Lessons in Following a Poisonous Trail: A Cambridge Fellows Mystery novella (Cambridge Fellows Mysteries)

by Charlie Cochrane

  “I knew we were dealing with two separate cases. Came to that conclusion yesterday. As you must have too,” he added, guiltily, remembering that Jonty had aired the Hamlet comparison then.

  “Great minds and all that.” Jonty grinned. “I think our thoughts might be in line over something else, too. The matter of who was best placed to put laxative in the food.”

  “Sibley,” Orlando declared, at the same time as Jonty said, “Laithwaite!”

  A flurry of “What?” and “Sorry?” followed, before they both burst out laughing.

  “Ah. We appear to be at variance over who did it.” Orlando said, once he’d recovered his composure. “Would you like to open the bidding or shall I?”

  “Age before beauty, of course.” Jonty indicated that Orlando should proceed.

  With a roll of his eyes, Orlando launched into the various reasons he’d become suspicious of Sibley, finishing with, “And to add a final, subjective touch, he seemed to me just a bit too good to be true, if that makes sense. Too full of joviality on the surface and then the odd barbed remark.”

  “You didn’t like him.”

  “I did not. Although I couldn’t have told you that until the moment I woke this morning. I didn’t agree with his judgment on Laithwaite’s character, either.”

  Jonty nodded, fair hair—which was in need of a trim—flopping about attractively. “You have the advantage of me in that regard, having met both of them. I’m assessing everything at second hand. Apart from Threlfall, of course.”

  Orlando couldn’t help feeling guilty when presented with that fact. “I wish you’d been able to play a more active part. If you’d been able to calibrate my judgement, you might have interpreted matters quite differently.”

  “I trust your valuation, old chap. May not have done when first we met but you’ve come on leaps and bounds. Although may I remind you that the nicest people can be murderers?”

  Orlando shuddered in recollection of at least one charming woman who’d proved deadly when put into a certain situation, although she might never have hurt a fly had that set of circumstances not occurred. “The point is well made. I suppose that you have the benefit of objectivity, lying there weighing the facts and assessing what we’ve been told, rather than overpainting them with the personalities involved. Astound me with your reasoning about Laithwaite.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll astound, but I’ll make a cogent case,” which Jonty proceeded to do, Orlando listening carefully and saving up any questions for the end of the account.

  “There’s merit in that. A similar motive to Sibley’s and just as good an opportunity as his to lace the food. No connection to the St Andrew’s business, as far as we know, though. I’m fairly certain Laithwaite has been here as long as I have, so longer than Sibley would have been, if the date of the paper is correct.”

  “Does there have to be a connection? We said from the start we needed to be careful, that people would be wondering whether every instance was part of a bigger pattern, and then we went and fell into that same trap.” Jonty leaned forward to pat Orlando’s hand. “It all started with Threlfall and it’s snowballed since then. Even the police thought we had a minor crime wave and neither of Messrs Cohen and Wilson are fools. Let’s pare this back to what we know is fact. Which is precious little.”

  Orlando squeezed his lover’s hand in silent acknowledgment that he was right. As he so annoyingly often seemed to be. “We will do just that. Threlfall took the Veronal overdose himself, either accidentally or deliberately. Although, for the sake of accuracy, did he give any impression that he might be covering up for someone else?”

  “Not the slightest. And why should he? When you attempt to poison me, I shall have no qualms about shouting it from the rooftops.”

  “Pfft. Fact the second: there was a dinner at the Blue Boar after which all those present were taken ill.”

  “Agreed. I’d like to apply to have the St Andrew’s business dismissed from appearing in this list.” Jonty tipped his head to one side, appealingly. “I know that the source of the story, Pope, isn’t under suspicion but we’ve no idea if he was himself mistaken. And given that our friends are unlikely to be continuing their constabulary duty in this regard we’ll have to leave that as an unknown.”

  “I’ll accept that.” If grudgingly. Why couldn’t such things be as easily proven as mathematics could? “So the only outstanding fact—apart from your injured leg—is the senna in the roly poly.”

