“So where do we come in Catherine?” asked Hudson.
“It's just this,” said Catherine. “The use of aconite as a poison is rare, as we both know. The police are doing their best, but there's no certainty that any of the judge's cases actually involved aconite itself. It may simply be the chosen weapon of the killer.”
“I see what you mean.”
Hudson was beginning to follow Catherine's reasoning and he had a good idea where she was going with her theory. Her next words confirmed his thoughts.
“You and I have access to a vast database of medical records, both past and present. What if we could find any instance of the mention of aconite in the post-mortem records on either our own databases or in the recorded files of forensic history for the past, say, twenty or thirty years?”
“You're saying that the police might not be looking in the right place?”
“What I'm saying Gary, is that if we can find reference to aconite being present in any quantities whatsoever in the forensic records or in the historical files, we might be able to give the police a second line of inquiry to open up.”
“And of course,” said Hudson, “we have access not only to criminal files but to those involving accidental exposure to the poison,”
“Or suicides,” she went on.
“But surely the police will be looking into all that anyway,” said Hudson.
“The police,” Catherine went on, “are looking for a connection between aconite and the murderer. What I'm saying Gary, is that there could be a connection between aconite and the victims, from a source and in a way that the police haven't even thought of yet.”
“That's a wild theory if you ask me Catherine,” he replied a little dubiously. He wasn't sure if Catherine was on the right track and whether he and she were the people to be looking into this new avenue she'd opened up.
“Why don't you just pass your idea along to the inspector in charge at your end and let him take it up?”
“I intend to do that as well Gary, but he's got enough on his plate just now trying to connect all the parts of the case together. I don't think he'd have the time or the manpower available to him to open up another line of inquiry until he's exhausted the current ones. As I've already said, you and I might just be able to access information that the police can't get to yet, and we can do it without breaking any ethical rules.”
Gary Hudson knew that Catherine was right. Unlike a doctor-patient relationship there was no code of confidentiality between a pathologist and a corpse. Whatever findings someone like Catherine or Gary ascertained in the course of their work automatically became a matter of public record. Between them, they also had access to records and information that wouldn't appear on any police computer. Medical journals contained much that would be of interest to the medical community without ever being of the slightest use to the police, and that in itself suddenly gave Gary Hudson an idea, as his earlier scepticism towards Catherine's theory evaporated.
“I've thought of something we could do.”
“Go on Gary,” said Catherine, pleased that her colleague in Birmingham now appeared to be on board wither in the cause.
“Why don't we compile a sort of history of aconite and it's applications during the last, say fifty years?” he said. “It could throw up all sorts of things that we or the police might be able to connect to the victims, or their families, and might even lead to a clue as to the killer's identity. It needn't be as comprehensive as a full blown medical paper but I'm sure between us we could put something together in a short space of time.”
“Excellent” Catherine exclaimed. “How do you want to do it?”
“Easy,” Hudson replied. You start with medical journals and I'll start with case histories. Using our computers and the internet it shouldn't take too long; maybe two or three days to put a decent report together.”
“You're on,” Catherine replied enthusiastically.
“In the meantime if the police solve the case and catch the killer all well and good, and if not then we give them what we manage to find. It might be that one of us hits on something sooner rather than later and then we can go straight to the police with our findings.”
The two pathologists spent another five minutes putting their plan together, then after agreeing to keep in touch at least twice a day with progress reports, they said their goodbyes and went about their daily business.
Gary Hudson was pleased that Catherine Nickels had called him. After all, she could have done this on her own but she'd taken the time and trouble to invite him `on board' as she put it. He was glad to help. The task of autopsying David Arnold had left a bad taste in his mouth. No-one should have to die as that poor man had done and Hudson was now determined to do all he could to help both Catherine and the police, if he could, in any way he could. In addition, preparing the paper would be a good academic exercise, and he looked forward to seeing what they would discover together.
Catherine Nickels allowed herself a moment or two to bask in a brief moment of triumph. She was delighted that Doctor Hudson had joined her in her desire to help and assist the police case. She couldn't have told Hudson of course that she particularly wanted to help Connor because she was involved in a romantic entanglement with the detective, but anyway, that hadn't been necessary.
Although he didn't know it Sean Connor now had an additional team at work in his efforts to catch the aconite poisoner. Catherine wanted to keep it that way until she and Hudson found something worth reporting to the police.
Before she had time to access her computer in order to begin her search for information she was interrupted by a knock on her door.
Gunther entered with a worried expression on his face.
“What is it Gunther?” she asked seeing the lines on his forehead and realising that something bad must have happened.
“Catherine, please come. We have a new arrival, a local newsagent, and by the look of it we have another aconite poisoning to deal with.”
Catherine nearly jumped up from behind her desk, scattering papers as she left the room, and less than five minutes later she found herself face to face with the mortal remains of Arminder Patel. For now, her research would have to wait. She had a post-mortem to perform.
