by AB Morgan
DS Adams appeared more interested in Jan’s brother.
‘The rude gentleman who was so insistent ...I remember him well enough.’ A thoughtful look crossed Charles’s face.
‘He was at Jan’s house today trying unsuccessfully to open the front door with a key. I assume the lock had been changed. Well, I stopped because he looked like he was someone trying to break in, and challenged him. He’s a nasty piece of work. You’ll probably get a call from him, yelling again.’
‘Thanks for the tip-off. I’ll let the desk sergeant know.’ I was asked to keep my ears open for any other useful titbits, particularly regarding Jan’s brother. Charles seemed to have lost interest in Liam Brookes.
10
A week later, the funeral was held. It was a sobering event. Jan’s Coffee Comrades stood together for comfort, joined by other friends that Jan had made over the last few years. Lily and her husband Jim were there, as expected, and Lily waved as she recognised me, despite us only having met a couple of times in person. She indicated for me to sit next to her, for which I was grateful. Otherwise I would have hovered at the back on my own, looking lost and unloved.
One or two spare vicars and a priest turned up from the Pathways Project, as if on standby in case the one at the crematorium wasn’t up to the job.
Jan’s ex-husband was introduced by a whisper from Lily, he sat on the other side of her and Jim, with a fine looking woman, who I assumed was his second wife. Jan’s brother, who wore a sour expression for much of the time, ended up at the front with an elderly lady who was confirmed as being Jan’s ancient Aunt Clarissa. I shuddered slightly when I saw Frank Hughes again. Apart from family, there were about a dozen other mourners in total, none of whom were recognised by Lily or me.
As we made our way out of the church at the end of the short service, and mostly due to bad timing on my part, I stepped from the pew into the direct path of Frank, who gave me such a withering look that I stepped back again and trod on Lily’s toes.
‘Goodness, he doesn’t seem to like you much either,’ she said. ‘I thought he only reserved those evil eyes for me.’
‘Really? What have you done to upset him so much?’
‘He’s always hated me. I got in the way of his ability to manipulate his sister into lending him money. What did you do?’
‘I got the blame for allowing his sister to die, and for not preventing her boyfriend from spending her money for her.’
‘Money. It’s always about money with Frank. As soon as he knew Jan was dead, he came around to see me and demanded my key to her house. Unfeeling monster. Still, I suppose he inherits the lot, so he won’t have to worry now, will he? If I was Aunt Clarissa I’d be careful though. She’s loaded and he knows it. Look how he guards her.’ At Lily’s words, I turned around to face her, making sure that she had spoken in playful jest, but realising soon enough that she hadn’t.
After the plain, simple, gloomy service, there was an offer of tea and cake at the church hall. Father Raymond had sidled up to me immediately after the service to make sure I was planning on joining Jan’s friends as promised and, if I hadn’t known better, I would have thought it was yet another effort on his part to get me to a church more regularly.
‘Anyway,’ I asked, out of mild curiosity, ‘are you allowed in to a non-Catholic funeral?’
‘Why, are Catholics not allowed?’
‘I’ve no idea, Father, I’m afraid my knowledge of the Catholic Church is a smidgen above not a lot.’ Which was true. ‘But while I have your attention, I have an idea I’d like to run past you. It’s irrelevant what denomination you are for this, but what do you think of a medication amnesty as a project in memory of Jan Collins?’
Father Raymond raised his magnificent eyebrows and grinned. ‘You’re going to have to explain what you mean exactly, please, Monica.’
This idea had come to me in the shower where I am often inspired, and I thought it was a brilliant plan that should have been thought of years ago. I had in mind to advertise far and wide that an amnesty was being held for anyone who had stocks or stores of unused medication in their homes. Many people didn’t know what to do with old tablets or where to take them for safe disposal. Some people kept hold of medicines, and despite not taking them, would regularly collect the prescriptions as a pretence, so as not to offend the doctor or upset their family members. Whatever the reason, the fewer tablets and medicines available to an individual, the less chance of successful suicide. That was the idea behind the plan.
