The Mortal Sickness by Andrew Taylor

Author:Andrew Taylor [Taylor, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General
ISBN: 9780312143718
Google: QJdkHQAACAAJ
Amazon: 0312143710
Publisher: St Martins Pr
Published: 1996-04-15T04:00:00+00:00

'In case this has some bearing on the other business?' Her voice, never loud, was softer than usual, and he had to come close to the bed to hear what she was saying. Tm afraid I can't tell you anything about how it happened. I can't even remember deciding to go to the Bull.'

'Is this yours?' Thornhill put his hand in his jacket pocket and took out the powder compact.

Her eyes widened. 'How did you find it? How did you know?'

'I was at the Bull just after this happened. They found you lying near a cart in that barn in the yard. I shone a torch underneath - and there this was.'

'But how did you know it was mine?'

Thornhill thought, Because it smelled of you. He said, 'It seemed a reasonable guess to make in the circumstances.' He held it out to her. When she took the compact one of her fingers brushed the side of his hand. Her skin felt dry, soft and warm.

'It must have fallen out when I fell down. The catch on my handbag is faulty.'

'I don't suppose it jogs your memory?'

She shook her head.

Thornhill said, 'I'm tiring you, I'm afraid. I'll let you rest.'

'Don't go.' For an instant he thought he had misheard her. She stared up at him with huge eyes. 'There's something I have to tell you.'

'Time's up, Inspector,' said the staff nurse from the doorway.

'Just a moment, please.'

At the same time, Jill sat up in bed. 'Pass me my handbag,' Jill said to Thornhill, her voice suddenly much firmer. It was on the bedside table. Automatically he handed it to her.

'Inspector- doctor's orders, I'm afraid.'

'I've got something for him, Nurse.' Jill opened the handbag and took out a folded sheet of newspaper. 'You'd better have a look at that.'

Frowning, he took the newspaper, a double-page from the Gazette. The paper felt damp. The nurse cleared her throat, and the noise sounded like a knife being whetted on a grindstone.

'Someone's been cutting out letters and words,' Jill said to Thornhill, her voice rapid and desperate. 'Now why should they want to do that?'

PART SEVEN

'I say, Newton!' Bomber Lancaster trotted down the wide stairs of the Bull: the motion made the ends of his handlebar moustache jiggle up and down, creating the impression he was preparing for takeoff. 'Have you got a minute?'

Newton paused. He had been walking through the hall, a briefcase tucked under his arm, on his way from the front door of the Bull to the back. This was a recognised short cut among the older inhabitants of Lydmouth, enabling one to go from A to B via one side of a triangle rather than two. He glanced upstairs. Lancaster thought, a little smugly: my God, the old boy's showing his age.

'Of course.' Newton's voice was the same as ever. 'No time like the present.' He nodded to Quale behind the reception desk and came up the stairs. Newton had cut himself while shaving, Lancaster noticed, and he looked as if he'd slept in his trousers; not that Giles Newton was what one would call a snappy dresser.

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