Poisoned Palette

by Jill Paterson

  ‘Well, it does present us with a situation that may warrant further investigation,’ replied Fitzjohn, ‘so we’ll be looking into it. Where can we reach you if needs be?’

  ‘I’m staying at the Fairmont in Leura. I’ll give you my number.’ Matthew Avery fumbled in his pocket, brought out a business card and handed it to Fitzjohn.

  ‘We’ll be in touch,’ said Fitzjohn with a quick smile.

  CHAPTER 17

  Fitzjohn stirred and pulled the covers up over his nose against the chill in the room before he opened his eyes, blinked and, with a groan, closed them again. Perhaps when next they opened, he thought wistfully, he would be back in the familiar atmosphere of his Birchgrove cottage. If he were there now, of course, he would have risen an hour ago, put on his old corduroy trousers and that moth-eaten blue sweater that Edith had knitted for him years ago and stepped out onto the back porch. Taking in the fragrance wafting from the flowers in the garden beds and amused by the parakeets lined up in their pecking order on the tree branch squabbling, he would fill the birdfeeder and eventually, after casting a satisfied eye across the garden, make his way to the greenhouse. With a sigh, he pictured the orchids, row upon row of magnificent blooms in the quiet humid atmosphere, all waiting for his attention.

  Now dressed in a dark grey suit, crisp white shirt and his favourite maroon tie, he descended the stairs to find the air not only warmer, but filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He reached the dining room to find Winifred tending the buffet.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Gifford,’ he said with a polite smile as he settled himself into a chair at the table, his narrow escape from her zealous attention the previous evening still fresh in his mind.

  ‘You must call me Winnie, Chief Inspector, as all my friends do,’ she replied, placing a hand on Fitzjohn’s shoulder. ‘Now, what will you have? Your sergeant left over half an hour ago after a full English breakfast. Would you like the same?’

  Feeling a quick escape might be a better option, Fitzjohn replied, ‘No thank you. I’ll just…’

  ‘A continental breakfast then,’ said Winifred, breaking in.’

  ‘Actually, a cup of your excellent coffee would be ideal.’

  ‘But you can’t go out into this cold weather on a cup of coffee,’ You’ll never last through the morning.’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ replied Fitzjohn, determined to stand his ground.

  ‘You know, you’re just like my late husband. He never took any notice of me either and he’s dead.’ Winifred turned back to the buffet to pour the coffee. ‘Have you found that prowler or heard why Claire Reynolds is in the hospital yet?’ she continued, with an air of indignation as she set a steaming mug with its pungent aroma down heavily in front of Fitzjohn.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘That’s unfortunate because I’ve been wondering whether what I’ve heard is true; that she was poisoned just like Florence.’

  ‘Wherever did you hear that?’ Fitzjohn asked, sitting back and looking up at Winifred.

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ she replied with a smug smile.

  Carrying his briefcase, and with the morning newspaper under his arm, Fitzjohn walked into Springwood Police Station perplexed but not surprised by Winifred Gifford's disclosure that she now knew the reason for Claire Reynolds’ admission to hospital. Would he ever become accustomed to village life that appeared to thrive on other people’s business? He doubted it. Entering the inner sanctum of the station, he found Betts at his desk putting the phone down.

  ‘Morning, Betts. Any news from the hospital?’

  ‘Not yet, sir.’

  ‘What about that poison pen letter?’

  ‘Nothing on that either, sir, other than the fact the paper is a general brand sold everywhere and used by the wider population so it makes it difficult to trace but I still have a couple of people looking into it.’

  ‘There has been one development, though,’ continued Betts. ‘I was able to track down and speak to the man who Claire Reynolds said left the marquee as the toast was being made. His name is Raymond Palmer and he does have somewhat of a connection to Ms Reynolds in that he was part of an aircraft investigation team that looked into an airline crash that she was involved in.’

  Fitzjohn stared at Betts. ‘It could explain why she changed careers. Did he say how he came to be at the auction?’

  ‘Yes. He said he’d seen it advertised in the newspaper and being a collector of Florence Fontaine’s work, thought it was not only a good opportunity to add to his collection but also to meet the artist herself. When he came face to face with Claire Reynolds in the marquee, he decided to leave because he didn’t want to compromise the team’s findings which were that they had found her not guilty of any negligence.’

  ‘Did he say whether they had met at the time the investigation was being conducted?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘The reason I ask is that Ms Reynolds didn’t appear to know him.’

  ‘He was amongst a number of other members of the team when she was being questioned about the crash, but he’s unsure whether she remembers him.’

  ‘Did he give you any details of the investigation into the crash itself?’

  ‘I didn’t question him on that, sir.’

  ‘Then do so, Betts. I’m aware it doesn’t appear relevant and may not be, but I want to know.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘Does he recall anything unusual about being in the marquee? Anything relevant to our investigation?’

  ‘As a matter of fact he does, sir. He said Florence Fontaine hadn’t taken up a glass while he was there. He remembers because he’d been intent on listening to her talk and noticed that when she spoke, she used her hands extensively.’

