had been. Lover, son, friend, athlete. Someone whose grace had been beamed round the world, whose talent had made people happy. All that gone now, gone because some bastard’s need not to have him in the world outweighed all the positives. It was her job to find who that bastard was and to make sure they never got the chance to repeat their act of destruction. She’d never relished the job nor hated its difficulties more than she did that day.
At last, Grisha was done. The body approximated wholeness again; the samples were taken, the organs weighed and the incision stitched. Grisha peeled off gloves and mask, stripped off his apron and stepped out of his lab boots. In stocking soles, he padded down the corridor to his office, Carol in his wake.
The office was a defiant gesture against the concept of the paperless workplace. Crammed folders, loose sheets, bound stacks of paper covered every surface except for the chair behind the desk and a lab stool against the wall. Carol took up her customary perch and said, ‘So what have you got for me?’
Grisha dropped into his chair like a stone. His perfectly oval face was grey from lack of sleep and daylight, a combination of the job and a baby who had yet to discover the delight of unbroken sleep. His grey eyes, shaped like long, low pyramids, had matching shadows underneath them and his full lips seemed to have become bloodless. He looked more like a prisoner than a pathologist. He scratched a stubbled cheek and said, ‘Not much that you don’t know already. Cause of death, multiple organ failure as a result of ricin poisoning.’ He held up one finger. ‘I should qualify that by saying my conclusion is based on the information supplied by the doctors treating him at the time of his death. We’ll have to wait for our own tox screening before we can confirm that officially, let’s be clear about that, eh?’
‘Nothing else?’
Grisha smiled. ‘I could tell you all about his physical condition, but I don’t think that would take you any further. There is one thing that may or may not have some bearing on how he died. There’s some ano-rectal trauma-nothing much, just some internal bruising in the anal area. And also some faint irritation of the tissue just above the anal sphincter.’
‘Provoked by what?’ Carol asked.
‘The bruising is consistent with sexual activity. I’d say the rough side of consensual. Not rape. Well, not rape in the sense of him being held down and forcibly penetrated. But quite forceful. No semen traces, so I couldn’t hazard an opinion as to whether he was penetrated by a penis or something else. A dildo, a bottle, a carrot. Could have been anything of a reasonable size, really.’ He smiled. ‘As we both know from this line of work, it takes all sorts.’
‘Does it look like this sort of sexual activity was something he did regularly?’
Grisha stroked his chin, a hangover from a recently departed goatee. ‘I’d say not. There’s no evidence of Robbie indulging in regular anal sex. He might have gone for a neat little butt plug, but nothing the size of a penis.’
‘And the tissue irritation? What about that? What does that tell us?’
Grisha shrugged. ‘Hard to say. Given where it is, whatever caused it, any trace is going to be long gone. It’s the sort of thing you might get if some foreign substance was inserted into the anus.’
‘Like ricin? Would that produce a reaction like this?’
Grisha leaned back and stared at the ceiling. ‘Theoretically, I suppose.’ He returned to the vertical abruptly. ‘I thought he was presumed to have inhaled it?’
Carol shook her head. ‘We assumed his drink or food had been spiked.’
‘No way. Not if Dr Blessing’s account of the process of his dying is correct. What it is, Carol…the symptoms manifest in a different way if you ingest ricin rather than inhale it. But if you absorbed it through a sensitive mucous membrane like the rectum, then your symptoms would be more like inhalation than ingestion. Now, until I did the PM, I would have gone for the inhalation theory.’
Carol shook her head. ‘Everybody we’ve spoken to is adamant he didn’t do drugs. I don’t think they’re trying to protect his memory. I think they’re telling the truth. Besides, the hospital labs tested their samples and found no traces of recreational drugs.’
Grisha raised his eyebrows, obviously mildly sceptical. ‘Depending on what he was given and when he took it, there might not have been traces by the time they took their samples. But if he genuinely didn’t snort drugs, I’d say this is maybe how the ricin got into his system. It would have had a vehicle-a Hard Fat NF suppository, a gel capsule, something like that. But again, we’re not going to find any traces, not this long after the event. I’ve taken samples, obviously. We might just get lucky, but don’t hold your breath.’
Carol sighed. ‘Great. This is shaping up to be the case from hell. I’ve got the brass and the media jackals all over me, looking for a quick resolution. Which frankly is about as likely as Bradfield Vics signing me as Robbie’s replacement.’
Grisha leaned forward and clicked his mouse. ‘I’ll do what I can to help, but you’re right, it’s a tough one.’ He flashed her a sympathetic smile. ‘But while I’ve got you here, it’s been too long since we had you over for dinner. I know Iris would love to see you.’ He peered at the screen. ‘How would Saturday be for you?’
Carol thought for a moment. ‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Seven?’
‘Make it eight. I have some hospital visiting to do first.’
‘Hospital visiting?’
‘Tony.’
‘Oh, of course, I heard about that. How is he?’ Before Carol could answer, there was a tap at the door. ‘Come in,’ Grisha called.
Paula stuck her head round the door. ‘Hi, Doc. I’m looking for…’
‘You found her,’ Grisha said.
Paula grinned and walked in. ‘It doesn’t hurt that you’re here too, Doc.’ She waved an envelope at them. ‘I think we’re finally cooking with gas, chief. I’ve just come from a meeting with Martin Flanagan. He really didn’t want to come clean-’
‘But you’d already worked the McIntyre charm on him,’ Carol said. She’d seen enough of Paula’s killer interview
