Peter Holgate knew he had to voice his thoughts in order for those back at Control to gain as much information as possible. Both could have been affected by vapour or gas. He smelled her clothes and her hair but there was nothing. He continued to talk through his actions, knowing it was monitored on his chest cam, as he took hold of Barbara’s wrist, feeling for her pulse whilst scanning her hand, particularly the nails. There was no sign of a struggle; there had been nothing out of place either so he doubted there had been a robbery.
Carefully he lifted her body and retrieved the hand wrapped in bloodsoaked kitchen roll. The paper was saturated and began to disintegrate as he unwrapped it. He could now inspect the running wound; coagulation was clearly not happening. He immediately mentioned the possibility of a joint suicide. He checked the teapot but it was empty apart from two dry teabags. The sirens still continued to be audible as they approached. It would not be long before the specialist HART team arrived and removed the casualties and himself. He checked Barbara’s handbag for drugs but found nothing and then checked the bathroom cabinet. It contained just general items. However, the bedroom held a collection of prescribed medicines and he held each one and stopped at Warfarin. Only a few of the tablets had been removed from the blister pack and he doubted that they were the cause.
The door burst open and Peter Holgate faced two colleagues dressed in full hazmat suits. One went to Barbara whilst the other followed Peter into the toilet. They would see if they could identify the toxidromes within each patient and therefore make an accurate assessment of their needs. It was Peter who pointed to the wound on Barbara’s hand. The wound to the leg was then checked.
“These are snake bites and that would account for the lack of coagulation.” He immediately looked around the floor area, particularly to freestanding cupboards. “What about the other?”
“Similar wound to his leg, severe blistering,” the call came back. “Snake bite, I agree.”
Chapter Five
Cyril stood next to Owen as he stared at the stained glass that flooded the building with light, changing the pews, the stone columns and the floor to a mosaic of blended colour, the pattern both intricate and strong. Cyril’s mouth was dry, his palms, sweaty. Even though the day was warm there was a welcome cool air in the church. The music from the organ seemed almost inaudible as he mentally wrestled with the magnitude of the occasion. Cyril knew Owen could sense his discomfort when he felt his left hand round Cyril’s shoulder and pulled him a little closer.
“It’ll be fine, sir, sorry, Cyril. She’s not late, not yet at least. I’ll marry you if she fails to show.” He winked and smiled. “Kidding!”
Cyril looked up at Owen. “That’s just what I was afraid of, Owen.” Looking at the hand around his shoulders, he realised he had made the right choice in picking his best man. He rubbed his palms together and felt the perspiration.
The organ changed pitch and The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba filled every corner and crevice of the church. George Frederic Handel Cyril said to himself. He forced himself to keep looking at the vicar who now appeared before them, all smiles and reassurance.
***
Quinn looked at the report and then at his computer screen. The office was quiet, the majority being at Cyril’s wedding. He had watched a live stream sent from April Richmond as Julie arrived with her father in the maroon Bentley but it had been only a glimpse. She would be back along with others on this shift. The job did not stop, not even for DCI Cyril Bennett.
***
The toxicology results had been convincing. Viper, all the evidence suggested. He quickly checked Wikipedia:
Russell's viper (Daboia russelii) is a species of venomous snake in the family Viperidae[1] , the family which includes the venomous Old World vipers. The species is found in Asia throughout the Indian subcontinent, much of Southeast Asia, southern China and Taiwan.[2] The species is named for Patrick Russell (1726–1805),[3] a Scottish herpetologist who first described many of India's snakes, and the name of the genus is from the Hindi word meaning "that lies hid", or "the lurker".[4] In Bengali this snake is called chandroborha since it carries lenticular or more precisely lunar marks all over its body. Apart from being a member of the big four snakes in India, Daboia is also one of the genera responsible for causing the most snakebite incidents and deaths among all venomous snakes on account of many factors, such as their wide distribution, generally aggressive demeanor, and frequent occurrence in highly populated areas.[5]
Daboia russelli is commonly known as Russell's viper and chain viper, among other names.[6][7]
“Bloody hell!” He allowed a low, slow whistle to escape from his lips. “The lurker – responsible for more snakebite incidents and deaths – aggressive. The chain viper … chain. That’s some enemy but why would it be in Knaresborough? Where is it now?” The report clearly stated that the house had been thoroughly searched. A call had gone out for people to be extra vigilant in the location but so far nothing had been seen. The autopsy had concluded that it was a bite and not an injected poison, so both victims had come in contact with Daboia russelli. But why? Quinn skimmed the report again. George had never even kept a cat let alone one of the world’s most venomous snakes. He wanted to know more. In two minutes he was on the phone to the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine as the centre for snakebite research but also a herpetarium holding a Russell’s viper.
***
The music slowly faded as he sensed Julie move to his left. He could smell her, that familiar perfume, and his stomach tumbled like it did when he was excited as a child. Turning to look he was met by her warm smile. Owen looked at Hannah, who stood just behind the bride, before giving Cyril a small shove and they both moved closer to the bride and her father, Fred.