  ‘And if I remember correctly, Ms Reynolds told us she’d put her glass down on the table, untouched, as soon as Raymond Palmer left the marquee.’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘It makes me think our assumption was right and that Florence Fontaine picked up Claire Reynolds’ glass by mistake when she came to make the toast.’

  ‘In which case, Ms Reynolds could have been the intended victim,’ said Betts.

  ‘That or she laced the champagne and left it purposely for Florence to drink.’

  ‘But we never established she had a motive to kill the victim, sir.’

  ‘That’s true, but one still could come to light. See if you can find out more detail about that crash. While you do that, I’ll go to the hospital. Hopefully, that toxicology report will be back.’

  After Fitzjohn emerged from the elevator and onto the floor that housed the Intensive Care Unit, he approached the nurse’s station. As he did so, Dr McCleland appeared.

  ‘Chief Inspector, I was just about to contact you. I have those results,’ he said, manoeuvring Fitzjohn away from the desk. ‘And my suspicions have been confirmed. Claire Reynolds is suffering from a form of poisoning with the toxic agents of digitoxigenin, oleandrin, and nerioside being present in her system suggesting she ingested part of the oleander plant.’

  ‘Oleander?’

  ‘Yes. Every part of which, including the flowers, leaves, stems, and twigs are toxic and if ingested, can lead to serious illness and possibly death.’

  ‘How long does it take for the symptoms to appear?’ asked Fitzjohn with a grimace.

  ‘That’s difficult to say because it would depend on the strength of what was ingested,’ replied Dr McCleland. ‘For example, if taken in a cup of tea with just one oleander leaf, it would probably take many hours whereas if more of the substance was consumed, signs of poisoning would be rapid.’

  ‘I see. And what’s the prognosis?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘It’s serious, but now we know what we’re dealing with, there is hope. I’ll keep you posted on her condition.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘There is just one more thing, doctor. Under the circumstances, I’d like to arrange for Ms Reynolds to have police protection. Do I have your
permission to make arrangements for an officer to be here around the clock?’

  ‘By all means.’

  After arranging for a twenty-four hour watch at Claire Reynolds’ door, Fitzjohn retreated towards the chairs where he and Betts had sat the previous night and where he intended to wait for the arrival of the first protective officer to take up duty. As he did so, however, he noticed Matthew Avery pacing the floor at the far end of the corridor.

  ‘I see you’re still here, Mr Avery,’ he said as he approached the young man.

  Avery swung around, his face gaunt. ‘Yes. Laura Evans and I stayed through the night in case there was any change in Claire’s condition.’

  ‘Have any of her family arrived yet?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘No, and they’re not about to, unfortunately. Laura spent most of the night trying to locate her relatives but was only able to find an uncle who lives overseas. Scotland, I think. Apparently, there’s no one else so he asked that, in his absence, Laura be kept informed about Claire’s condition.’

  ‘In that case, I take it you both know about the toxicology report?’

  ‘Yes. I’m finding it hard to believe, especially after what happened to Florence just a few days ago. It also makes me think that Claire was, in fact, the intended victim.’

  ‘I agree, Mr Avery,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘It’s true that the poisoned pen letter she received and what now appears to be an attempt on her life alters the situation. Consequently, I’ve arranged for a police presence here in the hospital. The first officer should be here shortly. I’ll wait here until he arrives. Will you be staying on in Leura for long?’

  ‘I had planned to leave after Florence’s funeral but now, with Claire so ill… As I said before, she has no family here so I’ll stay on for now.’

  Fitzjohn left the hospital and returned to Springwood, his mind not only occupied with the latest turn of events in the case at hand but the question of why Matthew Avery had stayed in Leura after the auction. Was it merely to see the tourist attractions or had something else kept him from leaving? On reaching the station and not wishing to be amid the clamour of the main office, he decided to sit in the Incident Room where he could give some thought as to how to proceed with the case. When he opened the door, however, he found Betts perched on a desk.

  ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon, Betts,’ he said making his way to the front of the room and sitting down.

  ‘I just arrived, sir. I have that information you requested on the air crash investigation involving Claire Reynolds’ plane. Apparently, the crash happened in far north Queensland while she was landing at a mining site. There was one passenger on board. A member of the mine’s staff by the name of Andrew Simpson. Ms Reynolds managed to drag him free from the wreckage before it blew up in flames, but it was later discovered that he had died on impact.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it was brave of her. Was she injured?’

  ‘She suffered minor burns and the loss of memory about the accident, sir. On release from the hospital, she resigned from the charter company and dropped out of sight. That must have been around the time she took herself off to the UK for a working holiday.’

  ‘What caused the crash?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘The investigation team found it was something called windshear,’ replied Betts. ‘It’s the change in speed and direction of the wind over a short distance and can happen at high or low altitude.’

  ‘So it wasn’t pilot error,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Still, that fact probably didn’t dampen the guilt she felt over the death of her passenger. It also gives a poignant reason why she changed her career path.’

  ‘And if all that wasn’t enough, she’s now embroiled in a murder investigation as one of the persons of interest,’ added Betts.

  ‘Well, after what I’ve been told this morning, that’s no longer the case.’ Fitzjohn recounted his conversation with Dr McCleland.’

