Murder in Hampstead by Sabina Manea (read this if txt) 📕

his cropped grey hair, the cut of his clothes, the slim watch on his wrist. He exuded perfect control. Behind his chilly politeness he made no effort to hide the disdain of the soldier towards the inferior policeman. Carliss hoped the painkillers wouldn’t wear off. It wasn’t going to be pleasant.

‘Thank you for seeing me, Dr Glover. I just have a few routine follow-up questions.’ Dr Glover glanced at his watch. Carliss had been allocated half an hour, and he wasn’t going to be entitled to a single extra minute. ‘How long have you known Professor Alla Kiseleva?’

Dr Glover fixed him with a pair of interrogator’s eyes. He wasn’t used to being on the other side of the table. ‘Just under five years, when she became my patient.’

‘And you became friends? She invited you to her social occasions.’ Despite the apparent banality of the question, the detective felt like he was treading on dangerous ground.

‘We were friendly acquaintances. She was a fascinating woman. We enjoyed talking about her work.’

The clipped answers were making it hard to elicit any useful information. Carliss decided to experiment with a shock tactic.

‘The post-mortem results indicate the Professor died from poisoning with sodium fluoroacetate. Are you familiar with it?’

Dr Glover slowly cupped his hands together, his rigid fingers not quite grasping their counterparts. His expression was unchanged. ‘I know of it. It’s a rodenticide. How could she have ingested it?’

‘That’s something we’re still working on. To your knowledge, did she ever exhibit any depressive tendencies?’

‘You think it was suicide?’

‘We can’t rule it out.’

‘Evidently, I’m not in a position to disclose her medical records, but no – she wasn’t depressed, not insofar as I could tell.’

‘Were you aware there was a tin of the poison in her house? In the kitchen, to be precise.’

‘No, I had no idea. I’ve never been in the kitchen at Beatrice Hall.’

‘Even though you’ve known the Professor for five years?’

Dr Glover wasn’t one to keel over in cross-examination. A minuscule smile stretched out his thin lips. ‘I don’t make it my business to snoop around my patients’ houses, DCI Carliss.’

The detective wiped his brow. He felt hot and cold at the same time. Dr Glover sensed his weakness and pounced.

‘Are you quite alright, Inspector? Would you like some paracetamol?’

‘If you don’t mind. It’s just a pesky cold. Sorry to be a bother.’

‘No bother at all.’

Within a few seconds of his picking up the phone, the nurse came in bearing two tablets and a glass of water. Carliss swallowed the lot thirstily.

‘Thank you. That’ll sort it out.’ He tried to refocus his mind on the interview. It was frustratingly blank.

‘Was there anything else, Inspector?’

‘Yes. Yes, there was one more thing. I’ve read your account of the party. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary that day, anyone present acting in an unusual manner?’

Dr Glover contemplated the question with the same concentration he would have applied to the wine list at the In and Out.

‘Nothing technically out of the ordinary.’

‘But there was something that caught your attention?’

‘When I arrived at four sharp, Adam Corcoran was on his telephone in the entrance hall. He didn’t see me come in. He was having a heated discussion as far as I could tell. He ended it with some rather bad language.’ Dr Glover was clearly intending to keep up the suspense – the information was trickling out at a glacial pace.

‘What did he say?’

‘I quote: “Fucking bitch, she’s ruined my life. She’s going to pay for it.”’

‘Do you know whom he was referring to?’

‘Absolutely no idea.’

‘What happened next?’

‘He saw me and cut the conversation short. He muttered a hello and scuttled off to the garden.’

‘Did you talk to him during the party?’

‘Only cursorily. He seemed embarrassed at my having overheard him.’

‘Why didn’t you mention this during the first interview?’

‘Nobody asked me to report on the whereabouts of the other guests.’

‘Are there any other whereabouts that you think are worth mentioning?’

‘None, as far as I can recall.’

This was as much as Carliss could take. The medication would soon kick in, but he needed to lie down. The combination of the lurgy and the unexpected role reversal – whereby he had become the vulnerable party – had finished him off.

‘Thank you, Dr Glover. That’s all for now. If you do remember anything else of note, please give me a ring any time.’

The policeman couldn’t remember how he got home. He must have hailed a taxi – there was no way he could have walked or negotiated public transport in that state. Before he fell into the kind of profound sleep that either heralded recovery or a prolonged illness, he managed to text Lucia to postpone the search for John Walker’s supposed mistress.

He must have slept for over eighteen hours, uninterrupted. It was four in the morning when he woke up, desperate for a glass of water. He took another dose and went back to bed.

In her flat, Lucia debated what to do. She would leave him to sleep it off and give him a ring on the Monday morning.

When she did, he answered almost straightaway.

‘Still alive?’

‘Yes, just about. You can’t get rid of me that easily.’ The weekend-long hibernation, in conjunction with an invalid’s diet of buttered toast, bananas and water, had done him good. He still wasn’t a hundred percent, but the improvement was considerable.

‘How did it go with the good doctor?’

‘About as fun as pulling teeth. You’re right, he is reptilian. Terrifying too. Ex-army, according to what we’ve unearthed, so wouldn’t have expected any less.’ Carliss reported the story about Adam. ‘If he was referring to the Professor, the noose is tightening.’

The odds certainly looked well stacked against Adam Corcoran, Lucia thought. ‘OK. Now here’s