He closed the door. She never wanted to be disturbed at these times. This was her time with her daughter. A time when she felt connected to her. Through the space they were both sharing at different points, Connie believed she could feel Em with her. Anywhere else was just a desolate wasteland.
His hand squeezed hard at the injustice and the paper he was holding crackled, breaking the quiet on the landing. He loosened his grip and walked away, leaving his wife to her grief.
Downstairs, he put the Nottingham Today down on the kitchen table again. He didn’t need to open it up today, there was the story of the deaths right there on the front page. He was excited by what he would read. That his plan was working. That people were sitting up and taking notice.
The headline didn’t give much away as to the content of the article:
Nottingham Police Unable to Find The ‘Poison Killer’
It indicated there were deaths by poison but the police hadn’t yet caught him. That much he was already aware. He was excited to know what the rest of the article said. To read that the poison had been identified as digoxin. To see if the reporter had asked for quotes from the pharma companies and to hear their thoughts. He wanted to hear they were going to address issues with the drug, that because it was obviously a dangerous drug to the public, they needed to look at it in more detail and make sure it was doing the job it was intended for, as the risks with it were so high.
Isaac grabbed the coffee he’d made and pulled up the chair to read what the reporter had written.
He gripped the newspaper as he read, the crisp grey paper rustling in protest. There was no mention of what the poison was. Why hadn’t they mentioned the poison? Without that, his plan fell down. How would the pharmaceutical companies know, and the medical professionals? There was no mention of it being a heart medication. A heart medication that killed people. Why were they not looking at the big companies, pointing the finger at them?
His head pounded. His grip growing ever tighter on the back pages. The Today was only interested in targeting the police but the police weren’t the issue. He knew the police had a difficult job. He wasn’t going to make it easy for them. He’d watched a few crime shows. Not that he needed to worry about fingerprints or anything; it was all random and he wore thin gloves bought from the chemist. He was far away from the victims when he injected the poison into the items. He was going to keep going as long as he could, as long as it took for those who needed to notice, to notice and to actually care. That was the difficult thing. The pharmaceutical companies might notice. They might make the right sounds to the press but getting them to genuinely care was another issue. He had to keep going, keep pushing until they had no choice, until the public demanded they put all their billions into actually saving people, instead of lining their pockets.
The article ended. It was worthless.
With both hands he grabbed the paper up and screwed it into a ball, throwing it into the corner of the room.
He still had work to do.
38
Evie Small looked at me with a deep sadness in her eyes.
‘What is it?’ There was no smile. No laptop in her arms, no biscuits, just a newspaper in her hand. A newspaper. The Nottingham Today. My stomach lurched. What now?
‘Have you spoken to Ethan lately?’
Evie was the only person I’d trusted with the information about Ethan. I’d needed someone to talk to and she was the best friend I had. She didn’t judge. She listened and she cared. As EMSOU’s analyst we worked together often and in turn, drank together often, and we had become firm friends.
‘Not since the press conference. Why, Evie?’
She pushed the paper towards me and then wrapped her arms around herself as she stood on the spot. Not moving, her top lip pulled in as she bit at it. I sensed trouble. I opened up the paper and there it was. On the front page. He would be proud. I should be proud. I willed him on to do well but for it to be at the expense of me, of a job I was working?
Nottingham Police Unable to Find The ‘Poison Killer’
A 34-year-old woman has been found collapsed on her street in Toton, Nottingham, after going out for a jog. Paramedics tried to revive her but she died at the scene. Angela Evans leaves behind a husband, Lance.
The couple had not long moved to Nottinghamshire following a promotion that Mr Evans had recently accepted. The couple did not yet know anyone in the area.
Angela Evans will be the third victim of the so-called ‘poison killer’. His previous two victims are; Lianne Beers, 29, of Bramcote and Finlay McDonnell, 16, of Beeston.
When asked for comment Lance Evans said, ‘Angela was the sweetest, gentlest and most giving person.’ He pleaded for the killer to turn him or herself in and not to harm anyone else saying, ‘it’s not just the dead who are hurt, but also the living that are left behind.’
Nottinghamshire police has asked anyone with information, however small they think it might be, to come forward. Information can even be provided anonymously via the tip-line, number below.
Detectives are baffled as to the motive of the killer, as no demands have been received and no one particular product, item or source has been identified as being the target.
Police have stated they are working all the angles and will update the public as soon as they know anything further. They ask that everyone is vigilant and self-aware.
No one can say if the killer will strike again and if so, where that will be.
The Police and Crime Commissioner’s Office informed the Today that they are fully behind the investigation as they want to provide the grieving families with answers as to why their loved ones died and they need to provide the public with real assurances about their safety.
With this being the third victim of the killer we are now in the realm of a serial killer. Two words that the police will not want the public to worry about.
If you saw Angela Evans as she was out running or you are friends with her, please get in touch with police so they can build a picture of her last movements.
