A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation

sternly, it’s all about routine. She puts Kate in her cot while she runs the bath and they both have a strenuous half-hour playing with water. Kate’s eyes start drooping as soon as Ruth puts her into bed. She is asleep before Ruth has read two pages of
After the Storm
. Ruth finishes the book anyway. She loves it that all the animals find a home in the big tree. She doubts that Norfolk Social Services will be so efficient after last night’s high winds.
    Ruth tiptoes out onto the landing. All evening she has avoided looking into the spare room but now she opens the door quietly. The bed is neatly made but lying on the cover is a single feather, long and beautiful, a pheasant’s perhaps. Ruth stays looking at it for a long time.
    Nelson’s last visitor is the most surprising. Chris Stephenson, swaggering through the doors as if he’s paying a state visit. Disappointingly, two of the nursesrecognise him and flutter around calling him ‘Doctor’ Stephenson. They even offer to get him a cup of tea, although the old woman with the trolley is long gone.
    ‘Hi Nelson,’ Stephenson greets him. ‘Not dead yet?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘Bet you can’t guess why I’m here.’
    ‘Was it to bring me flowers?’
    ‘Not allowed. Health and safety.’ Stephenson hasn’t brought any sort of present, not even grapes. Nelson guesses that this call is about business rather than concern for his well-being.
    The nurses bring tea in chipped green cups. Stephenson makes a big thing about not needing sugar because he’s sweet enough already. For the first time that day, Nelson feels sick.
    ‘Your friend Ruth Galloway,’ says Stephenson by way of introduction, slurping his tea.
    ‘What about her?’ asks Nelson cautiously. He doesn’t know how much his colleagues know about his relationship with Ruth. He thinks that Judy has suspicions about Kate’s parentage; Clough has probably never given it a thought.
    ‘Remember the bishop? The one that turned out to be a tranny? Well, Ruth sent off some of the material to be analysed. The silk stuff that was wrapped round the bones. Results came back today and guess what they found?’
    ‘Surprise me.’
    ‘Traces of a fungus called aspergillus.’
    He leans back as if expecting a reaction. Nelson looks at him coldly. ‘That doesn’t mean a lot to me, Chris.’
    ‘They’re spores, incredibly toxic. They can stay alive for hundreds, thousands, of years. As soon as the spores come into contact with the air, they enter the nose, mouth and mucous membranes. They can cause headaches, vomiting and fever. In people with a weakened immune system, it can result in organ failure and death.’
    Nelson looks at him, ‘Danforth Smith.’
    ‘Yes. He was diabetic, you say. That would have compromised his immune system. He died from heart failure. Could have been brought on by contact with these spores. If we’d done an autopsy, we’d have known.’ He sounds regretful.
    ‘And the curator,’ says Nelson, ‘Neil Topham. If he’d opened the coffin …’ He thinks of the DIY tools in Topham’s office, of the open window and the curtains blowing. If the spores had got into the air and into Topham’s mouth and nose …
    ‘He was a druggy,’ says Stephenson, with his usual sensitivity. ‘Immune system would have been shot to pieces. One whiff of aspergillus and he’d have been out like a light. Cause of death was lung failure. Spores would have gone straight onto the lungs.’
    ‘Is this asperthing, this spore, what made me ill?’
    ‘I think so. You were next to Lord Smith when the coffin was opened. You would have got a direct hit but you’re healthy, you were able to fight it off.’
    Only just, thinks Nelson. Another thought strikes him. ‘What about Ruth? She was right there too.’
    Stephenson laughs. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. She was about to look into the coffin when she got a phonecall. She moved away and you and Lord Smith were the first to look inside. Whoever phoned Ruth probably saved her life.’
    Nelson would be willing to place a large bet on the identity of Ruth’s caller. There’s only one person it could have been. Cathbad to the rescue again.
    ‘Would these spores … could they give you nightmares, delusions?’
    Stephenson looks at him curiously. ‘I suppose so. One of the symptoms is a high fever. Why do you ask?’
    ‘Lord Smith’s wife mentioned that he had a terrible fever before he died, was seeing things, shouting out in his