Die With Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

solid.’
    Blake seemed thoughtful, running a finger over her lips for a moment before folding her hands tidily in front of her. ‘In my opinion, it’s highly unlikely. She wasn’t much over five feet tall and she would be feeling very dizzy standing up, maybe even a little nauseous because of the combined effect of the drug and the alcohol. She would increasingly have lost control over her movements. I don’t think she would have had the coordination to climb over anything that high, either aided or unaided.’
    For a moment, his thoughts turned back again to the church and the dark balcony high above the nave where something very strange had gone on. What was the point of the drug if there was no sexual motive? None of it made any sense. The only certainty was that Gemma’s death had been no accident.
    He stood up to go and Donovan followed suit. As he picked up his jacket, he noticed a couple of framed photographs sitting on top of the filing cabinet. One showed a broad-shouldered man with a deeply tanned face, wearing sunglasses and ski gear, grinning broadly against a snowy mountain backdrop. He was in his late thirties or early forties, with the thick, white-blond hair of a Scandinavian. The one next to it was of the same man, his face paler this time, in one of those stupid wigs and gowns barristers wore. Fucking Murray, he thought. Christ, she’d made such a fool of him.
    He glanced over at her and caught her eye. He knew she had seen him looking at the photographs and he forced a smile and leaned over the desk towards her.
    ‘Is there anything else you think I should be aware of, Dr Blake? Something important that I may have missed or maybe forgot to ask you? Every little detail’s important. That’s where the devil is, as they say.’
    She coloured, a flicker of emotion crossing her face. Surprised but gratified that he had got some sort of a reaction, he was suddenly aware of Donovan’s presence in the room and cursed himself for having said anything.
    ‘I understand what you’re getting at,’ Blake said quietly. ‘Everything’s in my report. But there is something that perhaps I should draw to your attention, in the light of the scene you describe; it may or may not be significant. A lock of the girl’s hair had been cut off.’
    ‘Lengths of hair were found at the crime scene, but according to the crime scene manager, it was pulled out at the root,’ Donovan said.
    Blake shook her head. ‘This is different. I’ve no idea when it was done, although it must have happened very recently. It was sliced off right at the scalp. The section was about two inches wide and whoever did it used a sharp blade.’
    ‘Where was this?’ Tartaglia asked.
    ‘Just at the base of her neck. We only noticed it by accident when we were turning her over.’
    Outside, Tartaglia turned to Donovan. ‘I’ll head straight back to Barnes and brief the team. You go and see Gemma’s parents. The man’s clearly someone she knew and we’ve got to find him.’
    Before Donovan could reply, he turned on his heel and strode off towards his motorbike, which was parked further down the road.
    Bristling with pent-up curiosity, Donovan unlocked her car and climbed in. Mark Tartaglia and Dr Fiona Blake. She was amazed. Tartaglia always played his cards close to his chest but she usually managed to find out eventually if he was seeing someone. She would never have guessed in a million years that he would have gone for Blake. Blake wasn’t bad looking, she had to admit grudgingly. But she was one of those irritating women who thought themselves above everyone else, just because they held a clutch of degrees. Men were unfathomable. They defied all common sense, suckers for any pretty face, never mind the person inside.
    She pulled out her A–Z from the glove compartment and looked up Gemma’s parents’ address. It would take her no more than half an hour to get to Streatham, she reckoned. Switching on the ignition, she let the