Dark Corners: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

who gives it to – well, to someone else.’
     
    There was indeed a big story the next day. It was on the front page of the
Daily Mail
,
with a glamour photo of Stacey and a picture underneath of yellow capsules in a glass jar labelled DNP.
    Carl saw the
Mail
on the rack outside a newsagent. He initially wasn’t going to buy it and walked away, then went back when he feared perhaps he might regret not doing so. He read the story as he walked along. One of the things it said was that as a result of Stacey’s death from ‘DNP poisoning’, dinitrophenol would soon be banned, which could happen without a new law but through something called an ‘order’.
    ‘You shouldn’t believe stuff you read in the paper,’ Carl said to himself, and from the stare a passing woman gave him, he realised he had said it aloud.

CHAPTER SIX
     
    LIZZIE MILSOM KEPT hold of Stacey’s keys, both sets. No one seemed to know she had them. The police were not long in Stacey’s flat, and when they had finally gone, three days after the discovery of the body, Lizzie let herself in once more and walked round the rooms, examining pieces of furniture and equipment, looking at the lovely prints of tropical birds that adorned the walls and confirming that all Stacey’s possessions were a lot nicer than anything she had. If she lived here, she wouldn’t have to convince herself of her power by borrowing little knick-knacks. She would be powerful already, and confident.
    Someone must now be the owner of the flat in Pinetree Court, Lizzie thought, but surely Stacey hadn’t left it to anyone? People of twenty-four didn’t make wills. It would probably go to her Aunt Yvonne, or a cousin, or even someone who had never heard of Stacey. Lizzie thought she would stay a while, perhaps a few days. No one could get in, she was sure of that, for Stacey had told her there were only two sets of keys: the set Stacey carried in her handbag, and those that were in the outside cupboard. It was possible the concierge had a set, but she wouldn’t worry about that.
    Lizzie knew she must be careful that no light in the flat was visible from the street below or the car park at the back. The bedroom and bathroom windows looked down on to a kind of tree-shaded yard whose purpose was unclear. The living room was more of a problem, as it fronted on to Primrose Hill Road, but the blinds could be pulled down to cover the window and the curtains drawn to make doubly sure. It was June now, and light till nearly ten, so Lizzie felt pleased with her solution to the problem. She would change and go out, taking both sets of keys with her. It was a pity Stacey had been so overweight – conditioning had made Lizzie never use the word ‘fat’ – as her clothes would no doubt be a size 16. Yet there Lizzie was only half right, for investigating the left-hand side of the wardrobe as well as the right, she found that ever-hopeful Stacey had kept all or most of the clothes she had worn in her slim days.
    Lizzie and Stacey had been the same size in those days, a 10. Lizzie was still a 10. She hunted enjoyably through the clothes and finally laid out on Stacey’s bed a jade-green jacket, a very short jade-green skirt and a green and pink top studded with tiny pink pearls. Why not have a bath before getting dressed? Stacey’s bath was snow white, wide and deep, a seemingly inexhaustible flood of hot water flowing into it. At home in Kilburn, Lizzie had to rely on a feeble shower that was inclined to splutter, cough and sometimes stop altogether. Soaking in the hot water to which she had added nearly half a bottle of Jo Malone nectarine blossom bath oil, she thought how nice it would be to luxuriate like this every day. Stacey’s towels were not towels but bath sheets. Lizzie wrapped herself in one of them, and, having sprayed herself with nectarine scent and dressed in the green ensemble, decided to leave her face fashionably free of make-up. Turning off the lights, she went down in