Deadly Motive

by DS Butler

“Good grief, Minty, get out of the kitchen while I’m cooking.” Linda made a shooing gesture and the dog obeyed, trotting out of the kitchen. Linda shut the door behind him. “Right, first things first. Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  Ruby accepted, and Linda poured a generous amount of red wine into a hand painted glass.

  Ruby took the wine. “Thank you. What a pretty glass!”

  “Do you like it? I picked up a set of six when I was in India. I’m sure the glass itself is cheap, but the way they are painted individually, well, I thought they were charming.” She held the glass up to the light, so the gold, red and green paints shone.

  Ruby and Gus sat down at the large pine kitchen table and he cleared the surface of the normal kitchen paraphernalia that cluttered it.

  “Gus, darling, could you set the table?” Linda asked.

  Gus took a mouthful of wine, then got up, pulled open a drawer, and took out knives and forks and set three places.

  “I was questioned by the police again,” Ruby said.

  Linda, who was attending to the bolognese sauce, stopped mid-stir. She turned a fraction. “Again?”

  “They’re convinced our lab has something to do with the poisoning in London,” Ruby said. “They keep turning up, which is my fault in a way.”

  “How could it be your fault?”

  Ruby bit her lower lip. “They showed us a CCTV recording of Alex’s friend spraying graffiti right by our lab, but I lied and said I didn’t recognize him.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the police you recognized him?” Linda asked.

  “I don’t know. I should have. That detective, Mackinnon, you know who I mean, Gus?”

  Gus nodded.

  “Well he was furious. He was so angry with me. I mean, I can understand how it looks like Ted was involved,” Ruby said. “But I knew Ted wouldn’t have anything to do with it, not with poisoning someone.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Gus said. “He is fanatical when you get him on the subject of animal rights.”

  “But he wouldn’t try to kill anyone. He’s irritating. But he really believes in campaigning for better treatment of animals. He can’t stand cruelty. He wouldn’t hurt anyone, animal or human.”

  “Maybe that’s what he wants us to believe. He was pretty nasty to you the other night. Rubbing in the fact O’Connor gave the job to Alex over you.” Gus helped himself to two thick slices of garlic bread from the plate and took a large bite.

  Mrs. Gilmore placed a big bowl of spaghetti on the table and Ruby watched as she transferred the bolognese sauce to a warm serving dish, then brought it to the table. “Help yourselves.”

  Ruby served herself a generous portion of pasta and sauce and a slice of garlic bread.

  Linda sat down, then said, “I suppose you never really know what people are capable of. I told the police about the CCTV footage. I must say, I did think he must have been involved. Loitering around the building like that and spraying graffiti on the walls. If I’d known who he was, I would have told the police straight away.” Linda pursed her lips.

  Ruby sighed. “You’re right. I should have just told the police it was Ted. I mean he was spraying paint all over the walls, so it isn’t like he was completely innocent. I think I just felt bad for Alex, and before I knew it, I was agreeing with Alex that we didn’t know who it was.”

  “I don’t know why you covered for him. He has never been nice to you,” Gus said.

  Ruby nodded. “I know it was stupid. And it might cause trouble later on when I need to apply for a work visa to stay in the UK.”

  “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Gus said. “You could argue that the picture wasn’t very good, and you weren’t sure it was him.”

  “Surely, the police don’t really think you or anyone else in the lab were involved. They’re concentrating on the animal rights activists, aren’t they?” Linda asked.

  “I think so, but I suppose they have to make sure. Alex is so upset. I suppose he’s worried about Ted and that the police might think he’s involved too.”

  “I called him earlier, to ask if he wanted to join us for dinner, but he wouldn’t come,” Gus said. “He’s really cut up.”

  *

  After dinner, Ruby insisted on doing the washing up and Gus felt guilty enough to dry the dishes while Linda put the kettle on. When they finished clearing up, they sat in the lounge, sipping coffee and eating chocolate mints.