Slow Progress
Connor was becoming depressed. It had been four days since the series of murders had begun, and twenty four hours since Catherine Nickels had confirmed that Arminder Patel had become the latest victim of the poisoner and no real progress had been made.
The search of the room assumed to have been recently occupied by The Chocolate Woman at the Regency Hotel had thrown up nothing of forensic value. Apart from the fact that three other people had stayed in the room since the suspect, it had been cleaned on a daily basis by the staff and was therefore devoid of anything useful to the police. Any trace evidence that might have been present would have been totally corrupted by the time the police forensic squad got there.
Little or nothing had turned up from the Birmingham end of the investigation. Charles Carrick had been wholeheartedly apologetic during their last conversation. Connor wasn't surprised. After all, David Arnold had no actual connection with Birmingham. It was pure chance that he'd died as his train had pulled into the station there, or had it? That was something that Connor would ask Carrick to look into. Perhaps the killer wanted the engine driver to expire at exactly the time he had done. Maybe Birmingham held some significance for the killer. He didn't know how Carrick and Cole could establish such a link without greater knowledge of the killer's motives, but it would help to know if David Arnold or any of his family had any connection with the city, either currently or historically.
As for the checks on the judge's case histories, that was still an ongoing task for the team of uniformed and plain clothes officers at work just yards from where Connor sat contemplating the case in his office. He'd check with them in a minute or two, but before leaving his office he picked up the phone and called Catherine. He hadn't s
een her off duty for two days. She'd been so busy at work that she'd been worn out by the time she'd got home and had apologised but had told him that she needed to rest. Connor understood and had noticed a worn and tired look on her face when he'd seen her at the mortuary the previous day. He didn't know of course about her joint investigation with Gary Hudson or that she was staying up late at night, her fingers dancing over the keys of her computer as she searched the internet and made copious notes of the results of her endeavours.
Pleased to find her available and delighted when she accepted his invitation to dine at his house that evening, Connor felt a little less depressed as he made his way into the main open-plan office and walked across to a computer terminal where Lucy Clay was standing huddled over the shoulder of an officer who was operating the mouse and scrolling information down the screen of his terminal.
Sensing his approach, Lucy turned and greeted him with a smile.
“Hello Sir.”
“Sergeant,” he replied. “Anything yet?”
“No Sir, sorry. We've been through every case the judge was involved in for the last twenty years, and there's no mention of aconite in any of them. Not only that, but he didn't preside over a single case of poisoning of any kind during that time. We haven't been able to tie in any of the other victims or their families with any of those cases either.”
“Like we agreed the other day Lucy, the connection may have nothing to do with aconite poisoning. That might just be the killer's own way of despatching his or her victims. What we have to look for is a case that somehow ties all the current events together. Now that we have Mr Patel on the list of victims the net is suddenly that much bigger. The killer may not realise it but the more people he or she kills the greater the chances are that we'll make the connection we need to nail this murdering bastard. I just hope we can do it before anyone else dies.”
“So what do you suggest we do, Sir?”
“If you've exhausted the last twenty years without anything turning up or even looking promising then I suggest you go back another ten years, and then another ten and so on until we do find something. It's there somewhere Lucy, I know it is. We just need to find it, and soon”
“Right Sir. Come on John, you heard the Boss,” she said to the constable seated at the computer.”
“OK Sarge,” replied the young officer as his fingers instantly began their incessant dance across the keyboard in search of the information that just might help to crack the case.
Lucy Clay turned to face Connor.
“What will you be doing while we're here sir?”
“I'm going to see the manservant at Judge Tolliver's house again Lucy. He was with the judge for a long time. It's just possible that he knows something that even he doesn't see as relevant or important in respect of the judge's murder. I need to know more about the judge's personal background as well as his legal one.”
“Are you thinking this could be more of a private out of court personal vendetta rather than one to do with a trial case?”
“I don't know Lucy. I'm just not sure we're on the right track, and talking with DeVere might just convince me one way or the other. We've gone through all the papers at the judge's house. You and the others have checked God knows how many case histories here, and we're still no nearer to finding a connection between the judge, the other victims and the killer's possible motive. Unless this business relates to something that happened even further back in time then it has to be something unrelated to the court records. Maybe it's really focussed on one of the others and not on the judge. He could have been a peripheral figure in all this. I really don't know, and I bloody well want to know.”
“It's a funny thing you know, Sir. You just mentioned going back even further in time. Well, when we interviewed his friends and neighbours following Mr Patel's murder, one of his neighbours told me that the Patel family moved to this country just over forty five years ago when Arminder Patel was a little boy. What could he possibly have been involved in that far back that would put him on some present day death list?”
“Unless it wasn't to do with him directly, Sergeant. Maybe it was his father, grandfather, or someone else from his family's past as could be the case with all of the victims, including the judge.”
