Free Stranded by Val McDermid Page B

the car pull up the drive. Sighing, she dropped the paper and went through to the kitchen. By the time she had pulled the cork from a bottle of elderflower wine and poured two glasses, the front door had opened and closed. Sarah stood, glasses in hand, facing the kitchen door.
    Detective Sergeant Maggie Staniforth came into the kitchen, took the proffered glass and kissed Sarah perfunctorily. She walked into the living-room and slumped in a chair, calling over her shoulder, ‘And what kind of day have you had?’
    Sarah followed her through and shrugged. ‘Another shitty day in paradise. You don’t want to hear my catalogue of boredom.’
    â€˜You never bore me. And besides, it does me good to be reminded that there’s a life outside crime.’
    â€˜I got up about nine, by which time you’d probably arrested half a dozen villains. I whizzed through the Guardian job ads, and went down the library to check out the other papers. After lunch I cleaned the bedroom, did a bit of ironing and polished the dining-room furniture. Then down to the newsagent’s for the evening paper. A thrill a minute. And you? Solved the crime of the century?’
    Maggie winced. ‘Nothing so exciting. Bit of breaking and entering, bit of paperwork on the rape case at the blues club. It’s due in court next week.’
    â€˜At least you get paid for it.’
    â€˜Something will come up soon, love.’
    â€˜And meanwhile I go on being your kept woman.’
    Maggie said nothing. There was nothing to say. The two of them had been together since they fell head over heels in love at university eleven years before. Things had been fine while they were both concentrating on climbing their career ladders. But Sarah’s career in personnel management had hit a brick wall when the company that employed her had collapsed nine months previously. That crisis had opened a wound in their relationship that was rapidly festering. Now Maggie was often afraid to speak for fear of provoking another bitter exchange. She drank her wine in silence.
    â€˜No titbits to amuse me, then?’ Sarah demanded. ‘No funny little tales from the underbelly?’
    â€˜One that might interest you,’ Maggie said tentatively. ‘Notice a story in the New s last night about a woman taken to the General with suspected food poisoning?’
    â€˜I saw it. I read every inch of that paper. It fills an hour.’
    â€˜Well, she’s died. The news came in just as I was leaving. And there have apparently been another two families affected. The funny thing is that there doesn’t seem to be a common source. Jim Bryant from casualty was telling me about it.’
    Sarah pulled a face. ‘Sure you can face my spaghetti carbonara tonight?’
    The telephone cut across Maggie’s smile. She quickly crossed the room and picked it up on the third ring. ‘DS Staniforth speaking . . . Hi, Bill.’ She listened intently. ‘Good God!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes. OK?’ She stood holding the phone. ‘Sarah . . . that woman we were just talking about. It wasn’t food poisoning. It was a massive dose of arsenic and two of the other socalled food poisoning cases have died. They suspect arsenic there too. I’ve got to go and meet Bill at the hospital.’
    â€˜You’d better get a move on, then. Shall I save you some food?’
    â€˜No point. And don’t wait up, I’ll be late.’ Maggie crossed to Sarah and gave her a brief hug. She hurried out of the room. Seconds later, the front door slammed.
    The fluorescent strips made the kitchen look bright but cold. The woman opened one of the fitted cupboards and took a jar of greyishwhite powder from the very back of the shelf.
    She picked up a filleting knife whose edge was honed to a wicked sharpness. She slid it delicately under the flap of a cardboard pack of blancmange powder. She did the