Poison

by Charlot King

  “He’d just got back from Africa. I saw him in the morning, perhaps for half an hour, and then he rushed off to work, to the lab. That’s it. He never came back.”

  Elizabeth wonders whether to believe Rebecca.

  “So where did he eat?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did you do after you saw him?”

  Rebecca fiddles with a string of pearls around her neck.

  “I had a sleep. I hadn’t slept much the night before. Probably because I knew Edward was coming back. Then Kat rang, offered to take me out to lunch.”

  “Kat?”

  “My brother’s fiancée.”

  “So you didn’t see Edward at lunchtime?”

  “No, although he must have popped back while I was out, as some of his stuff had moved.”

  Rebecca can see Elizabeth doesn’t know what she means. “He’d put things in the linen wash basket, emptied some of the things out of his case. That’s all.”

  “So why not have lunch with you? Surely he missed you?”

  “He often stayed late at the lab after a trip. Things fresh in his mind, he’d say. What was it again that he mumbled? Are you sure he didn’t call my name?”

  “He said something about a serve us tea, tibs, tips? That mean anything to you?”

  Rebecca looks unsure and then shakes her head. A woodpigeon ‘coo coo-coo’s outside the window. Elizabeth is really thirsty, but knows that she may be close to opening up with Rebecca so with a dry mouth and perspiration on her forehead she continues.

  “I haven’t come to cause you any more distress. But would you mind telling me what state Edward was in before he died? Was he worried about anything? It might just help work out what happened.”

  But Rebecca doesn’t like this shift in questioning.

  “I’ve told the police all this.”

  “Rebecca, my garden is not easy to climb into. Next door is easier; it has a lower lawn to a slipway. I know, I’ve fallen in before myself and had to traipse through Mrs Cloud’s kitchen at number twenty four, after being mightily grateful for it. She wasn’t happy, but her husband built it you see. He likes to scull in the morning.”

  “What has this got to do with Edward?”

  “He came to me.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Why take the more difficult route?”

  “Maybe he knew you lived there. That you’d help?”

  “Maybe he knew I’d find his killer.”

  “What?” Rebecca gets up and walks to the fire and leans on the mantelpiece. Elizabeth maintains an uncomfortable perch on the sofa.

  “I don’t think this was an accident. I don’t think he drowned and I think he was very agitated. Like he was running or swimming away from something, or someone.”

  Rebecca replies. “But the police haven’t said anything about any of this? I think they would know if anyone knows. I have just identified my poor - ” Rebecca takes a sharp breath, she is beginning to well up again “my poor husband. And I thought you wanted to talk to me as a friend. But instead you’re inventing lies. My husband was a good man, he had no enemies.”

  “He was a strong swimmer. It was a calm night. The water is not toxic. He appeared to have a severe reaction to something.”

  “How would you know?”

  Elizabeth is uncomfortable about sharing her expertise.

  “I work in the Department of Plant Sciences. With Edward.”

  “Yes, Edward talked about you before, which is why I agreed to see you. Though I haven’t seen you in college.”

  “I find that King’s doesn’t have the menu which quite fits my palate. Their thirst for dead animal quite depressing. Roast pig here, pheasant there. I’m sure they’d serve swan if they could.”

  “I ate swan once. At one of Kat’s dinner parties.”

  “That’s illegal.”

  “And so is not telling the police that someone wasn’t dead when you found them.”

  Elizabeth can’t argue with that. In fact, Elizabeth is cross at herself that she has failed to keep control of this conversation, failed to keep it in good tone. Elizabeth knows people are her weakness, or rather talking to them, reacting with them. She wonders how Godric manages it better than she, even though behind the skin he’s much less thoughtful.

  “I just wondered if you knew if he’d fallen out with anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Did he know anyone who might want him hurt? I feel there is something gravely wrong here.”

  “He drowned.”

  “No, he was in pain Rebecca. I could see it in his face. His expression.”

  “I think you should leave.”

  “I just want to help. Tell me if he had any enemies. That’s all, and I promise to leave.”

  Rebecca puts her head down, shuts her eyes, then slowly lifts her head and looks out the window.

  “I saw the devil outside college the other day. She was just standing there, below our window, looking up.”

  “The devil?”

  “Edward’s ex-girlfriend. She never forgave him for marrying me. Spurned Susan.”