“Good Lord, Sir! That certainly doesn't help to narrow the field down does it?”
“No, I'm afraid it doesn't, but we have to start looking at this from every angle, no matter how unusual or unlikely.”
“Right Sir, I'll get on it then. I hope you have a bit of success with Mr DeVere.”
“Me too, Lucy. See you later.”
Connor was gone before Lucy could say another word. She shrugged her shoulders, looked back into the room where the team were hard at work and called to the young officer with whom she'd been working before Connor's arrival.
“John, I want you to check into something for me.”
Mary's Homecoming
Mary Stride breezed through the front door of the house she shared with her brother and sister. Everything was quiet, unusually so, and Mary wondered where the others were.
“Hello there,” she called out.
No answer. She tried again.
“Mikey? Angela? Anyone there?”
Mary was unnerved by the silence that greeted her calls. The house was normally a hive of activity whenever Angela was present and Mikey would invariably have the radio or television switched on if he was sitting alone. He couldn't see the TV screen but he enjoyed listening to a lot of the programmes, particularly the news and documentaries. Something was wrong. It had to be. All of Mary's good humour disappeared to be replaced by a sense of urgency and dread. What if something had happened to Mikey and Angela had had to take him to the hospital? No, it couldn't be that or Angela would have rung her to tell her.
Mary knew that Mikey had no scheduled medical appointments so there was no reason why both he and Angela should be missing from the house. Not only that but Angela was due to be at home all day and would never have gone out and left Mikey alone, so wherever the two of them were, they had to be together. For a moment Mary half believed that Mikey had convinced Angela to take him to the police station to reveal what he thought the police should know, but then Mary thought better of that idea. No, Mikey had promised to drop the subject, they'd kissed and made up, it was over with. Despite her uncomfortable feeling when in close physical proximity to her brother, Mary loved him and she knew he loved her back and the Strides never went back on promises to each other
All of Mary's instincts told her that there was something very out of kilter in the neat but apparently deserted house. She walked into each of the downstairs rooms and then out into the back garden, again finding no sign of her brother and sister. She walked slowly back into the house and called out again, receiving only the sound of silence in return.
She paused with her hand on the wooden moulding at the bottom of the stair rail, her head slightly on one side, listening. Hearing no sound from upstairs she slowly began to make her way up the stairs, the creaking of the fourth step making her jump, even though she'd heard it so many times before.
“Get a grip on yourself, girl,” she said aloud to herself, and carried on to the top until she reached the first floor landing. The rear bedroom was hers. She preferred the peace it afforded from the sounds of passing traffic and she popped her head round the door to confirm that it was empty. It was. By-passing the bathroom Mary next moved to the door of Mikey's room, the largest bedroom in the house, which she and Angela had made sure was specially adapted to help cope with his disabilities. As she pushed the door open slowly, she first sensed, and then saw the horrific sight that met her eyes.
Michael Stride lay on his bed, curled up into a grotesque parody of a foetal position. His eyes were open and betrayed the horror of his last moments. Michael couldn't see while he was alive but it was as if in death his eyes, having witnessed the final horror of those final painful moments, had left an imprint of terror on th
e useless pupils that would live with Mary for ever.
Close by, on the floor beside Michael's bed lay the body of her sister. Angela too was curled into that awful crouch, and Mary couldn't help but notice that her right arm and hand was extended as though she were reaching out to Mikey, trying even with her last breath perhaps, to help the brother she adored.
Mary's legs felt weak, she barely knew what she was doing as, almost as though she were an automaton, she shakily walked first to the bed where she reached out a trembling hand to check for a pulse in her brother's neck and, finding none, she repeated the procedure with her sister. They were both dead, which she'd already known of course just by looking at them both. She couldn't help herself. Suddenly she no longer felt any repulsion at being close to Mikey. Mary reached out again, this time with both arms and she tenderly took her brother's lifeless body in her arms and hugged him, sobbing as she did so, until her tears fell and splashed onto his face.
A full minute passed and Mary suddenly realised that she could be compromising any police investigation into Mikey's death. Knowing this, she simply replaced him as she'd found him and moved to Angela who she gently kissed on the forehead, her face now a mask of tears.
Unable to cope with the horror of her discovery Doctor Mary Stride ran from the room. She didn't need to examine the two of them closely to know that they had been dead for some time before she'd arrived home. She almost fell down the last five stairs and at the bottom she paused for a few seconds in the hallway, trying to gather her thoughts and her breath.
Her professional brain needed to kick in, to take charge of the situation and she knew she had to control her emotions. Touch nothing in the house; make sure nothing was missing, and call the police. Yes, of course, she must call the police! Pulling herself together Mary remembered not to touch anything, not even the telephone. Instead she reached into her handbag which still stood on the hallstand where she'd left it when she'd arrived home only a few minutes earlier and removed her mobile phone.
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