Poison

by Charlot King

  Inspector Abley shakes his head.

  “I’m sorry Liz. I do, you know, want you consulting for me. It’s, well, it’s just too early, isn’t it? I think you know I’m only doing this for you.” Abley bites his bottom lip, then turns and sees a constable and passes him the bag with Sir Gerald’s cardigan trapped inside the clear plastic.

  “Look after that, will you, son?” The constable nods and walks off. Abley turns to Elizabeth. “You know the SOCO just told me there are no stab wounds, just a cut on his wrist perhaps from the fall into the water. This might just be a tragedy. That river takes as many as it chooses. Excuse me for a minute, will you?”

  “What about your tea?”

  “Oh, I’ll be back for that.” Inspector Abley looks at his tea, at Bertie licking his paw of milk and smiles at Elizabeth, then turns and walks away to talk to another uniformed police officer, who is pointing at the river. The frogman has just found a shoe and is placing it on the bank.

  Elizabeth can’t take her eye off the transparent bag containing one of her most precious belongings, as the young constable continues up the garden and without a care throws it onto the back seat of a squad car. She is stuck to the spot. She knows everything is too early. What did the Inspector mean for her own good? How presumptuous people are. What could possibly be for her own good now? Then Elizabeth’s eyes are drawn to splashing in the river. The frogman surfaces with another watery exhumation, this time trousers, then spits in his goggles before taking another dive to see what else is down below. Two men in white forensic suits measure, mark out, and sift through topsoil. A police photographer takes grim shots, close ups of the fear and shock in Edward’s face. Clicking at hands, feet, neck, hair. Why so many photographs? The photographer doesn’t see Edward, just a dead body. His job to collect the evidence, the voyeur, no matter how morbid. Elizabeth looks at the terribly contorted face of Edward staring back at her. The pain reflecting all his dreams cut short, the lack of proper goodbyes, unfinished business. If she could have just told him that everything would be okay. But as she held Edward in her arms in the dark, half-in, half-out of the water, she hadn’t been able to do anything. Bloody useless, and now what? Elizabeth absentmindedly wanders over to the greenhouse and twists shut the brass door knob, looking at the huge grapevine behind the panes. Frustrated with how things have been left with the Inspector, unable to make things better, to tell him the truth. To trust him with her true feelings.

  Not even the affable Inspector can see how she needs this, needs to be useful to someone. Elizabeth is going out of her mind at home, with little to do but her department research, and looking after her grandson, Godric Cartwright-Green, who’s staying with her right now and is far from a model pupil. She is not even sure whether he will be here for long. The university may well send him down. Her selfish daughter has brought up Godric to be quite the cocky young man, with a higher opinion of himself than the Eiffel Tower. But less thought about her the better. And no matter how hard she tries to distract herself with work, or grandmother duties, there is still something missing, more than just the gaping hole of losing Gerald. Elizabeth can’t seem to grapple with a constant uneasy feeling.

  5. The Hedonist

  Elizabeth’s grandson, Godric, saunters towards her. Snake hips in flannels, lithe body in floppy white shirt. At just nineteen, his large eyes, lips and blond curls give him the look of other worldliness. Just a boy in a man’s vessel, his skin so peachy the glow leaves you in awe and jealousy. Grey eyes flecked with diamonds so sharp they could pierce your heart, and a look so innocent. Looks are often deceptive, particularly in the case of her grandson, Elizabeth thinks. Of course she loves him, but she wishes he’d be just a little less flippant and a tad more honest.

  “Bunny, good morning.” Godric kisses his grandmother on both cheeks, his screechy voice not matching the rest of him, and also at odds with her own booming tones. She shuts her eyes to hold the sensation of his love for a moment. Like butterflies on a Buddleia, her heart dances, this boy can charm the birds. When she opens them Godric’s eyes are glued to his mobile. She cautions him. “You’ll gamble everything away.”

  “Up two hundred this week, Nanna. Told you, only penny shares.” Godric squeals cutting slices into the air, glancing up at the police and then back at his phone. “Blue lights woke me up. Should be illegal.”

  “Where are your slippers?”