For Cyril, the next twenty-five minutes seemed a blur. Yes, he heard the hymns, he joined in but it was as if he were an intruder looking in. Was it really happening to him? Did he deserve such a special, warm and kind woman? His life only seemed to refocus when they were signing the register and within minutes the sound of a violin made the hairs on his neck stand … he felt Julie’s grip squeeze his hand. He knew this music was coming, they had planned it as it meant so much, the music his mother had played to him throughout his childhood until her early death, but nothing could prevent the bittersweet memories returning. The strains of The Lark Ascending made him momentarily close his eyes and picture his mother, violin in hand, a smile on her face. “Cyril Vaughan Bennett, do you …?” The vicar’s words came to mind as if spoken by his mother. Vaughan, his middle name given in homage to Ralph Vaughan Williams, “I do!” he said out loud. “I most certainly do, Mother.”
Wendy slipped a hand onto his arm. She knew just what he was going through at this crossroad in his life. He felt Julie squeeze his hand again and he was back, surrounded by the two females he loved most in the world.
As they walked down the aisle, smiling faces greeted them from either side. On reaching the main door Cyril laughed out loud. Four officers lined either side, their batons raised across the path followed by four members of Julie’s team dressed in their scrubs. He stood momentarily and two rows of Police tape fluttered by the gate POLICE – DO NOT CROSS clear for all to see. There was a loud cheer and a number of photographers moved closer capturing the moment perfectly. Within ten minutes, Cyril and Julie were in the Bentley and her father drove them the few hundred yards to Ripley Castle.
***
April Richmond carried her heeled shoes and deposited them by her desk. Quinn looked up and smiled.
“Thank you for the live stream. Julie looked marvellous. Glad to get them off I see.” He pointed to the red shoes.
April looked across to him and smiled whilst rubbing her feet. “Killing me. Never thought he’d do it. Men get to a certain age and they don’t usually bother. Just shows how wrong you can be. Cyril looked like a lamb being led to the slaughter. I think I saw him smile at the end when he saw the guard of honour. Anything on the snake deaths?�
�
Quinn raised his eyebrows. “While you were all captivated by the charms of romance, I was searching out the truth. Ninety percent chance the toxin that killed both was from a Russell’s viper, one of the worlds most venomous snakes. What we need to find out is why, and where the bloody thing is now. We’ve had no more reports.”
“They’re sure it was a number of bites, plural? … Brew?”
“Yes, and please. The autopsy’s clear. Barbara Perry was bitten twice, the right calf and on the hand whilst George Lyons was bitten only the once. I spoke with a Professor Victor Moodley.”
April paused and turned to look at Quinn. “Who?”
“Moodley is an expert on these things. Tracked him down in Liverpool. There are a number of factors as you can imagine, not least the strength of the envenoming, I have a new word.” He broke the word down into syllables. “Sounds less frightening than bitten don’t you think?”
“And those factors are?”
“The age and size of the victim. What’s interesting also is that they took blood tests from both patients and looked for certain factors that would determine their chance of survival from the outset and therefore the correct course of care. It was too late for George as he was dead on arrival. Barbara needed dialysis as the venom caused kidney failure and we know from the evidence when they were discovered that their blood wouldn’t clot, it had become incoagulable. But what’s exciting is this. The evidence suggests that he was bitten first, probably a couple of hours before the 999 call was received, whereas she, on the other hand, received both bites after the call.” Quinn looked up at April and she could see the enthusiasm in his eyes. He was a keen copper.
“Exciting? Really? And your point is?”
He stood and turned to a whiteboard. There was an eagerness in the way he moved as he started jotting times down the left hand side.
“Let’s say the call came in here.” He pointed to the time. “So, we work from the point of the call as that’s a definitive … Barbara envenomed here.” He turned and smiled. “Love that word! George here. Now, what’s crucial to all of this is the fact that Professor Moodley mentioned that considering the samples taken, she would’ve been conscious for only about fifteen minutes after the first bite.” Quinn marked it on the board. “So?”
April moved closer to the whiteboard, a clear frown etched on her face. “According to the evidence she made the call?” She looked at Quinn who nodded his head.
“If the science is right, yes. The bite occurred immediately afterwards. If that were the case, we add the time the paramedic arrived.” He added that to the board. “He first believed it to be some kind of gas or biohazard but once his colleagues arrived according to the recording from his chest cam, they confirmed snake bites. He searched for the snake once he realised what he was dealing with, probably more out of self-preservation than curiosity.”
“Forensics?”
“They found no snake.”
“We need a more thorough forensic search of the house and gardens. Something’s just not right. You mention the key factors for people dying from snake bites are linked to age and size of the victim so I get the effects on Lyons, but a young woman?”
“Well, the autopsy on Barbara suggests an unidentified heart condition. We checked her medical records and it was clearly never diagnosed. There’s evidence of high blood pressure too.”
“What do we know about George Lyons?”
Quinn drew a file from the tray on his desk and tapped it with his finger. “All here, what there is of it.”
