‘Maybe, but what do you want from me?’ Gloria said. ‘I haven’t seen Ingrid since she walked out. I told him that.’ She looked over at Sean. He was not sure whether it was the look of anger or of disappointment. Although he knew what he felt: relief.
‘Ingrid was on medication. Is that correct?’ Sara asked.
‘I told the old man that.’
‘Detective Inspector Greenstreet,’ Sara corrected her.
‘Yes, him.’
‘Do you have any of that medication here?’
‘She took it all when she left.’
‘Are you sure? You lied about the ring.’
‘The ring would have covered her rent money.’
‘Gloria, we need the name of the medicine.’
‘Something “zine”; that’s all I know.’
‘And the name of the patient?’
‘Ingrid Bentham, who else?’
‘Did you see the name? It’s important.’
‘Not really. As I told the old man, sorry, Detective Inspector Greenstreet, I was not interested. Ingrid paid her rent, and we got on well enough. Apart from that, she left me alone, I left her alone. Satisfied?’
‘Not yet,’ Sara said. ‘Do you have a man in the other room?’
‘What if I do? None of your business.’
‘As you say, none of my business, but if you want to get back in there with him, you’d better answer our questions, or we’ll take you down to the police station.’
‘You can’t do that. I’ve committed no crime,’ Gloria shrieked. A man’s head appeared at the bedroom door.
Sean flashed his badge. ‘Police.’ The head retreated back inside the bedroom.
‘Okay. The name was scratched off. I don’t know where she got it from, or what it was. I never asked, and she never told me.’
‘Did she take it every day?’
‘How would I know? She was a good flatmate, nothing more. Some of the others have wanted to take my men, but with Ingrid I was safe. Not that she couldn’t have if she wanted; she was beautiful, I’m not. Just an easy lay, that’s me.’
‘And the medicine’s name?’
‘Only what I told you.’
***
‘Not so easy to obtain high-potency prescription drugs,’ Keith said back in the office. He had stayed back, pleased that he had not been asked to accompany Sara to meet Ingrid Bentham’s flatmate.
Not that interviewing the promiscuous Gloria was a problem, but she had reminded him of certain unassailable facts: he was getting old and he was not an attractive man. It had not worried him when he had been younger; unattractiveness had a particular lure for certain women, especially his wife. Back then, he had been young and fit, even played rugby for the local police station every weekend; just friendlies with the other stations in the area. Always good fun, always a few too many beers afterwards.
But he was no longer young or fit, and now his age had committed him to a life of celibacy; not that he minded, but… the mind was still young, even if the body was not.
The sight of the naked Gloria had caused a twitching in his loins, although he didn’t fancy her. He had to admit that it was probably drunken men who found her attractive; sober, they would have looked the other way. Still, even she had tempted, and then the great put-down: old and ugly.
Sara, as always eager to push on, held court in the office. A team player, she had brought a pizza back with her. Keith was pleased at the gesture. He had worked with some miserable sods during his career, and he had to admit that working with Sara was alright.
‘Where can you obtain these drugs?’ Sara asked.
‘Black market,’ Keith’s reply. ‘And then some of those who obtain them legitimately sell them to make extra money.’
‘Assuming that the drugs in the bathroom were antipsychotics, she may have had a prescription,’ Sean said.
‘If she did, then under what name, and what were the drugs?’ Keith said.
‘We’ve checked for an Ingrid Bentham. There are no prescriptions against that name,’ Sara said.
‘Her flatmate said that the name on the labels had been scratched off, anyway,’ Keith added.
‘She’s hardly a reliable witness,’ Sean said, ever eager to add his input. Keith Greenstreet intimidated him: the experienced DI and the wet-behind-the-ears detective constable.
‘As you say, hardly reliable,’ Sara conceded.
‘Did she make a play for you?’ Keith asked dryly. ‘Was she prancing around with no underwear again?’ He knew he was winding up the young constable, aware that Sara appreciated the humour.
‘Apparently that is reserved for you, DI,’ Sean responded. He knew he was being baited, and he had no intention of biting.
‘Okay, boys. We’ve got a case to solve, and the DCI wants a result,’ Sara said.
The drugs, assumed to be Chlorpromazine or possibly Clozapine, although not confirmed, were, according to Grace Nelson, dopamine blockers, with known side effects. Long-term use, which seemed possible with Ingrid Bentham, could cause nausea, vomiting, blurred vision and some other complaints, and Clozapine required regular blood checks.
‘According to Grace Nelson,’ Sara said, ‘the drugs prescribed and their dosage are regularly evaluated. If Ingrid Bentham has slipped off the radar, no longer taking the right dosage, then she could be volatile, subject to change in her mental stability.’
‘Likely to kill again,’ Sean said.
‘She’s hardly likely to be taking them now,’ Keith said.
‘There’s no way that we would know.’
‘She’s killed once, another murder may not concern her.’
‘Twice, if the carving on Chalmers was correct.’
‘As you say, Keith, her second murder. Any ideas on how to find out?’ Sara asked.
‘Newcastle. I have a contact there. I’ve already phoned him on a couple of occasions, but a personal visit always works
