Death Toll

40

Shaw left Valentine in the Porsche with what was left of the chips and ran to the cafe along the dark sands. He could have rung Justina but if they were out with the dogs the signal would be weak. And he wanted to get this straight. He needed the medical science, and he needed it now. Because if he was right, then this was the key, the lynch pin. The beach was empty, cleaned by the storm which had blown out, so that the only marks on the pristine moonlit strand were Justina’s footsteps. The air was still, the dune grass was frosted, the edge of the sea just trembling on the sand.

He ran up the wooden steps and pushed open the cafe door.

They were all sitting around a table, Lena and Fran and Justina, and on the polished floorboards over by the stove, the dogs. Lena had made tea and there was a plate of sliced cake in the middle of the table, but no one had taken any. So he knew something was wrong because the cake was simnel, his daughter’s favourite, and her plate was clean.

Before he could sit down Lena shook her head.

‘It’s Dawid, Peter,’ she said. ‘He died.’

Justina looked pathetically grateful that someone else had said it.

Shaw knew that if he didn’t touch Justina now he never would again: that it was one of those moments in a friendship when you have to redraw the boundaries.

He knelt beside her seat and put an arm around her shoulders.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He saw Dawid, sat at this table, and the sudden unanticipated sight of blood on his gum.

‘It’s not unexpected, Peter,’ she said, but her eyes filled as she spoke, one spilling tears. But the shock was real enough, and had changed her face so that it was much more mobile than usual, the emotions running across it like a wind over wheat. She drank her tea, declining Shaw’s offer to stiffen it with a whisky shot.

Dawid had been diagnosed eight months earlier, she explained. Polycythaemia vera, PV to a doctor. A rare blood disease in which the body makes too many red blood cells. The extra red blood cells make your blood sticky. The thickened blood flows more slowly through your small blood vessels and forms clots. They cause heart attack and stroke. They knew he wouldn’t live — not for long; there isn’t a cure, just treatment.

Dawid had always wanted to live by the sea. They’d been saving the move for retirement, but after his diagnosis they’d sold up immediately and moved to the coast. The end had come a few hours ago. A sudden massive stroke as Dawid slept by the picture window. She’d been with him, watching his face change as gravity took control.

They’d taken the body away, leaving Justina a lonely widow in an empty house.

‘So I came here,’ she said. She paused then and Shaw sensed that if she didn’t go on immediately she’d cry. She took in a breath. ‘I had a favour to ask,’ she said. Her hand crept towards the tea cup, then pulled back. ‘I wondered — if you didn’t mind — if I could take Fran out. Not now,’ she added, laughing tightly. ‘I don’t know — once a week? Whenever it’s OK with you. Only, there’s no family, some cousins in Poland. But no family really. And I’d enjoy that. Only if she wants? We could walk the dogs.’

Fran nodded her head quickly. Justina leant forward, took a slice of simnel and put it on Fran’s plate.

Shaw stood. ‘I’m sorry. I’d have liked to have known Dawid better.’ He zipped up his jacket, looking back along the beach. ‘George’s waiting. I’ve got to go. I should be taking Fran to the Christmastide at Wells. But work …and Lena has to stay here. Work too.’

Fran studied her simnel cake.

Justina stood. ‘I’ll take her,’ she said, as Shaw had known she would.

‘I can drop you both off, but I can’t stay.’

‘Peter …’ said Lena, taking Justina’s hand. ‘For goodness’ sake.’

Justina stood. ‘I’d like that. That’s a good idea.’ She turned to Lena. ‘What else am I going to do tonight?’

‘There’ll be crowds — can you take that?’ cautioned Shaw.

‘Crowds are best,’ said Justina. ‘Really.’

Ten minutes later Fran got in the back of the Porsche, Valentine squeezed in beside her, while Justina took the passenger seat in the front, because Shaw asked her to sit and talk. When they were up on the coast road he was the first to speak.

‘This isn’t just for Fran,’ he said, looking in the rear-view. ‘It’s the case. I need you to tell me something, Justina.’ In the back he could hear Fran cross-examining Valentine about what he remembered about her grandfather. She’d always known Valentine had been a friend. When she asked Shaw she got the same anecdotes each time. She thought Valentine might know something new.

Justina’s body language was clear. Shaw was pretty certain she was in shock. Her left arm kept rising, the hand seeking a place to rest. But he didn’t have time to camouflage the question.

‘When I was at Hendon I did a course on poisons. But I’ve forgotten almost everything. I just need the basics — quickly.’ The road was Roman-straight for half a mile, so he took his eyes off the road and looked at her. ‘Tell me about toxic synergy.’