“I’ll give you a ring,” Annie said, and hurried out to her car before she changed her mind about the tea, and whatever else was on offer.
“And be careful with your briefcase,” he called after her.
It was DS Stefan Nowak’s job to coordinate between the crime scene, the lab and the SIO, making sure that nothing was missed and priorities were dealt with as quickly as possible. He wasn’t a forensic scientist by training, though he did have a degree in chemistry and had completed the requisite courses. As a result, he’d picked up a fair bit of scientific knowledge over his three years on the job, along with the ability to present it in layman’s terms. Which was just as well. The best Banks had ever done at chemistry and physics was a grade-five pass in each at O-Level.
Though Stefan himself was elegant and always well-groomed, his office was a mess, with papers, plastic bags of exhibits and half-full mugs of coffee all over the place. Banks hardly dared move once he had sat down for fear the resulting vibration or disturbance of the air would bring a stack of reports, or beakers full of God knew what, toppling down.
“I trust you’ve got some positive results?” Banks said as he eased himself onto the chair. Nothing fell.
“Depends on how you look at them,” Stefan said, the Polish accent barely audible in his cultured voice. “I’ve been over at the lab most of the afternoon, and we’ve finally got something on toxicology. I think you’ll find it interesting.”
“Do tell,” said Banks.
“Luckily, in all three cases there was still enough fluid present in the bodies for tox analysis. McMahon, the artist, was the worst, but even there Dr. Glendenning found blood in the organs and traces of urine in the bladder. Unfortunately, the vitreous fluid in the eyes had evaporated in all victims.”
“Go on,” Banks urged him, not wishing to dwell on the evaporation of vitreous fluid.
“Let’s take the girl first,” Stefan said. “Christine Aspern. Because she was a known heroin addict we could be more specific in our search. As you probably know, heroin metabolizes into morphine once injected into the bloodstream, and it bonds to the body’s carbohydrates. Only a small amount of morphine is secreted unchanged into the urine. Sometimes none at all.”
“So you can’t tell whether she injected heroin or morphine?”
“I didn’t say that. Only that heroin becomes morphine once it’s in the blood. Besides, heroin’s a morphine derivative, made through a reaction with acetyl chloride or acetic anhydride. Anyway, spectral analysis indicated traces of heroin. The presence of other substances, such as quinine, bears out the result.”
Banks knew that quinine was often used to pad heroin for sale on the streets. “It’s what we expected,” he said. “How much?”
“The stuff was around thirty percent pure, which is pretty much the norm these days. And there wasn’t enough to cause death. At least, the lab results make that seem unlikely.”
“So the fire killed her one way or another?”
“Asphyxia did. Yes.”
“What about the other two?”
“Ah, there it gets a little more interesting,” Stefan said. He leaned forward and a pile of books teetered dangerously. “Alcohol was present in the urine in both cases, though none was present in the girl’s system.”
“How much?”
“Not a lot in McMahon’s case, maybe between one and two drinks.”
“Not enough to make him pass out, then?”
“Unlikely.”
“And Gardiner?”
“About twice as much. But there’s more.”
“I hoped there would be. Go on.”
“During general screening, spectral analysis also discovered the presence of flunitrazepam in the systems of Thomas McMahon and Roland Gardiner. Comparisons indicate it’s the same drug in both cases.”
“Flunitrazepam?” said Banks, remembering one of the drugs circulars he’d read in the past few months. “Isn’t that Rohypnol?”
“Rohypnol is one form of it, yes. The ‘date rape’ drug. Recently upgraded from Class C to Class A. It’s a form of benzodiazepine, a tranquilizer about ten times stronger than Valium. It causes muscle relaxation, drowsiness, unconsciousness and amnesia, among other things. It also impairs basic motor skills and lowers the blood pressure. It’s often used to spike drinks because it’s colorless, odorless and tasteless and it dissolves in alcohol. At least it used to. The problem is that since 1998, La Roche, the chief manufacturer, has added a component that makes any drink you add it to turn bright blue. The drug itself also dissolves more slowly and forms small chunks.”
“Which makes it a lot harder to sneak into people’s drinks.”
“Yes. Even dark drinks will turn cloudy. Anyway, if that were the case, one or both victims might have noticed.”
“Which means?”
“Which means it’s either counterfeit, bootleg Rohypnol, or another member of the benzodiazepine family. Remember, this test took a bit more time because they had to do a general tox screen. They’re still working on it to pin down specifics, but I thought you’d like some sort of advance notice of what you’re dealing with.”
“Thanks, Stefan,” said Banks. “Much appreciated. How long does it take to act?”
“Twenty minutes to half an hour.”
“Any idea what quantities they were given?”
“Certainly enough to be effective. One odd thing.”
“Yes?”
“Gardiner, the caravan victim, also had a significant amount of Tuinal in his system. Tuinal’s-”
“I know what Tuinal is, Stefan. It’s a form of barbiturate.”
“Yes. It’s not prescribed very often these days.”
“We know who Gardiner’s doctor is. We can make inquiries. He’s the one who had more to drink, too?”
“Yes. Just thought you’d like to know.”
“Interesting,” said Banks. “I wonder why?”
“Search me. One more thing,” said Stefan as Banks walked toward the door.
Banks paused and turned. “Yes?”
“The tire tracks are consistent in all their dimensions with those of a Jeep Cherokee, and if you ever find a suspect, he was wearing Nike trainers with a very distinctive pattern of crisscross abrasions on the right heel.”
As Banks left the office, he had a mental image of McMahon in his cabin and Gardiner in his caravan, each welcoming an old friend, chatting, making plans for whatever it was that was going to make their fortunes, drinking to it, then after a while starting to feel drowsy, finding it hard to move. At which point their faceless killer splashes turpentine or petrol about the place, drops a match and leaves. Couldn’t be easier.
Or crueler.
Chapter 11
“I’m Clive,” said the driver.
“Mark.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mark.”
“Likewise. And thanks for the lift.”
“My pleasure.” Clive turned and flashed Mark a quick smile. “I’d stop awhile so we could admire the view when we get to the top, but I’m afraid we wouldn’t see much today.”
They were climbing the winding road up Sutton Bank now, the Audi moving easily despite the one on five and one on four gradients. The higher they got, the mistier it became, as if they were ascending into the very clouds themselves. Mark’s ears started to feel funny. He was enjoying the warm, plush interior of the car.
Sutton Bank forms the western edge of the North York Moors, and when you get high up, you can look back over your shoulder and see all the way from the Vale of York to the Dales. Only on a clear day, of course.
When they finally crested the top after about a mile or so, Mark managed a quick look behind and saw nothing but vague shapes through a gray veil. Ahead was mostly rough moorland, similarly mist-shrouded. It was an eerie landscape, and the occasional sheep that materialized out of thin air only made it seem eerier. Sheep gave Mark the creeps. He didn’t know why, but they did.