Blood Will Tell

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘And your deduction?’

  He studied my face. ‘Much the same as yours, I suspect, if you were having nightmares about it.’

  ‘I wasn’t having nightmares.’ I thought for a moment. ‘Come to think of it, maybe I was. I was lying on a sort of dentist’s chair thing, and they were drawing my blood, but something happened and it all got spilled, buckets of it, and they left the needle in and blood was spouting all over.’ I shuddered. ‘I’d forgotten until you said nightmare.’

  ‘Sorry to make you remember. But you were thrashing about and sounding distressed when I came in, or I would have let you sleep. Something about the tour disturbed you.’

  ‘Not the tour. It was just boring, most of the time. And at first I thought I’d stumbled on a reasonable explanation of what I saw. But when I got to thinking about it, I remembered what a lot of blood there’d been, and I couldn’t imagine any experiment that would require so much.’

  ‘I’m afraid I reached the same conclusion.’

  I sagged back against the pillows. ‘I think I need another cup of coffee.’

  ‘So what are we going to do about it?’ I asked briskly when the caffeine had done its work.

  ‘I’ve had a few discussions with my colleagues about the relationship between the Cambridge City police and the university security forces. That’s what this conference is about, you remember – police interactions with the community. You won’t be surprised to know that, here as elsewhere, the lines of authority are a trifle blurry, and rapport can become a bit strained. It’s no secret to anyone, probably to anyone in the world, that the university is vitally important to the economy of the city. Although there are also major businesses here, notably in the technology sector, still, for most of the world, the word “Cambridge” means the university. It’s the university that generates the huge tourist influx, an invaluable source of income for the city.’

  ‘Yes, OK, I get all that; you don’t have to draw me a picture. The university has very important toes that no one wants to step on. So Elaine and her legions don’t want to go marching in boots and all and demand an explanation. So now what?’

  ‘I think we need to talk first to someone from university security. Superintendent Barker would know who might be the best person to approach.’

  ‘Agreed. Are there going to be drinks before dinner tonight?’

  ‘Not formally, but the bar in the conference common room will be open.’

  ‘Let’s corner her then. If we can pry her out from under from Andrews’s eagle eye, I’ll bet she’ll want to help. Meanwhile, my dear, I’m awake and wired, and I haven’t done that shopping yet. Do you want to come along to be a restraining force?’

  ‘My dear, I may urge you on. I enjoy watching you shop.’

  Which only proves what a peerless husband I have.

  FIVE

  I sailed out to cocktails in one of my new purchases, a floaty top in a black-and-white shadow print that made a white blouse and black pants look like the ultimate in chic. I had topped it with my favourite cocktail hat, a little black beret with a large sequined butterfly hovering over one eye, and I was very pleased with myself. My hair might be grey, my chin might sag, but I could still dress up, by golly.

  ‘That hat,’ said Alan, looking at me with amused fondness, ‘is fantastic. In the literal sense.’

  ‘A thing of fantasy. Yes. And fun. Shall we?’

  St Stephen’s, when doing the remodelling that enabled them to host conferences year-round, had thoughtfully provided a third common room in addition to the ones set aside for Fellows of the college and for students. Ours was fitted out with a bar, comfortable chairs, and a fire, which, on a chilly April evening, was most welcome.

  We were among the first to arrive, so after Alan had fetched a Jack Daniel’s for me and a Glenlivet for himself, we stationed ourselves in front of the fire in a good position to see later arrivals. It wasn’t long before Elaine Barker appeared, fortunately alone.

  Alan hailed her. ‘Come and sit with us. And what can I get for you?’

  She sat down with a sigh. ‘Whisky. Neat.’

  ‘They have several rather nice ones. Have you a choice?’

  She waved aside any preference, so Alan got her his favourite, and we sat amiably toasting our toes.

  ‘May I assume,’ she asked after an interval, ‘that this thirst for my company has something to do with your little problem, Dorothy?’

