Dr Samantha Willerby Box Set

by A J Waines

  We left our conversation there.

  Buoyed that Aiden had provided the police with at least one small piece of valuable information I decided to call Miranda.

  ‘Are you still on that bloody boat?’ she chided.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ Despite the admonishment, I was touched she bothered to have me in her thoughts.

  I’d meant to see how she was doing, but found myself asking a different question instead. ‘Do you remember seeing a pale-blue Mazda, five-door, at the Art Project any time?’

  ‘The police have already asked me about a Mazda.’ She stopped to think. ‘Pale blue? It doesn’t ring a bell, but I don’t tend to notice cars.’

  ‘Ask around and have a think,’ I said. ‘It could be helpful.’

  ‘Is that the car the killer used?’

  It would have been churlish not to answer. After all, the police had already questioned her about it. ‘Looks like it was at the scene, in the car park behind the spot on the towpath where Kora was injured. It would explain how the wire was set up – someone could have parked the car and got over the fence in a matter of seconds. Then after Kora came off her bike, he could have rushed back for the wire and been back over the fence again before driving off.’

  ‘He must have been pretty fit,’ she mused. ‘The fences around there are high and made of criss-cross wire with no footholds.’ She was right. ‘And the second woman?’

  ‘Same stretch of towpath, but further along. The fence was cut that time.’

  ‘Do the police think it was the same guy?’

  ‘It’s looking that way, although the second victim doesn’t seem to have any connection to the art world, whereas the others all had a link in some way.’

  There was a chill in her voice. ‘Others?’

  ‘Ah…’ I made a sucking sound. Damn! I shouldn’t have been telling her anything. It slipped out. ‘I’m not meant to tell you this, but there are two women missing who could be connected. You must keep it to yourself. One is a journalist who did an interview at CCAP recently and the other is the owner of a gallery in Chelsea.’

  ‘Shit…’ I could hear her breathing, hoarse and ragged. ‘So, has this bloke on the boat come up with anything useful?’

  ‘Yes, as it happens. That’s why I’m asking about the car.’

  ‘Is he going to remember more?’

  ‘Hope so. Things are starting to come out into the open. Fingers crossed.’

  ‘Anything that will help catch the bastard who did that to Kora,’ she hissed. ‘You’re doing great, Sammie.’ My nerve ends tingled at the thought that in that brief moment, my sister and I were actually on the same side. ‘Keep me posted, okay?’

  I said I would, but I was already feeling guilty about flouting professional procedures. I shouldn’t have been informing my sister of any inside information, but I couldn’t help it. Finding out who’d killed her best friend was paramount.

  I ordered a takeaway curry from the local Indian restaurant for supper. Aiden had marked out his favourites on a leaflet and left it on the draining board, so I knew what to choose.

  His eyes lit up when the containers arrived. The waft of cumin and garlic claimed the entire boat and I was aware of a gnawing hunger I’d not experienced in days. The aubergine dish was succulent. Aiden quickly fried a sliver of halloumi to go with it, while I stuck with the paneer. It was squeaky and chewy with a tandoori kick. The whole meal was sumptuous and even though I was full, I kept wanting just one more spoonful.

  Two hours later, Aiden was doubled over in agony with stomach cramps. It happened so fast. Within minutes he could barely stand and I was forced to call an ambulance. He didn’t resist being removed from the boat this time; he was so delirious he had no idea what was happening.

  I was allowed to go with him. I think the paramedics assumed he was my son and I didn’t bother to put them straight. The first thing they asked when the sirens began to wail and we raced through the London streets was whether Aiden had taken an overdose. Once that was concretely dismissed, they asked more questions.

  ‘You say he paints – has he been working with any unusual substances today: paint, solvents, glue?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Is he epileptic?’

  ‘No.’ That certainly wasn’t listed on the medical reports I’d seen.

  ‘Has he reacted to nuts or bee stings in the past?’

  ‘You mean anaphylactic shock?’ I remembered Aiden happily eating pistachio nuts a while back. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Once we arrived at A&E, Aiden was trundled at speed down the corridor, a red blanket over the trolley and a nurse alongside jogging to keep up, holding an intravenous drip bag above his head. It was looking serious.

