Purple Death

by Brian L. Porter

  The man placed the high powered rifle on the deck of the boat and lashed the wheel to hold the boat on its course. He'd stolen it from small boatyard a short time ago, and it had served its purpose. He quickly unscrewed the silencer from the weapon, placed everything back in the carry case he'd kept in the small wheelhouse and as the boat neared the river bank he simply stepped over the side and into the shallow waters of the Thames, his large fisherman's waders ensuring that his trousers remained clean and dry.

  Once on dry land he removed the waders and packed them into the back pack he was wearing just for this very occasion, and then, satisfied with his day's work he watched as the little boat collided with the bank of the river a few yards downstream. The incendiary device he'd left on board would see it burn to a cinder when it ignited in a few minutes. Without waiting for the inevitable appearance of the flames that would soon engulf the little craft he simply turned on his heels and walked calmly in the opposite direction until he'd made his way to the main road. A quick hail and he had a taxi at his disposal. Half an hour later he was back in his own office, job done. He was soon on his way again, this time to Tracy's apartment where he used the spare key he'd kept since renting the place and there he callously smothered her crippled old father as he lay helpless in bed. Tracy had moved the old man into the apartment against his wishes, but now he was of no consequence and no-one would discover his body for a long time, as the man had paid a six month advance on the rent, and until the smell from the old man's decomposing corpse filtered out into the street the place would be left undisturbed. Tracy would be a concern no longer, and without any aconite involvement in her death to connect her to the others there was no way the police would think she was anything to do with the previous murders, especially as he'd carefully aimed at her face, destroying any chance of them matching her to the e-photo that had been circulating on all the TV news programmes.

  The man was pleased with his achievement in disposing of his accomplice. He'd waited long enough, got her worried by not making contact, and then enticed her out into the open with the promise of a big pay check. Stupid little whore! She just couldn't have understood that she was a liability and as he'd said to himself so many times, he couldn't afford liabilities!

  Office Work

  Connor put the phone down, ending his latest conversation with Charles Carrick. The West Midlands detective had been more than a little unhappy to say the least when he'd been removed from the David Arnold inquiry. He knew of course that the decision had been made further up the ladder of police hierarchy and that there was nothing that either he or Sean Connor could do about it, but at least the two could commiserate with each other. Connor had agreed to keep Carrick informed of his progress and had in fact just finished giving him a complete update on the case when Lucy Clay knocked and entered his office.

  “Must go Charles, I'll be in touch soon,” he said as he replaced the phone on its cradle.

  “Inspector Carrick I presume Sir?” asked Clay.

  “The very same Lucy. I've been bringing him up to speed on the case now that he's not directly involved any longer.”

  “I think its bad form, the way he's just been kicked off the David Arnold end of the case.”

  “In some ways I agree with you Lucy but the top brass made the decision and in truth it's probably the sane and logical one. Why tie up two D.I.s from two separate forces to investigate what is after all, one murder inquiry, separated by different locations?”

  “I understand Sir, but it's hard for him to just walk away isn't it?”

  “Never mind Lucy, I've agreed to keep him posted on developments, strictly off the record of course and he'll keep his ear to the ground just in case anything leaps up at him from his end of things. You never know. Now, was there something you wanted or were you just testing to see if my door hinges still work?”

  “What? Oh yes. Harry Drew and I have been working on trying to find McLean. We've got the whole resources of the Met, Thames Valley and all the Home Counties Forces trying to locate him and I've put an alert out to all the provincial forces just in case he's holed up miles away from London. We'll find him soon, I'm sure we will. Do you really think he's our man?

  “He's the best we've got at the moment Lucy. I'm seeing Cahill again in an hour or two. We'll see if he can tell us anything else that might confirm McLean as our man and hopefully something that might lead us to where he's hiding out.”

  “Need some company when you talk to him Sir?”

  “But of course Sergeant. Be back here in an hour and we'll go in my car.”

  Lucy Clay left the office, leaving Connor alone with his thoughts. He was still trying to remember what it was that he'd heard that had piqued his investigative instinct only to disappear just as quickly, like a wraith in the night. Spread out on his desk were every statement and every police and medical report pertaining to the current investigation. He'd left Catherine in bed and arrived early at the office that day and had been hard at work trying to find the elusive words that would bring it all back to him, whatever `it' was.

  It was at five minutes to eleven, just before Sergeant Clay walked back through his door that he finally found what he was looking for.

  “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed at the precise moment that Clay knocked on the door and entered as was usual without being summoned.

  Clay could see that her boss was holding a piece of paper in his hand and it was evident to the sergeant that Connor had found something of great significance on that sheet of paper.

  “Sir?”

  “I've got it Lucy. I've been picking my own brains, and trying to remember what it was that I'd missed that was important, and I've found it!”

  “What is it Sir?”

  “Listen Lucy. I may be on the completely wrong track here, so please bear with me. I want you to go out there and ask young Drew to come in here. What is then discussed is strictly between the three of us, d'you understand? No-one outside the four walls of this office is to know what we've talked about unless I authorise it. Got it?”