  Rebecca walks to the window.

  “People have pasts, why do you call her the devil?” Elizabeth is curious.

  “She was jealous. Wouldn’t let go.” Rebecca replies bitterly.

  “What did she do? Outside the college?”

  “That’s what love can do. Eat you up from the inside, until you’re full of acid. She was always around, in our face. Once, we came home, Edward and I, only to find someone had been in our rooms. Nothing was taken, only a dress of mine. Cut up into tiny pieces it was.”

  “You think it was her?”

  “She’d cut it up, and put it out on the bed, all in tiny shreds. It was expensive, silk. Stupid cow. Cut up the wrong dress though. It was one my brother had bought me, not Edward. Didn’t have the result she’d wanted.”

  “Well, that’s very interesting indeed. One more question, was Edward happy?”

  “Of course, we’re in love. A very happy marriage. We couldn’t be separated, which...” Rebecca stumbles over her words, “which is why I need to lie down. I am desperately tired and I think I’ve answered as many questions as I am able.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth stands, relieved to leave the leather, and looks out of the window of the Wiley’s rooms and sees Jonathan shouting at a woman. Absent minded, she strokes a dead campanula on the windowsill.

  “I will see myself out, and you are right to get some rest now. You have been most helpful.”

  12. The Fiancée

  Elizabeth steps out into the hallway and shuts the door behind her thinking when will she allow herself to rest. Not now. Not yet. She hears silence behind the door. She stops for a moment in case anything happens from the other side. But there’s nothing. She nods to herself and then makes her way down the communal spiral staircase.

  Kara Anderson, known by her friends and family as Kat, stands elegantly on the court lawn below Rebecca’s rooms. Still in a silver ball gown, expensive heels and aquamarine pashmina, Kara is a little dishevelled having not yet gone to bed. Her face rosy, her porcelain teeth slightly too white, her long blonde wavy hair clipped into place by many decorative flowers. A strikingly long limbed woman, as tall as Jonathan. She hugs Jonathan, who is too cross to hug back.

  “Why didn’t you come over when I called?”

  “I couldn’t drive, I had to wait. I’d had a few. I tried to get here as soon as I heard, but the Cambridgeshire taxis all go to beddy-byes as soon as the clock strikes twelve as far as I can tell. The taxi took ages to come, by which time I’d already sobered up. I counted the units and hours.”

  Kara was disappointed by Cambridgeshire. Expecting the high life and glamour, she had learned to her cost that drive more than a mile out
of the city of Cambridge and you are into a fenland of empty fields, big skies and quiet so strong that you can hear a pin drop, and have all the time in the world to find a needle in the umpteen haystacks propped up across the land, because there is bugger all else to do.

  “Bloody typical. Who’ve you been with?”

  “Just a few friends. It’s not my fault you moved us to a backward constituency where it takes ten times longer to do anything, or get anywhere. Parochial purgatory.”

  “I haven’t got time for this.”

  “Neither have I. I gave up London for you. You leave me alone up here, while you have a ball. Do I complain?”

  Jonathan is incredulous and gesticulates at Kara.

  “All the time. You don’t stop thinking about yourself. My sister has been going through hell the past eight hours. Edward is dead, and what do you do? Go out and drink champagne with your hooray friends.”

  “I’m sorry, all right? ”

  “If you hadn’t been out with that motley crew you would’ve been here much quicker.”

  “Can you stop going on, I’ve got a headache.”

  Kara storms off, too upset to continue the fight. Elizabeth walks across the court to Jonathan, who remains on the grass. The college grounds are not busy as it is lesson time, and they are the only souls about apart from a solitary young man walking across the court in the distance.

  “Perhaps she’s in shock.”

  “She’s fine. Gone off in some strop, as per usual. Oh, I’ll never understand the opposite sex. Anyway, really, what business is this of yours?”

  “I was talking about Rebecca, your sister?”

  Elizabeth watches the leggy blonde striding away, and is hit by a wave of sympathy for this woman, apparently wasting her life on such an unpleasant man.

  “So you thought you’d have a poke about, eh? Women of a certain age, always know best, don’t they?”

