by DS Butler
She put her key in the lock, turned it, then paused.
Something was wrong.
She stood in the doorway for a moment with the front door wide open. A prickling sensation on the back of her neck told her something was not quite right, but she didn’t know exactly what.
Charlotte pushed her hair back off her face and took a deep breath.
She needed to get a grip. This was stupid. This was exactly the sort of thing she had to stop. It was her flat. Her home. There was nothing wrong.
Pushing the door wide open, Charlotte stood in the doorway, listening for any foreign sounds.
Nothing.
She gritted her teeth. She couldn’t keep living like this. She had to get rid of this fear.
She crossed the threshold and felt sweat cool in the small of her back. She shivered. Telling herself again that there was nothing to be scared of, she held out a shaky hand and removed the key from the lock.
Holding the key in her fist like a weapon, she walked into the hallway, but she didn’t close the front door behind her, just in case.
From here, she could see all the way down the hallway to the kitchen. Nothing. She still could not work out what was wrong, what had caused her stomach to knot.
Charlotte felt silly calling out in her own flat, but she did anyway. “Hello, anyone here?” She kept her voice steady, trying to sound fearless.
She licked her dry lips and carried on walking up the hallway. Halfway along, she froze.
The lights were on. Charlotte was sure she had switched them off this morning. But people forget things all the time. Nothing major. She could have easily forgotten to flick them off this morning.
She shook her head. It’s just the lights, idiot. You’re freaking out over the fact you left a couple of lights switched on.
She dumped her gym gear in the kitchen beside the washing machine. Hugging her arms around herself, she walked back along the hallway to her small living room. She looked around. Nothing had been disturbed. The TV, DVD player and stereo all sat in their usual places. Her mug from this morning, stained from her extra strong tea, sat on the small table in the centre of the room. The plate she used for her toast at breakfast was still there too.
She bent down to scoop up the plate and the mug to take them to the kitchen, when she saw it.
It was just sitting there on the table, next to the mug, waiting for her.
The plate and mug slipped out of her grasp and clattered to the floor.
23
Later that evening, Charlotte sat on the sofa, cradling a cup of tea, thinking.
She stared at the item that had terrified her earlier: a music CD. A stupid thing to get worked up over. She picked up the CD, an early David Bowie album, and turned it over in her hands.
There was no sinister message attached, at least not a physical one, but Charlotte knew there was definitely a message behind it.
He left it there to scare her. She had no doubt about that.
She hadn’t expected to get her CD back, not after how things ended between them, but the cost of replacing a few CDs was a small price to pay to get rid of him.
The message he left for her was not, “Here’s your CD back,” but “I can get into your flat anytime I want.”
Of course, after things ended the way they did, she made sure he gave her key back. Even so, he managed to get into the flat, so he must have made a copy and kept it. There was no reason for him to have kept a copy of the key, unless he had planned to come back all along.
Charlotte shivered as she realised he could have been letting himself into her flat for the past month.
After finding the CD on the table, she checked in every cupboard, looked under her bed, looked everywhere she could think of, but there was no one else in the flat.
She fastened the deadlock on the front door, sat on the sofa and thought things through. She needed to take control. He couldn’t get in now that she had bolted the door from inside, but she needed to make sure he couldn’t get back in at all.
An hour after she found the CD, she called her cousin, Jamie. She didn’t see him much these days, but he promised her he’d be there as soon as he could to change the locks.
“You sure you don’t want to stay at ours tonight? We’ve not got much room, but the girls could bunk in together?” Jamie said, checking the key turned and opened the new lock he had just fitted.
“Thanks, Jamie, but I’ll be fine now. I just want to make sure he can’t get back in.”
Jamie handed her two keys for the new lock on the front door and drained the last of the tea from his mug.
“Well, I’m only ten minutes away, if he comes back or whatever, give me a ring. I’ll be straight over.”
“Thanks. Oh and Jamie, can you not mention this to Nan? Or my mum, for that matter? You know what they are like.”
He reached out and put a hand on her arm. “I’ll not mention it, but maybe you should get someone else to stay with you tonight. A friend or something.”
She reached up and gave him a hug. “Thanks Jamie, but I’m fine. I feel safe now.”
“Can’t you have him arrested, for breaking in?” Jamie asked, putting his tools back in the toolbox.
“Probably better if I don’t make a fuss about it. He just returned a CD. It just gave me the creeps, him letting himself in like that.”
He looked at her, concerned, and she had to break eye contact.
After Charlotte shut the door behind Jamie, she put the deadbolt on and walked into the kitchen, flipping the switch on the kettle.
But she wanted something stronger than tea. She opened the freezer door, pulled out a bottle of vodka and poured herself a generous measure.
She needed it.
24
Charlotte Brown was not a morning person, and this morning was worse than most. Despite the new locks on her front door, she hadn’t slept well. She felt like she had only just drifted off when Mackinnon called about a new development in the case.