***
The wedding reception, although not large, was perfectly organised. Julie and Cyril had decided on only a few close friends and colleagues but the venue within the old castle itself was breathtaking. In his speech, Cyril had brought tears to the eyes of many as he spoke warmly about his stepmother and he even had a few kind words to say about his father. He believed and had observed that his speech did not need to be eternal to be immortal and sincerely hoped the Best Man’s speech would follow the same principles. However, he had one card up his sleeve that he hoped would take a little wind out of his friend’s sails and as he was about to sit after toasting Julie’s parents, he returned to his feet mid-applause.
“Sorry, I almost forgot to mention that yesterday I received a phone call from a colleague and friend with some wonderful news. As some here will know, my best man and sergeant, DS David Owen, has heeded advice and made the necessary steps to progress to the next level in the force. It appears, from what my friend has told me, that he obviously spelled his name correctly on the necessary test papers and is now no longer Detective Sergeant Owen but Inspector Owen. I wanted to be the first to congratulate him and I ask you all to stand and raise your glasses to my best friend and colleague. Owen, we’ve always worked on the well-known police premise, Job satisfaction – role not rank – I know you’re staying put with me so the job satisfaction flies straight out of the window.” Cyril winked at the guests. “To Inspector David Owen.”
Over laughter, the combined voice in the room repeated the words, “Inspector David Owen,” followed by loud cheers. Cyril sat down and waited for Owen to make his speech; it would be a while.
***
Quinn thumbed through the notes. “George Lyons. Born 1936 in Hull. Evacuated as a child to Masham and then to a village closer to Hull – both in 1941. That’s not unusual according to my research. Something to do with either over-protective parent or some kind of abuse. And we think that the sexual exploitation of minors is a recent phenomenon! Says here after bombs fell on the town many were evacuated. In 1945 he went back to Hull. First job was at the National Radiator Company but quickly left going to work at the Hull Knacker’s Yard, I prefer the term abattoir.” He paused as April put a mug of tea on his desk. “Married in 1968. No kids. She died in 1992.”
“Knacker’s yard is a tad different from an abattoir, Quinn. I believe it to be a place where animals, usually horses and dead farm animals are disposed of. How did she die?”
Quinn flicked through the page. “Doesn’t say.” He made a note to check further. “Knacker’s yard closed in 1984 and he moved to Coalcut Abattoir, just outside Knaresborough, until he finished on health grounds in 1991. That would make him …”
“Sixty-one.”
“According to this, he’s been on benefits ever since. Interestingly, Coalcut was known as The Knackery as they dealt predominantly with horses. According to what I’ve been able to discover, and I’ve not had long, they dealt with injured and unwanted animals.”
“Is it still active?” April sipped her tea.
“Nope. Closed down about 2010. There was an investigation into the trading of horse meat to France, samples of which were later found to contain traces of bute. That’s phenylbutazone, an anti-inflammatory drug. Some of the exported meat was destroyed but there’s evidence to suggest that from France it went to different European countries. There was even talk that it filtered into the manufacture of beef-based products. Also, and I find this staggering, April, the industry went underground. There was still a market as people needed to get rid of horses and ponies cheaply and so isolated barns became knacker’s yards.”
“Was George Lyons involved in that?”
“No evidence but I guess it would depend on his needs at the time. According to the latest bulletins it’s happening today out in the open, in the bloody fields. Last month farmers in North Yorkshire and Northumberland discovered a good number of their flock slaughtered and butchered. Professional gangs, quite possibly from Europe.” Picking up his tea he looked directly at April. “Is it me or do you see the irony? A man who killed and butchered all of his life is killed himself by an animal. Okay, divine retribution would have been to see him trampled by a harras of horses.”
There was a slightly awkward silence. April was impressed by the way Quinn went about his work. He was diligent, enthusiastic but also unsure and it was that uncertainty she liked. It made him question and look again a
nd again.
April cleared her throat. “We need to find out more about George Lyons. We also want a closer look at his home. Has anyone questioned his neighbours?”
“There’s a brief note here as they were moved temporarily until the HART team knew just what had caused the injuries. All speak highly of him. There was genuine concern.”
“I’ll check with the duty Inspector to get a Forensics team back in. In the mean time I want as much information on George as possible. Pay particular attention to his wife’s death and I need a better understanding of his place within the community. His friends and his enemies … that’s if a man of his age has enemies.”
***
It took a while for Owen’s face to return to its normal colour and as he stood his knee caught the edge of the table leg causing two glasses of wine that were sitting near the edge of the table to fall. Fortunately, they contained white wine and neither glass broke. He went to retrieve them but knocked the table again.
“Leave them, Owen, before you create a domino effect,” Hannah whispered. “Just get the speech over, you’re a bundle of nerves.”
Owen removed some crumpled sheets of paper from his breast pocket and tried with shaky hands to straighten them. “I’m sorry but if truth be known I’d rather be arresting a bunch of baddies from the dark streets than standing here. You lovely people scare me more than most villains do.”
“You tell ’em Inspector!” a voice from a table to his left brought a ripple of laughter.
“Firstly, I want to say that if promotion had meant moving from the present team in which I now serve proudly, I wouldn’t have applied. Although we see changes to that team there is one constant, and my friends, that constant is sitting here; my boss, a man I’m proud to call sir every day but he’s also my true friend.”
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