“Gemma’s loyal to me.”
“Is she? Can you trust her? She’s a risk, Tate. A huge damned risk. That’s the way I see her. She was asking me some pointed questions about what’s happening with Ellie. You know, it’s lucky that she didn’t meet me last time she was at the farm. But she might still manage to work out that I’ve been working for you for years, and I—”
“Sophie. You worry too much. Let me worry about things like that. Everything is okay.”
Sophie let out a measured sigh. “Okay. All right. But it’s time to let Ellie go. We can’t keep her. It’s gone too far.”
For a moment, Tate looked as if he were going to get angry again, but then he pressed his lips hard together and nodded.
Gently, he brushed Ellie’s cheek.
Taking a blue-labelled vial from his kit, he drew liquid into a syringe and injected it into Ellie’s limp arm.
Ellie roused from her sleep momentarily then drifted back, her words growing incoherent until she finally stopped.
Gemma heard a sharp intake of air behind her. She pivoted.
Hayley stood watching on, horror rising in her eyes. “No. No, no… this is wrong. Tate wouldn’t…”
“Yes. He would.” Gemma said. “I didn’t understand what he was doing, but I do, now. He wasn’t trying to make us forget all the bad things in our lives. That wasn’t it at all. He was… testing his drugs on us for profit. We were his lab animals.”
Gemma twisted around, looking for Eoin and finding him to the other side of her, standing back in the dark recesses of the supply room. “Did you see that?”
“I saw enough,” he replied darkly.
“Then you know I wasn’t lying. This is who Tate is.”
His expression grew strangely distant. “You’re right. I didn’t understand what he was doing to us. He’s a fucking scary individual. You don’t mess with people like that.” He paused, a look of wild terror making the muscles in his jaw draw tight. “Don’t take this personally, but I’m going to have to do what he asked me to do.”
He launched towards her, a manic look in his eyes, sending a stool skittering across the floor.
37
Bronwen
It was a small bruise, fairly insignificant, and yet a deep shade of purple that she couldn’t stop obsessing over. Despite the slight reprieve in her long hours, Bronwen still hadn’t managed to find any rest, and at night she woke up thinking that she felt Tate Llewellyn’s lips next to her ear, whispering…
“You wanted to see me, detective?”
Bronwen pulled her thoughts away from the purple mark on her arm and directed her attention to Audrey, their head of forensics. The doctor seemed impatient, tapping her finger against her ribs as she stood with her arms folded tightly across her petite body. Stress had seeped its way into every department at the station. No one was immune.
“Anything new in the lab? It’s a big job sorting through the mess from Denton Road,” she said.
Audrey narrowed her eyes, obviously disappointed that Bronwen had interrupted her work for this. “We’re working our way through. But you know we’ll call you as soon as we find anything.” Audrey shrugged. “Is there anything else you needed?”
“Do you mind if I sit?” Bronwen asked. She’d gone down to the lab to ask this because she wanted it to be private. She didn’t even want Joe to know about this. Not yet. Not until she was sure.
“Go ahead,” Audrey said, perching on the edge of her desk. Her expression softened, sensing Bronwen’s discomfort.
“I’m guessing that everyone here knows about how I passed out on the job during the Llewellyn Farm search.” She made sure her sleeve was rolled up high and held out her arm. “I woke up with this bruise. It was barely noticeable at first but now it’s very visible. What do you make of it?”
The doctor leaned closer, and Bronwen could tell that her interest had been piqued. Gently, she held Bronwen’s arm while examining further.
“Have you had any vaccines recently? Any medication?”
Bronwen shook her head.
“That’s the kind of bruise I’d expect an inexperienced doctor to make when administering a drug. They often result from a blood test, but in this case it’s not in a position I would expect for a blood test.” She let go of Bronwen’s arm and frowned. “It’s tiny, but you can see the pinprick from the needle. How is it possible that you have an injection bruise without knowing about it? You on the heroin again, Detective McKay?”
Bronwen smiled thinly as she rolled her sleeve back down. “Good one.” But despite the smile and the retort, beneath her hopefully calm exterior, Bronwen felt dizzy. Her heart began to beat faster and the remnant of a memory jumped into her mind. She'd felt something odd that last day on the farm—a sharp jab on her arm.
“Listen, you should get a blood test and definitely a HIV test. The blood test might pick up on any drugs in your system. It’s a long shot, but perhaps we can find out what you were drugged with. I have my kit here in the lab.”
Bronwen rolled her sleeve back up. “Just don’t leave another bruise.” She hoped that Audrey didn't notice that she was trembling all over.
Audrey, probably feeling guilty about that heroin joke, had given Bronwen a lollipop after her blood test and told her the results would be in a few days later. She was going to rush it through, handling it personally, which was a big gesture considering the job they had going on.
As Bronwen made her way back to her office, the walls felt as though they were closing in on her. Her mind refused to sharpen, and she couldn’t stop thinking that everyone was watching her. She’d never felt so naked and exposed.
