bitchiness went straight over Theo’s head. “No,” he said absently. “I’m just checking the headlines. I want to see what they’re reporting on Trixie Arlen’s death.”
Kate felt a little ashamed of herself. “Oh,” she said. She got up and went round to his desk, leaning over to look at the little screen herself. “Anything interesting?”
“Nah. The usual sentimental guff, family’s heartbreak, bringing up her tragic life, you know the kind of thing.”
“Her tragic life?”
“Yeah – you remember, her first husband died, didn’t he, and she had that miscarriage.”
“Oh, yes,” said Kate. “What did he actually die of?”
“Drugs overdose.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” She was silent for a moment, thinking. “That actually might strengthen the case that Trixie was a drug addict herself. I mean, suppose her first husband introduced her to drugs?”
Theo nodded. “But suppose it was the other way round? If you’d lost a loved one to heroin, why the hell would you start taking it yourself?”
Kate got up and went back to her own chair. “That’s a good point,” she admitted, sitting back down. “I don’t know enough about addiction, really – the psychology of it, I mean.” Briefly, she recalled her mother’s struggle with the bottle. Perhaps she knew more than she realised. “I’ll look into it,” she said, half to Theo, half to herself.
The phone rang when she was halfway through a Google search for drug and alcohol treatment centres in Abbeyford. Impatiently she snatched it up. “DS Redman here.”
“Oh, hello.” She recognised the quiet tones of Doctor Telling. “I have some information on your John Doe. We’ve received the reports back from the dental lab.”
Kate’s head was so full of Trixie Arlen that for a moment, she had to struggle to recall who on Earth Doctor Telling was talking about. Then she remembered – the first body they’d found, in the abandoned cottage.
“Oh, yes, thanks,” she said. “Do we have a name?”
“Yes, the dental records brought up a match. His name really was John, John Henry Miller, born in 1960 in Aberdeen. Should I send over the files?”
“Oh, please do,” said Kate. She felt a little glow of satisfaction in the news. She hated the cases – and there were always a few – when a body went unidentified, unclaimed, unmissed. What an awful way to end up, with literally no one on Earth to mourn you. “Thank you very much, Kirsten.”
“It’s no problem,” the pathologist replied in her quiet tone, but Kate thought she could detect an answering measure of satisfaction in her voice. Doctor Telling was gentle and empathic, like all the best doctors. Kate felt a moment’s regret that; because of her break up with Andrew, she’d lost the chance of getting to know Doctor Telling better. She’d always felt that she would be a nice woman to be friends with.
“Is there anything else back from the labs with regard to the Arlen case?” she remembered to ask, but the answer was negative. Kate hadn’t really expected a result yet – these things always took more time than anticipated.
The morning’s work took on a more upbeat feel after the call. Kate flew through a load of outstanding paperwork, arranged an appointment with one of the directors of Outreach, Abbeyford’s largest drug and alcohol treatment centre, caught up with her emails, and realised with a start at twelve o’clock that she was supposed to be having lunch with Stuart. She had to grab her coat and handbag and make a run for the café where they were supposed to be meeting, arriving five minutes late and looking more dishevelled than she would have liked.
Stuart was already there, at a table by the window. He caught sight of Kate as she hurried through the door and gave her a grin. She puffed up to the table, panting apologies.
“It’s not like you to be late,” Stuart said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
Kate dropped into a chair,
Kate felt a little ashamed of herself. “Oh,” she said. She got up and went round to his desk, leaning over to look at the little screen herself. “Anything interesting?”
“Nah. The usual sentimental guff, family’s heartbreak, bringing up her tragic life, you know the kind of thing.”
“Her tragic life?”
“Yeah – you remember, her first husband died, didn’t he, and she had that miscarriage.”
“Oh, yes,” said Kate. “What did he actually die of?”
“Drugs overdose.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” She was silent for a moment, thinking. “That actually might strengthen the case that Trixie was a drug addict herself. I mean, suppose her first husband introduced her to drugs?”
Theo nodded. “But suppose it was the other way round? If you’d lost a loved one to heroin, why the hell would you start taking it yourself?”
Kate got up and went back to her own chair. “That’s a good point,” she admitted, sitting back down. “I don’t know enough about addiction, really – the psychology of it, I mean.” Briefly, she recalled her mother’s struggle with the bottle. Perhaps she knew more than she realised. “I’ll look into it,” she said, half to Theo, half to herself.
The phone rang when she was halfway through a Google search for drug and alcohol treatment centres in Abbeyford. Impatiently she snatched it up. “DS Redman here.”
“Oh, hello.” She recognised the quiet tones of Doctor Telling. “I have some information on your John Doe. We’ve received the reports back from the dental lab.”
Kate’s head was so full of Trixie Arlen that for a moment, she had to struggle to recall who on Earth Doctor Telling was talking about. Then she remembered – the first body they’d found, in the abandoned cottage.
“Oh, yes, thanks,” she said. “Do we have a name?”
“Yes, the dental records brought up a match. His name really was John, John Henry Miller, born in 1960 in Aberdeen. Should I send over the files?”
“Oh, please do,” said Kate. She felt a little glow of satisfaction in the news. She hated the cases – and there were always a few – when a body went unidentified, unclaimed, unmissed. What an awful way to end up, with literally no one on Earth to mourn you. “Thank you very much, Kirsten.”
“It’s no problem,” the pathologist replied in her quiet tone, but Kate thought she could detect an answering measure of satisfaction in her voice. Doctor Telling was gentle and empathic, like all the best doctors. Kate felt a moment’s regret that; because of her break up with Andrew, she’d lost the chance of getting to know Doctor Telling better. She’d always felt that she would be a nice woman to be friends with.
“Is there anything else back from the labs with regard to the Arlen case?” she remembered to ask, but the answer was negative. Kate hadn’t really expected a result yet – these things always took more time than anticipated.
The morning’s work took on a more upbeat feel after the call. Kate flew through a load of outstanding paperwork, arranged an appointment with one of the directors of Outreach, Abbeyford’s largest drug and alcohol treatment centre, caught up with her emails, and realised with a start at twelve o’clock that she was supposed to be having lunch with Stuart. She had to grab her coat and handbag and make a run for the café where they were supposed to be meeting, arriving five minutes late and looking more dishevelled than she would have liked.
Stuart was already there, at a table by the window. He caught sight of Kate as she hurried through the door and gave her a grin. She puffed up to the table, panting apologies.
“It’s not like you to be late,” Stuart said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
Kate dropped into a chair,
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