Кит Мори - Deadly Still

‘So how does that contribute to his death?’

‘It’s complicated, but it has to do with what happens to the methanol in the body. An enzyme called alcohol dehydrogenase in the liver breaks all types of alcohol down. Ethanol, that’s ordinary alcohol, gets broken down into relatively harmless compounds. Methanol though, gets broken down into formaldehyde. That gets broken down by another enzyme called aldehyde dehydrogenase into formic acid. That is nasty toxic stuff that poisons the liver, the kidneys and the nervous system.’

‘And that was a problem because he only had one working kidney?’

‘That’s right. The formic acid is removed from the body by the kidneys and it would have been poisoned by the formic acid. That would have caused a vicious cycle because the formic acid would mount up very quickly and affect his brain and nervous system. Dr Lamont said he’ll need to have blood, stomach contents, urine and other body fluids tested for methanol, formaldehyde and especially the formic acid.’

‘It’s as well that Ralph McLelland took bloods when he confirmed death. So was the respiratory paralysis the cause of death?’

‘It’s complicated, so bear with me. He was pretty sure it was asphyxiation, but there are two possible reasons for that. It looks like he had what they call a pulmonary aspiration, which means he had inhaled vomit. There was vomit in his lungs and in his trachea, probably enough to cut off his airway. That means he may have choked on his vomit. Death can occur very quickly when that happens. His brain had little haemorrhages that he called petechiae and his lungs were also covered in them, which he said is suggestive of asphyxiation. So, poor Jamie either stopped breathing and had a fit as a result of the respiratory paralysis or he inhaled vomit and choked, causing him to have a fit.’

Torquil clicked his tongue. ‘I see, complicated indeed. But one way or another the methyl alcohol is the indirect cause of death.’

‘That’s right. As I say, we’ll know more after all the lab work and the microscopy has been done.’

Torquil sighed as he took out his notebook and pen and jotted down all the salient points. ‘Send me a copy of all this will you, darling. It will help until we get the full report.’

‘OK. I’ll email them across in a few minutes. Where are you?’

‘I’m by the roadside. I was on the Bullet, but I’ll be going straight to the station now and I’ll get it then. So, did you have a chance to visit Catriona McDonald?’

‘I did, and I talked to both the consultant nephrologist and the ophthalmologist. It’s early days, but she should recover her vision. Catriona’s mother was with her when I saw her. The poor kid feels grotty and she’s understandably really emotional, as is her mother. Catriona just can’t remember much at all. She’s devastated about Jamie and upset that Vicky has not turned up yet.’

‘Was it just a post exam adventure?’

‘It was. Apparently Vicky and Catriona had told wee porkies about where they were. She said that Jamie just does what he wants anyway. Jamie had brought the peatreek bottle and Vicky and she had brought the cola and the nibbles. She thinks they all just got drunk and passed out. In the morning she woke up, couldn’t see anything and stumbled outside. That was when Morag found her, I think.’

She paused, then: ‘Any news about Vicky?’

‘Nothing yet, but I’m expecting Morag to call soon.’

‘Well, like they say about no news.’

After Lorna called off, Torquil sat drumming his fingers on the tank of the Bullet. He was worried and seriously doubted the wisdom of the old axiom. In this case, no news certainly didn’t seem like good news.

Nathan Westwood was busy painting in the studio at the back of his Art and Antique Gallery when the door opened and Helen Beamish came in.

‘Nathan, I’ve come about that commission,’ she called through, more to make sure that there was no-one in the studio with him.

A curtain swished and he appeared, wiping a brush with a cloth. ‘Ah yes, I’m interested in that, Mrs Beamish.’ Then lowering his voice. ‘Would you like to come through to my studio to discuss it?’

As she walked past him he crossed to the door and glanced through the window at the misty street to make sure no one was approaching the gallery from either direction. He clicked the latch on the door and turned the sign round to read ‘Closed.’

Once behind the curtain, Helen flung her arms about his neck and kissed him passionately. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ she said, finally, breaking their clinch.

Nathan nodded in the direction of the chaise longue that he used to make sketches or photograph clients, and which he and Helen used on occasions for urgent or opportunist sex.

She shook her head regretfully. ‘There isn’t time, darling. We have to be so careful now and can’t afford any more stupid mistakes. We’ve both got too much to lose.’

Nathan scowled. ‘Does he suspect?’

‘He suspects something. He’s been watching me closely and I think he’s been following me. I found some high powered binoculars in the garage. They’re new. He lied to me and said he’d come back early because the case had been settled already. Well, I checked and it had, but the day before. I think he came back to the island the night before to spy on me. To spy on us!’

‘Christ! Then we might need to think about —’

She put a finger to his lips. ‘We have to be extra careful and make sure we cover our tracks.’

Ewan had spent the past hour on the phone dealing with islanders worried about Vicky or wanting news about Catriona. He gave them all as much information as he was able to, always maintaining his usual polite manner.

Penny’s door was ajar and she had found herself listening with more than half an ear. Try as she might to just get on with her own work she realised how much she liked his lilting accent and his ever friendly manner. She felt guilty about being so clinical earlier, so she went out.

‘Would you — er — like a cup of tea, Ewan?’ she asked, standing with her hands in her pockets. ‘I’d better get used to making it, since I’m the new kid on the block, so to speak.’

Ewan beamed at her. ‘Oh, that would be grand, Penny. Shall I show you where everything is?’

She toed the floor and immediately wanted to rebuke herself. Stop behaving like a sixteen-year-old. Just make him a cup of tea and then get back to work.

The bell rang and the outer door opened. A moment later Calum Steele came in.

‘Ah, Constable McPhee, the very man I wanted to see,’ he said in a deliberately sing-song manner. He grinned and then seeing Penny behind Ewan, he became serious. ‘You will be the new Detective Constable, I think?’ he said, stepping right up to the counter and extending a hand across it.

‘DC Penny Faversham,’ Ewan introduced, ‘meet Calum Steele, the editor of the West Uist Chronicle . He sniffs out the news like no one else.’

Calum stood straight and puffed out his chest. ‘Oh, we journalists have our ways of picking up information.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Calum,’ Penny replied, shaking his hand. ‘And how exactly did you learn about me?’

Calum tapped the side of his nose. ‘Sorry, it is a golden rule of journalism, DC Faversham, we never reveal our sources,’ he said in his most practised enigmatic manner. Then with a click of his tongue: ‘You’ve arrived on the island in the middle of a tragic happening, of course. I just popped in to see how Angus Mackintosh is bearing up. Is there any news on Vicky Spiers?’

‘Inspector McKinnon took him to see the body and he’s understandably distraught. He insisted on going home. As for Vicky, I have no new information, Calum,’ Ewan replied.