‘A suicide reduction initiative if you like, or perhaps a risk reduction strategy would be more accurate, but you get my drift.’
Father Raymond was beaming at me. ‘Monica, that’s perfect!’
Over tea and delicious cake at St David’s, the idea was put to Jan’s friends who, without exception, wanted to run with the initiative, especially Lily, who desperately wanted to join in with the organisation. She was absorbed, without hesitation, by the group of friends from the Pathways Project, and the Coffee Tuesday Comrades made her most welcome.
There were several areas of planning for a medication amnesty which required careful consideration and I offered, out of a sense of loyalty to Jan and her close friends, to help in organising the collection, storage, and disposal practicalities. The enthusiastic Pathways team were keen to create posters and to push the idea through local radio and newspapers. So, despite the sad circumstances of the day there were smiles exchanged across coffee and walnut cake, lemon drizzle, and vol-au-vents.
Frank Hughes glared at me every so often, when he thought other people weren’t looking, and I began to wonder what evil thoughts were going through his mind and why he was targeting me.
‘Why is it you can only get vol-au-vents at buffet occasions?’ I asked Vanessa, who was handing out food on large metal platters.
‘I know, that’s why I love weddings, birthdays, and anniversaries,’ she replied, a brave smile hiding her heartache.
The chicken and mushroom vol-au-vents had tasted unusually good and thanks to Vanessa, I had eaten too many before the end of the afternoon. Every time she passed by, she would update me on the ideas she and Karen had come up with for the medicines amnesty. On one occasion, she caught Frank giving me one of his death stares. ‘You know who he is, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Vanessa, although I find it hard to believe, he is apparently Jan’s brother.’
‘Stepbrother. He’s the nastiest piece of filth that walks the streets.’ I was shocked at what Vanessa had said; she was usually so unassuming. ‘He calls himself a businessman, and talks about business dealings and new ventures as if he’s legitimate.’
‘Isn’t he?’ I asked in a whisper.
‘I thought you were streetwise. No. He’s into supplying the drug dealers for miles around, and the rumour is, he’s upset his competitors, owes money, and has his own expensive cocaine habit.’
I had been right. He was the drug dealer boss. That explained a lot.
The Jan Collins Memorial Project Team held our first official meeting a week after Jan’s funeral. In that short amount of time, I’d had my work cut out to liaise with the hospital pharmacy, clinical waste services, and the NHS Trust to ensure the project could run smoothly, efficiently, and above all, safely.
It occurred to me that the local drug addicts and dealers would be looking for an opportunity to take advantage of lots of pharmaceuticals being in the same place at the same time, so we would have to carefully manage the drop-off sites.
My lightbulb moment in the bathroom seemed to be taking shape very quickly, and when the Hollberry NHS Trust directors heard about it, they were all over it like a rash. I had given them the gift of positive marketing to make them look good and put them in the running for the “NHS Trust of the Year Initiative Prize”.
I wasn’t interested in self-aggrandisement but it made the amnesty planning one hell of a lot easier. I asked and then received. Magic.
Posters were ordered based on the de
signs from the Pathways team, who had come up trumps within a few days. The hospital pharmacy arranged for large capacity clinical waste bins to be provided, and for daily collections from St David’s, which was to be one of the non-NHS amnesty points, along with the walk-in day centre for the homeless in the town centre. It was a breeze. The start date for the amnesty was to be three weeks from Jan’s funeral and would have two weeks to run at the non-NHS sites for safety reasons.
Before the big launch day, all I had left to do was to confirm the security arrangements at the walk-in centre and St David’s and to arrange interviews with the local radio station, which I was handing over to Jan’s friends. They were now working on their script and had come up with a catchy strap line:
“Too many pills, kills.”
This initiative was for them really and the energy created by their enthusiasm was gratifying. I watched as Pip helped Karen prepare for her radio interview like a proud parent, and it was plain to see her confidence increasing on an hourly basis. She decided to dye her hair electric blue for the occasion, which Vanessa found hilarious. ‘You’re going on the radio!’ she reminded her friend, who nodded and smiled. ‘I know but I still want to look my best. I might get a slot on breakfast telly.’
