village but a big area.'

He nodded, as if this were just a normal conversation. 'Bit different to being a GP in a city.'

'I suppose so.'

'Miss London, do you?'

I knew then what was coming. Again, no real surprise. Just a sense of a weight settling onto my shoulders. 'Perhaps you'd better tell me what you want.'

'I did some research after we spoke yesterday. My being a policeman and all.' He gave me a cool stare. 'You've an impressive CV, Dr Hunter. Not the sort of thing you'd imagine for a village GP.'