She sat on a swivel chair next to her desk in the incident room, waiting for Mackinnon. She rubbed her eyes; there had been no time for makeup this morning, so no danger of panda eyes.
She looked up as Mackinnon set down two mugs of coffee on the desk.
“Why don’t you look as shattered as I do? It is six am. It isn’t natural for anyone to be up this early,” Charlotte said.
He pushed the coffee mug towards her. “I feel pretty bad, to be honest. Hence the extra strong coffee.”
Charlotte picked up the steaming mug and inhaled. “God, that smells good.” Simply the smell of the coffee helped to perk her up a bit. “How did you get here so early?”
“Stayed at a friend’s last night. Getting a bit sick of the commute, to tell you the truth.”
“I’m not surprised. Coming in from East London is bad enough. So where is this article that got us out of bed so early?”
Mackinnon slid a photocopy of the article over to her and waited as she quickly read it. When she had finished, she stared off into the distance before replying.
“So it is definitely aconite they used?” Charlotte said, remembering the symptoms the toxin caused.
“It does match up with what the hospital toxicologist said. I imagine it is going to take a while before they can confirm it.”
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping coffee. Charlotte tried to work out how the poison could be linked to the research group in Oxford. From what she had read yesterday, she imagined the source of the poison would be one of those herbal remedy shops.
“Has the journalist been questioned yet?” Charlotte looked back down to the article to find the author’s name. “Sean Barrett?”
Mackinnon nodded. “His editor persuaded him to come in with the information. It seems he was planning on a big scoop. His interview has been recorded. If you want to take a look, it’s set up in room two.”
“Okay.”
“You look different without the…” Mackinnon waved his hand
over his face.
“Makeup,” Charlotte supplied the word. “Thanks for noticing.”
“No. I meant it looks nice.”
Charlotte wasn’t really sure what to say to that. He sounded like her mother, who was always on at her not to be so heavy-handed with the eyeliner, but Charlotte didn’t feel right unless she was wearing it.
“Anyway, how is this research group involved?” Charlotte asked. “Are we still thinking it’s linked to animal rights activists?”
“I spoke to Brookbank earlier. He contacted Thames Valley and they are going to send a couple of officers down there to find out what they are using this aconite for and to see how secure it is. And he’s got people checking out the Freedom for Animals website. They’re getting the journalist to bring his laptop in. He’s not too happy about that.”
“Brookbank thinks someone might have stolen the poison from the university’s laboratory?”
“It’s possible. Or an inside job, someone working in the lab.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the ring of Mackinnon’s mobile. He stood up and walked towards the door to take the call.
“Better reception out here,” he said.
Charlotte nodded and returned to her thoughts.
When Mackinnon returned, he gestured for her to follow him. “Come on. Let’s go and see what this journalist had to say for himself.”
Charlotte stood and picked up her coffee. “I take it you’ve gotten over your differences with the DCI?”
“Not exactly, but I don’t think he will let any problems he has with me interfere with his investigation.”
“What exactly is going on between you two anyway?” Charlotte turned to look at Mackinnon. “Come on, you were Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes at the Met. You never got on anyone’s bad side, and rumour has it here you are the superintendent’s blue-eyed boy, so what happened? How did you manage to piss off the DCI?”
Mackinnon shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
Sensing Mackinnon wasn’t going to open up, she let it go, for now.
*
DCI Brookbank was watching the interview in the viewing room. He paused the interview playback and smiled at Charlotte, but managed to avoid looking at Mackinnon. This was quite a feat as Mackinnon, over a foot taller than Charlotte, was difficult to ignore.
Frozen on the screen, the journalist, Sean Barrett, was slumped in his chair, his arms folded and his lower lip stuck out in a sulky expression.
Brookbank told them what the team had managed to get out of the journalist so far. Sean Barrett had first heard about John Weston’s condition from a nurse working at St. Bart’s. After the tip-off, Sean Barrett had carried out some investigating of his own and contacted someone in the animal rights organisation, Freedom for Animals.
“His editor insisted he come in and tell us the information he’d dug up,” DCI Brookbank said. “Otherwise, we could have all been reading it, along with Joe Public, in the Daily News after it had been printed.”
“How did he contact this animal rights group?” Charlotte asked.
“He posted a message on their website and got a reply. We don’t have a name, but we’ve got the tech guys working their magic on the journalist’s computer. We might get something from that, but it’ll take some time. He did give us some very interesting information that could link the poisoning to a laboratory in Oxford.”
“I was expecting the poison to be from one of those funny, herbal medicine shops,” Mackinnon said. “You know the ones that sell piles of dried leaves and twigs. They advertise cures for everything from excess weight to smelly feet.”
Charlotte frowned. “I don’t like this link with the research lab. The way I see it, the Chinese or Indian herbal remedies would have only had small amounts of aconite, and it would be dilute. You know, a mixture of all kinds of plant stuff in there, but if it has come from a laboratory, chances are it is pure, concentrated and a lot more dangerous.”
