Free Dying to Write by Judith Cutler Page B

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I hope you’ll be able to get on with your writing and won’t find this unpleasant business too obtrusive. Oh,’ he said, as if he’d genuinely forgotten, ‘one small thing. We shall have to speak to each of you and ask you to make short statements. Just a formality. One or two of you might like to get it out of the way now, and my colleagues and I are ready to help. Shazia suggested we use the library for this evening. Tomorrow you’ll find us in the stables. Thank you all. Good evening.’
    I fell quite casually into step with Chris as he left the lounge, and we walked amicably to my room. Chris strode straight to the window, which I’d closed before supper.
    â€˜I just didn’t want any surprise visitors,’ I said apologetically, as he opened it to its maximum.
    â€˜A child of three couldn’t get through that,’ he replied. ‘And I’m sure you’ve no need to worry. Not this time.’
    He smiled.
    If only I could have responded by walking into his arms! I smiled back, sadly. He sat down on the foot of the bed, this time. I took the chair.
    â€˜If no one hands in the bottle of pills, what then?’
    â€˜I search. With or without a warrant. You don’t expect anyone to produce them?’
    â€˜Do you?’ I shrugged. ‘Why did Gimson prick up his ears when you mentioned barbiturate?’
    â€˜I thought you’d notice. Thanks for not asking.’
    His smile was sadder than mine; I would have to move into bracing mode.
    â€˜Come on, Chris, you’ve got me better trained than that. All that undercover work we did together! Tell you what, you couldn’t find an excuse for us to go undercover at the Music Centre again? I’m finding this place quite claustrophobic. And I’ve not written a single word yet.’
    â€˜Did you expect to?’
    â€˜I thought I’d try. When in Rome, you know. Anyway, these ’ere tablets – what’s wrong with them? Why did Gimson leap to life?’
    â€˜Because they’re unusual these days. Most doctors prescribe drugs without such drastic side effects: diazepam-related ones, usually.’
    â€˜But they can have side effects!’ I’d once had a week on some. ‘They can give you unimaginable nightmares.’
    â€˜Unpleasant side effects, true. But not as fatal as those Nyree experienced.’
    â€˜OK. So why did she take them?’
    â€˜I’m trying to locate her GP now. But she’s been all over the world, according to her passport. She could have picked them up anywhere. God, Sophie, you should have seen the drugs you could get in India just for the asking. Steroids, antibiotics – the whole caboodle.’
    â€˜But the bottle – you’re absolutely sure it is a bottle?’ I grinned.
    â€˜It’s a bottle of very small tablets, perhaps five millimetres across,’ he said stolidly. ‘And I could wish,’ he added, perking up again, ‘that that wretched, noisome rodent had found one and put us out of our misery. Do you really propose to sleep with it stinking the place out like this?’
    â€˜There is, as the lady once said, No Alternative. No one else would be fool enough to take him in.’
    He stood up. ‘You said it; not me. What are you planning to write about?’ he asked, looking at the desk with the blank pad and unused biro.
    â€˜About George,’ I said. ‘I still miss him, Chris, more than I could have imagined. I want to phone him for a natter. If I leave my tapes or books in a mess, I expect him to be there putting them in order. And he’s not there for me to phone, and when I turn round he’s not there. It’s as if part of me is missing. Something inside.’
    I’d never spoken to Chris like that before; I wondered how he’d react to such a change of gear.
    â€˜I wish I could say you’d soon be over it,’ he said. He