  ‘So, she’s now a victim and this time oleander was used instead of cyanide.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s surprising since it’s easier to obtain,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘You just have to look in any garden to find oleander flowers or leaves to make your potion. The only problem I see would be making sure your intended victim ingested it.’

  ‘So, things have turned around,’ said Betts. ‘How do you want to proceed?’

  ‘Well, since the onset of symptoms depends on the amount of the substance Ms Reynolds ingested, we need to piece together her movements of not only the day she collapsed but also the day before. We’ll start that process by speaking to Laura Evans and take it from there. I also want another search done of her home and workplace, again simultaneously. Arrange for that, will you, Betts?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Anything else?

  ‘As a matter of fact, there is. What do you know about Matthew Avery?’

  ‘Just that he’s an American tourist who attended the auction,’ replied Betts.

  ‘And that’s why I’m curious because he stayed on not only after the auction finished but in the days following Florence’s death.’

  ‘It’s probably because the Blue Mountains is a tourist destination, sir. There’s lots to see.’

  ‘I realise that but nevertheless, I want you to do a background check on him, Betts.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  CHAPTER 18

  Along with two uniformed officers, Fitzjohn arrived at the Fontaine Gallery and Art Shop the following morning as Laura Evans unlocked the front door.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Evans,’ he said, noticing the strain on the woman’s face. ‘How is Ms Reynolds?’

  ‘I’ve just come from the hospital and there’s been no change. We can only pray that she’ll come through this,’ she said casting an eye on the police officers standing behind Fitzjohn. ‘Am I mistaken or are you here to do another search?’

  ‘You’re not mistaken, Mrs Evans,’ replied Fitzjohn, handing the warrant to Laura. ‘I’m afraid, Ms Reynolds’ condition has necessitated that we conduct a further search.’

  ‘It says here you’re looking for traces of the oleander plant,’ said Laura, studying the warrant. ‘I would have thought you’d be looking into where Claire went and what she did before she collapsed?’

  ‘I thought you and I could talk about that while my officers do their search,’ replied Fitzjohn as they followed Laura inside.

  ‘Well, if you think it’ll help.’ Laura switched the lights on and stowed her handbag behind the counter. ‘We can sit in the gallery,’ she said, leading the way through the archway to the far side of the room and the nestle of chairs in the corner. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’ she asked as they both sat down.

  ‘An idea of her activities in the forty-eight hours leading up to her hospitalisation would be helpful,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘I see. Well, the day before she collapsed I didn’t see Claire until around three o’clock in the afternoon and that’s when I found out she’d spent the morning at the Springwood Police Station being questioned.’ Laura’s eyebrows arched. ‘She was very distressed when she arrived here so I told her to go home and get some rest. I didn’t see her again until the next morning.’

  ‘And what were her movements on that day?’ asked Fitzjohn, ignoring the tone of disapproval in Laura’s voice.

  ‘She was already here when I arrived. She didn’t say very much, just a polite good morning. I could tell she was still upset so I decided to go out to the café to get something for our morning tea. I thought it might brighten her up a bit.’

  ‘Which café did you go to?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘The Dandelion. I like their apple tarts. I also called into The Tea Shop to replenish our supply of herbal tea.’

  ‘And what type of herbal tea did you buy, Mrs Evans?’

  ‘Camomile. It has calming properties.’

  ‘So, you both drank the camomile tea and ate the apple tarts,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘Actually, Claire just had the tea. She said she had no appetite.’ Laura p
aused to take a tissue from the box on the coffee table in front of her to stem a tear. ‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. You’ll have to excuse me. It’s been a difficult few days with Claire so ill and not knowing what the outcome will be.’

  ‘It’s a stressful time for you, Mrs Evans,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Do you feel up to carrying on?’

  ‘Yes. I want to help as much as I can.’

  ‘Very well. Can you tell me what happened after you finished morning tea?’

  ‘Claire left almost straight away. She didn’t say where she was going but a short time later, I saw the ambulance. Of course, at the time, I had no idea it was for Claire.’

  At that moment the sergeant conducting the search appeared. ‘Will you excuse me for just a moment, Mrs Evans?’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘How did you get on?’ he asked looking at the young officer.

  ‘There are no visible signs of any parts of the oleander plant on the main level of the building or in the basement, sir, but we have taken samples of several food stuffs and various brands of tea from the kitchen as well as discarded tea leaves.’

  ‘Good. Get those to the lab as quickly as possible, Sergeant. I’ll make my own way back to Springfield.’

  After thanking Laura Evans for her assistance, Fitzjohn left the gallery and walked along the main thoroughfare until he came to Audrey Green’s tea shop. Taking in the aromatic fragrance that filled the air as he stepped inside, he could see Audrey through the various display units in the centre of the space, busily replenishing shelves with tins and packets of tea.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Green.’

  Audrey looked up in surprise. ‘Chief Inspector. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,’ she said as she straightened up. ‘Are you here as a policeman or a customer?’

  ‘I’m here as a policeman because I have some questions I’d like to ask you about Claire Reynolds.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I heard that she’s in the hospital after being poisoned. Is that true?’