  “Now, much as this would contradict my theory, but in the interests of probity, do we have any proof that there was any senna? Could Laithwaite have, for whatever reason have lied about it?”

  “No. That’s something we have verification of.” Orlando paused under Jonty’s sharp scrutinising glance. “Ah, yes. I don’t think I told you that yet, did I?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “In my defence, I only heard this morning, probably when you were at the hospital.” Orlando produced a note from his pocket which he passed across. “It’s in here. For all the good it will do us.”

  Jonty donned his spectacles, read the note than handed it back. “Where next, then? How on earth can we establish which of the two did it? If either did.”

  Orlando didn’t have a chance to answer the question. The unmistakable voice of Dr Panesar, working his charm on Nurse Norcross, was swiftly followed by his bursting through the door.

  “Dr Panesar!” Jonty said gleefully. “So glad to see you. By the fact we’re all still here and not sitting on a cloud playing harps, I assume you made your device safe?”

  The visitor waved his hands. “Oh, it was nothing, really. Mice had been chewing at the wires, it appears, causing intermittent power supply issues and finally a dramatic short circuit. It is all sorted now. Rewired yesterday and my assistant is rodent proofing the system as we speak. But we must bless that mouse: he led me to St Andrew’s.”

  Orlando cast Jonty an anxious glance. Had their friend at last crossed the line between eccentricity and insanity? Jonty, who was evidently taking all this in his stride, simply said, “There’s a tale to be told, there. Lay on, Dr P.”

  “I will, gladly. As we cleared the mess, I remarked to Alveston—my assistant—that it would be interesting to do a study of how animals had made an impact, accidental or otherwise, on scientific study. I had in mind Diamond.”

  “Newton’s dog.” Orlando shuddered at the thought of so much of the great man’s work lost so swiftly in the fire Diamond was said to have caused.

  “The very same.” Panesar beamed. “Alveston took the idea more seriously than I’d intended. He said it was just the sort of topic his friend Norris would have loved. Norris who wrote that paper about outbreaks of illness that I showed you, Dr Coppersmith.”

  Orlando nodded, then waited for their colleague continue. The story was getting closer to being relevant.

  “Alveston then went on to say he could imagine Norris scouring the length and breadth of the country to find such tales. At which point I wondered if he’d done the same with the study he’d already written.”

  “St Andrew’s.” Jonty rubbed his hands. “We’d given up hope of finding out about that.”

  “Despair no more.” Panesar raised his hand as if to give a sign of benediction then clearly thought better of it. “I asked Alveston if he kept in touch with Norris. Not only did he confirm that he did, he produced a telephone number for the Norris family home. I put a call through last evening, spoke to my old student and discovered he had come across the St Andrew’s business in one of the medical periodicals he’d been using for research. He could not call the details to mind but said he would find out as soon as he could. This morning I received this!” Panesar produced from his briefcase a telegram. “As soon as I could I visited the relevant library and found the paper in question.”

  Orlando could at last feel a note of optimism. The barely concealed smile on Panesar’s face showed he had important revelations to come. “What did it say
? Did it suggest who’d done the poisoning?”

  “It did. The local fishmonger. Not deliberately, of course, unless you call being less than careful about the source of and the care for the food you sell a deliberate act.”

  Jonty pulled a face. “One result of this case is likely to be me being put off fruits de mer for a long time.”

  While Orlando couldn’t believe that Jonty would be put off any forms of food for more than a week, he sympathised with the notion, albeit disappointed at encountering another dead end. “So there’s no evidence of a criminal at work?”

  “Alas, no. But there was something of huge significance.” Panesar’s eyes sparkled. “The paper was written by Scarrett.”

  Jonty slapped his covers. “I knew that doctor was involved in this more than he let on. Every time he comes into the room, my leg twinges. It knows, somehow.”

