“My mother believed him at last Inspector Connor, but it was too late. She realised that he'd been telling her the truth all along and believed that she'd been partly responsible for his death. She felt as though she'd driven him to suicide and she couldn't live with that knowledge. She was an intelligent woman Inspector, she worked part-time for Jordan's Pharmaceuticals as a research and development assistant. She worked with highly dangerous poisons every day of her working life, and three weeks after my father's death she came home armed with a phial of refined aconite poison and took the lot in a goblet of brandy.”
Mary Stride paused for effect as the significance of the word `aconite' sank in to the police officers' brains, and then continued.
“Unfortunately for her my brother, who was sadly born with only one leg, was sent home from school early that day as he was unwell, and as he was pushed, in his wheelchair, into the house by the teacher who'd brought him home they heard the sounds of my mother's death throes from the sitting room. As the teacher wheeled Mikey into the room to see what was happening they came face to face with my mother in her agonised contortions and her final and terrible fight for breath as the poison did its dreadful work. My mother had chosen to die that way Inspector, probably as her own punishment for what she thought she'd driven my father to, but she never intended Mikey to see what he saw that day, I know she didn't. Mikey's brain just couldn't cope with it Inspector, he was only nine years old and his mind dealt with the trauma in the only way it could. It shut off his vision, his eyes. He was literally struck blind by what he'd seen and experienced. The doctors at the time said that the blindness might be temporary but it stayed with him for the rest of his life. That awful day was thirty three years ago. Do you understand now when I tell you that my family has suffered enough? Can't you see why I didn't want Mikey to call you?”
“I can see the suffering, yes,” said Connor. “But I don't see what it has to do with today, or why your brother thought there was a connection between then and now.”
“Of course, I haven't finished yet. You remember I told you that someone else was convicted of the murder of William Prentice. His name was Stanley Miller and he looked a lot like my father, so I know why the police at first thought my father might have been the murderer. Like my father, Miller always protested his innocence of the murder, but he never saw his name cleared. He was attacked and murdered himself by a fellow convict who thought to make a name for himself. His wife Fiona carried on the fight to clear him however, and she succeeded in getting the conviction overturned a year after his death.”
“I still don't see…”
“Wait, please Inspector, I'm coming to it. After Miller was cleared the case was reopened but no-one was ever arrested or convicted for the murder of William Prentice. Thirty years ago his widow gave what was probably the last of a string of statements to the press in which she vowed to find justice for her dead husband. She told the reporter that she was convinced that either my father or Miller must have been the killer as the police surely wouldn't have pulled in two wrong men who both fitted the description of the witness. Of course she conveniently forgot that the witness didn't actually see the killing anyway, just a man following Prentice shortly before he was killed. Anyway, I suppose Mrs Prentice was just trying to earn a few pounds for herself by selling those ridiculous stories to the tabloids but soon after that last story I received a threatening letter, anonymous of course, in which the lives of my family were threatened. It said we were all the spawn of a murderer and that even if he had cheated justice, his sins would be visited upon us, and all those who had failed to bring his killer to justice. Those were pretty much the words the writer used, or some such quasi-religious sounding stuff. It was Elizabeth Prentice who sent it, I'm sure of it, and it wouldn't surprise me if she didn't send similar letters to the other people connected with the case.
Mikey saw it all when the deaths started occurring recently and I was the blind one who stopped him from telling anyone because I didn't believe she could possible have waited all this time to exact her revenge. Judge Tolliver was the one that clinched it for Mikey.”
Connor was intrigued and horrified by the things he'd been hearing and now asked the question.
“What was the judge's connection to the case Doctor? Did he preside over the trial of Miller?”
“Oh no, that would probably have put him in the clear. Miller was found guilty at his trial remember. It was the appeal court that eventually cleared him. No Inspector, Judge Tolliver wasn't a judge back then. He was a rising star, a barrister destined for the bench without a doubt, and it was his clever legal arguments that secured the posthumous acquittal of Stanley Miller. As far as Mrs Prentice was concerned, that put Tolliver in clear league with the Devil and his minions and she said so quite vociferously in one of those ridiculous statements to the press. If you want to find your killer Inspector then I suggest you find Elizabeth Prentice. I don't know what the others have to do with it, I was only a teenager at the time, but it has to be her.”
“But that was a long time ago Doctor Stride. Why would she suddenly decide to start killing people now? And why would you think she'd be using aconite to do so just because your mother used it to, er, to commit suicide?”
He said the last few words as compassionately as he could. This woman had suffered enough and he wasn't sure if she was on the right track even now.
“Oh yes, I'm sorry. There was just one more thing I forgot to mention. There was a strange coincidence in the case that I haven't mentioned before Inspector, I'm sorry. You see, Elizabeth Prentice was the head of the Research and Development laboratory at Jordan's. My mother worked for her, indirectly of course and like my mother, she was and I'm sure still is an expert in the preparation of and the use of poisons, including aconite. For some reason she's back and she wants us all dead!”
