Novak?’
‘I never met him. I know he has problems with addiction too.’
‘He’s in rehab at the moment.’
‘It’s a real problem when addicts get together. A kind of folie à deux situation. They enable each other. For Chloe’s rehabilitation to work, I think she would have had to break up with Thom.’
‘Did you say that to her?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what was her answer?’
‘She said that she loved him. And I’m sure she did. Sadly, sometimes love isn’t enough.’ Now she really does look sad. Nelson wonders about Doctor McAllister’s background. He can’t see a wedding ring; maybe she’s married to the job.
He thanks Doctor McAllister for her time and says that he can see himself out. She doesn’t seem too keen on this and calls a member of the ground staff to escort him. Even with the man’s surly chaperonage Nelson is able to see that Chloe would not have found it difficult to leave the hospital unnoticed. There are several fire exits, presumably unlocked, and, although you need a passcode to open the doors from outside, from inside all you have to do is press a red button marked ‘Open’. It’s hardly The Great Escape .
When he gets back to his car, there’s a message from Chris Stephenson saying that he has the preliminary autopsy results. Nelson rings him back and tries not to wince when the pathologist calls him ‘chief’. ‘It’s much what you’d expect, chief. Death by manual strangulation. No sign of recent sexual activity. Deceased had no traces of alcohol or drugs in the bloodstream. One odd thing. We found traces of cleaning fluid on her hands and under her nails. Do they have them scrubbing floors in the Sanctuary?’
No, thinks Nelson. He’s pretty sure that’s not one of the therapies on offer. Then he thinks back to yesterday and Cathbad pointing out the spot where Chloe had appeared to him. ‘Here. By this white tombstone.’ The other stones had been grey, covered with lichen and the accumulated grime of the years, but the grave which Chloe had been standing next to was white. As if it had been newly cleaned.
Chapter 6
If Chesterton is pleased to see Justin, he doesn’t show it. When his owner arrives the cat stares at him coldly for a moment and then stalks out of the room with his tail in the air.
‘Still the same old Chesterton,’ says Justin.
‘Yes,’ says Cathbad. ‘I think we came to some sort of understanding, though I wouldn’t say we bonded exactly.’
Justin has bought Cathbad a bottle of Irish whisky and a small statue of the Virgin Mary. Cathbad is delighted with both presents and balances the glass figurine on his hand.
‘She glows in the dark,’ says Justin. ‘Very useful if you’re lost on a lonely road with only a religious icon to keep you company.’
Cathbad is never quite sure about Justin’s religious convictions. He’s a layman, but Cathbad knows that he once studied for the priesthood. Now he seems happy being a waspish, slightly cynical presence on many local committees and charities. He’s also a guide at the priory and a volunteer at the museum. He’s a respected historian too and often gives lectures in London. Cathbad first met Justin when they were both concerned with saving the remains of an anchorite’s cell in the grounds of a Norwich church. Justin hadn’t minded Cathbad turning up to meetings in his druid’s robes and referring to the spiritual energies of the site. Cathbad, for his part, had overlooked Justin’s weakness for waistcoats and foppish cravats. The campaign had been successful and, by the end of it, Justin and Cathbad were firm – if respectfully distant – friends.
‘I had a religious visitation of my own when you were away,’ Cathbad says now.
He tells Justin about seeing Chloe Jenkins in the graveyard and the subsequent discovery of her body.
‘So that’s why there were all those policemen on the Fakenham Road,’ says Justin. ‘I had to go the long way round.’
‘My friend