Requiem for a Dealer by Jo Bannister

Superintendent Deacon!’ she cried. ‘But I know he was doing something, and because of it our clients lost some good horses and we lost a lot of good clients.’
    Deacon nodded. “And – this being a word-of-mouth business – you said so. Loudly and publicly.’
    â€˜Of course I did,’ said Alison fiercely. ‘People thought it was something we were doing. That we were passing off sick animals as sound. That we couldn’t spot when a horse needed a vet, or we were trying to avoid call-out fees. The business was heading down the pan. People we’d had dealings with for years wanted nothing more to do with us. I had to sell my own string to meet the bills.’
    She swallowed. ‘When Dad died, people we knew – people who’d respected us – started saying that proved who was to blame, that he’d killed himself rather than face the consequences. I wanted them to know what Johnny Windham had done. It mattered more than anything.’
    It might be absurd – Deacon knew it was absurd, Windham hadn’t killed anybody and it wasn’t the sort of thing professional assassins get involved in – but he thought Alison Barker believed what she was saying. ‘And now you think he’s had a go at you. Broken into your house – or rather, a friend’s house, somewhere you don’t usually live – and put the latest designer drug into your cornflakes.’
    Her eyes were disappointed. As if, just for a moment, she’d allowed herself to hope she was finally getting a hearing. ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me.’ She looked at Daniel but Daniel was keeping his thoughts to himself. She shook her head, angrily. ‘If I’m imagining all this, how the hell did I end up overdosed on
drugs?’
    Deacon nodded. ‘Which was the first question I asked you.’
    Alison’s lip curled. She wasn’t a pretty girl, except that most people – boys and girls – look pretty good at twenty-two. But there was character in her narrow face, a kind of mental toughness. ‘Tell you what, Mr Deacon. Go to my house – my friend’s house in The Ginnell. Take samples from all the food packages. And when you find traces of your drug, come back here and we’ll talk some more.’
    Though Detective Superintendent Deacon was not in the habit of allowing himself to be dismissed, he saw no point in remaining longer. He wasn’t going to get the answers he wanted from her. Either she didn’t know where she’d come by the Scram or she wasn’t telling. He nodded. ‘All right.’
    Surprised, Daniel watched the big man walk down the ward and out of sight. Then he looked back at Alison. ‘Will he find something?’
    She shrugged. ‘Will he look?’
    Daniel considered. ‘Yes. He won’t want to risk missing something that might be significant.’
    â€˜Not because he believed every word I said, then,’ the girl said sourly.
    â€˜He’s a policeman,’ said Daniel apologetically. ‘I don’t think he sees it as his job to believe or not to believe what he’s told. He’ll try to find proof.’
    She went on looking at him in that disconcertingly direct way she had. ‘You’re not a policeman.’
    He smiled. ‘No. I teach maths.’
    â€˜Do you believe me?’
    It was a very simple question. There were only two, possibly three, answers. Still he hesitated. ‘The honest truth?’
    â€˜It’s the only kind that’s worth a damn.’
    â€˜Then yes. Yes, I rather think I do.’
    He’d knocked her down, he’d seen her afraid for her life, he’d seen her waking in a strange place with no idea what she was doing there or what had happened to her. For the first time he saw tears in her eyes. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered.
    He went to offer her a handkerchief. Instead she took his
hand in both of hers