Purple Death

by Brian L. Porter

  A blue Ford Mondeo pulled up in the car park and Sean Connor watched as his assistant extricated herself from the vehicle and began walking towards the main entrance to the station. Sergeant Lucy Clay waved a cheery greeting to another officer who passed her on her way in; it was another sergeant, Peter Newell, who Connor had worked with on a previous case. “Good man”, he thought to himself. In less than two minutes a knock on his door was followed by the person of Lucy Clay, who smiled a cheerful greeting at her boss as she walked into the room and sat in the visitor's chair directly opposite Connor. Her skirt was almost the same colour as a picture Catherine had shown him of the purple monkshood plant, topped off by a pale blue shirt-style blouse. She looked very hot and flustered. Connor resisted the temptation to comment on her choice of colour scheme for her outfit.

  “It's bloody hot out there Sir,” she gasped as she fanned herself with the grey manila file that she held in her right hand.

  “Come in and sit down Sergeant Clay, why don't you?” said Connor in amusement at Lucy's very `forward' entrance, and use of the chair.

  “What? Oh yes, sorry Sir, but listen, it's so hot, and I've been rushing about all morning trying to get this information, and anyway here it is, and I thought you'd want it as soon as possible.”

  “Right, yes, well, what information are we talking about exactly, Sergeant?”

  “Aconite Sir! We know of course that it's a poison. We know that it was used to kill people. We also know that they died pretty horribly, but the one thing we don't know is just how the aconite got into their systems. They were all different people from different backgrounds, and in different places so we can assume that they didn't all ingest it from some common source, right?”

  “My, you have been busy haven't you Sergeant? Come on Lucy, where is all this heading? What have you got in that folder in your sweaty little hand?”

  “Well, I thought that in order to find out how the aconite got into their systems we might need the help of an expert on the subject. I talked to Doctor Nickels, and she's good but even she couldn't answer the big question. She did however give me the name of someone who might be able to help, and hey presto! I made a couple of calls to the National Police Forensic and Toxicology Lab in Oxford and the senior toxicologist there gave me the name of the world's foremost expert in the toxicology of certain plant based alkalis who just happens to live in this country. I pulled all the information I could get on the guy from the police national computer system and even more info from a search on the internet, (that's mostly what's in this file), and then I called the professor at his home. He works from his own lab in the basement of his house, would you believe? But anyway, he's agreed to see me this afternoon, and with a bit of luck we might just find out how the aconite could possibly have been given to three separate people in three separate places, presumably all at around the same time, and in three different locations.”

  “You're a bloody genius Lucy. Well thought out. Just who is this genius by the way?”

  “Professor Simon Medwin, Sir. He's Australian apparently, but seems to have spent most of his life either in this country or the USA. Seems his research is more appreciated here than anywhere else.”

  “When you said you were seeing him this afternoon, I have to presume that he lives not too far away from here?

  “That's the spooky thing Sir. He lives right here! His house is just outside town, less than ten miles from where we're sitting right now.”

  “That's too much of a coincidence Lucy, surely. We get three murders in one day, all from aconite poisoning, two of them here in town and the world's leading expert on the bloody stuff has a private laboratory right where it's all happening? Something tells me that Professor Medwin has just jumped to the top of our list of suspects. Well, to be fair he's our only suspect.”

  “That's what I thought, but according to the Senor Toxicologist at the National Police Lab, Medwin is unimpeachable. He's helped the police out on a number of occasions in the past all over the country and there's no way he could be involved in the murders.”

  “No one's that unimpeachable Lucy. What time are you seeing him?”

  “Three o'clock. I thought you might want to come and lead the interview?”

  “Hey, no Sergeant. This was your idea. You tracked him down, so you follow it up for now. You talk to him. See what you can find out. If you think there's anything worth following up I can jump on the bandwagon later. Let him think he's our only hope of solving the case. Lead him on a bit. See if you think he might be hiding something. Use those instincts of yours Lucy. Heaven knows we need a break. Professor Medwin might just be it!”

  Clay left Connor's office feeling rather pleased with herself. She'd used a large slice of initiative and it appeared to have paid off. Whether Professor Simon Medwin proved to be a viable suspect or simply as she'd thought at first a great source of professional assistance she knew that Connor was pleased with her work that morning and that meant a lot to Lucy Clay. When she'd been selected by Connor for the post of his assistant there'd been a few raised eyebrows amongst a small minority of the older and more experienced officers at the station but Connor had insisted she was the sergeant he wanted. She'd worked under Connor on a couple of previous murder investigations and he'd been impressed by her work, hence the role she now filled within the local Criminal Investigation Division.

  As she prepared a few notes for her meeting with Simon Medwin and as Sean Connor left the building for a working lunch with his own boss, Detective Chief Inspector Harry Lewis, the one thing that no-one wanted to happen, happened. That twist, the aforementioned proverbial kick in the backside that had been waiting to jump up and surprise them all took place less than five miles from Richmond Central Police Station, and less than five miles from the home of Professor Simon Medwin.