  I found an alcove with chairs nearby and waited while the evening limped along under the flickering strip lights. In spite of the lingering heat from the day, the radiators were on, creating a cloying heat; the perfect breeding ground for viruses. I couldn’t sit still for long and trawled up and down the blue-veined lino squishing down the blisters with the toe of my sandal, watching them pop up again.

  I stood around, I sat, I walked aimlessly about. I sat again. I leant my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. Then I sensed someone beside me.

  ‘Mrs Blake?’ I opened my eyes. ‘I’m Dr Weir.’ He sat down alongside me. ‘Aiden has been in and out of consciousness, but he’s stabilized. What exactly did he have to eat today?’

  ‘We had an Indian takeaway and red wine, at about seven this evening,’ I told him. ‘Before that…’ I tried to think back. It had been a long day and my brain was lagging a few minutes behind. I was in Chelsea that morning, Clapham in the afternoon. ‘I’ve not been with him much,’ I said. ‘Aiden usually has grapefruit and toast… coffee… for breakfast… and I don’t know what he had for lunch.’

  Dr Weir was leaning forward, his hands around his knee caps, mulling over what I was saying. ‘You feeling okay?’

  I rubbed my stomach as if to check. ‘I think so.’ My voice was tight and shaky. ‘Can I see him?’

  He got up wearily. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Is he going to be alright?’ My voice broke.

  He didn’t answer. ‘You acted quickly. I think you should go home and we’ll call you if there’s any change.’ He nipped his lips together into a forced smile. ‘And don’t throw away any of the packaging from the food you both ate – just in case.’

  ‘Really?’ I was too befuddled to work out what that might mean.

  ‘By the way,’ I said, making myself look up into his eyes. ‘I’m not his mother… I’m his therapist.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, patting my knee.

  I got to my feet and staggered back to the entrance, feeling like I was ploughing through waist-high water. At the sliding doors I waved over a black cab and climbed inside. Go home, Dr Weir had said. I hesitated when the cab driver craned his neck to hear me state my destination. Home? Nowhere felt like home. The boat had become a dangerous place, my flat was sterile and empty and there was something prickly and weird going on with Miranda. I genuinely felt like an orphan.

  ‘Where are we going, love?’ asked the taxi driver again, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

  ‘Limehouse Marina,’ I said finally.

  Chapter 41

  I’d just snuggled under my duvet when there was a hammering at the front door. Two scene of crime officers I recognised from the search of Aiden’s flat stood on the bow, Jeremy was behind them. I pulled the belt of my flimsy dressing gown tighter around my waist, stood back. Jeremy spoke first.

  ‘Sorry it’s late, but I’m afraid Mr Blake’s incident is a police matter.’

  ‘What’s happened? Is he worse?’

  ‘In a bad way, but stable,’ he said. ‘Your quick actions might have saved his life.’ He brushed past me and headed for the galley. ‘I hope you haven’t thrown away any packaging from today’s meals.’ His tone was overly harsh
in my mind. Not for the first time, I was having trouble working out how DI Fenway regarded me. As a necessary evil? A thorn in his side? He’d invited me to call him Jeremy when we first met, but I was more inclined to refer to him now by his official title. ‘The doctor thinks he was poisoned,’ he said, striding through to the galley. ‘Signs of acute toxicity.’

  I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘I’ve left everything where it was. Like the hospital asked me to.’

  The sink area looked as if it belonged in a squat. I hadn’t even washed up our dishes, which sat under abandoned aluminium cartons, stray lids and a torn naan bread. He looked down at his shoe. He’d just crunched half a poppadum into a hundred pieces.

  ‘Great…’

  He instructed one officer to empty the bin, the other to start taking samples from the cartons and plates. ‘We’ll need to see everything Mr Blake ate and drank today.’

  I ran through a list of all the likely items I could think of. At least we didn’t need to consider anything he might have eaten outside the boat.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Blake.’ He punched out the last two words, out of earshot of the others.

  ‘I did tell Dr Weir… eventually.’

