Read Winding Up the Serpent for Free Online Page A

head. ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘It’s what you are. It’s the recommended form of address. Page th—’
    â€˜Right.’ Joanna blazed back at him. ‘Now instead of hanging around here go and speak to her doctor. Perhaps he knows something that’ll have some bearing on this. Heart complaint, diabetes or something.’
    It had been a mistake to send Mike away. The room was silent. There was no movement except the fluttering curtains and the sharp click as the digital clock display numbers altered, ticking minutes away. Left alone she tried to ignore the still figure on the bed. But she shivered. Death should never be so sordid. Marilyn Smith deserved more dignity in her final pose. She glanced around, noting details ... one bottle of sleeping pills – thirty dispensed. How many left? She opened the tiny drawer in the bedside cabinet. No birth control pills, or other contraceptive device. Of course, she thought, this did not necessarily rule out male presence.
    Next she opened the larger drawers beneath and found nothing but layers of neatly folded underwear, plenty of black but nothing quite as exotic as the clothes she had died in. And the drawers in the fitted wardrobes revealed little else, various paperbacks, perfume, cosmetics.
    But the cursory examination of the room failed to reveal two things – there was neither suicide note nor obvious sign of intent to commit suicide, nor evidence of the presence of another person. The central pillow on the bed had only one indentation in it. The bed itself was neat, unrumpled. Joanna peered at it. No hair, no parallel body shape in the bed, no sign that another man – or woman – had been here last night. She grimaced. The SOCOs would have to pay particular attention to the bed for it to surrender its secrets.
    And then there was Ben. He had guarded his mistress and been loose in the house. And the interior doors had all been open. Whoever had come to Silk Street last night had been allowed in by Ben.
    She stared out of the window, watching the froth of a flowering cherry dance in the breeze, and wondered. Yesterday Marilyn Smith might well have stood here and done exactly the same thing from exactly the same spot. She found the thought disturbing. This was always the worst aspect of a murder – connecting the victim with a living, breathing person. And now ... even more she found she could not stand the sight of those plump legs, splayed, ready for action. But she reached out and deliberately forced herself to touch the woman’s arm. It was ice cold. Then she studied her face in minute detail. The skin was pale beneath the thick plastering of dark tan make-up that rimmed her face with a dirty tide-mark. Lilac eyeshadow lined into creases, and, most repugnant of all, the greasy red mouth, sagging open, giving a peep of surprisingly beautiful pearly-white teeth. Marilyn Smith had not been shy of the dentist. Joanna felt intrigued at this aspect of the dead woman’s character.
    â€˜Definitely no signs of violence.’ Mike’s return made her jump. ‘We’ve been right through the house. Everything’s neat and tidy. No struggles. No blood anywhere.’
    He carried on, ignoring her start. ‘Her doctor is coincidentally Sammy Bose, so he can formally identify her when he arrives. I checked with his receptionist. He’s on his way.’
    He looked at her curiously. ‘You look a bit green about the gills, madam. What’s the matter? Don’t like violent death?’ He glanced meaningfully at the body. ‘Now some unkind people might say if you’re not fond of violent death maybe you should have done something else for a living.’
    She shot a glance at him. ‘Don’t antagonize me, Mike. It won’t help here.’ She looked back at the body. ‘This isn’t violent death, anyway. Sudden, yes, unexpected, yes, but violent, no.’
    He looked at her