  At the beautiful Georgian-style house known as `Badgers Holt' situated on a leafy lane that no-one could possibly connect with heinous murder eighty-five year old retired High Court Judge Nathan Tolliver had just finished his lunch, served to him by Henry, his faithful manservant of many years, when he suddenly complained of a tingling sensation in his mouth and lips. As Henry tried his best to help his employer the burning sensations and the numbness arrived to ravage the old man's age-weakened body and as Henry, in fear and panic dialled 999 on the telephone, Judge Tolliver jerked in one last violent spasm and expired on the dining room floor, his coffee still warm and untouched where Henry had placed it less than ten minutes before.

  The poisoner had claimed his or her first high-profile victim and, rightly or wrongly Connor and Carrick would soon begin to feel a mounting pressure from quarters hitherto silent in the affair.

  As he drove to his lunch with Harry Lewis at The Swan and Anchor hotel, Connor heard the screeching sound of an ambulance siren heading for an unknown destination in the opposite direction.

  “Not for me this time,” he thought to himself.

  Of course, he was wrong.

  Going Nowhere, Running Backwards

  Connor's pager sounded less than ten minutes after he'd sat down to a lunch of tuna salad and cold beer with Chief Inspector Lewis, who'd been out of the office all morning but who wanted Connor to brief him on the case over lunch. He'd immediately called the station to be informed by Lucy Clay that a report had been received which indicated that Judge Nathan Tolliver, retired, had just been reported as having died suddenly at his home. The responding officers, being well aware of the poisoning cases currently under investigation had immediately informed their senior officer on being appraised of the circumstances of the judge's last minutes on Earth by Henry DeVere, the judge's manservant. Their boss, Inspector Maurice Black had immediately called Connor's office: Lucy had responded to the call and now Connor's lunch was about to be curtailed before he'd barely managed to raise his glass to his lips.

  Detective Chief Inspector Lewis was aghast at the latest development in the case and insisted that Connor go immediately to the scene, which of co
urse he would have done anyway.

  The sight that met his eyes when he walked into the judge's dining room was one of apparent mayhem. Food and plates were strewn across the floor and the table and it was obvious that old Judge Tolliver had flailed around in panic as the effects of the poison had taken hold. The body itself was still exactly where the victim had fallen and come to rest at the moment of death. The two officers who'd responded to the emergency call, Sergeant Beresford and Constable Lee had acted with all due caution and strictly in accordance with procedures. Nothing had been moved and no-one had been allowed to touch the body so far with the exception of the paramedics who'd first answered the 999 emergency call, and the police doctor who'd arrived at the scene only minutes before Connor.

  Sean was impressed by the efficiency of the two uniformed officers and made a note of their names for future reference. One never knew when one might need a good man on one's team, and these appeared to be two very good officers by Connor's reckoning.

  Tolliver's body lay at a grotesquely unnatural angle, his head and neck seemingly at odds with the position of the torso and legs. His fists were clenched as though in a spasm of great pain, and his shoulders appeared hunched into his body. Sean Connor had no doubt that the judge's death had not been a pleasant one, if indeed any death could ever be described as pleasant. This was different though. The old man, who could surely have done no harm to anyone in his advanced state of years had been subjected to a painful and horrific last few minutes on the planet and no-one, Connor believed, deserved to meet with such a fate. Lucy Clay was in the sitting room talking to Henry DeVere and after ascertaining all he could from his initial examination of the death scene, Connor decided to join her in the less oppressive surroundings in which she was now conducting her interview with the judge's manservant.

  He nodded to Lucy as he entered the room. She rose from her seat and introduced Connor to Henry DeVere, who struck the detective as being an archetypal manservant. Strong of build, with a military bearing, possibly an ex-guardsman, and fiercely loyal to his employer, Henry DeVere looked crestfallen and in deep shock as he shook the hand of the detective inspector. Connor bade him to sit once again and also asked Lucy to continue the interview. He would simply sit in and listen.

  As he listened, Connor felt as though he were listening to his own previous interview with Lawrence Betts, the employer of the first victim Sam Gabriel. DeVere could think of no-one with a reason to do the judge any harm and no, he hadn't received any threatening phone calls or letters recently, that DeVere knew of, and no, the judge hadn't expressed any fears or worries to his faithful manservant who, it transpired was indeed an ex-Coldstream guardsman, and who had served the judge for over ten years, becoming more of a friend than a servant to his employer. He'd left the house for about an hour that morning to go shopping, but apart from that he'd spent all day up to the time of his death with the judge. Henry DeVere was most insulted when asked if he might know whether he was a beneficiary in Tolliver's will. He had no idea if the judge had left him anything and was appalled that the detective could even think that any such bequest if it existed, could have provided him with a motive for murdering his employer. Henry DeVere was clever enough to know what Connor had been hinting at. Connor apologised to the man whilst at the same time reminding him that a murder had most likely been committed and that it was his job to apprehend whoever had done this terrible thing and that meant that everyone close to the judge had to be scrutinised and eliminated from his enquiries in order to narrow the list of suspects down.