Mary stride slumped back in her chair, feeling that she'd said all she could. It was enough for Connor.
“Lucy, get on to headquarters. Get me the address of Elizabeth Prentice.”
Connor's case had suddenly leapt into life. He had a name at last!
Wrong Address
Leaving the forensic team to gather whatever trace evidence they could find at the scene of the double murder, and with Mary Stride being accompanied by Constable Rawson for treatment for shock at the hospital (and for protection against a possible attack by the poisoner), Connor and Clay sped through the traffic on their way back to the station fully expecting to find the latest address for Elizabeth Prentice waiting for them when they got there. It was, but not quite as Connor would have wanted or expected.
As he and Clay exited from their car in the police station car park, Connor could see that his immediate superior, D.C.I. Lewis was standing waiting expectantly on the steps that led up to the main entrance doors. Something told Connor that the Detective Chief Inspector was waiting for someone, and that same instinct told him that he and Clay were the objects of the D.C.I's doorstep vigil. He was right on both counts.
“Hello Sir,” he called as he and Clay approached his boss. “You waiting for us by any chance?”
“Yes Sean, I am. Hello Sergeant,” he nodded to Lucy Clay. “I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you. I was in the murder incident room when your call came in and the boys told me you'd got a hot lead on the aconite killer, so I waited around to see what they came up with. It took them less than five minutes to find out where your suspect is. Elizabeth Prentice is currently lying beneath the ground in the graveyard at Holy Trinity Church. She died three years ago.”
Connor looked crestfallen, as did his sergeant, the two of them taking a full ten seconds to gather themselves before Connor spoke.
“How did she die Sir, do we know?”
“A heart attack Sean, nothing sinister I'm afraid. She can't possibly be your killer unfortunately.”
“But Doctor Stride was so sure,” said Lucy Clay. “Perhaps Mrs Prentice has a son or daughter who's carrying out her mother'
s vendetta against those she believed were responsible for William's death.”
“You've lost me I'm afraid Sergeant,” said Lewis. “Come on you two. Let's retire to my office and you can fill me in on what this new development is all about.”
It took Connor and Clay about fifteen minutes to bring the D.C.I. up to date with the murders of Mikey and Angela Stride and with the statement made by Mary Stride which had clearly implicated the sadly deceased Elizabeth Prentice.
“Wait,” Lewis ordered as he picked up the telephone and dialled the internal number for the incident room. He gave the officer who answered orders to check on the possibility of Elizabeth Prentice having had any children who, as Clay had cleverly deduced could be responsible for the killings in some warped revenge for the death of their father all those yeas ago.
While they waited Connor brought the D.C.I up to speed with everything they'd found out so far, which amounted to precious little as he readily admitted.
“We seem to take one step forward and then another two back, Sir. Every lead turns out to be a blind alley, and this time I really thought we'd got something. The connection was just so strong, though there is just the one weakness in Mary Stride's story.”
“Which is?”
“She readily admits that she saw the connection between the deaths of her father, Stanley Miller and Judge Tolliver, but she couldn't give us an inkling of how the other victims were connected. I know she was young at the time that all she described took place but she seems to have a very good memory for details and I'm sure she would have at least remembered the family names of those involved.”
“Unless the current victims are descended from the female side of whatever families were involved at the time, Sir,” said Clay. “With marriages and so on through the years that would give them entirely different surnames and would certainly explain why Doctor Stride doesn't recognise their names in connection with the case.”
“A very good point Sergeant,” Lewis intoned. “Look into that will you when we've finished here?”
“Course I will Sir,” Lucy replied, smiling, pleased that the D.C.I. saw some merit in her hypothesis.
The phone on Lewis's desk rang. Before it had chance to ring for a second time he snatched it up from its cradle.
“Lewis,” he answered, and then listened without interruption as the caller spoke to him. Whatever else anyone might say about him, Detective Chief Inspector Lewis was a superb listener, one of the talents that made him such a good policeman. He never interrupted a speaker, preferring to hear the entirety of anyone's speech before delivering his own reply. Now, he listened for at least a full minute as his caller spoke, until he simply said:
“Right, well, thank you,” and hung up.
“Elizabeth Prentice had a son and a daughter, James and Laura. Unfortunately they were both killed ten years ago when the light aircraft they were flying in, piloted I might add by James Prentice, crashed into a hillside on its way over the Pennines on its way to Scotland. There were no survivors. I'm sorry to say it looks like Mrs Prentice is yet another one of your blind alleys Sean.”
Connor sat quietly thinking for a minute. No-one disturbed him. Both his boss and his assistant were equally aware of Connor's habit of thinking deeply abut a problem before making an utterance on the subject. When he did speak, it was hardly a speech of reassurance.
“You're right Sir. It is a blind alley, and do you know what? I think this whole bloody case is a blind alley and that we've been approaching it in the wrong way.”
Lewis and Clay were taken aback as Connor continued.