And it was all because of him. The bastard had drugged her during the search at the farm. He’d stuck a needle in her. Violated her. Made her believe she’d fallen asleep. She noticed some of the officers look up from their desks as she walked through the station, probably noticing her pasty skin and yellow complexion. God she was a mess. Bile started to rise up from her stomach. She barely made it to the bathroom before retching up her breakfast into the communal sinks.
Luckily, the bathroom was empty, so she rinsed the water away, splashed her face, and chewed on five mints from her bag. Get a grip, McKay. So, he’d drugged her? So what? She was alive and kicking, and she needed to turn this shame into an anger so fierce that she would win this war at all costs. Judging by the last conversation she’d had with the super, he was on her side, and she could always rely on Joe. There was a good team around her. What was she whining about?
Now was the time to act. If she didn’t do something, Rodney White would end up taking credit for every crime involved in this case, leaving Llewellyn free as a bird. But she knew Llewellyn was involved and now he was toying with her. This was personal.
Bronwen held her head up high on the way back to her office. She shut the door, moved across the room to her desk, and began looking for the files Megan had dropped off the other day. She’d been so off with Megan, and now she felt terrible about it. With everything that had been going on, her head had been all over the place. When Megan had come into the office, she’d heard this voice telling her to move the investigation away from Llewellyn. But what if it was Llewellyn himself fucking with her mind?
Working its way through the fog of her mind was another memory of Megan. Mr Incommunicado. Wait, they’d spoken on the phone at Llewellyn Farm, just before she’d fallen asleep. What had Megan said? That Llewellyn had been working on a memory drug? That was it. That was when she'd felt the pinprick, except it hadn't been a pin. It had been a needle. He’d administered this drug to her during the search. The fucker had changed her memories.
Where were the files?
“Bron, you got a minute?”
Her heart slammed into her ribs at the sound of Joe’s voice. She spun around to see him in the doorway with the files in his hands.
“Learn to knock, Kouros.” She might’ve rolled her eyes, but she was glad to see him, and even more relieved to
see the files. Plus, she could tell from his bright eyes that he’d discovered something.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about what Megan said.” Joe dropped the files on Bronwen’s desk, opened at a specific page. “She kept talking about how Llewellyn was up to something with this memory drug thing. So, I read through them all, and I think I have something here.”
“How much coffee have you had today?” Bronwen asked, noting he was even more enthusiastic than usual.
“More than you by the look of it. You okay? You look like something my niece dressed up as last Halloween.”
“Cheers, Joe. What you got for me?”
He turned back to the files. “I almost missed it. In Leah Halcombe’s notes, she mentions how Llewellyn has friends in high places. Well, no surprise there, right? He’s from a rich family. He’s rubbed shoulders with judges, politicians, businessmen and women from all over the world. She mentioned a few names: Robert Glossop—an MP based in London—known for a rape scandal that mysteriously disappeared, Jack Chen—a tech billionaire—accused of a sexual assault before the girl changed her mind for no good reason, and Laura Blatt—a multimillion heiress in her thirties accused of statutory rape of a minor… until the fifteen-year-old boy changed his testimony.” He looked up from the files. “I’ve checked the internet, and there’s no reference to Llewellyn with any of these people. It’s weird, as though he’s been careful not associate with them in public. But if we believe what’s in these files, and with Megan talking about a memory drug—”
“He’s selling it,” Bronwen interrupted. “He’s selling the drug to rich people who want to cover up a crime. The memory drug erases the memories from the victim. How did Leah Halcombe find this out?”
“According to her notes, it’s from the testimony of the boy at the farm. Clay.”
“That’s not enough evidence.”
“Apparently, the kid saw the meetings on a few recordings.”
“The computers were checked during the search but they didn’t find anything,” Bronwen said. “Fuck.”
“We’ve got to convince the super we need to raid that damned place,” Joe replied. “A take-no-prisoners raid this time. Before the warrant runs out.”
Bronwen closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened her eyes, she rolled up the sleeve of her shirt. “He did it to me. He injected me with the drug. Whatever happens, we’re nailing this bastard.”
Joe’s expression turned dark, almost frightening Bronwen for a moment. She wasn’t used to seeing him so riled up about anything. “Yes. We are.”
She just hoped that Audrey could find traces of the drug. They needed some sort of miracle to close this case against Llewellyn.
38
Megan
Megan sipped on the bottle of water that Freddy had brought into the greenhouse a few minutes ago. The icy liquid slipped straight down into her stomach. She was suddenly desperate to pee, but she couldn’t guess whether it was the water or the anxiety rippling through her middle.
She didn’t know how she was going to do what she’d come to the farm to do. All she knew was that she had to try.
Was it really Gemma she’d glimpsed through the plate-glass wall of Tate’s house? It could have been any teenager with hair like Gemma’s. Maybe she was just so desperate to find the girls that she was manufacturing things in her head.
Still, when she pictured the girl in her mind again, she could have sworn it was Gemma.
Freddy had left as soon as he’d brought the drinks for Sophie and herself. He’d had a goofy grin on his face as he’d joked about an incident in the orchard earlier, but his eyes had remained guarded. Odd.
While waiting for Tate to arrive, Megan asked Sophie a few general questions. She jotted down the answers, pretending to have an interest in the operations and employees of the farm.
