False Tongues by Kate Charles Page B

give you their number, if you like.’
    â€˜No, thank you.’
    More lateral thinking. A fatality in this area would almost certainly be taken to the mortuary at the hospital, back down the road. Maybe someone at the mortuary would be more forthcoming than the police. And if she couldn’t find the pathologist, or a communicative mortuary assistant, she could always ring the coroner’s office. Coroner Hereward Rice had a soft spot for her, or at least she knew how to play him to get information. It had worked in the past, and she was sure she’d lost none of her powers where he was concerned.
    Lilith found the mortuary, tucked behind the hospital buildings which faced onto Praed Street. Unfortunately for her, the first person she encountered there was less than helpful: a sour-faced woman who glared at her and claimed ignorance. ‘I’m just covering for Ray,’ she said begrudgingly. ‘He’s on break.’
    â€˜I’ll wait,’ said Lilith, and sat on a metal folding chair, trying to breathe through her mouth. The place smelled of bleach, antiseptics and other fluids she didn’t want to think about.
    Ray, who arrived within a quarter of an hour, proved to be a middle-aged West Indian with hair like steel wool and deep, liquid brown eyes which turned down at the corners, sad pools brimming with all the sorrow he’d seen in this place over the years. But his smile was cheerful, his teeth dazzling white. ‘Can I help you?’ he said.
    â€˜I hope so.’ Lilith returned his smile, feeling that perhaps her luck had changed.
    â€˜So do I. We don’t often get pretty ladies like you in here. Not live ones, anyhow.’
    Lilith tried not to think about that. ‘You’ve had a young boy brought in recently?’ she said, half statement and half question. ‘A teenager. A stabbing, I understand. Unidentified.’
    Ray shook his head; Lilith’s heart sank. Then he explained. ‘Yes and no,’ he said. ‘He’s here, all right. A young kid. Stabbed, for sure. But I’ve had a call, just a few minutes ago, from the police. The parents are on the way. They’ll be here pretty soon to identify him.’
    Lilith couldn’t suppress an uncharacteristic, face-splitting grin.

Chapter Six
    The chocolates had started appearing on Margaret Phillips’ desk at Christmas; the first was a chocolate reindeer, sitting in the middle of her desk on a Monday morning. She had assumed it was a thoughtful gesture from her new secretary, Hanna Young, to whom she had mentioned her fondness for chocolate. But Hanna had—reluctantly, Margaret perceived—claimed herself unable to take credit for it.
    Every Monday after that, there had been another chocolate. Most of them were small offerings, a single rich bite which Margaret recognised as having come from the posh confectionary shop in All Saints Passage. On the Monday nearest to Valentine’s Day, though, there had been a chocolate heart. And today, of course, there was an Easter egg, fist-sized, wrapped in colourful foil. She rolled it round her desk bemusedly, considering the mystery.
    No note, ever. She’d never seen anyone sneaking into her office, yet it was always there waiting for her on a Monday morning.
    Margaret’s office was on the ground floor of the Principal’s Lodge, immediately adjacent to the chapel, so anyone in college, potentially, could be passing its unlocked door on a Monday morning. It was a wide open field; she might never know who was responsible. That wasn’t going to stop her from enjoying the chocolates, whatever their source.
    Tempting as it was, she would save the egg till after lunch, Margaret decided. She would hate to appear for the opening session of Deacon’s Week with a smear of chocolate round her mouth. And the opening session, temporarily delayed by the late arrival of the facilitator, could begin at any moment.
    Her