  Godric winces dramatically. “Slippers won’t sort a bad gene pool and this leg. Has there been a massacre here, or what?”

  Elizabeth thinks there certainly has in her petunias. She’s not about to fill Godric in too quickly on the details. Let him wake up a bit first. She looks down at Godric’s bare feet and guides him into a chair under the parasol facing away from the commotion, puts his mobile on the table and pours a cup of tea. Godric pets Bertie under the chin and around the ears.

  “Hello Bertie, old bean. You been killing the blackbirds again? Told you those coppers would come after you in the end.” Bertie’s ears pull back at the shrieking pitch of Godric’s voice.

  “Don’t tarnish Bertie with your own bad habits.”

  “Killing blackbirds?”

  “You having been up to no good, that’s what.” Elizabeth hands Godric his tea. “You could do with a bit more work for your exams. I don’t see much evidence of revision.”

  “Ugh. Geniuses don’t revise. I have a reputation to think of.”

  Elizabeth thinks perhaps a close fail this year might give Godric the kick he needs to enter the real world, after having been spoiled by public school and a guilty mother. She never had such privilege. Elizabeth is also slightly perturbed that he doesn’t look in the slightest bit bothered by what is going on around him. Perhaps he should know what happened after all.

  “I couldn’t do anything Godric. I was utterly useless.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I was feeding the hedgehogs. I wasn’t really that hungry last night, so there was a lot left, you know.”

  Godric, still stroking Bertie, looks at his grandmother, now quite red eyed.

  “I heard you playing the piano. Poked my head in, but I didn’t want to disturb. I was zonked. College dinner followed by Darwin bar. D’you need a hug from handsome Godric?”

  “If you avoided that place you’d probably still have two good legs.”

  “When they have a different type of whisky for every night of the year I’m afraid that’s just not possible.”

  “How did you sleep through all the commotion? There must have been six or seven police cars outside since just gone midnight.”

  “Highlight Park single malt. Does the trick every time. Out like a baby.” Godric turns his chair to face the activity, and spots the body. “What happened to him? You didn’t cook him one of your breakfasts, did you?” Godric’s eyes linger on the now fully covered body bag behind the peonies. He is shocked by his own flippancy and makes a mental note to be a better person. Inspector Abley walks back up the garden towards them.

  “Who’s that dream boat heading our way?”

  “Inspector Abley, dear. Best behaviour.”

  “Not that chap you go on about, who doesn’t know his thieves from his own belly button.”

  “Shh, Godric.”

  “Hello, son.” Abley greets Godric and nods to Elizabeth.

  “Inspector Abley, this is my Grandson, Godric. He’s staying here during term time and some of the holidays. He’s an undergraduate at the university.”

  Godric stands up and holds out a hand for the Inspector, slightly bowing his head in an overly pretentious way.

  “It’s my first year, sir. What’s not to love?”

  Inspector Abley stands back a little, ears ringing from Godric’s piercing voice.

  Elizabeth looks at her grandson with beady eyes, and says sarcastically, “He’s a genius, Inspector. Study doesn’t co
me into it. He has a good gene pool. Sit down Godric. The Inspector can see you have a bad leg.” But Godric remains standing, wobbling on his leg for her benefit, holding onto the table, causing Bertie to jump down. Inspector Abley looks at Godric in the peak of health. Elizabeth also wonders why Godric is overplaying it. Perhaps he’s had one too many drama lessons, he’s always singing, dancing or acting in some play or show. Anything rather than working, it would appear. Bertie wanders over to where the photographer is chatting to a SOCO and rubs his legs against them both. The photographer bends down to stroke Bertie under the chin. Elizabeth has a slight pang of jealousy every time Bertie seems to treat complete strangers with the same regard he treats her.

  “How is it that Bertie may be allowed to walk freely in my garden, but I may not, Inspector?”

  “Come now, you know the rules of contamination.”

  Godric puts a hand on the Inspector’s shoulder, being quite over familiar and insubordinate.