  “Hmm, how remarkably astute you are.” Elizabeth is affronted at the age remark. Who is this no man? Irritated by him, she wants to say something cutting. And boy does she know how. But she wants to find Edward’s killer more, so she keeps it reigned in. The irritating man continues to speak.

  “Forgive me. I’m tired. I’m supposed to meet the Prime Minister this week. A cabinet matter and all the rest of it.”

  “Ah, a politician. That makes sense.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Elizabeth wonders whether to take him down with a cutting comment but decides against it this time, not feeling great herself, instead plumps for false flattery.

  “You look very smart, natty dresser. You’re paternal towards your sister, protective.”

  “I can’t help protecting my sister.” Jonathan huffs.

  “Don’t worry. I’m no threat either to her or your career, whichever party you represent.”

  Jonathan defrosts a little.

  “Conservative. Don’t normally insult constituents with ageist remarks, forgive me. Hope we may count on your vote at the next election? A while off now though, eh.” Jonathan takes a peek at Elizabeth, whose eyes burn into his.

  “I believe I have the right to keep secret who gets my support.” she replies.

  “Quite right. You stick to your guns.”

  “I don’t care for wings left or right, or indeed clubs, or people telling me what to think. Wings should remain the possession of birds. Being a professional politician I suppose you are used to towing the party line.”

  “Oh, I’m a lawyer by trade. Had been in the office when I got the call. Usually start work at 5am in the City. Merchant, not criminal. Not much use here with Edward and all.”

  Calling his bluff Elizabeth probes.

  “Who said anything about a crime here?”

  “No one. Who’d want to kill Edward? Harmless as a fly, wet as a baby’s blanket.”

  “I am quite surprised you brought up the idea.”

  “Well it runs through your mind, doesn’t it? I mean that’s why you came to speak with Rebecca, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m just saying what you’re thinking.”

  Elizabeth can’t argue with that. She watches Jonathan leave to follow Kara, throwing his cigarette butt onto the gravel. She is slightly puzzled by how different his attitude is to his own sister’s. Was her dislike of him clouding her judgement? Probably, but she enjoyed finding an enemy, and Jonathan Smythe-Jones could be it this morning. Male, upper-middle class elite politician, neither seemingly interested in true dialectic nor democratic ends, rather more of a Machiavellian intern. As Elizabeth turns on her heels towards the main gate, she glances up at Rebecca’s window. But Rebecca isn’t there. She can just see the tip of the dead campanula. Elizabeth wonders about this dysfunctional family. The brother-in-law who appears to have an overprotective streak. Could Jonathan have killed Edward if Edward was upsetting his sister? She ponders on that. Certainly it appears that Jonathan had been in London in the City, but maybe he could have still made it up here and gone back to work afterwards; who would have noticed at that time of the morning? But what could Edward have possibly done to incur the wrath of his brother-in-law? And surely Jonathan would not do anything to upset Rebecca, much less kill her husband. It was clear Rebecca loved Edward in some way. Could it have been Rebecca? She was a little woman in frame and disposition, but could have got someone else to do her dirty work. But where was the motive? Newly-weds, with few clues as to anything going awry.

  ✧

  Kara plonks herself in the passenger seat of Jonathan’s car, and bursts into tears. She’s not sure if this is because she hasn’t had any sleep, or perhaps because she hasn’t eaten, but when Jonathan is grumpy she does wonder what she’s letting herself in for, wanting to become Mrs Smythe-Jones. She loves this life, wants to keep her diamonds, balls and champagne, wants it all, his life too with all its pomp and ruddy English traditions, and she knows Jonathan loves her deep down. Yes, it is probably the fatigue setting in. She had been rushing about last night after all. She wonders if Jonathan has any water in the car. Water will make her feel better. She opens the glove compartment, but there isn’t any in there. She spots some tissues and pulls out the box. Behind it, she can’t miss a letter which doesn’t look like Westminster business. Something about the size and type of envelope, about the handwritten ‘Jonathan’ on the front and the South African postage stamps. Curious, she pulls out the letter and opens it. The quality paper is stiff and has just one crease across it. She opens the fold and reads the contents.

  ‘Jonathan,

  I can give you this much for now. You’ll have to wait for the rest until I get back from Cape Town.

  There is a cheque for £40,000 enclosed.

  Leave it, I’ll sort it,

  Edward.’