  ‘It has everything to do with it. Not that we wouldn’t have wanted to have a drink with you anyway, you understand. But Alan and I were eager to get you away from your boss and have a quiet word with you.’

  ‘You’d better have it quickly, then. I got away from him, but he’s looking for me. I didn’t quite toe the accepted line in a few of my questions this afternoon, and he wants to help me see the error of my ways.’ She upended her glass and set it down empty. Alan picked it up and went back to the bar.

  I leaned closer to her. ‘It’s like this. Alan and I don’t know quite how to proceed with looking into … with checking on what I saw yesterday.’ I looked around and dropped my voice another few decibels. ‘We don’t want to upset any of the university authorities, but I don’t quite see how we can get anywhere without talking to the security people, or to some of the people who use that building. Students, dons, whoever. Do you have any suggestions?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’ She, too, glanced around, and saw Alan coming back with her refresher. ‘There is a student, a microbiologist whom I know quite well, who is working on his doctoral degree in that building. I trust him implicitly. He would be delighted to have a chat with you, and might prove to be quite helpful. His name is Thomas Grenfell. If you’ll give me your mobile number, I’ll see that he rings you.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he’s any relation to the celebrated Joyce Grenfell?’ I asked as I handed her my card.

  ‘If so, it would be very distantly. I know his family. He is my nephew. There’s Andrews bearing down upon us. I’m off.’

  I raised my glass to Alan in a silent toast to the delightfully small world of English connections, and we strolled off to dinner.

  Eager to hear from young Mr Grenfell, I woke early next morning and went to breakfast with Alan. As usual when confronted with an English breakfast, I ate far too much, almost all of it cholesterol. I always vow to resist temptation, and I always give in. The sausages were particularly good; I had two lovely big ones. And the bacon, and the grilled mushrooms …

  ‘I’ll walk it off while you sit and listen to lectures,’ I said callously. ‘It’s a beautiful morning, and I still haven’t walked along the Backs.’

  ‘I don’t actually have to attend any of the sessions except my own, my dear. Would you like some company on your stroll?’

  ‘So long as we make it faster than a stroll. I really do need to work off some of those absolutely marvellous calories.’

  The market was just getting under way as we walked through. Shopkeepers were chatting with each other, exchanging good-natured jibes, swearing in rich Anglo-Saxon when a canvas curtain stuck and then pulled some merchandise to the ground when it gave way.

  ‘How many centuries has this been going on, do you think?’

  ‘I believe the market dates back to Saxon times, though it was held in small buildings back then. There was a fire at some point that destroyed the buildings, but not the market itself.’

  ‘This is what I love so about England, Alan. One of the things, anyway. The continuity and stability. A market that’s been here for a thousand years or so. There’s a security about that, a sense of peace and assurance—’

  A series of sharp yips accompanied a small dog chasing a cat pell-mell through the stalls. The cat screamed, hissed, and turned to confront the dog and deliver a sharp scratch across the nose. The dog yowled and ran away, and someone, presumably its master, called out furiously from one of the stalls.

  ‘Peace and assurance. Yes, love.’

  And then we
were at King’s Parade, and facing the magnificent east front of King’s College Chapel. The morning sun shone fully on the wall of stained glass, the delicately carved golden stone, the perfect proportions. My eyes teared up; a lump caught in my throat.

  Alan understands my reaction to perfect beauty. He took my hand, and we stood dumb until the dog we’d seen before came trotting over to see if our stillness meant we had a treat for him.

  That broke the spell. I heaved a sigh of pure bliss, patted the dog with apologies for having nothing better than affection to offer, and was turning away when my phone rang.

  The crush of tourists was mounting. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and sought a quiet corner in the doorway of a shop that wasn’t yet open.

  I glanced at the number before I answered. I didn’t recognize it.

  ‘This is Dorothy Martin,’ I answered formally.

  ‘Mrs Martin, Tom Grenfell here. My aunt asked me to phone you, something about a science lab?’

  ‘Yes, and thank you for calling. The whole thing is a little complicated to explain over the phone. Do you have any spare time today when we could meet somewhere?’