  Clay knew when her boss was on to something big, and she didn't hesitate for one second in walking out of the office and returning in less then thirty seconds with Detective Constable Harry Drew. As soon as the two of them were in Connor's office she closed the door behind them. At that moment in the investigation there were only three people in the whole world, the world was Connor's office, and Sean Connor was about to take a chance on the young D.C. in whom he was about to place a large slice of his trust.

  “You wanted to see me Sir?” asked Drew.

  “Yes Harry,” Connor replied, using the young officer's first name for perhaps the first time in his life. Sergeant Clay and I have to go out for a while. While we're out, I have a very important job for you. Do you think you're up to it?”

  “You can rely on me Mr Connor,” Drew replied.

  “That's exactly what I'm about to do young man, and big time,” said Connor.

  When he and Clay left ten minutes later Harry Drew remained behind in the office. When they'd gone, he locked the door, booted up Connor's computer and began the task entrusted to him by his boss.

  A Minor Detail

  “So there's nothing else you can tell us that you think might help Mr Cahill?”

  “I'm sure I've told you everything I can remember Inspector.”

  Connor and Clay had spent another hour in the company of the two Roger Cahills at the safe house arranged by Connor. There was a knock at the door followed by the appearance of Henry DeVere carrying a tray laden with tea cups, a steaming pot of Earl Grey and a supply of assorted biscuits. It had been Connor's inspired idea to ask the personal assistant of the late Judge Tolliver to allow the Cahills to stay in the judge's house with D.C. Fox until the killer was apprehended. Connor thought it almost impossible that the killer would return to the scene of Tolliver's murder, and the ex-guardsman DeVere was only too happy to do anything that might help catch the killer of his late employer and f
riend.

  “I thought refreshments might be in order Inspector,” said DeVere as he placed the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

  “An excellent idea Mr DeVere, thank you.”

  DeVere departed as quietly as he'd arrived, leaving them in peace to continue their conversation.

  “You're absolutely certain there's no more?” asked Connor, returning to the previous thread of their dialogue.

  “Absolutely Inspector. I've had plenty of time to think while I've been squirreled away here, and I assure you that if there had been any further information I could give to you then I would have done.”

  “I know, and I'm grateful for everything you've told me. I just want to make sure that we haven't missed anything, that's all.”

  “I understand Inspector. It's just a pity that your people haven't been able to run McLean to ground yet.”

  “We'll find him eventually; have no doubt on that score.”

  “I hope you do Inspector for all our sakes.”

  “Are you sure you've got everything down Sergeant?” Connor directed his question at Lucy Clay who was sitting opposite him, beside the younger Cahill.

  “Word for word,” she replied.

  Connor took a moment to sip from the tea that DeVere had brought. A thought entered his head. It might be that Cahill knew something, but didn't know that he held the knowledge, or considered it irrelevant.

  “Mr Cahill, you were once an investigative journalist. Let me ask to hypothesise on something.”

  Cahill's interest was instantly aroused and he leaned forward to better hear Cahill's words.

  “Why, if the killer is murdering everyone who he feels slighted or offended Elizabeth Prentice in her view of her husband's death, is Mary Stride still alive? Surely, once the killer had murdered her brother and sister logic would dictate that she would be next, or at least somewhere further down his hit list. So far Mary has remained splendidly isolated from the whole affair since Mikey and Angela died.”

  “A good question Inspector. Does she have police protection?”

  “Sort of. We have extra patrols going past her house hourly during the day and a passive watch is being kept by the beat constable through the night, in addition to the motorised patrols.”

  “So, you have something of a puzzle Inspector. Perhaps she was never on the list, which I admit would be odd, as her siblings were both obviously on it. Then again, perhaps she is in league with the killer, which I would think absurd. More likely, and I must stress that this is just the opinion of an old man, is that either Mary Stride is for some reason exempt from the killer's attention or, and this is the more likely of the two scenarios, the killer is saving her until last, his piecé de résistance so to speak. I can't think of any other scenario that fits, can you?”

  “A very good summarisation Mr Cahill and no, I can't think of anything that fits better than any of the things you've mentioned. Thank you.”

  Cahill seemed to pause for thought and came back with an addition to his previous words.

  “Of course, there is some weight to the theory that she is exempt from the killer's attentions Inspector.”

  “There is?”

  “Yes, I've only just remembered. Many years ago McLean's editor ran a series of pieces based on some of McLean's previously unpublished `human interest' articles on the Prentice case. I seem to remember one in which Mary Stride berated her own parents; her father for having killed himself, and her mother for not believing in him and for then taking her own life in what the teenage Mary described as `a coward's way out' when she realised what she'd done and thus leaving the eldest daughter, Mary with the task of looking after her two younger siblings. Of course, if it had happened today the children would all have been taken into care and looked after by the State but thirty years ago things were different. Mary Stride had a hard life Inspector, and she must have found it difficult to cope with a disabled and blind brother after her mother's death. My point is that the killer may have decided that Mary's condemnation of her parents was enough to absolve her from his need to take his revenge directly out on her. I know it's a wild theory, but it could just be true.”

