Purple Death

by Brian L. Porter

  Angela came into the room ten minutes later with a tray loaded with freshly buttered toast, strawberry jam on a plate with a knife for spreading it, and a pot of steaming hot coffee. She poured for both of them, put two teaspoonfuls of sugar in Mikey's mug, one in her own and then spread two slices of toast with the jam and placed them on a plate which she passed to Mikey.

  “Here we are, Mikey,” she said with a cheery smile on her face that Mikey would never see.

  “Thanks Sis,” Mikey replied.

  As he bit into the toast and tasted the sticky sweetness of the strawberry jam on his tongue his mind was only half concentrating on the breakfast that his sister had prepared for him. The other half was racing with the thought that had just come to him. There was a way to do what he thought needed to be done, but the big question was; could he do it in the time he had available to himself without giving himself away and thus compromising his promise to Mary, and, more importantly, giving her cause to lose her temper with him once again?

  Angela stared at her brother; he seemed to be a million miles away.

  “Is everything alright Mikey?” She asked with a hint of worry in her voice.

  “Is there something wrong with the toast?”

  “No, everything's fine,” Michael replied, snapping back to the reality of the moment.

  “I was only thinking Sis, just thinking, that's all.”

  The Face of a Killer?

  “I've got it Sir!” Tim Kelly literally burst into Connor's office without hesitating to knock.

  “Kelly?” said Connor, a look of surprise on his face as the young officer, realising his lack of decorum, stood a little sheepishly just inside the door, a piece of paper in his hand. Connor had been daydreaming a little, reliving yet another night of warmth and loving in the arms of Catherine Nickels. He could hardly believe his luck.

  Kelly regained his composure quickly and advanced towards the inspector, proffering the piece of paper as he did so.

  “The composite Sir, the picture photofit of The Chocolate Woman, here it is. Miss Reynolds was most helpful. She came in first thing this morning knowing how important it was to get this done for us.”

  Connor took the sheet of paper from Kelly's hand and stared long and hard at the image produced by the police artist in response to the receptionist's description. The face that stared back at him was of a woman of around forty years of age with shoulder-length hair of indeterminate colour, though Kelly had earlier stated that the receptionist had described it as ash-blonde, and with what seemed to Connor to be deeply sad eyes, peering out from beneath a fringe that touched upon her eyebrows. The mouth was soft, almost kindly in its appearance and the nose was small and added to the feeling that this was a friendly, warm and caring person, rather than the cold blooded killer they were seeking. If this was an image of the Chocolate Woman, and she was indeed the killer of at least three and maybe all four victims they knew about so far, then her looks certainly belied her ability to be ruthless and calculating in the delivery of her lethal cargoes.

  As Connor continued to stare at the image, Kelly spoke.

  “I particularly asked Miss Reynolds if she remembered anything else, as you requested, and she did recall one thing. It seems that the woman insisted on paying in advance for the room when she checked in, which is unusual, and she paid by cash. Miss Reynolds found that a little odd as most of the hotel's clients pay by credit card nowadays. Anyway, that wasn't really the big thing she remembered. She told me that when she asked the woman if she'd like an early morning call or if she wanted to place her breakfast order there and then, the woman said that she wouldn't be staying for breakfast because she had a train to catch and would be leaving very early. I know it's not much Sir, but I thought it might be significant. Oh yes, one more thing. I asked Miss Reynolds if she saw the woman leave the hotel but her own shift ended at midnight so she wasn't there in the morning. She'd taken the initiative and asked the receptionist who'd replaced her if she remembered seeing the woman in Room 14 leave and the answer was no.”

  “Well done Kelly. Seems like a clever and resourceful girl. It might be worth noting the train angle, it might even be an attempt to throw any trailing hounds like us off the scent if we got this close, but it's something to go on. We can check with the local station and see if anyone remembers a woman matching this description boarding a train on the morning of the deaths but it doesn't explain how she delivered the lethal doses of aconite to Gabriel, Remick and Tolliver if she'd already left town. You've done well though young Kelly. Now, off with you and see what else you can dig up for me.”

  “Yes sir. Thank you sir,” said Kelly as he departed from the office leaving Connor deep in thought.

  A short time later, Connor was joined by Lucy Clay and the two of them discussed the implications of the information Kelly had obtained from the hotel receptionist.

  “It's not a lot to go on Sir is it?”

  “Hardly anything at all Sergeant' Connor agreed. “But, for the time being, it's yet another very slender and tenuous lead, and so far that's all we've had to go on in this infernal bloody case. I don't mind telling you Lucy, I'm getting bloody frustrated at every turn with this one. We just don't seem to be getting anywhere.”

  “What about the receptionist Sir? Do you think her information is accurate and reliable?”

  “Well Lucy, let's face it. She hasn't really been able to tell us much at all, so I don't think she's been lying to us or making it up if that's what you mean. Kelly seems to have done a good job with her. I doubt there's much more she could have told us, and yes, I think she's probably as good a witness as we'll get. She's used to seeing people over the reception desk, and is probably quite good at reading body language and gestures if my own experience of hotel receptionists is anything to go by. I just hope her facial recognition skills are up to scratch and that this picture she's dictated to the artist is a relatively accurate representation of the woman we're after.”