  Henry DeVere calmed down. He wanted to see the killer caught and promised to do all he could to help the police. Truth be told however, neither Clay nor Connor felt that there was much that DeVere could tell them that would be of help in finding the murderer of Judge Tolliver. As with all the other victims, this one had no known enemies, though a retired judge certainly might have enemies they didn't know about yet, and though they couldn't be sure as yet, Connor suspected that the judge neither knew nor had any connection to the three earlier victims.

  After dismissing DeVere, who left to try and busy himself in the kitchen, Connor turned to his sergeant and asked: “Well, Lucy, what do you think of it so far?”

  “Shit, Sir. That's what I think. We're getting nowhere fast, almost running backwards in fact. We've got nothing to connect the victims, and not a single idea of motive or even a hint of a suspect.”

  “Ah, that's unless you count your professor of poisons or whatever he is, who you're seeing this afternoon. By the way, I hope you realise you're going to be late for that appointment now that this has happened?”

  “Don't worry. I called him as soon as I got the call to come here. I told him I'd likely be delayed, and he said he'd be at home all day so there was no need to worry about what time I arrived. You don't seriously suspect Professor Medwin do you Sir?”

  “I don't know what to think Lucy, and that's the truth. Maybe we'll know more once you've spoken to him.”

  “You know, we really don't know for sure that the judge died from aconite poisoning yet. This could be unconnected with the other deaths for all we know.”

  “Do you really think that Sergeant? I think that would be stretching coincidence a little too far. I know we have to wait for the post-mortem to confirm it but I'm almost a hundred percent certain that Judge Tolliver is the fourth victim of our phantom poisoner.”

  “I know Sir, so am I, but I just thought I'd mention the possibility of natural or some other cause of death.”

  “Quite right too Lucy, but no, I've no doubt that this is another victim. I'm going to have a closer look around and then let you get off to your meeting with Medwin. Then I'd better ring Charles Carrick and let him know what's happened. Hell, the poor guy hasn't even got here yet and we've got another body on the mortuary slab. This is getting to be like murder city Sergeant and I tell you, I don't like it, not one little bit. Go on, find out what you can from the Professor, we need something more tangible to go on. We have to know how the poison is being administered for one thing, and then we might at least know where to start looking for our murderer.”

  Sean Connor made a brief but thorough search of the murder scene, neither expecting nor actually finding anything to help his investigation. Lucy Clay set off for the home of Professor Medwin and the paramedics placed the body of the unfortunate judge in a body bag and reverently and respectfully carried the body out of the house and into the waiting ambulance. From there they drove the short distance to the mortuary where Catherine Nickels would once again find herself getting up close and personal with the aftermath of the aconite poisoner's handiwork.

  Connor eventually returned to his office from where he called Charles Carrick. The West Midlands detective was surprised to be told of yet another victim in Richmond. He concurred with Connor that things were rapidly getting out of hand, then told him that his own investigation had thrown up precisely nothing in the way of leads or suspects, much the same as Connor's inquiries. Carrick promised to be in Richmond as early as he could the next day and wished Connor a good evening before the two men hung up on each other and then, in their respective offices miles apart from each other both men independently first buried their heads in their hands, scratched their heads in a vain search for inspiration, and then rose from their desks and headed for their respective police canteens where they both felt in need of strong coffee and something to fill the increasingly large voids that had developed in their stomachs.

  An hour later, having gorged himself on coffee and three large cream cakes Sean Connor returned to his office to await the return of his sergeant with her report on her meeting with Professor Medwin. Chief Inspector Lewis came to his office as he sat rifling through his notes on the case so far but there was little that Connor could tell his boss. He promised Lewis that he'd give him regular updates on the case but that there could be very little to report until Lucy Clay filed her report on the meeting with Medwin and until Connor had held his con
ference with the detective from Birmingham the following morning.

  Meanwhile the local newshounds had had their ears so close to the ground that the death of Judge Tolliver had made the four o'clock radio news bulleting. Without waiting for confirmation from either the police or the coroner, the news hacks were already ascribing the judge's death to the same killer who had poisoned the earlier victims.

  From his position of rest on the chintz sofa in the sitting room of his home Michael Stride heard the news report on the death of the judge and his sightless eyes could suddenly see the events from all those years ago or at least, that's how it felt. Of course, it was all in his mind. Michael knew that. The sound of the boiling kettle in the kitchen broke into his dark and private world and his sister's cheerful voice called out: `Won't be long Mikey. Tea's ready!”

  As the door creaked a little on opening and Angela walked into the room with two steaming cups of tea and a plate of biscuits on a tray, Michael Stride put all thoughts of the past to the back of his mind. After all, such things were safest there.

  Haunting Memories

  Far from leaving the station and going home to enjoy a quiet evening at home, it was always quiet since the divorce, Connor decided to pay a visit to the widow of Sam Gabriel. Someone, somewhere had to know something that would lead him to a connection between the victims, and there was a connection, of that he was sure. Perhaps the families of the victims didn't know or realise what linked them, but if he probed deep enough Connor was sure that someone would volunteer that vital spark, the piece of information or evidence that may be so small in itself, but which would provide him with the kick-start his investigation needed.