Stranded by Val McDermid Page A

here,’ Sarah muttered darkly. ‘If you were having an affair, at least I’d know how to fight back.’
    â€˜Not now, love, please.’
    â€˜Do you want something hot? Soup? Omelette?’
    â€˜Soup, please. And a toasted cheese sandwich?’
    â€˜Coming up. What’s the panic this time?’
    Maggie’s eyes clouded. ‘Our homicidal maniac has struck again. Eight people on the critical list at the General. This time the arsenic was in Garratt’s Blancmange from Pinkerton’s Hypermarket. Bill’s doing a television appeal right now asking for people to bring in any packets bought there this week.’
    â€˜Different manufacturer, different supermarket. Sounds like a crazy rather than a grudge, doesn’t it?’
    â€˜And that makes the next strike impossible to predict. Anyway, I’m going for that bath now. I’ll be down again in fifteen minutes.’ Maggie stopped in the kitchen doorway, ‘I’m not being funny, Sarah. Don’t do any shopping in the supermarkets. Butchers, greengrocers, okay. But no self-service, pre-packaged food. Please.’
    Sarah nodded. She had never seen Maggie afraid in eight years in the force, and the sight did nothing to life her depressed spirits.
    This time it was jars of mincemeat. Even the Salvation Army band playing carols outside the Nationwide Stores failed to make the woman pause in her mission. Her shopping bag held six jars laced with deadly white powder when she entered the supermarket.
    When she left, there were none. She dropped 50p in the collecting tin as she passed the band because they were playing her favourite carol, ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’. She walked slowly back to the car park, not pausing to look at the shopwindow Christmas displays. She wasn’t anticipating a merry Christmas.
    Sarah walked back from the newsagent’s with the evening paper, reading the front page as she went. The Burnalder Poisoner was frontpage news everywhere by now, but the stories in the local paper seemed to carry an extra edge of fear. They were thorough in their coverage, tracing any possible commercial connection between the three giant food companies that produced the contaminated food. They also speculated on the possible reasons for the week-long gaps between outbreaks. They laid out in stark detail the drastic effect the poisoning was having on the finances of the food-processing companies. And they noted the paradox of public hysteria about the poisoning while people still filled their shopping trolleys in anticipation of the festive season.
    The latest killer was Univex mincemeat. Sarah shivered as she read of the latest three deaths, bringing the toll to twelve. As she turned the corner, she saw Maggie’s car in the drive and increased her pace. A grim idea had taken root in her brain as she read the long report.
    While she was hanging up her jacket, Maggie called from the kitchen. Sarah walked slowly through to find her tucking into a plate of eggs and bacon, but without her usual large dollop of tomato ketchup. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and the skin around them was grey and stretched. She had not slept at home for two nights. The job had never made such demands on her before. Sarah found a moment to wonder if the atmosphere between them was partly responsible for Maggie’s total commitment to this desperate search.
    â€˜How is it going?’ she asked anxiously.
    â€˜It’s not,’ said Maggie. ‘Virtually nothing to go on. No link that we can find. It’s not as if we even have proper leads to chase up. I came home for a break because we were just sitting staring at each other, wondering what to do next. Short of searching everyone who goes into the supermarkets, what can we do? And those bloody reporters seem to have taken up residence in the station. We’re being leaned on from all sides. We’ve got to crack this soon or we’ll be