Free Dying to Write by Judith Cutler Page A

Matt.
    â€˜Anything special to look at?’ asked Thea.
    â€˜Tiny little white ones. My aunt used to take them,’ Jean said. ‘We found whole bottles full of them when she died. Ever so careless, her doctor. Oh, no offence, Mr Gimson, please – I didn’t mean …’
    Gimson permitted himself a frosty smile.
    â€˜Bottles?’ I repeated. ‘I thought,’ I pursued, not looking at Chris, ‘that drugs tended to come in bubble packs, these days.’
    â€˜Those are still dispensed loose,’ said Gimson, apparently bored again.
    â€˜And, unfortunately, we haven’t yet found any trace of a pill bottle in her effects,’ Chris confessed, studiously avoiding my eye.
    â€˜Have you looked in the bathrooms?’ asked Mr Woodhouse. ‘I’m always leaving things behind in these bathrooms. And you never remember until someone else is in there.’
    â€˜How typical of the woman to leave dangerous drugs around,’ said Agnes. ‘To take them to the bathroom and be so – so –’
    â€˜â€“ drunk,’ Matt supplied.
    â€˜â€“ she forgot to pick them up.’
    â€˜Quite,’ said Chris.
    â€˜And a couple of times I’ve picked up someone else’s toothpaste,’ Woodhouse continued. ‘D’you suppose someone might have picked up these pills of hers?’
    â€˜That’s a distinct possibility, sir,’ said Chris, as sincerely as if the idea were new to him. ‘Maybe you’d all be kind enough to check when you return to your rooms. And if you find anything in your spongebags or whatever that doesn’t belong there, perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell one of my colleagues. One or two of them will be on duty here all night.’
    â€˜What about Kate, for Christ’s sake? There’s that lovely woman who might be lying sick or injured anywhere in the grounds. Damn it, her computer’s still plugged in – she can’t have meant to go anywhere for long. And all you do is rabbit on about some obnoxious gossip-mongering nymphomaniac lush’s dentures!’
    â€˜Dentures?’ wailed Toad. ‘Nyree wouldn’t – she didn’t …’
    â€˜Of course, not,’ I said briskly. ‘Matt’s joking.’
    â€˜
Joking
, when she’s – ’ Toad broke off, covering his face and lurching from the room.
    After a moment, Shazia followed. So did a policeman, who’d been barely visible through a crack in the door.
    There was an embarrassed silence.
    Chris broke it. ‘As far as Ms Freeman is concerned,’ he said, not looking at me, ‘a search of the house and grounds is taking place at this moment.’
    â€˜What about that dear little animal of hers?’ asked Jean.
    â€˜I’m looking after him,’ I said, wondering whether she was being brave or hypocritical.
    â€˜Will you be setting up a what-do-you-call-it?’ asked Mr Woodhouse. ‘Like they do on TV? You know, with all the computers and polythene sheets round the body.’
    â€˜An incident room,’ Jean said. ‘But they’ve taken the body away.’
    â€˜Unless they find Kate’s,’ said Mr Woodhouse.
    â€˜These days of excellent communications we tend not to need an on-the-spot incident room,’ said Chris. ‘Rose Road Police Station is the place where I have my office, and they’re geared up for everything we should need. But I may ask if we could use somewhere as a base – cups of tea, taking statements and so on.’
    â€˜The stable block? That’s self-contained,’ said Matt.
    â€˜But that’s where I like to write,’ said Mr Woodhouse. ‘All the sounds of nature so close. So inspiring.’
    â€˜Perhaps you could move to the conservatory,’ said Matt.
    â€˜If that’s OK, then, that’s where we’ll set up our control point. So you’ll all know where to find us if you need us.