  Lucy Clay thought for a moment, going over in her own mind the information Kelly had obtained and as related to her by Connor. Finally, a question that was also niggling at Connor came into her head and she asked her boss;

  “Do you really think she left town that morning sir?”

  “No Sergeant, I don't. I believe we're dealing with a very clever, very dubious character who knew that sooner or later we'd track her to that hotel, and who set up a convincing story with the hotel staff in order to throw us off the scent. I also believe that the woman in this picture had every intention of visiting the victims one by one to administer the aconite poison, and that she probably lives locally. This hotel prank was a clever blind to confuse us, that's what I believe. Listen Lucy, I want you to get a forensics team down to the hotel. I know it's probably too late to find anything of use but I want Room 14 at The Regency gone over with a fine tooth comb. There will certainly have been other guests in that room since The Chocolate Woman, but we can take steps to eliminate them from our inquiries if the search throws up any sort of trace evidence.”

  “I'm on my way Sir,” said Lucy, rising from her chair.

  “Another thing before you go,” said Connor

  “Yes Sir?”

  “On your way out send a couple of uniformed officers along to the railway station. We'd better check out the `train to catch' story just in case there's anything in it. Have them interview as many of the railway staff they can find who were on duty that morning. Get them to show copies of the photofit to them and let's see if anyone there does remember seeing the woman. It's a long shot, and I don't think it'll throw anything up, but we'd best not leave any stone unturned, if you know what I mean.”

  “Right you are Sir. I'll send Harcourt and Stoner, they're good men. They've been putting in lots of hours on this one sir. They really want to see the bastard caught.”

  “As do we all Sergeant,” said Connor as she made a move to depart.

  As she reached the door, she turned and addressed the inspector
before leaving.

  “Sir? We'll get him, I know we will.”

  Connor nodded.

  “You can bet your life on that Sergeant Clay.”

  “Oh, and Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “I do believe that's a trace of lipstick on your collar Sir. I thought you should know, you know Sir, just in case…”

  Connor blushed.

  The Mechanics of Murder

  Stopping only at the pre-arranged collection point to pick up her lethal box of aconite- laced treats, the Chocolate Woman made her way to the designated address in Guildford as per her instructions. As a believable representative of a major confectionery manufacturer complete with wig and fake identity card she had no trouble in convincing newsagent Arminder Patel of her credentials. When she explained that she was in the area to promote a new line in luxury chocolates, Mr Patel was at first dismissive of her sales pitch, assuming that the cost of the product would be too high in order for him to make a profit on the goods. He suggested that she try some of the larger independent retailers as she had explained that the large supermarket chains were already `on board' as she put it.

  When she informed him however that she was authorised to give him a month's supply of the new line completely free of charge, followed by a further month at half the normal wholesale price, his ears pricked up. He was almost hooked, but there was one final hurdle to overcome. Arminder Patel would never dream of accepting a new product without testing the goods for himself.

  “Of course, you must try them anyway, they're absolutely delicious,” said the woman, reaching into her briefcase and extracting what she described as her `sample box'.

  She offered the box to the newsagent, who saw that there were only three chocolates in the container.

  “I've had a busy morning,” she explained.

  The Chocolate Woman knew of course that all three of the chocolates were laced with a deadly infusion of aconite. It hardly mattered which one he took.

  “Mmm, excellent,” said Patel as the chocolate melted in his mouth, and he reached out and took another.

  Satisfied that her task had been completed successfully the woman now played out the last act of her impersonation, getting Patel to sign a `contract' for the supply of the new product. Arminder Patel signed on the dotted line and she took her leave of the doomed man with a cheery wave and a “Thank you so much, have a nice day Mr. Patel.”

  Driving at a steady pace so as not to draw any undue attention to herself she stopped only to follow her instructions and dispose of the one remaining chocolate. It was easy to melt the poisoned confection by simply opening the hood of the car and placing the chocolate on top of the hot engine block. A stroke of simple genius and the murder weapon was rendered instantly untraceable! Less than an hour after leaving Patel's Newsagents the Chocolate Woman pulled up on the drive outside her quiet suburban apartment home, switched off the engine of the old Volvo she'd owned for as long as she could remember and made her way into the house. A sound from above caused her head to turn and her eyes to cast their glance upwards. There in the lower branches of the birch tree that stood outside the front door of her home a blackbird was singing its cheerful song. She smiled, and she felt as though all was right with the world.

  Once inside the house she hung her coat on the hall stand and made her way upstairs to quickly change out of the pseudo sales reps' uniform and into something that would make her more recognisable as being herself. She could hear the sound of the radio or television coming from the sitting room, and new that he'd be sitting waiting for her when she came downstairs. She had no worries about him disturbing her. He'd never move from his chair until hunger got the better of him, and it was too early for lunch. She'd go in and see him when she'd changed but for now, she had her own priorities.