  ‘I’ll be working in my lab most of the day. If you wouldn’t mind coming there – it’s in Hutchins – I could take a break around four thirty this afternoon.’

  ‘That would be perfect! Which lab? And can you give me directions? I know where the building is, but the interior layout confuses me.’

  ‘Ah, you’ve seen our labyrinth. Obviously designed by someone high on something or other. My lab-cum-office is on the first floor – second, to you Yanks – in the south-east corner. In the front door, take the stairs to your right, turn right and go down a corridor that ends at a forbidding-looking door. I’ll be there to meet you.’

  ‘Without a Minotaur, I trust.’

  A chuckle at the other end of the line. ‘I’ll make sure he’s properly caged. See you this afternoon, then.’

  I related the conversation to Alan. ‘You’ll come with me, won’t you? Or do you have to be somewhere then?’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ He gave me a quizzical look. ‘You’re uneasy about this, aren’t you, love? I’ve never known you to be so apprehensive about pursuing an investigation.’

  ‘I know. I usually just forge ahead regardless of the consequences. I don’t know why it’s different this time, but I’m truly scared of that building. Stupid, isn’t it?’

  ‘On the contrary, I’d say you were at last exhibiting some rudimentary concern for your skin. I applaud the change. Now, shall we explore the Backs?’

  I admit I had only divided attention to give to the glories of Cambridge for the next few hours. We wandered along the Cam at the ‘backs’ of many of the ancient colleges. We returned to King’s and checked out the times for Evensong. Today, Friday, it was at five thirty, so we wouldn’t be able to make it. ‘But there’s one tomorrow,’ said Alan consolingly, ‘with an organ concert to follow. We’ll get our music.’

  We stopped in at Heffers, the wonderful bookstore near Trinity College, where I found a couple of new mysteries by favourite authors and had a pleasant chat with Richard Reynolds, who has an encyclopaedic knowledge of crime fiction. We skipped lunch at the college in favour of a salad lunch in a little café near the market, with our waistlines in mind. We did some shopping in the market, picking up a few small gifts for Alan’s grandchildren, who had birthdays coming up, and then went back to St Stephen’s to rest our feet. I lay on the bed, but couldn’t nap, though I wanted to. I suppose it was all that coffee. My mind kept going over and over that scene in the lab, which seemed permanently etched on my mind’s eye.

  At twenty past four, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I swung my feet to the floor and put on my shoes. ‘Alan!’ I said urgently.

  He put down the book he was reading (or nodding over) and stood up. ‘Plenty of time, my dear.’

  ‘I know. I’m antsy. Let’s go.’ I pulled on my bright tam for moral support, and we walked the few yards to the Hutchins Building.

  It was a good thing, for the sake of my mental health, that young Grenfell decided to meet us at the front door. Even with Alan by my side, I would have been reluctant to try to find Tom’s lab.

  He was a very polite young man, and nice-looking. His beard was neatly trimmed; his hair only a bit longer than Alan’s. Looking quite professional in his white coat, he shook hands with both of us as we introduced ourselves. He did smile a little at my hat, but he made no comment as he led us up the stairs to his workplace.

  ‘What are you working on, Tom?’ I asked.

  He looked at me (and my hat) a bit dubiously. ‘Um – carbon fixation and photorespiration.’

  ‘My father and my first husband were both biologists, Tom. I do understand a little. That would have to do with photosynthesis, right?’

  ‘Right.’ He sounded surprised. ‘Right. That is – most people have never heard of photorespiration. I’m impressed. And here we are.’

  We had arrived at the door at the end of the corridor. It was a plain, ugly panelled wood door with no window, no identifying information. I would have guessed it to be the door to a closet or a storage room of some sort. Tom fished out a key and opened the door on to a very small laboratory. Most of the light came from one window at the end of the room.

  ‘We have to keep all the labs locked,’ he said, sounding a little apologetic.

  ‘Yes, I crashed a tour of the college yesterday and the guide told us about that. I wondered a little about the pathogens she mentioned.’

