The Poisoned Pawn Read Free

day she died, Michael. They thought she was in Cuba with you, having a marvellous vacation. Once they found out, they couldn’treach you; the consulate didn’t know where you were staying. I wanted to come to tell you in person. I’m so sorry.”
    “But I phoned here; I left messages. All my mother-in-law had to do was check the answering machine and she would have known Hillary had caught an early flight. June was supposed to be looking after the place, making it look lived-in while we were away.”
    Ellis walked over to the old black answering machine. A red light blinked. He pushed a button and heard his own metallic voice.
    “Hillary. It’s Mike. I’m calling from the Parque Ciudad Hotel. I need to talk to you right away—” He hit “skip.” A beep. The same voice, the same plea. And then a series of urgent messages from the General Hospital, asking him to call the critical care ward immediately.
    “I know you feel like blaming someone,” said O’Malley, “but sometimes things like this happen. It’s no one’s fault.”
    “You said she got sick—sick from what?”
    “They’re not sure yet. They’re running tests. It could have been food poisoning.”
    “But that’s insane,” said Ellis. “Hillary hardly ate anything in Cuba. She peeled every piece of fruit, for Christ’s sake. She wouldn’t even brush her teeth with the tap water. Besides, I was with her right up until she left for the hotel to pack to come home. We ate in all the same places.”
    O’Malley shrugged. “Maybe something they served on the plane.”
    “My God. I can’t believe it.” Ellis shook his head as tears filled his eyes. But they weren’t for his wife; they were for his partner. If Hillary hadn’t seduced him, Steve Sloan would be alive. “Where is she? Where’s the body?” He wanted to see for himself, to make sure.
    “Ah, Michael, I’m sorry to tell you this. But the remains were cremated this morning. The coroner said they could go ahead; they’d done an autopsy. He’s still waiting on some results, but it looks like the finding will be undetermined or accidental death.”
    “Cremated?” That was a shock. Ellis thought Hillary’s parents would have insisted on an open casket. With all the Botox his wife injected, he half expected O’Malley to tell him the funeral home had exploded. We should never have got married, he thought. Steve was right.
    “Take a few days off, Michael. I know how bloody hard it’s been for you. And now this. Is there anything I can do to help?”
    Ellis shook his head. “No, I’ll be alright, Chief. I think I’m going to sit down now and get drunk. Maybe you can stay and have a drink with me. It’s not quite the way I expected to celebrate the New Year.” He shook his head, unable to believe it. Erased into ashes. Till death do us part. “You’re right; it’s been tough.”
    Ellis flashed back to the interrogation room; the stained, damp holding cell he’d shared with frightened Cubans. They’d jumped whenever they heard footsteps. Every backfire in the street had terrified him, reminding him of the very real prospect of being executed by a firing squad. He tried to control his breathing, to ease the pain at the top of his heart.
    And now Hillary was dead. How was he supposed to react? He exhaled slowly, forcing the taut muscles above his heart to relax, willing himself to stay calm.
    “Now, you know I’d never say no to a whisky, Michael.”
    Ellis went to get the bottle while O’Malley called his man in to join them. Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humour. Sobriety would have to wait.
    “Detective Ellis took it a lot better than I expected, Chief,” said Constable Mullins as he staggered down the driveway, two emptybottles later. “He sure got mangled up in that ‘trouble with man’ call, didn’t he?”
    O’Malley nodded. “It’s hard to know what’s going on in that head of his sometimes because of it. He was a handsome lad once. I can’t imagine what