  In her bedroom she quickly divested herself of the jacket, blouse and skirt that had been her disguise for the morning, hung them neatly in her wardrobe and then she dressed in a simple lightweight grey polo-neck sweater and black sports pants. She looked at herself in the mirror. She thought she looked quite attractive, but there was one last job that had to be done in order to eradicate the visual persona of the killer who had visited Mr Patel that morning. It took less than five minutes to remove the make-up and to return to being what she usually appeared to be; ordinary and anonymous, just the way she wanted it to look.

  She padded down the stars in her stocking feet and pushed the door to the sitting room open. He was listening to the radio, his back towards her and the volume of the music turned up quite loud. She doubted that he'd even heard her come back into the house. She walked up close behind him and reached out to touch him on the shoulder. He jumped at her touch, then realised it was her and turned down the volume on his hand-held radio.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in.” She already knew that.

  “That's ok, I'm home now. Can I get you anything?”

  “A cup of tea would be nice.”

  “Right then, a cup of teas it is,” she said cheerfully.

  “Did your shopping trip go well? Did you get everything you wanted?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” she replied. “I got everything I wanted.”

  As the kettle began to sing as it came to the boil in the tidy suburban apartment in the tree lined avenue and the chink of spoons on crockery signalled the making of the traditional English pick-me-up, thirty miles away the sound of sirens signalled the arrival of the police and ambulance services at the premises owned by Arminder Patel. They'd been summoned by a customer of the newsagent's who'd discovered the unfortunate owner gasping for breath and writhing in agony on the floor of his shop. The police were the first to arrive, and the paramedics were only a minute or so behind them in screeching to a halt outside the shop.

  They were both too late. Arminder Patel took his final breath as two uniformed police officers walked through the door to his shop. There was little or nothing for the paramedics to do though they tried everything at their disposal to try to facilitate a heartbeat from the hideously contorted body that now lay still, the throes of death having left Arminder Patel curled in a foetal position, his knees drawn up and almost touching his chin. As they placed his body in the back of the ambulance and left the scene of Patel's recent losing battle with the grim reaper, back in the home of the Chocolate Woman the door to the sitting room opened wide as she entered the room once again.

  “Tea's ready,” she trilled happily.

  New Plans

  “In conclusion, the subject is a twenty-two year old male in good physical condition, no evidence of disease present. Giles Temple was the victim of a Road Traffic accident (RTA) and was pronounced dead at the scene by the attending emergency doctor. Cause of death was multiple traumas to the head and torso consistent with an RTA. There were four separate fractures of the skull evident and the subject had suffered a massive cerebral haemorrhage. There was also damage to the liver, spleen and multiple rib fractures, a fractured pelvis and both legs had suffered compound fractures both above and below the knee. Traces of a controlled Class A drug, namely heroin, were present in the body in ample amounts to have caused the subject to suffer from impairment of judgement and brain functions which in my opinion would in themselves be sufficient to have been a contributory cause of the accident in which the subject was reportedly the driver and only occupant of the vehicle”

  Catherine Nickels clicked off the overhead microphone which recorded her words as she carried out her work from day to day. Assisted by Gunther she wheeled the remains of the unfortunate Giles Temple to the cold room and slid the body into its temporary resting place. After divesting herself of her `scrubs', the green working gown that constituted her daily work apparel, she washed up and made her way back to her office.

  Sitting at her desk she ruminated for a minute on the sheer wastefulness of life that she had to contend with every day. The young man she'd just autopsied had been in the prime of life, barely out of his teens and should ha
ve been looking forward to a long and productive life. Instead, thanks to the use of the drugs that were such an invidious blight on modern society his recently warm and vibrant body was now a cold and lifeless shell lying in a mortuary cold room and his parents would mourn forever the loss of their son.

  As she shook herself from her thoughts on the folly of youth Catherine's thoughts turned to the subject that had occupied most of her morning before she'd paused them in order to carry out her examination of Giles Temple's remains. She knew that Sean Connor was becoming bogged down by the case of the aconite poisoner and she'd thought of a way that she might possibly help him in his search for answers. She made a decision and reached for the telephone.

  Doctor Gary Hudson was surprised to receive the call from his counterpart in Richmond. Catherine had received a copy of his report on the examination of the body of David Arnold, which Charles Carrick had brought with him when he'd visited Connor, and Gary Hudson at first presumed that the report was the reason for her call. Perhaps she wanted to compare notes.

  “No, actually Doctor Hudson, it's not that at all,” she said, when he asked her if that was indeed the reason for her call.

  “Please call me Gary,” he replied. “You have me intrigued, Doctor. What can I do for you?”

  “You'd better call me Catherine then Gary. Actually, I wanted to discuss the use of aconite with you in more detail.”

  “Go on,” said Hudson, wondering just where Catherine was about to lead him.

  “Well, I've been thinking. Whoever is behind this obviously has a degree of pharmaceutical knowledge, yes?”

  “Agreed,” said Hudson.

  “OK. The police are working on the theory that one of the victims, possibly Judge Tolliver is the key to the solution of the case. They think he may have been involved in a case that left someone with a grudge against him though they've yet to find any connection between the judge and the other victims.”