The Corpse with the Silver Tongue (15 page)

“Doctor Brunetti is correct, Tamsin,” added Gerard, “you must eat something. You must be strong for these days ahead. They will be difficult. There is much to arrange.” He nodded his head sagely. I wondered how many funerals he'd had to arrange in a life of more than eighty years.

“Oh no,” said Tamsin quite lightly, nibbling on a cracker and sipping champagne, “Ally made all his own arrangements. It's a service in Holy Trinity Anglican, cremation and an urn to be kept here with me. He wanted to make sure it was all as he wanted, so he chose the hymns and wrote his eulogy for the Rector to read. All I have to do is to decide the date, and that's it.”

I was pleased to see that I wasn't the only one at the table to be stunned by this. Both Beni and Gerard were, literally, open-mouthed. I made sure I shut mine quickly. I don't think they noticed. Tamsin's body language spoke of no discomfort, no stress or even sadness. She was quite calm about the whole thing.

“You are very calm about the whole thing,” I said. It made sense to say what I was thinking, for once.

“Well, of course I am, silly, because it's just his
body
. Ally's gone. There's no point worrying about arrangements for the leftovers, is there? All
I'm
concerned about is Ally's spirit, and I know
that's
gone to a good place. He was a good man. He loved life. He'll be missed. To Ally!” She raised her glass by way of a toast.

As I raised mine I thought how remarkable it was that Tamsin, Beni, and Gerard had all used
exactly
the same phrases to describe Alistair.
Quite remarkable.
I'd have to give that some thought. I decided that, at that moment, it was more important that I took my chance to talk to the person who had, presumably, known Alistair the best—his widow. I suspected that she and I wouldn't have many more chances for a heart to heart; our personalities did not promise a flourishing friendship, if you know what I mean!

“When will it be, Tamsin? Do you have to wait until the hospital knows how Alistair died?” I asked, trying to sound sympathetic.

“Oh, I know that already,” she replied casually. Again, the rest of us looked very surprised, and this time she saw it and reacted. “They told me at the hospital. Well, they would, of course, because I was his wife. He died from something digital.”

Well, given my size I know you could never
really
knock me down with a feather . . . but this was about as close as you'd ever be likely to come.

There was a trio of “How?” from the three of us, each in our own native tongue. Clearly, none of us understood what on earth she'd meant.

“They said it was
digital
,” replied Tamsin, blithely. “It can kill some people, you know, but if we're all alright now, we'll be fine,” and she ate another cracker.

Frankly, I was completely exasperated with her.
Stupid woman!

“Tamsin, what do you mean, it was ‘digital'? He was zapped with something? What?
Please
explain yourself!” I knew I sounded cross, but, come on, I mean what
was
the woman prattling on about?

“Was it a poison or not?” asked Beni, in rather more measured tones than my own.

Tamsin put down the sliver of cracker she'd been holding and wiped her fingers on a napkin. She looked as though she was concentrating intently, the way a small child might look when you've asked them to spell something like “antidisestablishmentarianism.” When she spoke it was slowly, though still in that godawful Minnie Mouse voice of hers.

“The doctor came to me and said that the blood tests and the heart thingy tests showed we had all been affected by something digital. It had killed Ally because of his heart tablets. I asked would I be alright and he said we'd all be alright because otherwise we'd be dead already. There.” She looked very pleased with herself, and resumed her nibbling.

A lightbulb clicked on in my head.

“Do you mean ‘digitalis,' Tamsin?” I asked as calmly as I could.

“Oh—yes, that's it. Silly me. Digital-
is
. Don't worry—we'll all be just fine.”

“Digitalis, it is very dangerous,” said Gerard in something of a panic. “And this has happened to us all?”

“Don't worry, Gerard,” I said calmly. “Yes, digitalis can be dangerous, but you need a pretty big dose for it to kill you and the doctor was right—if our bodies have coped with the initial dose, we'll be quite alright now. It gets metabolized relatively quickly.” I could see confusion on the old man's face, so added, “Our bodies take care of it quite quickly, so we are all as safe now as if it had not entered our systems. We must all have good hearts.”

