Free Winding Up the Serpent by Priscilla Masters

walked along the corridor with him to his office and sat, perched on the edge of his desk, while he filled in the post-mortem forms.
    â€˜Mat,’ she began, ‘you realize this puts me in a tricky position. It means I have to put a full-blown murder investigation on hold. Discreet enquiries is about all I can get on with until you can find a cause of death.’
    He cleared his throat again. ‘Jo,’ he said, ‘if it’s any help to you I very much doubt it’s murder.’ He paused. ‘There is absolutely nothing to suggest it. I’d lay a bet on it that it was natural causes. Maybe she committed suicide. After all – she was a nurse. She would have had access to poisons.’
    â€˜And would you lay that same bet in front of the coroner?’ she demanded.
    He was silent, his eyes evasive, and she knew the answer. He would preserve his reputation in tissue paper, hedge his bets and reserve judgement. So why was he trying so hard to convince her?
    â€˜Well, to return to the facts,’ he said after a minute. ‘I’ll know more this afternoon when I get some results back from the path lab, and even more by the end of the week when the results run on the viscera come back from the forensic lab in Birmingham.’
    â€˜Barbiturates,’ she said suddenly. ‘Sleeping tablets – the bottle I found on the bedside table.’
    â€˜I’ve bagged up all the stomach contents,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a look what’s in there. I’ll know quite a bit later on today.’ He hesitated for a while, frowning, and she chipped in sceptically.
    â€˜And the clothes, Matthew?’
    â€˜I’m inclined to think she died naturally while inhabiting some personal make-believe land, some fantasy land of her own. Hence the underwear, the champagne, the perfume, and so on.’
    â€˜So you noticed the perfume,’ she said quietly. ‘I might have known. But Matthew, if she died of natural causes why can’t you find them?’
    He had lovely eyes – green and very clear, fringed with thick dark eyelashes in spite of his blonde hair. Normally they held an honest, frank expression. Today they refused to focus on her. Instead there was a long, pregnant silence.
    â€˜What about lunch?’ he said at last.
    No, Joanna prayed silently to an unseen god, digging her nails into the palms of her hands: help me say no.
    â€˜We can visit the path lab after lunch, Joanna. If you were with me ... we could call in together.’
    â€˜No, Matthew,’ she said gently, her prayer answered. ‘No. I have to report back to the station.’
    She heard the hurt in his voice and saw it in his eyes but she was glad.
    â€˜All right,’ he said quietly, ‘if that’s the way you want it.’
    She picked up her handbag from the table. ‘Matthew.’ Her voice was soft, pleading. ‘It isn’t the way I want it, but it is the way it is.’
    â€˜Yes,’ he said, suddenly irritable. ‘I understand. But what have you found to replace what we had? Promotion?’ He was following her to the door. ‘Being an inspector – has that made up for it?’
    â€˜Of course not,’ she said. ‘Of course not, but at least I know where I am. At least what I have alone is honest. With you it was not.’ She bit her lip. ‘Jane haunted me,’ she said finally. ‘I hated her. It was all so deceitful. It took away my integrity. I began to despise myself.’ She paused, remembering.
    â€˜Of course,’ he said bitterly, ‘now you’re an inspector I suppose your ... integrity ... is so important.’
    â€˜It always was,’ she said, ‘but I overrode it.’ She stared at him. ‘But we both know it isn’t really anything to do with my promotion. It’s more to do with your wife.’
    Matthew Levin groaned. ‘Oh – so we’re back to that, are we –