If you are a friend of Angela’s get in touch with the paper, let us know what she was like as a person. We’d love to hear from you.
How could he write this? How could he write this and not tell me? Yes, we were giving them quotes, but the rest of it …
Was he angry with me? Did he have a right to be?
I dropped the paper onto the mess that was already covering my desk.
‘Thanks, Evie.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Her arms were still wrapped tightly around her body, accentuating her waif-like figure.
‘What for? You didn’t write this. I’d look stupid if I saw him without having seen this first. So, again, thank you.’ I smiled. Or I tried to. What was I supposed to do about Ethan now?
‘I also need to worry about if Grey and Walker have seen it. He’s right, they won’t be happy with the words serial killer being thrown about. And how did he get a quote from Lance Evans? They’ve obviously waited for the Family Liaison Officer to leave before they’ve gone knocking on his door. Leeches. Lance Evans won’t have the ability to deal with it. He won’t know how to tell them to get lost. All he’ll want is his wife back, his life back. This violation of his space will be an unknown for him. Of course he’s going to say he loves his wife and wants the killer to stop.’ I was furious. Imagining the crumbling man I’d met on the street, having journalists banging on his door when he was alone and distressed. ‘I’ll speak to the FLO involved and make sure he tells Lance that he doesn’t have to speak to them and he doesn’t have to answer the door to them. Though, now he’s given them a quote I hope they leave him alone.’
‘And, how are you?’
‘If I don’t have to worry about you chewing half your face away,’ she let go of her lip, ‘then I’ll be fine. I’m not sure I can say the same for Grey though.’
‘How is he?’ She relaxed a little as we moved away from the subject of Ethan and his coverage of the investigation.
/> ‘Stressed, as you can imagine. What with the PM results coming back from Angela Evans as digoxin toxicity, he’s feeling the strain. He’s getting pressure from Catherine. You know how she hates bad publicity and slow clear-up rates, anything that can reflect badly on her department. Then he’s going to see this from the Today. I’m sure I’ll get more of a feel for how he is when I see him at this morning’s briefing. Will you come in for it today, please? You might be able to help us out. Get details where everything has occurred, map it out and see what ideas you can come up with? Any help we can get we will be gratefully received.’
‘Of course, Catherine emailed early this morning about the case. Though I’m going to be at the opposite end of the room to Grey. Just in case he spontaneously combusts.’
39
The briefing room was heaving, even though it was only eight a.m. The airwave radio set, was on Aaron’s desk and tuned in to the local area. It was quiet. From experience I knew it would scream into life later and Aaron would hand it off to someone else to manage because he couldn’t stand the constant noise on his desk. It distracted him, made him grumpy and bad-tempered.
I was pleased to see Catherine had drafted in extra staff, though this much chatter in the room was going to stress Aaron out. He was already sitting at his desk with his earplugs in.
There were many familiar faces that I had seen in my years working over the force area, but there were also some unfamiliar ones. We had the full HOLMES 2 team setup, which included manager, receiver, reader, indexer and inputter, as well as our own intelligence unit and Evie as our analyst on a permanent basis for the length of the investigation. I imagined the new death had given Catherine cause to rise early and organise it all.
I thanked everyone for coming in early and at short notice. Aaron took out his earplugs as the noise died down. ‘As you may know, we’ve had several deaths that have been caused by digoxin toxicity.’
‘Lady Westholme, Ma’am?’
Catherine, who was standing at the side making sure her organisational skills had gone to plan, gave the interrupter at the back a glare. Whether she understood the Agatha Christie reference or not, she obviously didn’t care, though I imagined she didn’t get it. I saw her more as a literary fiction kind of reader.
I nodded my understanding and continued talking about Angela Evans and how this had exploded without warning.
‘We are working this under the operation name Veridical. We have no links between the victims so far, so I want a large part of the investigation team to work on that, to do the victim work. Find out if any of them link back to each other in any way. If they have mutual acquaintances between them. Check bank and credit card bills, locations of such, schools, jobs, subscriptions to clubs, magazines, online spaces. Speak to everyone they know and liaise with their FLOs so that you always have the support of the families as you do this. I don’t want it to look as though we are being intrusive on the victim when all we are doing is trying to hunt down a common denominator and find a killer before he finds himself any more victims to house FLOs with. If you’ve come over from another force area EMSOU, thank you. If you’re here from another division on temporary secondment, see DS Aaron Stone who will partner you up with someone and point you in the direction of Theresa, the HOLMES inputter, for actions.’
Aaron nodded as I pointed him out and a bunch of eager faces looked towards him. Ah, the uniform secondments. Usually a good bunch to have because they were always thrilled to be seconded to a homicide investigation and got on with their work really quickly and for some reason they loved to be wearing a suit to work. I think it was the novelty. Personally, I liked the days when I wore a uniform. You never had to think about what you were going to wear in a morning and never had to worry if your arse looked big in anything because it was known that it was going to look big in the awful uniform work trousers, but they were practical and robust for running about, throwing yourself about in and cleaning up in the washing machine.
