Blood on the Marsh (DI Susan Holden 3)

‘And that killed her?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Of course I am!’ It was Speight’s turn to get assertive now. Doubting his medical prowess was akin to questioning his manhood. ‘If I wasn’t certain, I would say so.’

‘Point taken,’ Holden said quickly. It was the closest thing to an apology he was going to get. ‘So how much morphine does it take to kill someone?’

‘That depends.’ He paused. It was an annoying reply. At least he hoped it was annoying for the detective inspector; he still felt riled by her. But the fact was she needed his medical knowledge, so she’d have to blooming well be a bit nicer to him.

Holden didn’t rise, though she sure as hell felt like it. In fact, she felt like giving him a bloody good slapping, or even better, doing something irreversible to his testicles with a large pair of pliers, but instead she buttoned her metaphorical lip and waited for him to continue in his own self-important time.

‘Morphine provides pain relief, as I am sure you know. For example, one might give it to persons suffering from terminal cancers. As time goes on, the pain may increase and the body may get used to the morphine, so the dosage level has to be increased to be effective. However, in the case of an opiate-naive patient, that same level of dosage could be fatal.’

He paused, or rather stopped. He wanted a response, probably a question about what opiate-naive meant, Holden reckoned, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. ‘So Mrs Wright wasn’t on morphine?’

‘I rang and spoke to a Ms Fran Sinclair at Sunnymede. She says not.’

‘So how might this morphine have got into her system?’

‘Well, injection is the most direct, but there’s no sign of any puncture marks. I’ve checked for that. Otherwise, morphine comes in tablet and liquid form.’

‘And how many tablets, for instance, would she have had to take to end up dead?’

‘Maybe half a dozen.’

‘And liquid?’

‘Maybe thirty millilitres. Ten milligrams in a tablet is the equivalent of five millilitres.’

‘And does morphine have a strong taste? I mean, if someone had slipped it into her tea or cocoa, would she have noticed?’

‘That depends on her sense of taste.’

‘Because either she administered it herself, to commit suicide. Or somebody else did, and in that case we’re talking homicide or murder.’

Dr Speight shrugged dismissively. ‘Well I guess that’s your call, Inspector.’

CHAPTER 2

Yesterday was a strange day. Very strange. This woman came to my shop. Well, not my shop, Jaz’s shop. She runs it, and I work there. It’s called ‘Frame It’. Because we frame pictures. We also sell frames, and pictures, and posters and display cases, but my job is to do the framing. I’m good at it.

Jaz is a friend of Mum’s. I like her. She has blonde hair, and a thin oval face, and perfect teeth, and she calls me her left-handed right-hand man. She’s funny too.

Jaz had popped out to Tesco. She always uses that expression. ‘I’m going to pop out for a few minutes, David,’ she says. ‘You’re in charge. I’ve got my mobile. If there are any problems, just ring me. OK?’

I don’t like her to pop out for too long, in case things happen. So I am glad she always takes her phone. It makes me feel safe.

So, she had gone to Tesco, and I was sitting behind the desk in case anyone came in and wanted something. I can’t make frames and look after customers at the same time. It’s too much. Jaz agrees it’s too much.

Anyway, almost as soon as Jaz has gone out, this woman walks in. She has long hair, longer than Jaz’s, and it is bright ginger. I think it must be dyed. She is thin like Jaz, and is wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt, and a leather jacket, and she has a stud in her nose.

But what is odd is that sh

e got on my bus that morning. I catch the Number 1 bus from Barns Road, opposite my flat, and I get off at the penultimate stop on the Cowley Road. I know it is the penultimate one because once I was so busy sending a text to Mum that I missed it, and I had to get off at the next one, just before the roundabout.

Anyway, the point is that the red-headed woman was at the bus stop that morning. There were five of us waiting. The other three were regulars, but I hadn’t seen her before, so when we all got on the bus, I took out my notebook and I wrote down the date and time, and I drew a picture of her. It’s a good picture. I’m good at drawing. I might show it to Mum later.