  ‘There’s no danger,’ Tom assured us, ‘unless someone goes prying around and opens lockers plainly marked as hazardous. But you never know what kids will do, if they’ve been drinking, or on a dare, or something. I guess, Mrs Martin, that’s our Minotaur. I promised you it would be decently caged.’

  He leaned against a tall stool in front of a very odd-looking collection of instruments. The only ones I recognized were components of a computer: screen, keyboard, mouse. ‘Now, how can I help you? Aunt Elaine wasn’t terribly forthcoming on the subject – sounded a bit mysterious, in fact.’

  ‘It is mysterious, but before I go into it, what on earth is all that?’ I gestured.

  ‘Oh, haven’t you ever seen an electron microscope before? We’re very proud of it. It’s absolutely the latest model and cost a bloody fortune. Oh, sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. Americans scarcely think of the word as profanity. Now, as to what brought us here – Alan, do you think you could explain?’

  He smiled. ‘Still a little too sore a memory? I’ll do my best. On the first day of my conference, Tom – the Wednesday, that would be – my wife wandered into this building by mistake while she was looking for me.’

  ‘Easy to do until you learn the layout,’ said Tom. ‘They all look alike.’

  ‘Precisely. At any rate, she found herself in a laboratory on the ground floor, near the back door.’

  ‘It was bigger than this one,’ I added. ‘Quite a lot bigger. The tour guide said it’s for work in micro zoology.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Tom. ‘That’s the demonstration room for second-year undergraduates. Hence the size. Group experiments.’

  Alan quirked an eyebrow to see if I wanted to continue. I shook my head.

  ‘The room was, I gather, deserted, but very brightly lit. She saw on the floor a good-sized pool of what she took to be blood.’

  ‘It was blood, Alan. I’ll never forget the smell.’

  ‘She was a good deal disturbed. She left the room quickly to find me, but on her way out she heard a noise, turned and saw someone with a white coat like a lab coat disappearing through a door.’

  ‘And I ran like a frightened rabbit,’ I finished. ‘Felt like one, in fact. A total coward.’

  Tom was silent, considering. ‘Mr Martin,’ he began after a moment.

  ‘Nesbitt,’ Alan corrected. ‘Dorothy kept her surname when we married.’

  ‘Mr Nesbitt, then, my aunt told me y
ou are a policeman. A chief constable, I believe?’

  ‘I was. I’ve been retired for some time.’

  ‘Then why did you come to me about this?’

  That was one I could deal with. ‘The situation is peculiar, Tom. I was the one who saw the … what I saw, and I have no authority anywhere. When Alan and some friends went over to take a look, the lab in question was in normal use, and there was no blood or anything that looked like it, there or in any other room they could get into. I could have imagined it all. I didn’t, but there’s no proof. I have nothing to take to the Cambridge police, in the person of your aunt, or to the university security people. And yet I know there is something that needs investigating. In view of the delicate political balance between town and gown, it seemed better to take a quiet, unofficial look before raising any red flags. Your aunt suggested that you might be of help.’

  ‘I see.’ There was a longer silence. Alan and I exchanged glances.

  ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I’ve never met either of you. Aunt Elaine says you’re trustworthy, but does she believe you? It’s pretty incredible, you know.’

  ‘I do know. She believes me anyway. She told me a story about her early days on the police force here that was pretty incredible, too. I think that’s why she knows I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘That one about the voodoo cult, or whatever it was? I always thought she made that up, as a ghost story to scare me when I was a kid.’

  I hadn’t told Alan the story. He looked at me oddly.

  ‘That’s the one. She didn’t make it up, Tom. It happened. Strange things do happen, especially in a place that’s as much of a melting pot as Cambridge. But I understand if you can’t quite accept my word. It was worth a try.’

  ‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.’ Suddenly, he looked very young. ‘I owe Aunt Elaine a lot. She’s the reason I’m here at university, actually. If she says you’re OK, then you are. No matter how weird it sounds,’ he added with a grin. ‘So what do you want me to do?’