Where There's Smoke

He hesitated. “We’ve not got the post-mortem results yet, but it looks like he’d been beaten to death. Then whoever did it tipped out all the paper from the filing cabinets and tried to set fire to the room. Luckily, it was a rush job and the building’s got a sprinkler system. They don’t always work in old buildings, but this one did. It doused the fire before it got a hold.”

Kate felt a great detachment. There was no pain, no sensation at all. She wasn’t really sitting here, hearing this. This wasn’t Alex they were talking about. When she spoke the words seemed unreal, as though she was taking part in someone else’s play. “Who did it?”

The Inspector shifted slightly in his seat. It creaked under his weight. “We’re not sure yet. But we know Dr Turner was staying behind to see one of his patients. Unfortunately, with the computers shorted out by the sprinkler system and the office in turmoil, everything’s still a bit confused. We’re hoping to have a better idea about that later this morning.”

He nodded at the photocopy Kate still held in her hand. “That was underneath him. Or rather, the original was. You didn’t sign your surname, but the agency’s address is printed on it. So we thought we’d come and see if you knew anything that might help us.”

Kate looked down at the piece of paper. “Your grandmother’s St Christopher worked! Phone me! Love, Kate.”

She became aware that the policeman had asked her something. “Sorry?”

“I said, can you tell me what it means? It seems a cryptic sort of message, if you don’t mind my saying.”

The two policemen waited. Kate felt the paper in her hands, but didn’t look down at it again. “It was just a joke. A private thing.”

The Inspector gazed across at her. “Can you elaborate on that? What’s this reference to his ‘grandmother’s St Christopher’, for instance?”

It jolted her to hear the words from his mouth.

“It’s sort of a lucky charm he wears. He never takes it off.”

She saw the two men exchange a look.

“Can you describe it?” the Inspector asked.

“It... it’s silver, about this big.” She held her thumb and forefinger apart to show them. “It’s heavy. Old.”

She could still feel its cool heft, as if she were actually holding it. She lowered her hand as the policemen’s reaction penetrated. “Why?”

The Inspector seemed to weigh up whether or not to tell her. “He wasn’t wearing anything like that when we found him.”

He shrugged, as if not wanting to place too much importance on the fact. “There’d been a struggle, so it’s possible it might have fallen off. We’re still examining his office. It could be in there somewhere.”

He went on, quickly, leaving the subject behind. “How long have you known each other?”

Kate had to think. “I don’t know. Eight, nine months.”

The numbers meant nothing.

“Could you tell us when you last saw him?”

“Yesterday morning. About... about quarter to eight.” She remembered Alex grinning up at her from the bottom of the stairs. His dark hair was tufted.

“Where was that?”

“At my flat.”

The Inspector’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Bit early, wasn’t it?”

“He stayed the night.”

His disapproval showed in a faint pursing of his lips. “I take it you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see or speak to him after that?”

She shook her head.

“Can you tell me where you were yesterday evening?”

“I was at home. Waiting for Alex. He... he was supposed to be calling round.”

“Did you see anyone else during that time?”

“No. A friend phoned, but that’s all.”

“What time was that?”

She tried to remember. Her thoughts were scrambled. “I don’t know. Eight o’clock.”

“And what’s your friend’s name?”

Kate realised with mild surprise that he was checking her out. It didn’t seem to matter. She gave him Lucy’s name and address. The sergeant’s pen scratched as he made notes.

“What did you do when Dr Turner didn’t arrive?” the Inspector asked.

For an instant she felt disoriented, as an echo of the fear she had felt the previous night overlapped with the impossibility of the present. “I didn’t know what to do. I tried calling the Centre, but there was something wrong with the phone.”

Comprehension came like a blow. She broke off, looking across at the policeman.

“The phones all went down when the sprinklers cut in,” he said. “That was between half past seven and eight, as far as we can tell.”

He was already dead then. He was lying there, dead, when I phoned. The thought was too immense to take in.

“Did you do anything else? Phone anyone else?”

“After I’d called the Centre I tried phoning him at home. But there wasn’t... there was no answer.”

The Inspector’s face was impassive. “There wouldn’t be. His wife was visiting her mother. Otherwise we might have known he was missing sooner.”

Kate stared at him. “His wife?”

He gave her a quizzical, disbelieving look. “Dr Turner’s married.”

She shook her head. “No... No, he isn’t.”

“I’ve just spoken to his wife. I can assure you he is. I’m sorry, I assumed, as his mistress, you’d know.”

A wind of dizziness was blowing over her, like nausea. Mistress. “He can’t be!”