  Orlando rolled his eyes at such nonsense. He was formulating a witty retort when Panesar said, “Not just Scarrett. Sibley as well. Our Sibley, given the initials. Had it been a plain Dr D Sibley it might have been a mere coincidence, but I can’t believe there are two Dr DVQ Sibleys specialising in Mathematics. In the interests of fact rather than assumption, I managed with the librarian’s help to track down another paper he’d worked on in a similar field. There was a reference to Sibley’s previous research. The paper I’d just read.”

  Orlando, who’d done his best to appear surprised when Panesar had produced Sibley’s St Andrew’s connection like a rabbit out of a hat, had been genuinely amazed at the Scarrett part of the tale.

  “Dr Panesar, I’d like to shake your hand.” Jonty did just that. “While it grieves me to say this, given this might give credence to Dr Coppersmith’s theory rather than mine, I have to confess you’ve done a good piece of work. We’ve caught Sibley out in a palpable lie.”

  “What theory?” Panesar asked.

  “Oh, we’ve not brought you up to date on the cogitations of our noddles. Our fault. I should begin, seeing as it appears I’m the runner-up.” Jonty explained what had brought him to suspect Laithwaite, after which Orlando did the same regarding Sibley.

  At the end, he pointed out, “The new information doesn’t prove I’m correct, but it does look highly suspicious. We’ve caught him out in one lie. What others are there?”

  “You need to see Laithwaite again,” Jonty said. “Find out more about that dinner party and who exactly said what and when. Look for an enmity with Scarrett.”

  “I’ll teach some grannies to suck eggs while I’m at it, thank you.”

  “Sorry, old man. That’s my frustration at being stuck here showing.” Jonty sighed. “Irrespective of all this, for me the most frustrating thing remains still not knowing the origin of that noise.”

  “What noise?” Orlando asked, mind not really on the conversation but already formulating the questions he’d be asking later.

  “The breaking sound when I got flattened on the rugby pitch. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” It was never hard to tell when Jonty was genuinely affronted. The bottom lip sticking out like a little boy’s made it plain.

  “I hadn’t forgotten. It had merely been displaced from the forefront of my mind. Threlfall heard it too, so you can’t have been imagining it.” The intended mollifying remark didn’t work.

  “Of course I didn’t. Dr Panesar, I must apologise for puzzling you. When I had my injury, I heard what sounded like something breaking. Threlfall heard it too and reckoned it was my tibia snapping in two. It wasn’t, so we’re perplexed about it.”

  Panesar spread his hands. “Alas I have nothing to suggest. You, no doubt, will have eliminated the obvious, like a twig or a bootlace?”

  “We have. Not the bootlaces, but it didn’t appear to be a bootlacey-type of noise.” Jonty sighed again, clearly looking for sympathy. “Dr Panesar, I know we’ve imposed mightily on your time, but will you do me just one further investigational favour? Would you go and see Threlfall, say I sent you if he wants to know why you’re bothering him, then ask a simple question or two?”

  “I would be pleased to oblige, Dr Stewart. What is it you would like to know? Whether his bootlaces were intact when he left the pitch?”

  “Not quite. I’m more interested in the exact circumstances surrounding his wisdom teeth and whose idea it was for him to pull out of the dinner.” Jonty shot a glance at Orlando. “I’d put money on this being another feat of verbal prestidigitation.”

  Orlando nodded. “My money would be staked right beside yours.”

  ***

  When Threlfall spotted Panesar coming towards him across the ward, his face registered both surprise and a slight degree of trepidation.

  Panesar produced his brightest and most reassuring smile. “How are you, old man?”

  “Improving every hour. I’ll be going back to college tomorrow, I hope. I’ll have work to catch up on.” The patient forced a smile.

  “Delighted to hear that. I am here primarily on Dr Stewart’s behalf but I would like to extend my personal wishes for a speedy recovery.”

  “Thank you.” Threlfall fingered the bed covers. “Dr Stewart sent you? He doesn’t believe what I told him?”

  “Should he disbelieve it?”

  “No,” Threlfall said hastily, then, “no, honestly. What I told him is no word of a lie. My being here is all my own stupid fault.”

  Panesar nodded, then lowered his voice. “You went on a pilgrimage, I believe.”