  There is no cheque with the letter, although a paper clip is still attached, hinting at one before. That is not an insubstantial sum. Kara can’t believe that Edward is dead and on the same day she finds that he’s paid her husband £40,000. What was going on between them? Kara never much liked Edward, too earnest, too pleased with himself yet in a humble way if that was possible. That passive aggressive thing that comes with good education, good schooling, from being forced through years of tuition, ending up confident but not a show off, reticent yet opinionated, self-aware but not self-obsessed. To be a leader, but quietly stoic. It drove her nuts, so no, she wasn’t as upset about Edward as she ought to be. Kara panics as she sees Jonathan’s silhouette walking around to the driver’s door. She stuffs the letter in her purse as Jonathan slumps into the car.

  “What a morning. I’m not leaving Rebecca. So we’ll just have to swap roles. You take the car, go home get some rest. You look like you could do with it. Get some clothes for me will you please, and I’ll meet you back here later, around lunchtime? We can all have lunch together and be a norm
al, grieving family. At least for the outside world.” Jonathan lights yet another cigarette, it is a chain smoking day.

  “Sorry I was late. I don’t know where the time went.”

  “Those people you hang out with.” Jonathan shakes his head.

  “Yes, they’re no good, I know. I’ll try to cut down.”

  “Tell me that you’re legal to drive, at least.”

  Kara nods. She definitely isn’t, but daren’t risk him knowing with his temper. She’ll just leave the college and go and get a coffee somewhere. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He’s clearly holding secrets of his own.

  13. A Friend

  Inspector Abley arrives at the black iron gates of the university Botanic Gardens. The lush peaceful greenery enticing you in, at odds with the street outside and the cars rushing into the city, honking horns and revving their engines. Just inside, standing on the entrance pavement, Abley overhears a group listening to their guided talk about how the gardens were set up by John Henslow back in the nineteenth century and now span a forty acre oasis in the heart of the city. He smiles, knowing Elizabeth would prefer to keep casual visitors to as few as possible. He is suddenly surrounded, this time by local wildlife enthusiasts meeting this morning to spot badger latrines in the herbaceous beds, after having earlier examined a new sett in the pine tree nursery. Abley flashes his detective badge at the ticket collector inside the payment booth and is soon alone again as the gaggle of animal spotters, clutching notepads and binoculars, dissipate along West walk towards the lake, while he opts for the opposite path which heads directly to the glasshouses. On his way, he notices two young children exploring the rock gardens, pretending they are pirates; a mother sitting on a bench having got them out early in the hope they’ll run out their energy. It fleetingly transports him to a time when he came with his own mother. She’d bring him with his younger brother when they were small, to feed the ducks and sometimes have a picnic. From across the gardens he can see the tall black pines and giant redwoods where he used to play hide and seek with Derek, the smell of the cedar drifting across the path. More recent memories of meetings with Elizabeth, arguing about a case in the garden cafe, or popping up to the laboratories to ask her opinion about something or other also start to resonate. All that had stopped when Sir Gerald died, when that private tragedy came tumbling down on his friend. He hadn’t meant to seem so heartless earlier. He knew Elizabeth wanted to come back and get involved, but if he didn’t look out for her now, who would? She needed a break, anyone could see that. Abley had known Elizabeth for a good ten years now. Some think her a cold fish, and he wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of her tongue, but more than most he knew how she could hide her emotions, her feelings, that she was a kind woman, and always on the right side of right. Now as he walks towards her, he begins to feel a little guilty. She is still clearly in no fit state, but he knows how much she’s addicted, just like him. Abley reaches the first tall brick-bottomed sloping roof glasshouses. To get to the smaller houses in the middle you have to enter a side door which leads you down a warm internal atrium, opening into smaller individual framed glass houses within the beautiful huge structure. He can’t see Elizabeth yet, and moisture hits him like a wall through the first door. From dainty alpines to tropical climbers, the glasshouse collection is packed with exotic and rare species. As he walks, poking his head in each separate door, behind which is a different collection, he finally spots Elizabeth, in the meadow house. In her pretty green gardening apron, she is counting small plants, inspecting them for vigour. The stronger ones she’s removing, and replacing on another tray. Inspector Abley comes in and watches her for a moment and smiles. Unsure of how to strike up conversation he begins instead to stroke a plant.