say, an hour and a half. Yet rigor’s complete. That’s highly unusual. I assume you also noticed the stiffness?”
“Yes. So what do you think killed her?”
“At a guess, and it’s just a guess until we get toxicology results, I’d say it was strychnine poisoning.”
“It crossed my mind, too, though I’m far from being an expert. I’ve never actually seen a case before. I’ve only read about it in textbooks.”
“Me, too. It’s really quite rare these days. But that would cause the convulsions. She’d have been thrashing herself about the tiny stall quite enough to cause the bruises and contusions you saw on her body. Her back was also arched in a way indicative of final strychnine spasms – it’s called
The images were impossible to forget, and Banks knew he would have nightmares about them for years, the way he still had about the disemboweled Soho prostitute, Dawn Wadley.
“I’m hesitant to commit myself without a full tox check, but that won’t take long. It’s one of the easiest poisonous substances to test for. I’ve never investigated a death by strychnine before, but that’s what it looks like to me. Only my immediate impressions, mind you. I also touched a little of the powder to my tongue. Along with the numbness caused by the cocaine, there’s a bitter taste, associated with strychnine.”
“What killed her? Heart?”
“She’d have died of asphyxiation, most likely, or maybe just sheer exhaustion from the convulsions. Her neck may be broken too, but you’ll have to wait for the postmortem to confirm that. Not pretty, whichever way you look at it.”
“No. Deliberate, though?”
“Oh, I would think so, wouldn’t you? And I’d pretty much rule out suicide, for a start. Even if she did want to kill herself, strychnine is hardly the drug of choice. I’ve never heard of a case. Besides, from what I can tell, it was mixed with cocaine. That means she was looking for a good time, not for death.”
“Any chance it could just be a bad batch?”
“There’s always a chance of that. Dealers use all kinds of weird substances to step on the drugs they sell, including strychnine. But not usually enough to kill a person.”
“How much would that be?”
“It varies. Doses as low as five milligrams can kill, especially if they’re absorbed directly into the bloodstream and bypass the digestive system. We’ll soon find out if it was a bad batch, anyway.”
“You mean we’ll have a whole spate of them?”
“It’s possible.”
“Good forbid,” said Banks.
“It depends on a number of factors. As I said, a fatal dose can vary widely. What killed this girl might not kill just anyone. She was pretty thin, and it doesn’t look as if she ate much. Somebody with more body weight, someone more solid, more robust… who can say? But we’ll hear about it if it happens.”
Banks remembered how Emily hadn’t eaten lunch. Darren said she hadn’t eaten dinner, either. “But if she inhaled it, the stomach contents wouldn’t matter.”
“Not as much as if she’d ingested it, no. But general health and stomach contents are all factors we have to take into account.”
“And if it’s not a bad batch, then someone had it in for her specifically.”
“That just about sums it up. Either way you look at it, somebody killed her. But that’s your realm, isn’t it? Ah, here come the cosmonauts.”
Banks looked up and saw the SOCOs entering in their white protective overalls.
“I’ll arrange for the mortuary wagon,” said Dr. Burns. “I’d better tell them they’ll probably need a crowbar to prize her out of there. And I’ll get in touch with Dr. Glendenning first thing in the morning. Knowing him, he’ll have her opened up by lunchtime.” He stood, but paused a moment before leaving. “Did you know her, Alan? You seem to be taking this very much to heart.”
“I knew her slightly,” said Banks. “I might as well tell you now. You’ll find out soon enough. She’s the chief constable’s daughter.”
Dr. Burns’s reaction was exactly the same as Annie’s.
“And, Doc?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s keep this under our hats for the time being, shall we? The strychnine.”
“My lips are sealed.” Dr. Burns turned and left.
For a moment, Banks stood alone watching the spinning disco lights and listening to mumbled conversations around him. Peter Darby came out of the toilet and said he’d got what he wanted. The SOCOs were in there taking the place apart, collecting samples for analysis. Banks didn’t envy them the task of working in a toilet; you never knew what you might catch. Vic Manson would soon be dusting for prints, of which he’d probably find as many as the SOCOs would public hairs, and before long the mortuary wagon would come and whisk Emily Riddle’s body off to the basement of Eastvale Infirmary.
All so bloody predictable. Routines Banks had been part of time and time again. But this time he wanted to cry. Cry and get rat-arsed. He couldn’t help but remember Emily’s excited talk about her future that lunchtime, about how she didn’t fancy Poughkeepsie or Bryn Mawr because of the sound of their names. He remembered the time she turned up at the hotel in London, passing herself off as his daughter, how her dress slid to the ground and he saw her white and naked. Remembered her stoned, adolescent attempt at seducing him. God, if only she knew how close she’d come. Then the way she curled up in the fetal position like a little child on the bed, her thumb in her mouth, the blanket covering her, while he sat in the armchair smoking and listening to Dawn Upshaw sing about sleep and the windows rattled and the winter sun rose and tried to claw its way through the gray, greasy clouds.
Dead.
And perhaps because of him, because he had respected his vow of discretion and done nothing, despite all his misgivings.
Annie came over from the table where she had been talking to Emily’s friends. Banks told her what Dr. Burns had said about strychnine. Annie whistled. “Learn anything over there?” he asked.
“Not a lot. They say she seemed a bit high when she arrived at the Cross Keys, and they’re certain she took something here the first time she went to the toilet.”
“Same as Darren says. Can’t have been the same batch, though, can it?”
“I suppose not. Do you believe them?”
“For the most part. Maybe we’ll lean on them a bit harder tomorrow. What it looks like is that the first time she snorted made her feel ill shortly afterwards, so she went back for more and the convulsions hit.”
“So what now?”
“We can start by searching everyone on the premises. They’re all suspects at the moment, including the bar staff. Can you get that organized?”
“Of course. I very much doubt we’d have any problems arguing reasonable suspicion, do you?”
“I doubt it.” PACE rules stated that you had to have “reasonable suspicion” before searching people, and if you searched them somewhere other than at the police station without first arresting them, you had to have reasonable grounds for assuming they might be a danger to themselves or others. With the chief constable’s daughter lying dead of possible strychnine poisoning only a few yards away, Banks didn’t think they’d have much trouble arguing their case. “Take it easy, though. If anyone kicks up a fuss, take him over to the station and have the custody officer deal with him. I want this done by the book. You’d better let Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe know, too.”
“Will do.”
“I also want all the known coke dealers in the area brought in for questioning. And we’ll need to activate the incident room over at the station.” He looked at his watch. “We might not be able to get everything in order until morning – especially as far as the civilian staff are concerned – but in the meantime we’ll need an office manager.”
“DC Rickerd?”
Banks looked at Rickerd, who was taking a statement at the other side of the club. “Good idea,” he said. “Let