  “Bunny says you’re the best crim’ catcher in the whole of,” Godric pauses for the right insult, “why, East Anglia!” then looks at Elizabeth knowingly. He has indeed heard about Inspector Abley, but more for his bumbling efforts and propensity to be elsewhere when things hit the fan. Inspector Abley nevertheless puffs out his chest.

  “I’m afraid there’s been an incident here. Your grandmother found a dead body last night. This river claims too many victims. There are always those who think they’re invincible when under the influence.”

  Elizabeth raises her eyebrows at Godric, for doing exactly that last night. Inspector Abley reluctantly fills Godric in as to the victim.

  “A Mr Edward Wiley. Your grandmother identified him, and we appear to have retrieved his hat.”

  “Not Edward Wiley from King’s?” Godric looks across the garden to the early dog walkers on Jesus Green on the other side of the river, processing Abley’s words, then at Edward Wiley zipped up tight, and back at Elizabeth and acknowledges that it is clear she was trying to shield him from the news.

  “We are pretty sure, yes. Did you know him?” Abley asks Godric. Godric looks up at the Inspector, the sun now rising higher, bright in his eyes.

  “If it’s the same Dr Wiley, he’s my rowing coach. Quite a good one at that. A bit soft, you know. Doesn’t punch. But on the skills side, pretty darn useful.”

  The Inspector wasn’t expecting this, as Elizabeth had omitted to tell him earlier. He flicks her a glance, then asks Godric another question.

  “Right. Just how well did you know Mr Wiley?”

  Godric feels his heart drop, but knows he must answer, yet he’s unsure what to say.

  “I spent a lot of time with him on the water, Inspector. He helped me sharpen my oar entry skills, they needed a little polish. Although Toby Pinkham is always ribbing me for bent curve entry and I think that’s unfair to put it mildly. He’s the one who has a bent, you know, hoohar. Anyway, Edward Wiley, did a lot to help increase my lung capacity on the machines too.”

  The Inspector is unsure of Godric’s train of thought, so Godric continues.

  “We’re not similar, Inspector. Edward, earnest chap, maybe a pint or two. Me? Self confessed bacchanalian.”

  Inspector Abley leans into Godric, still a little confused.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “For goodness’ sake, Inspector. Is this really necessary? Godric doesn’t have anything to do with this now, does he.” Elizabeth tries to shut down this intrusion into Godric’s morning. Godric shakes his head, knowing the Inspector is only doing his job.

  “No, it’s all right Bunny. I’m trying to think. Um.” Godric puts his hand on his head and scratches.

  “Take your time. I know it is a big shock.” Abley says.

  Godric obliges Abley’s curiosity, although doesn’t feel as much in shock as he knows they think he does.

  “Haven’t been rowing for a week. Hurt my knee. Fell off a scooter, doing tricks with Perry Sidcup on Parker’s. Nothing broken. Ruined my favourite suit trousers. Bought them in San Gimignano last summer and whatnot.” Godric bends his knee, remembering the injury, disappointed that the no-hander-flip could have incapacitated him like that. Elizabeth passes a blanket to Godric, who sits and covers his knees like an elderly invalid enjoying the attention, wincing for effect and letting his grandmother fuss.

  “You should have warmer clothes on. Where’s your vest? That knee will go stiff.”

  “How will a vest make my knee better, Bunny dearest?”

  “You’re the scientist.”

  Godric screws up his face, what does that mean? Abley smiles at Elizabeth, pleased the attention is not directed at him this time, and continues. “Right, well, thank you. I hope the knee gets better. Actually, you have to keep using it, don’t they say these days? Gentle walks, light pressure.”

  “Definitely not. Rest first.” Elizabeth insists she knows best.

  Godric interrupts.

  “I was going to say that they all go past here in the morning and sometimes in the evening, depending how keen. I’m sure I’ve not seen Edward rowing on the river for ages. Maybe in over a month? I think it could have even been more. Last time I saw him, he was coaching some first timers, you know, with a megaphone and a bicycle, riding along side. A softer voice than most who bark orders. They were a shoddy bunch, kept knocking into narrow boats. That’s why I remember. There were these baby ducklings he was trying to protect. He told them the boatmen would shout if they hit the boats again, but he’d kill them if they hit the ducklings. Nice chap.” Godric smiles at Elizabeth, who returns the smile. Abley is bemused by Godric’s seeming awareness of Edward’s voice and yet the lack of his own screeching.

