Free The Water Room by Christopher Fowler

‘how would he know a thing like that?’
    ‘Oh, absolutely vile,’ said Kershaw, happy to answer the question. He turned to Finch. ‘Naturally I did a taste test to see if she could possibly have ingested it by mistake, but I think it’s highly unlikely.’ He shoved his glasses back up his nose. ‘I checked with Mr Banbury about the contents of her kettle—I had an odd thought she might somehow have filled it from an unclean source, but no, pure London ring-main water from her kitchen tap, fewer trace elements than many bottled designer waters.’
    ‘Then I can’t imagine what it was doing in her mouth.’ Bryant offered Kershaw a fruit gum.
    ‘That’s your job to find out, isn’t it?’ snapped Finch, annoyed by the shifting loyalties around him. ‘Meanwhile, I can tell you we’re heading for an open verdict.’
    ‘Why, what’s the cause of death?’
    ‘Heart stopped beating.’
    ‘Yes, I know that—’ Bryant began.
    ‘No, I mean it just stopped beating. No reason.’
    ‘There has to be a reason.’
    ‘No, there doesn’t,’ Finch replied stubbornly. ‘Sudden death can happen to anyone at any time, although one is more vulnerable at particular ages, especially in infancy and dotage.’ The pathologist narrowed his eyes at Bryant. ‘So you’d better watch out.’
    ‘She was in some kind of stressful situation,’ said Bryant, chewing ruminatively. ‘She must have been, with the water in her mouth. It would be easy for us to make the biggest mistake of all.’
    ‘What’s that?’ asked Kershaw.
    ‘Insist on a logical explanation.’ Bryant jammed his shapeless hat back over his ears. ‘She might simply have lost her wits. We only have hearsay on her mental health. The Royal Free appears to have mislaid her hospital notes.’
             
    She looked beautiful tonight, seated with the shining water at her back, her dark-blond hair bobbed to the jawline above pale bare shoulders. ‘I don’t get it,’ said Paul, guiltily taking his seat at the table. ‘We never come to restaurants like this.’ The great glass wall of the Oxo Tower revealed a segment of the restless river. Beyond its bank, sharp pinpoints of blue-white light scratched and sparked as welders worked late into the night. A new city of steel and glass was rising.
    ‘We do when we can afford it,’ she told him, ‘and when we’ve got things to celebrate.’
    He raised his eyebrows. ‘Things? You have a list?’
    She ticked her fingers. ‘First, you saw off the wicked, moustache-twirling property barons, and now they’ve officially renounced interest in the house.’
    ‘How do you know this?’
    ‘Mr Singh called me this afternoon. He had an argument with either Garrett or Moss, I forget which. They appear to have decided that it’s too much trouble, and are washing their hands of the whole business. Second . . .’
    ‘What, they gave up just like that?’
    ‘Maybe you made them feel guilty. Maybe they’ve found another sick old lady sitting on a goldmine nearer the terminus. More importantly, I’ve got the money and I’m buying the house for us.’
    ‘How can you do that?’
    ‘Ah, this is one of those little things we’ve never actually talked about.’ Kallie sat back with a secret smile as the waiter poured wine. ‘I don’t often say it, but thank God for having a stage mother. I was going on shoots for baby clothes before I could even walk. I carried on with catalogue work right through school. My mother called it rainy-day money. I think it’s raining now, don’t you?’
    ‘Yes, but—’
    ‘It’s finally time to use it for something useful. Can you believe old Hoppit and Toad wanted to flatten the place and squeeze not two but
four
flats on to the site? Apparently they were talking about bunging some councillors to let them build another floor, but they only wanted to pay Mr Singh once the planning permission came through. Obviously, he doesn’t intend to wait for months while they screw