Dreaming Of The Bones

The certainty of his words frightened her. Ranting she could discount as hysteria, and offer soothing platitudes, but for this chill resolution she had no answer. And if she, who had only known Vic for a few hours, grieved for her, how could she hope to take away any of his pain?

Helplessly, she said, “Don’t think of it now, love. It will be all right,” knowing the words to be meaningless, knowing that things would never really be all right. She stroked his face, and blindly he turned his head until his mouth rested against her palm.

The warmth of his breath and the touch of his lips against her skin sent an unexpected shiver of desire through her, and she gasped a soft, “Oh.”

He took her hand in both of his and kissed it gently, and then again with a growing fierceness. When she moaned, he gathered her roughly into his arms and began to make love to her with passion of such intensity that it might have been anger, and she couldn’t be sure if he thought of her at all.

But Gemma let herself be carried away, and in the end it washed them both into the comfort of a deep and dreamless sleep.

All through Wednesday morning he tried to concentrate on preparing for the Crown Prosecution Service the evidence he and Gemma had gathered on their latest case. But whenever he blinked, images of Vic flickered on his closed lids like the silent home movies of his childhood, and whenever his phone rang he lunged for it in sickening anticipation.

At lunch in the canteen Gemma glared at him across the table until he forced himself to eat for the first time in twenty-four hours. Like Kit the night before, he found himself ravenous once he’d started, and he made short work of steak and kidney pie and chips.

He went back to his office feeling less hollow, but as the hours passed, he had an increasingly urgent sense that he should clear his desk of everything pending.

Gemma had stepped out to the photocopier and he was alone in his office when the call finally came, at half past four.

“Duncan, it’s Alec here.” Byrne’s voice came clearly this time, and Kincaid had an image of him sitting at his massive desk in Cambridge headquarters. “Do you, by any chance, know the name of your… of Dr. McClellan’s personal physician?”

Kincaid knew the truth of it then, and he felt the inexorable weight of his guilt. “What is it, Alec? What did you find?”

“Well, the postmortem is complete, and we put a rush of the tox scans. They showed rather large amounts of digitalis in her blood and tissue samples.” Byrne sounded uncomfortable, as if he found the results personally distasteful. “Was she on some sort of heart medication?” he added hopefully.

This time, thought Kincaid, it was not going to be so easy. “Not to my knowledge. She was a healthy, active woman, Alec, and I imagine her doctor will confirm it, although I don’t know who she used.”

“Damn. I was hoping you might save us a bit of time there. We’ve asked her department secretary, who didn’t know, so I suppose we’ll have to start through her personal records.”

“Alec, I have some of Vic’s papers,” said Kincaid, for he knew it was now or never. “Things relating to her biography of Lydia Brooke.”

“She gave them to you when you were looking into the case history for her?” said Alec, giving him an easy out.

“No, I took them last night, because it seemed possible to me that her office had been searched, and I didn’t think it a good idea to leave them unattended.” This was at least a partial truth, and had the advantage of putting Byrne on the spot. If he came down too hard on Kincaid, he’d have to defend his own negligence in what he could now have little doubt was a murder inquiry.

The silence at the other end of the line indicated Byrne’s awareness of his quandary. At last he cleared his throat and said, “Um, that’s rather irregular, but under the circumstances … I suppose it’s just as well. I’ll need you to return them, though, as soon as possible.”

Kincaid’s office door opened and Gemma came in, balancing a stack of files in one arm. She stopped when she saw that he was on the phone, then quietly placed the files on his desk and sat down in the chair opposite.

“Tomorrow,” Kincaid said to Byrne. “But I’m not sure yet what time. Alec, about the digitalis—did the toxicologist hazard a guess as to origin? Natural or synthetic?”

“She said she couldn’t differentiate, as they break down the same way. It might have come from one of several different medications.” Byrne cleared his throat. “Listen, Duncan, I understand that this all must be very difficult for you, but you’re going to have to keep in mind that you have no jurisdiction, and no official standing in this case. And I’m afraid that your personal involvement may cause you to—”

“Overreact?” Kincaid felt his barely maintained control on his temper slipping. “Alec, surely you can’t think that now? You bloody well have proof that I’m not imagining things, and that Vic wasn’t imagining things about Lydia Brooke, either. Did your lads find anything at the bottom of the garden?”

Again, Byrne hesitated. “I’ve just now got a team on the way—”

“Bloody hell, Alec,” Kincaid exploded. “Everybody and their dog will have messed about round that gate by this time. What did you think you were playing at?”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Duncan. And don’t bully me. I’ll conduct this investigation as I see fit, and you are just going to have to live with it.” Byrne’s words were dangerously clipped.

Kincaid hadn’t meant to push him so far—he had nothing to gain by antagonizing the man, and much to lose. He took a breath and backpedaled. “I’m sorry, Alec. You’re quite right, and I’m out of line,” he said with genuine contrition. Then he added, “I’ll see you tomorrow, as soon as I can get to Cambridge,” and disconnected before Byrne could admonish him further. He realized suddenly that he was sweating, and in Gemma’s white and strained face he saw the mirror of his own tension.

They looked at each other in silence, and then she said slowly, “So. You were right. And now it begins.”

Nodding, he said, “I’m afraid so.” He considered the idea that had come to him last night. He’d pushed it aside, but now he found that in the interim the decision had made itself. “Gemma, I’m going to take a leave of