Tainted by Ross Pennie

that Mrs. Patel would admit. But he hadn’t been himself for a while.”
    Zol’s eyes brightened. He finally seemed interested in the details she’d spent all morning harvesting. “Yeah? Since when?”
    “Mrs. Patel couldn’t say exactly. Since sometime in April or May.”
    “And when was he killed?”
    She checked her notes. “June twenty-eighth.”
    “So he hadn’t been himself for two or three months before he died. Just like Dr. McEwen.”
    “Sorry?”
    “Dr. McEwen underwent a change in personality about three months before he committed suicide. Hamish Wakefield met with his widow this morning. McEwen had become distractible, angry, and tearful.”
    “I don’t know about angry or tearful, but Mr. Patel did become forgetful. He forgot to pay the phone bill for three months in a row, and the company cut off their service.”
    “Do you suppose he walked into those busy lanes of traffic purely out of distraction?”
    She shrugged. “It’s possible.” She stared at the crumbs on her plate. They almost formed the image of the Mesha Rashi from her mother’s favourite astrological chart — Passion and Determination. Not that Natasha actually believed all that stuff. “Um,” she said, biting her lower lip, “there’s one more thing. I’m not sure it’s worth mentioning. But . . .”
    Zol raised his eyebrows. “Shoot,” he said, spinning his hand in that keep-going gesture she knew so well.
    “I had the distinct feeling that Mrs. Patel was holding back about something.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It wasn’t during the formal part of the interview. She was very helpful while I was taking notes. Tearful at times, understandably. But as I was getting ready to leave I made an innocent comment, and her manner changed.”
    He put down his latte. “What happened?”
    “I’d noticed a framed photograph that seemed to have a place of honour on a table. It showed a recent likeness of Mrs. Patel with a much younger man. At least, he didn’t look forty-nine. Jet-black hair, smooth skin, not a single wrinkle on his face. I asked if the man was her younger brother. That’s when she began to look anxious, as though she had something to hide.
    “‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s my husband. On our twenty-fifth anniversary. We celebrated it this year.’ She sobbed and admitted how very proud he was of his youthful appearance. ‘To be successful in the business of selling automobiles,’ she said, ‘you must look young — no grey hair, no wrinkles.’”
    “Sounds like he dyed his hair,” said Zol. “That’s no big deal these days. Lots of men do it. I don’t think it’s linked to CJD .”
    “But she did seem to be hiding something. And feeling guilty about it.”
    He tapped his chin and looked into the distance. “A little pearl for us to keep in mind.” He wiped his hands with his serviette then spread his fingers. “Look, Natasha — I know we agreed to visit Bernard Vanderven together this afternoon. But there’ve been two more streptococcal deaths at Shalom Acres, and I have to meet with the director. The staff and families are feeling guilty and angry. For us, that’s a dangerous combination.” He looked at his watch. “I’d like you to go spend a few minutes with Vanderven. On your own.”
    Oh, no, thought Natasha. He must be kidding. She hadn’t finished with the outbreak at Shalom Acres. It wasn’t fair. Bernard Vanderven wouldn’t have any patience with an underling. Especially a brown-skinned woman under thirty. She’d never getanything out of him. “Please, Dr. Zol, shouldn’t I keep —”
    “No, you’ve done a wonderful job at Shalom Acres. All you can. Today it needs politics, not epidemiology.”
    The troubled look returned to Zol’s eyes. He glanced again at his watch. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I’m sorry. But Vanderven won’t eat you alive.”
    This was no time for Natasha to argue. “Yes, Dr. Zol. Of course I’ll go.”
    “Thanks, Natasha. I can always