She was both relieved and nervous when Tate strode in through the door.
Sophie stopped mid-sentence. “Ah, here he is. Over to you, Tate. This is Megan Arlotti.”
Immediately, Megan understood the description Bronwen had given of him a week ago. His shirt was crisp and his hair styled perfectly. He reminded her of those male actors from the noir films of the forties. She’d recently watched a string of old movies with Jacob. Tate had that same kind of presence.
When he shook Megan’s hand, his palm felt cool and dry. “Pleased to meet you. Ms Arlotti. I trust that we can clear up whatever it is that’s causing the bother.”
Sophie coughed and cleared her throat. “The department has apparently had complaints from former employees—about us running a cult. Can you believe it?”
A look of amusement creased Tate’s face. “Must be a couple of backpackers who’ve had some bad party drugs or something. You can return to work, Soph. I’ll take it from here.”
“Certainly.” Casting a tight smile in Megan’s direction, she left the greenhouse.
Tate’s gaze swept over Megan. “Are you fond of orchids?”
The question caught her off guard. “They’re very pretty. You seem to have every type imaginable.”
He shook his head, smiling. “No, I’m afraid it isn’t possible to have every type. I have grand plans to build something much larger in which to house them, but it still won’t be adequate. I admit to being a victim of orchidelirium.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a term from Victorian times. Orchid collecting first became a thing then, and it became well-known that collectors acquired a kind of delirium. You see, orchids have a special quality that drives their collectors to insanity.”
The effect of his soothing voice, together with the overwhelming humidity and scents of the flowers, was making her mind blur around the edges. She wondered if the measured way he spoke was deliberate.
He delicately touched a nearby flower. “There are almost twenty thousand named species, and more are being discovered all the time. A collector will never own all there is to own, and most will never be able to afford to. The most expensive orchid of all time—the Shenzhen Nongk—sold for hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“I didn’t know that,” she replied. She hugged the clipboard. He’d effortlessly taken over the subject of conversation, and she couldn’t let him do that. “Perhaps we should begin. If you could show me what happens where around your farm, especially the meditations that we’ve been told about, that would be a good start.”
“I’d be happy to show you around. Naturally, I’m very proud of what I’ve built up here.”
He led her across to the production room that was attached to the greenhouse and opened the door. “This is where we extract elements from the orchids that go into the making of perfume. It’s just a hobby of mine, but it’s very rewarding. Orchids are very difficult to capture in an essence, and so we are attempting to capture the impossible. But that makes it all the rarer and more precious, don’t you think?”
Tate led her outside then, to his golf buggy. He took her on a quick trip around the mango fields and grounds, pointing out machinery and cabins and fruit sorting buildings.
He stopped in front of a large hall. “This is where the employees have all their meals. Twice a week, I give them a pep talk.”
She turned to him. “What kind of pep talk?”
He shrugged. “Just a bit of positivity to keep them motivated. Most of them are a long way from home. And days of fruit picking in the hot sun can be challenging. We don’t actually have many workers at the moment as it’s off-season. We only have about a fifth of the usual number.”
Extending a hand, he helped her down. “You know what? I’ll give them a treat today and let them knock off work half an hour early. Then you can observe a session without waiting around any longer. How does that sound?” A generous smile showed his even, white teeth.
“Sounds good to me,” she told him.
Stepping from the buggy, he walked away out of earshot and made a phone call. Seconds later, the music stopped, and the sound of a buzzer rang out.
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Confused workers turned to one another in the orchard.
“Early lunch today, everyone,” came Sophie’s voice over the loudspeakers. “Compliments of Tate.”
Tate touched Megan’s back lightly as he guided her towards the hall.
Rich scents of spices had saturated the air inside. Coloured light sparkled from a large leadlight glass square in the ceiling.
She walked with him into the kitchen. Tate introduced her to the three workers who were in there. The three of them were energetically stirring steaming pots of soup and adding ingredients.
The girl named Dharma tucked a lock of frizzy hair behind her ear, grinning at Megan. “It won’t be ready for a while yet, I’m afraid. We got caught out with the early lunch call.”
“No problem,” said Tate affectionately. “Creating a beautiful meal takes time, and how could someone like you create something that’s anything less than beautiful?”
The girl seemed to blush.
Out in the hall, workers were streaming in. Each one grabbed a cushion and sat down. Megan had to admit that although they looked exhausted, they seemed happy. They really were a match with the pictures online.
“You’re about to view one of our talks,” Tate told Megan. “Feel free to sit and have lunch with us.”
Tate crossed to the front of the room. “Enjoy your early reprieve from the fields.” He smiled, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Close your eyes. Let your body relax. You have worked hard and deserve to rest now. Let’s focus on each breath and let the weariness leave us. Breathe.”
Breathe, came a chorus.
Tate, his eyes remaining closed, continued with the meditation.
Megan stepped from the main part of the hall towards a larder room. The area was private enough. She needed to make a call. Slipping out her phone from her pocket, she called Bronwen.
Poison Orchids: A darkly compelling psychological thriller Page 30