‘As well as tying the victims to each other we need to progress the separate digoxin investigation. It looks as though we have a killer using digoxin as their weapon of choice and the most likely way of administering it is by product contamination. So far the victims have been spread out so we have a list of patients within Nottingham who are being prescribed digoxin and we need staff to research the names, see if any of the patients are known for violent offences, for making threats against people for any reason, and we also need staff to knock on doors, see how the patients are doing, make sure they are still taking their medication in as much as a police officer can make that kind of assessment.’
The room was silent. We had our work cut out for us.
40
1 month ago
The medicine was in the cupboard. Isaac thought he would move it before Connie saw it was gone. And also before she noticed them lined up and started crying again. For what they represented. The bottles of medicines that were to keep Em alive. The sole purpose of it being there in the cupboard. Chemicals in tablet format, created to keep her alive.
Failed.
Em would never take another again.
Isaac shook as he collected the bottles. Picking each bottle up delicately so as not to wake Connie, he wrapped his fingers around to dull the rattle of the residual tablets in their cool plastic casing. He pushed each bottle deep into his coat pocket and looked at the void in the cupboard where Em’s lifeline used to be.
The deep ache inside him threatened to erupt like an all-consuming monster, its claws ready to tear him apart from the inside out, his heart, emotion and tears, his lungs, the very breath torn savagely from him, the eruption leaving just the monster with no heart, no breath, nothing to care for.
The monster erupting would be angry beyond anything Isaac could imagine and vicious with it and that, he didn’t want Connie to see. He took what breath he could pull in and breathed as hard as he could and as deep as he could, into his lungs that hurt so much. He reached from his pocket, where his hand still rested, closed the door of the cupboard and took one last deep breath. The anger needed a release valve, but not at Connie’s expense. He knew what he had to do. He knew where the blame lay for this.
With another breath, much calmer and quieter now, Isaac walked out of the kitchen, picked up his car keys and headed out towards his allotment on Bessell Lane. His sanctuary.
A place he was safe and a place Connie was safe from.
41
The building that housed Curvet was large and bold, with clean lines and lots of glass. You could have been forgiven for thinking you were walking into a futuristic hotel, if it weren’t for the high level of security we’d had to pass through just to get through the front door. And that was as far as we’d made it so far.
This place was more secure than the police station, but with billions of pounds worth of secrets inside, it didn’t really surprise me. Up until this point I’d only ever really heard about pharmaceutical companies, yet here we were, Aaron and me, standing inside the pristine glass jar that was Curvet Pharmaceutical. The nearest company to us that produced digoxin, they were based on the outskirts of Derby. Away from other factories and workers, to keep themselves safe. There were a hell of a lot of drugs here that people would want to get their hands on. I wanted to talk to someone about their security protocols and also about any disgruntled employees they might have.
Above the reception desk hung a giant curved television screen preaching the gospel that was Curvet. What it could do for you. How it could heal you. How it supported the community it worked beside. How it was campaigning to shape the younger generation and how it was helping Third World countries with the medicines they produced. Watching their message, I could easily believe all the world’s problems could be helped by Curvet.
But, if this were true, then why were we not seeing more evidence of it? Aaron was patiently waiting for our meeting to start, not even watching the show that was being shown above the head of the well turned-out re
ceptionist.
‘Can I get either of you a drink?’ he asked, as if reading my thoughts.
‘Thank you. I’d love a tea, green if you have it.’
‘Of course. And you, officer?’ he asked of Aaron.
‘No, thank you. Can you tell us how long we’ll be waiting?’
‘A few minutes, I’m afraid. Mr Treadway took a call before you arrived, so you might want to have a seat.’
I ushered Aaron to the leather seating and dropped into the sofa that was more comfortable than the one I had at home.
Fifteen minutes later, we were five flights up and in the largest office I have ever been in. Treadway was a slim man who took his own health seriously from the look of him. I didn’t imagine it looked good if you ran a place like this and were the unhealthiest person here. The office space took up a good quarter of the side of the building. All the glass made it feel like we were sat outside. We were in the middle of an unusual run of hot sunny days and the air conditioning felt blissful against my face as I kept my suit jacket on.
‘How can I help?’ he asked.
I let him know about the digoxin deaths and asked if there was anything in his accident at work book that would cover something like this, to which he showed suitable horror. Treadway stated he had read about people dying but hadn’t realised it could be linked to his factory.
‘We can’t say for sure that it is; we’re only making enquiries at this point. You’re the closest pharmaceutical company to Notts that manufactures digoxin so it’s only wise that we come to speak to you.’
‘Of course.’
‘Can you show us your accident at work book?’ Aaron asked. ‘To see if there are any individuals who may have a grievance against the company.’ He clarified.
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