  He gave me a glare as if to suggest he was within his rights to issue a verbal warning of some kind, but thought better of it.

  ‘I’d get someone in to check the gas installations,’ he advised. ‘Get a new carbon monoxide monitor, make sure everything is how it should be.’

  I felt a chill skim down my spine. He was concerned that something else on the boat had been tampered with.

  The officers continued to poke about, then Jeremy came over to join me on the banquette. I pulled my knees into my chest, making sure the dressing gown didn’t leave any gaping holes.

  ‘No one has identified the earring, yet,’ he said. ‘It certainly doesn’t belong to Sally, the receptionist at the funeral home. We’re doing DNA tests to see if it’s a match for Katarina. Also, Henry Dodd appears to have a solid alibi for the nights Kora and Katarina were killed.’

  ‘What about the pale-blue Mazda in the car park?’

  ‘We know that Aiden’s sketch is of a five-door model, produced between 2005 and 2010.’

  ‘And…?’

  The DI leant forward and rested his elbows on the table. ‘Nothing.’ He banged his fist in time to his words. ‘No one owns one. No one saw one. Zilch.’

  ‘It’s not looking good, is it?’ I sighed.

  ‘Not great, to be honest.’ He sat back, patting his abdomen and yawned. ‘The witness who said she saw Mr Blake near Katarina’s body is having second thoughts. She thinks she might have got the gender wrong.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She says it might have been a tall woman with blonde hair she saw in a black hood.’

  ‘Golly. Does that fit? Could the killer have been a woman?’

  ‘It’s certainly possible. In both cases, actually. Kora’s deathtrap with the tripwire required no specific strength and Katarina’s body was pushed through a hole cut in the wire fence, rather than being tipped over the top. We know Katarina was strangled somewhere else and driven to the car park. A strong woman could strangle another of smaller build if she was taken by surprise. Katarina was small, around five feet two. Kora was five feet four, she weighed only 108 pounds.’

  ‘Less than eight stone, that’s tiny,’ I mused. It was also the same weight as me.

  ‘We’re starting to think the witness just saw a late-night stroller with insomnia, not the killer at all.’

  ‘But the figure ran away. Why bolt like that if they had nothing to hide?’

  He shrugged and tucked his hands under his knees like a small boy. ‘We found tyre prints, by the way, matching the type usually fitted as standard to a Mazda5. In the mud right by the fence. The car was parked so close that someone would only need to drag the dead weight a few feet.’

  ‘What about Simon Schiffer and that tooth I found?’

  ‘That’s ongoing,’ he said stiffly. ‘Keep out of the way, with that.’

  I heard a shuffle from the galley and one of the scene of crime officers called Fenway over. They conferred about something. The DI beckoned me over.

  ‘When did you last have a grocery delivery?’ he asked.

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘Did you bring it in?’

  ‘Er, no. I was with you in Chelsea when it arrived. Aiden must have brought it in.’ The two men exchanged glances.

  ‘Did Blake have this halloumi cheese with the curry?’ he said, pointing to the packet the officer was holding with protective gloves.

  ‘Yes, a tiny bit for himself. He knows I don’t like it.’

  ‘It looks freshly opened,’ he said. ‘Was it in the latest delivery?’

  ‘I can check.’ I went back to the saloon and opened up the site on Aiden’s laptop where we’d requested the last order. ‘Here it is. Yes, three packs.’

  ‘Looks like he only took a small amount.’

  ‘There’s definitely an overtone of something chemical,’ said his colleague, holding up the pouch. ‘We’ll get it to the lab.’

  A sharp pain gripped my throat. Someone had tampered with our food. They’d got in through the locked security gate and had rummaged through our delivery.

  ‘I suggest you clear out all the cupboards, tomorrow, to be on the safe side,’ Fenway said. ‘Throw everything that’s unopened away. We’ll take the rest for more tests.’

  I nodded.

  He moved away to examine the locks on the doors at each end of the boat. ‘I’d get these changed, as well,’ he warned. ‘I’ve seen too many burglaries where this brand of lock has been picked. Contact the station to get one of our specialists round or ask a locksmith for the best security available.’ He sniffed. ‘Mr Blake can afford it.’

