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months ago.’
    ‘Oh.’ Sheena Rafferty looked confused. ‘You may be right. Somebody said somethin’ about that.’
    ‘Was it Marion? Did she give you her new address?’
    ‘No, I was goin’ tae ask her.’
    ‘When did you last see her?’
    ‘Um, that would have been Christmas.’ Sheena shrugged. ‘We had a wee blue. Nothin’ serious. Her complainin’ about me drinkin’ too much, I think. She could be . . .’ A memory came back to her, and her face crinkled, tears welling.
    Kathy waited, then said, ‘How about her friends? Do you know their names?’
    Sheena looked vague and shook her head.
    ‘A boyfriend maybe?’
    The woman’s mood lifted. ‘Oh no, Marion was never one for the boys.’ She gave a raffish smile—
Unlike me
, it implied. ‘She always had her nose buried in her books.’
    ‘Just for the record, Sheena,’ Kathy said, ‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask you—this is Marion, your daughter, yes?’
    She showed her the picture Sundeep had given her and her mother nodded, weeping again. ‘Such a lovely lassie.’ Then she looked alarmed. ‘I don’t have to see the body just now, do I? I don’t think, without Keith . . .’
    ‘Plenty of time for that,’ Kathy reassured her.
    Later, as they sipped tea, waiting for Keith in a fug of smoke, Sheena tentatively raised the possibility of compensation for her loss. Kathy was saved from replying by the arrival of Keith.
    It was clear that he didn’t know what was going on and was prepared to make someone pay for the inconvenience this was causing him. He had a shaved head and a tattoo creeping out of his shirt collar. He glared at Kathy belligerently and said, ‘Who’s this, then?’
    Kathy watched Sheena’s manner change, becoming pliant and eager to soothe him. ‘Oh, Keithy darlin’, somethin’ terrible’s happened.’
    ‘What now?’ he growled.
    ‘It’s Marion. She’s deed.’
    The abrupt words must have hurt to speak, but Kathy alsosensed the underlying message:
Now, be nice to me, please
.
    They certainly had an impact. Keith frowned uncertainly. Finally he muttered, ‘I don’t believe it. Who is this?’
    ‘I’m a police officer, Mr Rafferty—DI Kathy Kolla. I’m so sorry to bring this news.’ Again the bland explanation. She felt like a nurse tucking a shocking deformity up in neat white sheets.
    She left them with what advice and contact numbers she could, and returned to her car. As she reached to turn on the ignition her phone went. It was Sundeep Mehta, sounding out of breath.
    ‘Hi, Sundeep. Any news?’
    ‘Yes, Kathy. I was right. It was definitely arsenic. Marion Summers died of a massive dose of arsenic poisoning.’
    Kathy felt her heart give a jump, and realised that all this time she’d been half convinced that Sundeep’s suspicions were wrong, that some much more mundane and innocent explanation would emerge.
    ‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ he was going on, ‘even though I saw the signs. To strike someone down in that way, in public, in the middle of the day . . .’
    ‘You know the timing then?’
    ‘Oh, the dose was so large it would have happened quickly, certainly no more than an hour before her collapse. Do you know her movements?’
    ‘The librarian saw her leave the library for a lunch break at around 12.30, and the triple nine call was logged at 1.38.’
    ‘Well then. Do you know what she did during that time?’
    ‘We have just one sighting of her so far, sitting in the gardens in the square outside the library, possibly eating a sandwich. She threw the remains into a rubbish bin which has now been emptied. We’re trying to trace it.’
    ‘Her stomach contents weren’t much help—she lost most of her lunch on the library floor, all cleaned up and gone now. Did she have a drink?’
    ‘The witness thought he saw a soft-drink bottle.’
    ‘Hm. An open cup would be easier. The arsenic could have been in powder form, or possibly dissolved in a liquid. If a powder, it would have to