DCI Brookbank stared at the screen for some moments before replying. “I’m waiting on a call from Thames Valley. They are finding out exactly what this research lab is using the aconite for and how much they have.”
“And whether any has gone missing recently?” Mackinnon added.
“Yes.”
“Do you think one of our team should pay a visit?” Charlotte asked.
He hesitated for a moment. “I’m going to wait and see what Thames Valley has to say first.”
Charlotte nodded. She understood there were politics at play here. You couldn’t just waltz in and take over on another force’s patch. Brookbank had to play the game.
“We have the names of a number of researchers from the laboratory and we are checking out the ones working with the toxin.” Brookbank handed Charlotte a file. “This folder contains copies of all the information the journalist printed out.”
Charlotte opened the file and looked at the first few pages. She saw words like “enzymatic” and “hepatocellular carcinoma” and closed the folder.
“Nothing further from the toxicology tests,” Brookbank said.
Charlotte wasn’t sure if that was a question or a statement. “The tests are underway on the samples collected at the scene. So far, none of the usual suspects have been detected – no cyanide, arsenic or hydrogen sulphide. The toxicologist is still saying he has a ‘strong suspicion’ the poison is aconite.”
Brookbank didn’t look impressed with the lack of progress and nodded at the screen. “I’ve watched the interview once already, so I’ll leave you to it. You’ve got time to watch it before the briefing.”
“Yes, sir,” Charlotte said.
“Biology, wasn’t it?”
“Sorry?”
“Your degree? Wasn’t it biology?”
“Biochemistry, sir.”
“Right. Well, you might be able to understand some of the stuff in there,” the DCI said, handing another file to Charlotte.
Charlotte flipped opened the file and read a few sentences. It was like trying to read something written in another language.
“It was a while back now, sir, and it wasn’t really anything at this level,” Charlotte said, but the DCI had already left the room.
25
Mackinnon pressed “play,” and the previously static screen came to life.
They saw an image of Sean Barrett, the journalist, sitting hunched over in a chair with his elbows resting on the table in front of him. He looked up as DI Tyler and DC Webb entered the room, then he fixed his gaze on the opposite wall.
DI Tyler announced the time and date, then he informed Barrett that the interview was being recorded as standard procedure.
Sean Barrett folded his arms and did not remove his eyes from the wall.
“Sean, we would like to ask you some questions about the poisoning of John Weston and Sally Turner.”
Sean leaned forward and looked directly at DI Tyler. “Was he really targeted by an animal rights group?”
“We read the research for your article, Sean, and it certainly seems as though you believe he was.”
Sean leaned back and shook his head in disgust. “He was, wasn’t he? And you lot…” He pointed a finger at Tyler, “…have been covering it up, haven’t you? You don’t want the public to get wind of it, in case they panic.” Sean glared at the two detectives. “I can’t believe I came here voluntarily. Can I leave now? I’ve already told you everything I know.”
“Sean, we appreciate the fact you have already given some information to our colleagues.” DI Tyler shifted slightly in his chair. “But we have more questions. Two people have been poisoned. Right now, they are in hospital and there is a very real chance they could die. I think the very least you can do is spare us a little more of your time.”
Sean slumped back in his chair.
DC Webb pulled out a few pages of A4 paper from a file on the desk and identified them, for the purposes of the tape, as Sean’s draft article.
“Surely you expected a degree of interest whe
n you were looking to publish this? Your editor told us you were quite reluctant to bring this to our attention.”
Sean shook his head. “People have a right to know.”
DC Webb laid the article flat on the table between them.
“So who was your source?”
Sean let out a bark of laughter. “Are you even listening to me? This is ridiculous. I came here voluntarily and you’re treating me like a criminal.”
“Please, answer the question.”
“There’s nothing else to tell. Like I already said, I heard about John Weston falling ill. I suspected it may have had something to do with animal activists, so I left some messages on a few websites asking for anyone with information to get in touch by email. You saw the message I received. There was no name or identification, just the message basically saying that Weston deserved it, and it mentioned the lab in Oxford.”
“But it was addressed to you?”
“Yes.”
“So it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume whoever sent it knows you?”
“What? I left a message on a website. Someone replied. It doesn’t mean they know me.”
“Why did they choose to give you the information, though?”
“Just my random bad luck, I guess.”
“No, Sean,” DI Tyler said. “I don’t think there is anything random about this at all.”
“So you know quite a bit about this aconite toxin?” asked DC Webb.
“Not really. Not until I looked it up and read a few of the journal papers.”
Tyler took the remaining papers from the file and spread them out on the desk. “These papers?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know any of these authors or any of the research workers at the lab in Oxford?”
“No.”
“Not Mike Clarkson? Alex Rush? Ruby Wei?”
“No, I just said I don’t know any of them.”
“Why are you lying to us, Sean? What have you got to hide?”
“Nothing.”
“You said you didn’t know any of the authors, when in fact we know you attended that university. We also know you attended a course taught by Professor Clarkson. That, Sean, is lying, and it is also an excellent way to make yourself look guilty.”