“Look Sir, we've approached this case from the beginning using the assumption first of all that use of aconite is in some way connected with the killer or with one of the victims. Perhaps it isn't. Then we assumed that the victims were connected, either to each other, or to the killer or to something that happened in the past. Perhaps they're not! What if, and I admit it's a big if; but what if there's no connection at all between the victims and that the killer is simply doing this for kicks? The connection with the unhappy past of the Strides may be just a coincidence, a bloody big one I'll grant you, but it's a possibility. Then again, there might be a connection that we just haven't found yet and it might have nothing at all to do with Judge Tolliver's past cases or anything to do with the law at all. It may be something personal and that we simply don't know about. It could be something that simple and we can't see it even though it might be there right in front of our eyes, and the killer could be sitting there mocking us while we go around chasing shadows from the past that simply aren't there anymore.”
Connor stopped, aware that both Lewis and Clay were staring at him.
“Sean,” said his boss.” If you don't mind me saying so, it sounds as if you've just opened every door in the asylum and let the inmates out to run wild. As for the use of aconite, what about the Strides' family history?”
“That could be a coincidence Sir, or just another blind to throw us off the real scent.”
“You look tired Sean. Why don't you take a couple of hours off, have an early lunch perhaps?”
“Listen Sir, I'm not cracking up. I really think we should rethink the whole approach to this case. Someone is making fools of us and I don't like being made a bloody fool of.”
“Look Sean, it's your case. You do what you think is right OK? Just try and get some results, because we sure as hell need them and I meant what I said about you looking tired.”
Connor and Clay left Lewis's office and as soon as the door closed behind them Clay turned to Connor, grabbed him by the arm and said,
“You know Sir, I think you could be right. Maybe we have been going about this in the wrong way.”
“Bloody Hell Lucy, I'm glad about that; for one horrible minute I actually believed that I was going round the bend in there, and that Lewis was right about me cracking up.”
Lucy Clay looked into his eyes, and the two detectives couldn't help themselves. They burst out laughing, and every eye in the office turned to watch them as they entered Connor's office and closed the door where they continued to laugh for at least another full minute.
A Tactical Shift?
“It was stress Sean, that's all. You both needed to let it out and laughter was the best outlet for both of you in order to relieve the situation.”
Connor and Catherine were lying in his bed after another romantically comfortable evening together. He'd waited until now to tell her of the fit of giggles that had overtaken both he and Lucy Clay after they'd left Lewis's office.
“Not very professional of me though was it?”
“Don't be too hard on yourself Sean. You've been under a lot of pressure during this case, both you and Lucy. It can't be easy when every clue you think you've found turns out to be meaningless.”
“I know Catherine. I was so sure that Mary Stride had given us something to go on when she told us the story of her family's history. In fact I still can't shake the nagging thought that there is still some connection between the Strides and what's been happening.”
Catherine thought for couple of seconds then, realising how strung out Connor was becoming over the case she decided that the time was right to inform Connor of the out-of-hours investigations she and Gary Hudson had been carrying out.
Connor was amazed and extremely gratified when she explained the whole thing to him. Now he understood why she hadn't been available for a couple of nights, and there was him thinking she'd gone off him!
“Why didn't you tell me sooner?” he asked when she'd finished.
“I didn't want to make you think that we working behind your back, or that Gary and I were trying to solve your case without you. We wanted to find something concrete to hand over to you before we let both you and Charles Carrick in Birmingham know about what we've been doing.”
“And have you?”
“Not yet I'm afraid. What we've done is to ask the computers to collate every single recorded mention of aconite for as
far back as the records go this century. They're still working on it. We think we might be able to find a link between aconite and a situation that wouldn't necessarily come into the realms of any police investigation. Someone may have been carrying out research using the poison for example, and that would perhaps be listed in medical journals or essays and not in any police records. Whoever was involved in any such research may or may not be connected with your case. We don't know. It may be a wild goose chase but we thought it might help. I know you've said that the use of aconite may be coincidental or just the choice of the killer without any historical connections, but even so there has to be a way somewhere to connect that person to the aconite. Maybe this is the way to do it. I wouldn't have told you about it yet, but you seemed so down and…”
“No need to say any more,” said Connor, taking hold of Catherine's hand in his own. His arm went around her neck and shoulders and he pulled her close to him. They kissed, his head swimming pleasantly as he held her close, smelling the sweet aroma of her perfume, and Connor felt an instant release of much of the tension that had taken hold of him.
“Thank you,” he whispered softly in her ear. “That really is one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me, really. I appreciate it more than you know.”
“So you don't think that Gary and I have been going behind your back, and treading where we perhaps shouldn't have?”
“Hell, no. You're both involved in the case at a professional level aren't you? That gives you every right to look into what caused the deaths of the victims sent to you for autopsy. As far as I'm concerned you're doing us all a favour by extending the scope of the investigation further than we could do on our own. As you say, you and Doctor Hudson have access to sources of information that we don't, and it is just possible that you might find something that will be useful to us in solving this bloody enigma of a case. Like I told Lewis, we're missing something, and once we find out what that something is we'll be halfway to finding the killer.”
Purple Death Page 14