Page 13 of The Dark Hiss of Magic
I don’t know what he’d have told me because at that moment footsteps echoed down the corridor. A figure appeared in the doorway and peered at us. Uh-oh. ‘What’s going on here? Who are you two?’ He frowned at the druid. ‘Is that my lab coat?’
Apparently the time for talking was over. The young druid leapt forward in full flight mode and slammed into the real Dr Singh. The pathologist staggered backwards, then the druid was away, sprinting down the corridor and doubtless out of the window by which he’d come in.
I made an effort to go after him but with a downed pathologist in my path and the considerable age gap between us, I knew it was probably a wasted effort. By the time I’d followed his trail through the mortuary and darted to the window, the druid had vanished. There were any number of directions in which he could have run. I hissed through my teeth. Then, because these days I was a good citizen, I returned to Dr Singh.
The grouchy receptionist had heard the commotion and was helping him to his feet. As soon as she saw me, her gazehardened. She clearly thought that I had attacked him. ‘I’ve called the MET on you!’ she said angrily.
I doubted that she had because there hadn’t been enough time to make a phone call. Besides, she wouldn’t want to explain to the small organisation that dealt with most of the minor crime in Coldstream how I’d managed to stroll in through the mortuary’s front door.
‘Relax, Cindy,’ Dr Singh grunted. He pushed back his hair and blinked at me.
Cindy? I couldn’t have invented a less suitable name for the woman if I’d tried. She was an Evelyn or a Priscilla, a snippy Wilhelmina at best. She certainly wasn’t a Cindy.
Dr Singh continued. ‘She’s not the one who knocked me over – and I’m fine. Truly.’
Like the mysterious young man who’d temporarily stolen his identity, the pathologist was a druid, but that was the only similarity. This version of Dr Singh was from a different age group, ethnicity and, by the sound of his cultured accent and the look of his expensive clothes, income bracket.
‘I don’t believe he wanted to hurt you,’ I said, wondering why I was defending the escaped druid. ‘I think he was just trying to get away.’
Dr Singh nodded. ‘He certainly didn’t hang around.’ He offered me a rueful smile. ‘The people I deal with aren’t usually so energetic. The dead tend to be far more obliging.’
Cindy sniffed. ‘Why don’t you sit in the staffroom, doctor?’ she suggested fawningly. ‘I’ll make you a cup of sweet tea to help you get over the shock. While I do that, this woman can leave.’
I grinned. Poor Cindy was desperate for me to go before Dr Singh started asking why she’d let me in. Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t going anywhere. ‘Actually,’ I said quickly, ‘I need to askDr Singh a few questions first. It might help us find out who that man was and why he was here.’
Cindy opened her mouth to protest but thankfully Dr Singh got in first. ‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s sit down next door.’ He smiled at Cindy. ‘But you can still put the kettle on.’
I tried hard not to smirk. ‘No sugar in my tea, thanks, Cindy,’ I said. ‘A small splash of milk is fine.’
She started to scowl but Dr Singh was already leading me to the staffroom. This was better than I could have hoped for. If I hadn’t been so well-behaved, I’d have punched the air with delight.
Chapter
Six
Dr Singh closed the staffroom door to ensure we couldn’t be overheard. He didn’t offer me a chair, which spoke volumes. ‘So,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘Why don’t you tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?’
The avuncular twinkle in his eyes had gone. The pathologist wasn’t a gullible pushover after all; he’d simply wanted to ensure that Cindy was safely out of the way in case I posed a threat, despite my harmless cat-lady facade. He went up a notch in my estimation – several notches, in fact. He obviously didn’t judge people on their appearances and he cared about his colleague’s well-being.
I’d obliged the identity thief with the truth so the least I could do was provide the real Dr Singh with the same thing. I met his sharp brown eyes, indicating as best as I could that I was prepared to be honest.
‘My name is Kit McCafferty. I’m here because a body was brought in earlier today. A man died in the River Tweed but nobody knows who he was or what happened to him. I believe that if I don’t try to find out, he’ll end up inan unmarked grave and his family – whoever they are – will never know the truth. I have some…’ I searched for the right word, ‘…skills, and I thought I could put them to good use.’
Dr Singh’s expression didn’t alter. ‘By helping a corpse?’
‘He might be a corpse but that doesn’t mean he’s not important,’ I countered. ‘The dead deserve respect. It’s possible he could have been rescued. Unfortunately he was not.’
‘You feel guilty, then, that he’s died?’
Perhaps I did, but not for the reasons that Dr Singh assumed. I doubted there was any therapist anywhere in the world who could sort out my tangled thoughts and feelings about the dead. ‘Maybe,’ I hedged.
‘What about the druid? The one who stole my lab coat?’
At least that question was easier to answer. ‘Initially I thought he worked here. I don’t know who he is or why he broke in.’
Dr Singh raised an eyebrow. ‘You broke in, too.’
I pulled a face. ‘Not really – I simply persuaded Cindy to let me in. I didn’t sneak in through a window.’
