Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,23

as he had the same symptoms, he was suffering from the same problem. The patient died at seven thirty on Saturday morning and a young doctor from the hospital called the Food Standards Agency emergency number in London and an impetuous junior officer from there ordered the sealing of the kitchen.’ She paused again.

‘Yes,’ I prompted, ‘go on.’

‘I’m not sure I should be telling you all this,’ she said.

‘Why not?’ I said. ‘It’s my kitchen that was closed because of it.’

‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry about that.’

‘So what did he die of?’ I asked.

‘The post-mortem has not been done yet but it appears he may have died from a perforated bowel.’

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘What it says. The bowel has a hole in it and empties itself into the abdominal cavity. It apparently causes peritonitis and death if not treated rapidly.’

‘So the person died of peritonitis?’

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘As I said, the post-mortem hasn’t been done. But his family now says that he had Crohn’s Disease, which is an inflammation of the bowel, and that he had been complaining of abdominal pains for several days. Crohn’s Disease can lead to a blockage of the bowel and then to a perforation.’

‘Why didn’t he go to a doctor before Friday night?’ I said.

‘I don’t know but, apparently, it wasn’t unusual for him to complain of abdominal pain. But I would have thought it was most unlikely that he would have gone to a dinner at the racecourse if he was suffering from such discomfort that he needed hospital treatment.’

‘So my kitchen is in the clear?’ I asked.

‘Well, I wouldn’t say that,’ she said. ‘There were definitely other cases of food poisoning even if that death was not connected with them.’

‘But the food wasn’t cooked in my restaurant kitchen and had never been in the building.’

‘Yes, I know that.’

‘Then please get someone to remove the padlocks.’

‘The kitchen will need to be inspected first,’ she said.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘You could eat off the floor in that kitchen, it’s so clean. Get your inspectors out here today so I can get my business back on track. I hate to think how much damage has been done by having “Closed for Decontamination” plastered all over the place.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Otherwise I might start making a fuss about a doctor who doesn’t know the difference between food poisoning and peritonitis.’

‘I think that fuss is already being made by his family.’

I bet it was.

‘So when my kitchen is inspected, that will be the end of the matter?’ I asked.

‘Not entirely,’ she said. ‘From my point of view as the Cambridgeshire environmental health officer, I will have no objection to your kitchen reopening once it has passed an inspection, but there will still be an investigation of what poisoned everyone on Friday evening and put people in hospital.’

‘But the kitchen I used on Friday is no more and none of the food is left, so how will you do an investigation?’ I asked. I decided not to tell her just yet that the only two of my regular staff who hadn’t been ill had eaten the vegetarian option. It was not that I purposely wanted to hinder an investigation, it was merely that I didn’t want to initiate one.

‘Samples were taken of vomit and faeces from those admitted to the hospital,’ she said. ‘They will be analysed in due course.’

What a lovely job, I thought, sifting through other people’s sick and diarrhoea. Rather them than me. ‘And when can I expect the results?’ I asked.

‘The results will be for me, not for you,’ she said, using her best headmistressly voice.

‘But you will tell me, won’t you?’ I asked.

‘Maybe,’ she said, with a hint of amusement in her voice. ‘As long as they are not grounds for a prosecution. Then the police will tell you the results after they arrest you.’

‘Oh thanks,’ I said.

We hung up on good terms. In my line of business, I needed Angela Milne as a friend, not a foe.

Carl drove me to the racecourse to retrieve my car. My Golf wasn’t the only vehicle in the staff car park. There was a battered old green Mini there too. It was Louisa’s car.

‘Oh God,’ said Carl. ‘What do we do about that?’

‘I’ll inform the police,’ I said. ‘They can deal with it.’

‘Good idea,’ he said, obviously happy to leave it to me.

We sat for a moment and stared at Louisa’s depressing little Mini. It had been her pride and joy. For