Perfect Death. Helen Fields

world,’ Callanach said. ‘I really do have to go.’ He held the door open for her, checking his mobile phone messages as he waited for her to put on her coat.

      Véronique looked around the apartment. ‘There are no photos here,’ she said.

      ‘I had to rebuild my life without memories. There’s no point staring at images of falsehoods,’ he said, stepping outside into the corridor, holding the door open at a distance.

      ‘Not even of your father?’ Véronique asked. ‘He would have hated this.’

      ‘Do you mean he would have hated you?’ Callanach asked.

      Véronique turned away, sliding fists into her pockets and hunching her shoulders. She walked briskly past Callanach and took the stairs. He caught up with her on the pavement, opening the car door for her to get in.

      ‘No need,’ she said. ‘I’ll walk. That’ll be easier on us both.’

      ‘Yes,’ Callanach replied. ‘It certainly will.’ He steeled himself and left his mother for the last time.

       Chapter Eight

      Ava met Callanach in the city mortuary carpark. She waited, leaning on her car, as he parked his.

      ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Ava asked as he got out.

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘How did the briefing go?’

      ‘Everyone’s still in shock. Most of the squad worked directly with the Chief at some point. I think there’s a softly spoken consensus that retiring after his heart attack was what killed him. All those years in the thick of things and he ends up with golf club membership and on a diet he hated. Hardly a replacement for the adrenalin and single malt he was used to. Let’s go in. Ailsa has stayed late for us.’

      They walked into the mortuary, the clinical, chemical smell extending just beyond its external glass doors as if issuing an olfactory ‘abandon hope’ warning. Dr Ailsa Lambert was in her office, her assistant looking tired as he drew on his coat and bade them goodnight. Ava knocked.

      ‘Ailsa,’ Ava said. ‘Are you ready for us?’

      ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘I’d offer you both a drink only I won’t allow alcohol on the premises. If ever I needed it though …’ she stopped herself, picking up a file labelled DCI George Begbie. ‘Let’s start with this. I’m entirely convinced that George’s cause of death was carbon monoxide poisoning. There are no injuries or findings inconsistent with that, internal or external. The toxicology samples will be picked up from here tomorrow and sent away for analysis but I’ve done an alcohol test on his blood. He was sober. I don’t just mean below the driving limit. I mean there was no alcohol in his blood at all. When he made the decision to take his life, he did it entirely consciously.’

      ‘Something must have triggered it,’ Ava said. ‘You found no other signs of illness? Nothing that would cause him to lose hope sufficiently to believe suicide was the only way out?’

      ‘There are no tumours, his organs – even given his heart condition – are all in reasonable order. I phoned his GP. He’d had a comprehensive check-up recently, blood tests and all. Came back clear. The notes indicate that George was in good spirits, no problems with his mood, sleeping, eating, even his cholesterol was dropping. Apparently, he was planning a surprise holiday for his wife Glynis on their anniversary. The GP has been seeing them both for years. She’s as shocked as we are,’ Ailsa said.

      ‘So he drove to the coast, hooked a length of hose-pipe up to the back of his car and sat there dying, knowing Glynis was cooking dinner for him. He was stone cold sober, in spite of the empty whisky bottle in his car, with no known problems. For Christ’s sake, Ailsa, it makes no sense,’ Ava said.

      ‘I’m aware of that,’ Ailsa said. ‘There is the matter of the markings on the inside of his left wrist.’ She clicked the screen and produced a blown-up photo of the area. ‘It’s clearer in this photograph than to the naked eye because we’ve been able to filter out some of the colour. You can see here that the capital N was formed of scratches, making three separate lines. They are quite deep violations of the epidermis, consisting of multiple scratches along each line. The small c is formed of a single curve, repeated several times in the same place.’ She clicked again and the c came up magnified. ‘You can see here that at the top part of the curve, the scratch was so deep that it had begun to draw blood. It would have taken some effort to do that without a tool or implement.’

      ‘Without a tool?’ Callanach asked. ‘You mean he …’

      ‘He used his right index finger. The scratched off particles of skin were found under the nail, sufficient to see without a microscope. Obviously, we’ve sent that for DNA testing but there’s really no doubt that he did this to himself.’

      ‘I have no idea what the c stands for,’ Ava said. ‘I’ve seen carbon monoxide poisoning victims before, but I don’t know much about the process before death. What sort of state would he have been in, once the car started to fill with gas?’

      ‘He’d have become increasingly groggy, disoriented. Concentration would have been difficult and he’d have been feeling extremely nauseous,’ Ailsa said.

      ‘So perhaps the letter sizing was just a symptom of his confusion,’ Ava said. ‘Perhaps they were both supposed to be capitals.’

      ‘You think they’re initials?’ Callanach asked. Ava nodded. ‘Anyone spring to mind?’

      ‘Not immediately,’ Ava said. ‘I’ll put Tripp on it in the morning.’

      ‘Ava,’ Ailsa said quietly. ‘There’s no evidence of a crime here. What we have is a tragedy. A desperate event for his family to endure, but my report will say that there are no suspicious circumstances.’

      ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Ava said. ‘It’s totally out of character and this thing on his arm …’

      ‘Could have been scratched at any time in the few hours preceding his death and might be totally unrelated. Or it could be an indicator that he wasn’t in his right mind at the time. It’s not evidence of foul play.’

      ‘It certainly warrants investigation,’ Ava said. ‘I’m not prepared to accept that this is a non-suspicious death.’

      ‘I’ve been asked to copy in Detective Superintendent Overbeck,’ Ailsa said. ‘I have no choice. Subject to the tox screen results, my preliminary findings indicate that that body should be released for burial or cremation. George’s family will suffer enough. There’s no reason to keep them waiting.’

      ‘Ailsa, you can keep this open a while. I know you can. I’m a Detective Chief Inspector. If I can’t decide what to investigate and what not, then …’

      ‘Ava,’ Callanach said. ‘You can’t ask Dr Lambert to write anything other than her honest opinion. She’s right about the Chief’s wife. Glynis needs to be allowed to grieve. Turning this into something it’s not will only make it harder for her.’

      ‘You’re right,’ Ava said. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘I’m sorry, Ailsa, I didn’t come here intending to pressure you. I just need to get this straight in my head. Luc, what was it that you needed to run through?’ she asked, looking away.

      ‘Lily Eustis. The young woman found dead near Arthur’s Seat. Do you have an update on her?’ Callanach asked, concealing his concern for Ava.

      Ailsa Lambert was less concerned with how her behaviour was perceived, as ever, staring openly at Ava as Callanach spoke. ‘Right, Lily, poor girl. I’ve spoken to her parents this evening. They’re going to need more answers than I can supply, but essentially cause of death was major organ failure as a result of hypothermia. No surprise really. Out at night in December, on a hilltop in these temperatures the outcome