Chapter TWENTY-TWO
‘It must be Sarah.’
‘Sarah Frobisher?’
I nodded.
‘When I saw the syringe and the equipment Mick had used to administer Sylvia’s injection, I realised I’d seen something like that before.’
‘In Sarah Frobisher’s room?’
‘Yes. It was when we were doing our search. Do you remember that heart-shaped silver box I pointed out?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘It was lying on the bedside table in Sarah’s room. And I remember seeing a box of ketone strips beside it. I just assumed she must be on a diet.’
‘A diet?’
He looked puzzled.
‘Yes. I read somewhere recently that the keto diet involves testing the urine for something called ketones. So that’s what I thought the strips must be for. But I saw the same pack just now on Sylvia’s bedside table, along with all the other diabetes paraphernalia.’
‘Right.’
He was still struggling to join the dots.
I shrugged.
‘Diabetics use keto strips to test their urine. So what if Sylvia’s meds had been in that silver mermaid box?’
‘Hidden in there by Sarah Frobisher.’
He nodded slowly.
‘So she’d have removed the meds later but left a box of those strips behind by mistake?’
‘Maybe.’
‘But why would she want to put Sylvia’s life in danger like that?’
‘I don’t know. But I think we need to find out, don’t you? Otherwise who knows what she’ll try next?’
‘Where is she now?’
‘She’s in the dining room.’
‘Let’s go.’
He nodded upstairs and I followed him, and we crept along the corridor to Sarah Frobisher’s bedroom.
The mermaid box was still there although the tube of keto strips had gone. But when Mark lifted the lid, my eyes widened at the sight of a single syringe lying in there.
‘No doubt about it, then,’
said Mark.
‘You’re right. She hid the insulin up here, knowing no one would look in anyone’s private things when we were doing a search.’
I nodded.
‘We need to talk to her.’
‘Come on, then.’
Downstairs, Mark went into the dining room and brought Sarah out. She looked quite surprised when I asked her if she owned a heart-shaped silver box with a mermaid on the lid.
‘What? No. Heart-shaped? Silver?’
She shook her head.
‘Definitely not.’
‘But that is your room at the end of the west wing corridor?’
I asked her, puzzled because she didn’t look as if she was lying.
‘That’s where I usually sleep, yes. But when the house is full of guests, I often give up my room and sleep on a camp-bed in one of the attic rooms instead.’
‘So someone else is currently occupying that room?’
She nodded, clearly mystified by our questions.
Mark cleared his throat and said.
‘Do you mind telling us who it is?’
‘Who’s sleeping in that room?’
She frowned.
‘I’m not sure. It was Sylvia who allocated the bedrooms. She’ll be able to tell you.’
We bolted for the stairs, with Sarah calling after us.
‘But can you tell me what . . . ?’
But we were already near the top of the stairs by then. And when we arrived in Sylvia’s room and breathlessly, I asked her the same question, her answer made me gasp.
‘It was either Joyce or Evelyn,’
she said.
‘I can’t remember who chose the room at the end. But yes, it was either Evelyn or Joyce.’