“Yes, maybe,” chimed in Beni, “but Alistair had a bad heart. He took medication.”

“Did everyone at the dinner know that?” I must have sounded a bit sharp, but I didn't care.

“Alistair made no secret of it,” answered Beni.

“I think everyone knows he has a weak heart,” added Gerard. “M. Townsend likes to play at it . . . to make us sorry for him, then laugh at himself.”

“Ah yes, that's very true,” nodded Beni, “he would beat at his chest and say ‘Got to keep the old ticker going—what, what' very often.”

I could imagine Alistair doing that. To the point of annoyance, I'd have thought.

“He was afraid, that's why he made fun of it.” It was a comment I thought quite out of character for Tamsin, and it was spoken in a voice that was lower than her usual register, and seemingly more thoughtful.

“Why was he ‘afraid,' Tamsin?” I asked.

Tamsin shot a glance at me that suggested she was the one who was afraid—but afraid of what? She answered me in her normal, dimwit tone, “Oh, you know, just afraid. Afraid he'd have a heart attack, I suppose . . .” She trailed off into shoulder shrugging, head bobbing, and a vacuous smile. “He didn't like pills. Sometimes he didn't take them, then he'd feel bad and take extra ones.”

I was pretty sure that, whatever he'd been prescribed, Alistair's decision to fiddle with the doses wasn't a good one. Maybe he'd contributed to his own demise by taking a high dose of something before dinner that then interacted with the digitalis, or maybe he
hadn't
taken the pills that he
should
have taken, and that was why he died.

“Did the doctor say if he had a very high amount of digitalis in his system, Tamsin? Compared with the rest of us?”

“Yes,” she replied earnestly, with that look of concentration on her face again, “he said about five times more than any of us.”

“That sounds like a lot,” remarked Beni.

“Obviously, it was enough,” I said. I hadn't meant to be flippant. It just came out.

“Yes, obviously,” replied Tamsin quietly, nodding. The heartlessness of my comment seemed to have passed her by. “It was in the food, of course, the snails, but they don't know how, yet.”

At last! So we'd all been dosed on digitalis, in the snails. It was definitely murder, and by someone who knew enough about Alistair, his medication, and the effects of digitalis to be able to subject us all to its effects while only killing Alistair. I felt a great relief at knowing this, though it didn't, on the face of it, seem to get me any closer to identifying the killer. While I pondered this, and while we were all, it seemed, deep in thought, the doorbell rang.

“I shall go,” said Beni, standing, apparently glad to leave the table. He returned moments later with Chuck Damcott at his side. Chuck was carrying a massive bunch of flowers, which he presented to Tamsin with a tragic look on his face and shaking his head.

“My dear, dear Tamsin . . . I am so sorry . . . We will miss him so much, but none of us as much as you. Here you are, my delicate one—these are to show you that there is still beauty in this world, even though Alistair has left us.” Yuk!

Tamsin took the flowers from the American. The bouquet looked even bigger in her tiny hands, and she was able to bury her entire face in the flowers, re-emerging with a beatific smile and a tear in her eye. I lit a cigarette in disgust.

Smiling, Tamsin looked up at Chuck and said, “Oh, they are so beautiful. You are right. Ally would want us to enjoy life. Won't you join us for champagne?”

It was as though she were simply inviting the man for cocktails!

“I will get a glass,” said Beni, turning back toward the kitchen.

“Thanks,” called Chuck toward his receding back. He pulled a chair to within inches of Tamsin's and sat down beside her.

Interesting.

“Tamsin's been telling us that we were all dosed with digitalis in the snails last night, Chuck,” I offered by way of an icebreaker. I wondered how he'd react.

Chuck looked shocked. “Digitalis? Oh, my. I guess that's why Alistair . . .  um, died . . .” He seemed embarrassed to say the word. “I guess it overdosed him because of his medication. It's just awful. Awful. We'll all be the poorer without him.” I wondered if he meant because of Alistair's wealth of bonhomie, or because of something else.