  “Yes.” The unspoken question Why? sat heavily between them. “You know more than any man in Cambridge that there are things I’ve done which have lain heavily on my conscience.”

  “I am aware of that. I also know that you have not harmed anybody in the course of those…um…activities. More cerebral than physical.”

  Threlfall ran his hand across his brow. “Yes. But one is part of the greater perfidy, dissembling and violence. That’s why I felt I couldn’t marry Mary. She deserved a husband who could be entirely candid with her. I want no more of such things.”

  “Then have no more of them.” Panesar patted the patient’s arm. “You cannot amend the past. It will always bear a consequence for what you can tell people about what you did, but the future is yours. I will ensure that those who need to know your wishes are informed about them.”

  “Thank you.” Threlfall’s relief was evident. “And now to what Dr Stewart wants.”

  “He would like to know about your wisdom teeth. More specifically the day they were troubling you so much you pulled out of Claridge’s dinner party. Did you come to that decision entirely by yourself?” Panesar waited while his erstwhile colleague gathered his thoughts.

  “I can’t say that I did. As I recall, I woke that day with the wretched things throbbing like the devil. My dental surgeon couldn’t help me until the next day so I called in at my doctor’s surgery to get some tincture to ease the pain. I mentioned the dinner and how I’d like to catch up with Laithwaite, who I’d not seen in ages, and he suggested I’d be better off having a quiet night and arranging to see my friend another time. He was certain Laithwaite wouldn’t mind. They’ve known each other for years.”

  “Might I ask your doctor’s name?” Panesar was certain the answer would be Scarrett but managed to act surprised when it came. Scarrett might, of course, have mentioned this to Sibley, if they were in league. “Did you discuss it with anyone else?”

  “Yes. I had a meeting later with a colleague. He no doubt noticed my swollen face and asked if he could help.” Threlfall frowned, perhaps only now seeing another aspect to the conversation. “By then the tincture was helping so I said I’d be going to Assumption as planned, as that would at least take my mind off my molars. Sibley—that’s the chap I was with—counselled against it. Reminded me how bad the pain would be when it hit and how I’d likely feel guilty for spoiling the others’ evening. I suggested he took my place.”

  “It was your suggestion alone?”

  “I think so…although Sibley did put i
t in my mind. Reminding me of a dinner I’d given that he’d attended and at which Claridge had been brought in at the last moment when Laithwaite himself had been called away to see his father, who’d taken a nasty fall. We decided then we’d do the same in future if necessary. Is this significant?”

  “It might be. I know I can rely on your discretion in the interim.” Panesar closed his notebook. “A final thing, and one Dr Stewart doesn’t know I am asking you about. He heard a snapping noise at the time that he can’t account for. You told him you heard it too, but could offer no explanation to him. Have you one you can offer me? He will be like a dog with a bone unless we can explain things to his satisfaction.” He lowered his voice even further. “I can hazard a guess at what a man in our position might carry with him, to use in extreme situations. Although not necessarily in his rugby kit.”

  And how ironic that both Jonty and Sergeant Cohen had apparently hazarded an accurate guess at the contents of Threlfall’s pockets, while neither would ever know how accurate they’d been.

  “I was very confused that day, Maurice.” The sudden use of Panesar’s first name reflected Threlfall’s emotional state. “I barely knew what I was doing from one minute to the next because of that damn Veronal. Like an automaton.”

  “That could have been very dangerous. Not just for you.”

  “I know that. It was one of the reasons I wanted to make sure that Dr Stewart was all in one piece.”

  Possibly also one of the reasons Threlfall had sought help from the Veronal once more. Panesar took a deep breath. “Shall I tell him that you have perplexed your laundress? That she reports finding the remains of a small propelling pencil in the pocket of your rugger shorts and wonders what it could be doing there. That you remember using it to jot some notes before leaving for the game but have no memory of where you put it afterwards.”

  Threlfall, a relieved smile lighting his face, settled back more comfortably on his pillows. “Yes, please. That will do very nicely.”