  “I didn't know she'd publicly condemned her parent's suicides Mr Cahill. Thank you for that, and yes, you could be right in your theory. I think though that we might have to increase the watch on Doctor Stride, Lucy. If the killer is saving her until last we need to be vigilant. After all we don't actually know how many names he has on his list.”

  “Consider it done Sir,” Clay replied.

  “Couldn't you put her in a safe house like us Inspector Connor?” asked the younger Roger Cahill, who had been relatively silent throughout his father's discussion with the detective.

  “In an ideal world, yes Mr Cahill,” Connor replied. “But my boss is already hopping mad because I won't tell him where you two are being kept, and he'd go over the edge if I asked him to fund another witness protection scheme when we don't know for sure that Mary Stride is in fact an intended victim of the killer. We can't speculate on his intentions to that extent I'm afraid.”

  There was little more to discuss that morning, and Connor thanked the Cahills for their time and DeVere for his help as he and Clay prepared to take their leave of the house. As Lucy Clay walked through the front door and headed down the path towards the car, Connor stopped and turned to the elder Cahill.

  “Mr Cahill, before I go there's one more thing I want to ask you.”

  Cahill instinctively realised that Connor was about to ask him something important and he summarily dismissed his son and cocked his head to one side so that he wouldn't miss a word.

  “The last time we spoke you said something that didn't really sink in the first time you mentioned it,” said Connor in a hushed tone.

  For the next two minutes the two men conducted a whispered discussion on the doorstep and Connor eventually shook the old man's hand before walking to join Lucy Clay in the car.

  “Was there something you forgot to ask him earlier Sir? You seemed to be getting very intense back there.”

  “Oh, it was nothing really Lucy; a minor detail, just a minor detail.”

  A Window to the Past

  Tracy was gone. That was his one remaining major irritation out of the way. He doubted that the girl would ever have been in a position to bring the police down on his neck, but this way he'd made sure of her eternal silence.

  There was only one thing left to do and his plan would be complete. He only needed to be careful for a little while longer and his long wait for vengeance would be absolute. Elizabeth would have been proud of him, he was sure of that. Obtaining the aconite had been the hardest part. No reputable company in the country would supply him with the poison in the quantity he required, even with the fake I.D. and diplomas in medicine and homeopathy he'd purchased via a slightly unscrupulous internet website. Luckily, his work had, over the years brought him into contact with similarly employed people who had access to the information he required to obtain his supplies from elsewhere. Thus it was that the Ho Sin Import and Export Company of Hong Kong, themselves a less than reputable organisation with links to the illegal drugs industry on the island and mainland China had been only too happy to meet his needs, for the right price of course.

  His first killing, the one they didn't even know about had been the easy one, the one that proved to him that he could get away with murder. Two shots and a quick kill, and everything was in place for what would follow.

  Tracy had been his next acquisition and a good one at that. The gullible and easily-led girl had just the background he'd been looking for. He'd waited patiently for her release from prison and had then found it quite easy to convince her to work for him. The promise of riches beyond her limited dreams had been the convincing factor, and the murders of Sam Gabriel and Arminder Patel, had, in the end played into his hands as they would help to further deflect the police from the real nature of his plan. Watching them running around like fools, tryin
g to make a connection between `Tracy's victims' and his own had been a source of great amusement for him, but now the time was drawing near when he would have to bring his master plan to a close.

  He'd perfected the means of adding the aconite to the chocolates long ago, after studying chemistry, the use of poisons and pharmaceutical procedures in his spare time. It had to be aconite of course. The Stride woman had used it to good effect all those years earlier, and it had been a dreadful way to die, he'd remembered. What a fitting way then for his own victims to die, to suffer the horrors and pain of a poison they wouldn't even know they'd ingested. As for the police, he'd learned of their theory about dissolving capsules being made to insert into the chocolates and so on. They were close, but not exact in their thinking. He'd simply injected the poison, coated in tiny bubbles of the same materials used to make pharmaceutical hard-shell capsules into the chocolates using the thinnest and least detectable syringe on the market and had then had the chocolates re-coated by the Prentice woman. She'd been an excellent foil for his task as well, and her creative skills had helped considerably in creating the perfect murder weapons, the poisoned chocolates! She'd dealt with David Arnold so well the man thought she'd have made an excellent career killer, but the police had her now. She was of no consequence, and no threat to him, having never seen him in person. He'd dealt with Tolliver himself of course, but Tracy had been his `angel of death' when it had come to despatching Virginia Remick and the Strides. When she'd told him how she'd visited the Stride house and fooled Angela into thinking she was a new district nurse, he'd been impressed, especially when Tracy described to him how she'd offered to `help' making tea and ensuring that she was able to drop a lethal dose of aconite into the brother and sister's cups. She'd even taken the time to watch them die after they'd taken her upstairs to show the `nurse' Mikey's room and his facilities for self-care, then coolly gone back down the stairs to clear away the tea cups and any evidence of her being there.