“Here is a glass,” said Beni as he offered a beer glass to Chuck. “I cannot find any more champagne glasses,” he added.

“I know where there are many,” replied Gerard, and he began to push himself up from his chair.

I shot to my feet. “Please, let me,” I offered.

Gerard smiled and shrugged. “It is easy for me to get them, but not easy to tell you where they are.
Merci
,” and he moved slowly toward the door of the kitchen.

I sat back down and returned my attention to Chuck. “Do you know what medication Alistair was taking?”

“Oh yeah, he was always waving that little silver box around. He was taking a digitalis-based medicine; he told me so. Helped with his heart arrhythmia, he said. Though I know he liked to mess around with his dosages. Thought he knew better than the medics. Alistair was kinda like that.” Chuck's accent seemed to come from somewhere on the East Coast, rather than the West, and I was reminded that “where are you from” hadn't been one of the questions I'd asked him the night before. Where we were at the time had seemed so much more important to him, in any case.

Beni nodded, as did I. Tamsin seemed to not be listening. Or maybe she was. It was hard to tell, since little seemed to register on that vacant face of hers.

“You say it was the snails?” Chuck seemed surprised. “I guess it had to be in something. But
how
? Anyone know?”

I looked across at Beni, who shook his head and shrugged, “
I
do not know how this was done. Is it possible that someone took Alistair's pills and put them into the snail dish?”

To be fair, it was a good idea, but I wondered how practical it would be. “To be able to do that, someone would have to have gained access to his pills. Did Alistair have his pills on him when he died, Tamsin? And are there more in the apartment?”

She thought for a moment, then replied, “Yes, and yes . . . or no. The police told me at the hospital that they'd taken his little silver box to check it out, and his big bottle is in the master bathroom . . . at least, that's where he kept it. The police told me they took away the big bottle too.” I suspect that Beni might have seen me roll my eyes at this one. When I caught his expression out of the corner of my eye he was trying to not smirk.

“They're obviously thinking along the same lines we are. I guess they'll check what Alistair had at the time of his death against what he was prescribed, and when, and compare the two. Of course, given his erratic dosing, they might not get a clear answer,” observed Chuck.

Chuck was beginning to interest me greatly. At dinner he'd been cogent and passionate, but somewhat dry, and I hadn't thought of him as someone who might be able to think quickly and clearly. I suspected that this was the sort of “judgmentalism” that Bud was always warning me about. I was beginning to realize that Chuck was bright.
Possibly very bright.

Not to be outdone I added, “You're right, Chuck. Whether it was the pills or not, somehow the digitalis got into that dish of snails. Anyone got any ideas?” I thought it best to try to find out what other people were thinking before I said anything myself—after all, I was the only person there I knew for certain hadn't done it!

Beni sucked on a cheroot and looked thoughtful. Chuck scratched his head, and Tamsin poured herself more champagne. Gerard was heading back toward us with a champagne glass in one hand and a wireless telephone handset in the other. I hadn't heard a phone ring, so I was puzzled.

“I have telephoned Madelaine to tell her the news about Alistair, but there is no reply. I have not my spectacles. Will someone please call her again? I might not have the right number.”

“
Si, buono
,” said Beni, holding out his hand for the phone. “I do not know her number . . .”

Gerard rattled off what seemed like a thousand syllables in French, and Beni poked at the keypad, then listened.

“She has no machine?” he asked Gerard in French.

Gerard shook his head. “Too modern,” he replied.

“Is it usual for her to be away from her home at—” Beni looked at his watch, “seven on a Saturday?”

Chuck shrugged. “I don't know, Beni. I only ever see Madelaine when she's here at Alistair's.”

Gerard was shaking his head. “It is not usual. She stays at home at this hour. Maybe she is sick from last night? She arrives home before me, I know. They say at the hospital that she is sent away before me. She is a very healthy woman.”

I looked over at Beni as he disconnected the call, and I said what I suspected he was thinking. “I think we should check on her to make sure she's okay, Gerard. How about Chuck stays here with Tamsin, and Beni and I run along to her apartment, with you to show us the way?”