  Unwrapping gold foil from another chocolate mint, Ruby said, “I don’t really want to go to the lab tomorrow. The whole thing is horrible.”

  “Do they know what was used to poison the poor man?” Linda asked, stirring her coffee.

  “I’m not sure, but they are asking questions about aconite. They keep talking about toxins. It could be anything in our lab. Gus, do you remember when we moved labs from the one across the road, we had to label everything? We even had to label the salt as toxic. It was crazy.”

  Gus stared down at his coffee cup.

  “Gus?”

  “Sorry. What was that?” Gus said.

  “I was just saying about all the toxins we have in our lab and the job we had moving them to the new lab.”

  Gus nodded. “Yes, I remember we had salt and ethidium bromide both labelled in the same way. Both had to have orange stickers with ‘toxic’ printed on them. I know which one I would prefer to sprinkle on my dinner.”

  Minty sat next to Linda on the sofa, and she stroked his coat, twisting his brown curls through the fingers of one hand. The dog closed its eyes, luxuriating in the attention.

  Ruby finished the last of her coffee. “I suppose I should be off now. Thank you ever so much for dinner. It was lovely.”

  Gus stood up. “I’ll see you out.”

  He placed a hand in the small of Ruby’s back as they walked along the hall to the front door and held out her coat as she slid her arms in. “I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”

  “No, you don’t need to do that. It’s cold tonight; stay indoors. Keep your mum company.”

  “I’m walking you to the bus stop. No arguments.”

  60

  At eight thirty am, Charlotte and her Nan sat in the waiting room of GP surgery on Burgess Road. Charlotte had already asked Nan twice if she was sure she didn’t want to take her coat off. The heating was set to tropical, keeping all the germs nice and toasty.

  Charlotte looked around the waiting room. It was packed. A teenage boy sat opposite them, sniffing and every now and then, erupting with a burst of a hacking cough. Charlotte held a sleeve to her mouth and wondered how many things she could catch from just sitting here.

  A hugely pregnant woman bent down to pick up a toy that her brat of a daughter had thrown across the room. The child found it entertaining to throw a building brick out of the play area and scream at the top of her lungs until her mother had waddled over to pick it up and return it. Ten times so far.

  Nan sat beside Charlotte on an orange plastic chair and flicked through a magazine that looked five years out of date.

  An elderly woman, sitting on the other side of the waiting room, gave Nan a little wave.

  “Oh, it’s Elsie, you remember, darling. Her daughter, Diane, went to school with your mum.”

  Charlotte, who had absolutely no idea who Elsie was, just smiled and said, “That’s nice.”

  Nan got to her feet. “I’ll just go and say a quick hello.”

  Charlotte nodded and carried on flicking through an ancient magazine.

  When Nan returned, she dug Charlotte in the ribs with her elbow. “You will never believe it.”

  “Ow, what?” Charlotte asked, rubbing her side.

  “She’s here for a cold! Come to see the doctor about a cold. Can you believe it? No wonder the NHS is running out of money.”

  Charlotte glanced up to see little, old Elsie shooting them daggers. “Shh, Nan, she’ll hear you.”

  “I don’t care.” Nan shook her head. “Coming to the doctors for a sniffle, well, I as
k you.”

  Thankfully, in the next moment, Nan’s name was called out.

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” Charlotte asked.

  “Don’t be silly,” Nan said. She got up from the seat cautiously, her arthritis was playing up again. She walked off in the direction of the GP’s room, leaving Charlotte to re-read the posters on the wall about flu and the importance of washing your hands thoroughly.

  Ten minutes later, Nan re-emerged. She barely slowed her stride as she passed through the waiting room. Charlotte got to her feet and grabbed up her coat, jumper and bag before running after her.

  “Nan, what’s wrong?” said Charlotte catching up with her in the street outside the surgery.

  “Snivelling little bastard!”

  “Nan!”

  “I have never been so insulted. I had to sit there and listen to that. He can’t have finished school long ago. And…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “…he wasn’t even British.”