  Elizabeth supports Edward’s concern for wildlife, booming, “Quite right too. Those rowers kill ducklings and goslings every year. It’s carnage out there. But do the police do anything about it? No, they do not. Apparently animals don’t count. We must talk about this further, Inspector. Treating sentient creatures with respect is just as important as any human being. As Mahatma Ghandi said, ‘the greatness of a nation can be judged by - ”

  The Inspector interrupts.

  “I think I might need to get back to my sergeant in a minute, so if I may just finish asking Godric a couple of questions.”

  Elizabeth gives Inspector Abley a steely glare. Inspector Abley acknowledges Elizabeth’s point, but is here to try to find out why he has a dead body on his hands. And quite frankly knows he’ll lose the animal discussion again if he dares respond. Grateful for the lead, Abley looks at Godric.

  “Would you happen to know, Godric, which boat house Edward belonged to?”

  Godric obliges the Inspector, “He was in the CUBC. That was a while ago, he switched to row for King’s when his lectureship began. Something about wanting to focus on grown-up things. Books, he said, and just dabble with the oars.”

  “Was he good?”

  Godric sips his tea and smirks as he replies.

  “Books? I have no idea. Rowing? Was in the Boat Race twice. Lost both times. Rowing is a serious sport, Inspector. Can take your life if you let it.”

  Elizabeth thinks of how many hours Abley spends on the golf course.

  “The Inspector would know all about sport taking over.”

  “What? Oh.” Abley takes another swing with an imaginary iron. Godric looks at Elizabeth.

  “I have a grandfather who was on the winning side, Inspector.”

  Abley acknowledges this.

  “Good to win, but it’s how you play that counts.”

  Elizabeth explains the Inspector’s comment to Godric.

  “Inspector Abley is a very modest golfer. His handicap is - ”

  Abley puts a hand to Elizabeth’s mouth before she can reveal it.

  “I’ve been working on it for far too long. It’s nothing I’m proud of.
”

  Godric can’t resist. He gets up and puts the blanket around his shoulders and takes an imaginary swing, mimicking the Inspector. Elizabeth is aghast at both of their attitudes in this grave time, with a body not twenty feet away. She can understand her grandson, who seems to have no proper emotions that she can fathom, and in this instance appears to be merely copying Abley for his own amusement, but as for the Inspector? Perhaps they are not good for each other.

  Godric, still swinging, talks to the Inspector.

  “I don’t have any sticks here in Cambridge, left them at home, but I’d love to play a round some time.”

  “I am sure the Gog Magog can find you some clubs if you’d like a game.” Abley offers.

  “Thank you, I used to tee off a handicap of -”

  Abley interrupts Godric. To brag about one’s handicap to a fellow golfer before a game is poor form.

  “Keep a man guessing. More fun as we go round, don’t you think?”

  “Of course. I was going to say abysmal, just to warn you that you might want to bring a newspaper or something, while you wait for me to hack it out of the rough.” Godric smirks. Abley smiles back, then looks at Godric straight in the eye.

  “Just one more thing, did Mr Wiley know you lived here, with your grandmother? As if he did, that would be a strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

  Elizabeth places a hand over Godric’s mouth, in a pointed manner to copy the Inspector’s previous silencing of her own.

  “I’m glad we are back to talking about the tragic news at hand, Inspector. Edward knew I lived here. And Godric, your leg, you can’t play golf yet. Biscuit Inspector?” Elizabeth picks up a plate of home-made biscuits from the tea tray, and offers them to Inspector Abley, in an attempt to divert his questioning from how well they knew Edward, as for now she is keen to keep something back. Abley looks at the plate and turns pale, knowing how inedible such treats are likely to be.

  “Thank you, Liz, but I shouldn’t ruin the cooked breakfast with my name on it back at the station. And Mrs Abley is making steak pie for tea, must pace myself today.”