  He examined his cuffs, then glanced down at my dressing gown. ‘I wouldn’t stay here on your own.’

  ‘I suppose police protection is out of the question?’ Fear made my voice sound flimsy.

  He let out a staccato laugh. I should have known the answer to that.

  ‘We can take you back to Clapham, if you like.’

  ‘It’s okay. I need to sort a few things out and get changed. I’ll get a taxi.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  Chapter 42

  I woke at 3am with a cricked neck and pins and needles in my arm. After clearing up the mess once the police had gone, I must have fallen in a heap in the saloon and dropped off. By then I was too groggy to think about ordering a taxi, so I repeated my elaborate tactic of barricading heavy furniture across the main doors and leaving the lights on. Then I slunk to my cabin and bolted the door.

  As soon as I heard the nearby fountain bubble into life signalling daybreak, I rang the hospital. Aiden was a lot stronger and the nurse suggested I could pick him up, but not before 4pm, as they needed to run final tests. In the meantime, I requested emergency call-outs from a local electrician and gas engineer, then made a fresh grocery order; basics like bread, cereals, milk, butter and cheese to be delivered the same day. I did as DI Fenway suggested and cleared out the fridge, freezer and all the food cupboards.

  After that I sat and waited, turning every creak on the boat into the footstep of an intruder, every tiny shift in the light to the shadow of a prowler on the pontoon.

  I stared out of the window at the idyllic scene; the gentle pebble-dash sheen on the water, the glossy white boats with their silver railings catching the sunlight, but I couldn’t feel any of it. Our tranquil sanctuary had been violated.

  The locksmith came at lunchtime to fit a better system with extra bolts at both ends of the boat, and the electrician and gas engineer turned up and checked everything over. There didn’t appear to be any problems, but they replaced a few pieces of cable and threw in a few technical sounding terms to justify the extortionate fee they charged.

  I set off to collect Aiden at mid-afternoon. He was able to stand, but couldn’t straighten up, shuffling
along the corridor like an old man, clutching his stomach. I looped my arm around him, half holding him up as far as the taxi. I handed over a new set of boat keys, told him about the visit from the police and how our cupboards were bare.

  Aiden sat hunched over in the cab, his breathing laboured, his skin a dry greyish-yellow like a dead moth.

  After we got back, the groceries arrived and I made Aiden some dry toast. He had two bites and had to leave the rest before dragging himself to bed.

  There was something I’d been meaning to do ever since yesterday afternoon, but I hadn’t had the chance until now. I tapped on Natalie and Didier’s door. Didier was doing some research at home and said he’d stay with Aiden.

  ‘I wouldn’t leave him like this,’ I said, ‘but I just need to check on my sister.’

  What I really meant was check something with my sister.

  Miranda took a while to answer the door. I could tell by the way she opened it that she had company. I was angry. I thought I’d made it clear that I wanted to speak to her on her own.

  ‘You’re early,’ she said accusingly.

  Her visitor was out of sight, clinking dishes in the kitchen. Miranda asked if I wanted tea. I accepted and took a seat. I felt like I was in a waiting room anticipating some horrible medical procedure. I heard footsteps before a man came into view. It was Simon Schiffer. His sleeves were rolled up and he was drying his hands on a tea towel.

  ‘Hi, again,’ he said, offering me his hand. It wasn’t quite dry. ‘How are things? Miranda said you needed a chat.’

  I was stumped for words. My life was consumed by one of the most complicated and unnerving situations I’d ever come across and he was implying I’d be sharing my inner turmoil while he was around. I was damned if I was going to discuss any of it in his presence.

  ‘Yeah, I’d like to speak to her in private.’ I couldn’t be bothered to beat about the bush.

  As Miranda walked past him, bringing my mug of tea, she gave his sleeve a subtle brush with her little finger. It was easy to miss, but I’m highly attuned to signals such as these. They were seeing each other – and not as tutor and student. I had been trying to figure out why Simon hadn’t been at the meal the other day, but now it was obvious. Meetings between the two of them were undoubtedly of a secret one-on-one nature.