  “What happened?” Charlotte asked. Normally she would have made the point of reminding her not to be racist, but she let the comment slide this time. She was more interested in what actually happened.

  “He asked me if a member of my family had been hitting me,” Nan said.

  “What?”

  “I had a bruise on my arm, a tiny one. Of course, I told him he was being ridiculous.”

  Charlotte paused as a bus rumbled by. “He’s just doing his job; they have to ask things like that. It’s horrible, but it does happen to some people.”

  “That may be, but he wouldn’t believe me. He said he understood if I wasn’t ready to talk about it, but he’d give me a number. Bloody cheek, talking to me like I’m senile, with a family that belts me!”

  Charlotte put her arm around her Nan’s shoulders and could feel her trembling. “Look we’ll go home, and I’ll make you a cup of tea. Did he say anything else about the bruises?”

  “He said it might be the tablets for my arthritis. They might be making me bruise more easily. He wants me to try new ones.” Nan fished around in her handbag and produced a slip of paper and a leaflet. “Something about a trial. Some drug they are testing out. He wants me to be a guinea pig.”

  Charlotte took the leaflet and skim read it. “It doesn’t sound too bad. It’s a trial to compare two types of treatment, both are used regularly by arthritis patients.”

  Nan shook her head. “It is all the way up near Oxford somewhere.”

  Charlotte turned over the leaflet and read the section on the back. “It is at the John Radcliffe. That is easy enough to get to, and you only need to go there twice, once at the beginning of the trial and once at the end. I can borrow a car and drive you. You’ll be monitored during the rest of the trial by your GP.”

  Nan’s eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s hardly a positive point is it? Seeing that man every week for the next six months!”

  Charlotte disagreed. If Nan became involved in a trial like this, her health would be monitored very closely, which was a good thing, as far as Charlotte was concerned. “Well, have a think about it. When do you have to go?”

  “Wednesday.”

  Charlotte slipped her arm through Nan’s and they walked along slowly to the bus stop. She thought for a moment, then said, “Is the afternoon okay? I’ll go to work for a bit, come back and we’ll drive down to the John Radcliffe together.”

  “I haven’t said I’ll do it yet, and there’s no need. I can get the train on my own.”

  Charlotte gave her arm a squeeze. “I know, but I’d like to come. It would make me feel better.”

  61

  Of all the people Mackinnon might have expected to see at Wood Street Station on Monday morning, Sir Jim Cartwright, the chemistry chairman was pretty low on the list.

  But Sir Jim had arrived at ten thirty, and as both DCI Brookbank and DI Tyler were attending meetings they couldn’t get out of, Mackinnon had the dubious honour of finding out the purpose of his visit.

  Sir Jim sat opposite Mackinnon in interview room two and looked around the room. He had been given tea in a paper cup, which sat in front of him on the desk.

  “Do you know this is the very first time I have been in a police station?” Sir Jim said, looking around at the pokey interview room with its magnolia walls and grey carpet. “It is not really what I expected.”

  The interview room might not be the most impressive surroundings, but it was better than trying to talk to Sir Jim sitting at Mackinnon’s desk in the open plan incident room.

  “What did you expect, sir?” Mackinnon asked.

  “Oh I don’t know,” Sir Jim said, looking at a scuff mark on the wall. “Perhaps something a little more modern.”

  Mackinnon didn’t really know what to say to that, so he tried to move things along a bit. “I understand you are not keen to have police presence in the department, but I didn’t expect you to travel all the way here to help us out.”

  “On the contrary, I welcome a police presence, but not one that interrogates my students and staff, unnecessarily.”

  Mackinnon didn’t bother to argue the point. “My colleague told me you have some information you think may help our investigation.”

  “Ah, yes. I think we got off on the wrong foot, so to speak. Of course, I want to help you in your investigation in any way I can, but I have a duty to my department. It is not the police presence I object to. Of course not. We’ve had a police presence around us since work on the animal house commenced, but I do not want the university to be linked with a murder enquiry, especially when it has nothing to do with us.”

  Mackinnon nodded. “I can understand that you want to safeguard the university’s reputation.”

  “It would be a public relations nightmare if the press got hold of this story and twisted it so that the university looked like the villain of the piece, but I do realise that this is now a murder enquiry and as such, needs to be investigated. I just hope we can do this without seeing lurid headlines in the papers.”

  Mackinnon couldn’t promise there wouldn’t be any lurid headlines. Especially as the link to the university had come from a journalist in the first place, but he tried diplomacy. “That is the last thing we would want, sir.”

  Sir Jim studied Mackinnon for a moment, before picking up his paper cup of tea and taking a sip. Placing it back down on the table, he nodded.

  “I don’t know if the information I have would be relevant to your investigation. In fact, I think it probably won’t help at all.”

  Mackinnon frowned. Why couldn’t he just spit it out and let Mackinnon judge whether or not the information was relevant. “If you tell me what the information is, sir, then we’ll be able to determine how relevant it is to the investigation.”

  Sir Jim took another sip of tea and sat back in his chair, looking as if he were weighing up his options. “The CCTV brought it to my attention actually. If it hadn’t been for that, I don’t think it would have occurred to me.”

  Sir Jim leaned forward with a smile on his lips. “You see, sergeant, I know that my administrative assistant, Mrs. Gilmore, told you about the CCTV of the graffiti artist in action on the night of the break-in.”

  Mackinnon did his best to keep his face blank. “Something you probably should have told us about yourself, sir, don’t you think?”

  Sir Jim looked to the ceiling and tutted. “No. The Thames Valley Police are dealing with the graffiti. The graffiti is all part of the animal rights activists’ campaign against the university. It is not related to your murder investigation.”

  Mackinnon considered this from Sir Jim’s point of view. At the moment, the note left on Weston’s car had not been made available to anyone outside the investigation, which meant Sir Jim would not know that the note accused John Weston of supporting animal testing, so contrary to Sir Jim’s statement, the link between the two incidents was compelling.

  “The Thames Valley Police force has stood shoulder to shoulder with the university against these activis
ts, and they have done a splendid job. They are trying to find the culprit behind the graffiti.

  “The university uses many toxic chemicals, but procedures are in place to make sure they are secured. Yes, we had a break-in, but the Thames Valley force are investigating, and I have no doubt that they will do their best to hold those responsible accountable for their actions.

  “I’ve spoken to Professor Clarkson, who runs the lab targeted by the activists, personally, and he tells me nothing is missing.”

  “I do appreciate you coming to see us, but we need to investigate every possibility, you must see that,” Mackinnon said.

  “Of course. Look, I have no problem with Linda telling you about the tape. I just don’t believe it was relevant to John Weston’s death. We’ve had many similar incidences of graffiti around the science area and I can assure you, none were linked to poisonings! You don’t really think the two incidents are related, do you?” Sir Jim said.

  “At this stage, sir, we are reluctant to rule anything out.”

  Sir Jim’s expression darkened. “Well, I did hope you might be showing some reasoning skills by this point.” Sir Jim removed his jacket and put it over the back of the chair. “Anyway, your lack of reasoning skills wasn’t actually what I came to discuss.”

  Mackinnon waited.

  “I couldn’t help wondering about Linda’s behaviour. I mean, she was ever so keen to help you out and tell you about the CCTV, wasn’t she? But I very much doubt she told you that she was very close to John Weston at one point, very close.”

  That got Mackinnon’s attention. “What do you mean by that, sir? Were they involved romantically?”

  “Heavens! I wouldn’t know about that.” Sir Jim leaned forward, conspiratorially. “But I do know, John Weston was a very close friend of her husband, Derek.”

  Sir Jim nodded and raised his eyebrows.

  Mackinnon had to admit it was strange Mrs. Gilmore hadn’t mentioned knowing John Weston.

  “I feel most uncomfortable mentioning it to you actually. To be honest, I really don’t like to discuss people’s private lives, but as you told me yourself, sergeant, this is a murder investigation.”