Karen, Pip, and Vanessa would lead the media coverage but the NHS would still smell of roses as a result, and thus everyone was a winner. Including me. I was simply intrigued by what people may have hiding in their cupboards.
One unforeseen outcome of the project happened quite early on in proceedings. I had a call from Lily, who was in tears. She had just received news that she was to be the sole beneficiary of Jan’s will. Frank had been on the phone making threats, refusing to hand back the house key still in his possession and she wanted to warn me of his fury. Also, since she had spent a lot of time with Jan’s other friends as part of the project planning team, her faith in her best friend had unravelled. Jan had confided in her that it was Father Raymond who had raised the possibility that Liam had stolen money from her and was a confidence trickster, and encouraged Jan to report him to the police.
What Jan’s other friends revealed was a very different side to Liam. They described a kind, considerate man, who had invited Jan to stay at his holiday home. She hadn’t paid a penny.
‘I wonder why Jan would say Liam was making her invest in a property in Perpignan when he already had one of his own, and plenty of money?’ Lily queried.
I had wondered this too.
‘And why would a priest undermine the good name of another man without obvious reason? Why would Jan hide the fact her own brother had bullied her into lending him money and then pretend Liam had swindled her out of it?’ questioned the sniffing Lily from the end of the phone line.
Poor Lily had more questions than answers and I tried, unsuccessfully, to ease her distress with pathetic placatory remarks.
‘I’m sure she had her reasons, or perhaps it was part of her illness.’ Which it could have been.
Lily continued to say that she had offered to collect Jan from Hollberry hospital on the Friday she was going home for the week. ‘Jan said she already had a lift from Father Raymond who had organised a taxi for her and he was going to help her with her luggage.’ This was news to me. ‘She found him so comforting and helpful,’ added Lily.
Had Father Raymond been the last person to see Jan alive?
Was he the vicar who had been seen by the neighbours on the Wednesday when Steph had tried to visit Jan at home? If so, why hadn’t he mentioned this?
‘He even fed Sparkey while she was away,’ Lily mentioned without thinking what this implied.
Father Raymond had keys to Jan’s house.
I phoned the police control desk and left another message for DS Dynamic, suggesting he make sure to include Father Raymond in his questioning of Jan’s friends at the Pathways Project and to ask about feeding the cat.
11
Every evening since the auction, I had indulged in meticulous investigation of Grace’s journals. I was still not wholly convinced that I had the full set in my possession and had contacted the auctioneers who had sold me the cabinet. Explaining my dilemma to a helpful man on the phone, I was given enough information to aid me in my quest, and Yarlsmere’s were happy to send out another copy of the catalogue, as I had lost mine to Max, who had taken it to work for some inexplicable reason. In addition, I was given the name of the solicitors who had organised the sale of a variety of pharmaceutical items, auctioned as part of probate arrangements. Only the solicitors, Aitken, Brown and Partners, would hold the details, I was informed. I hadn’t noticed at the time of the auction quite how many items relating to pharmaceuticals and chemistry were in the sale catalogue, although at the time I weighed up the options of bidding on a number of them. What I was hoping for was clarification as to whether other journals existed and had been sold as part of different lots. If not, I would have to assume I had the entire set.
My instruction through G.C. about the art and science of poisoning had been a revelation so far. Mr M seemed to have been a dedicated teacher and he ensured Grace had received a solid foundation in the history of the apothecary, as well as in the finer details of acting as one. This was wise of him. I was learning something new every time I turned a page.
…and I had long thought that it was the war that had obliged me with an opportunity that most women would never have imagined. However, under the tutelage of Mr M, I became a willing historian as well as a chemist and learnt that I was far from being unique as the only female apothecary in history, I was but one of many.
Apothecaries were in direct competition with the physicians of the time. Despite a conflict and professional jealousies, one could not exist without the other, because without apothecaries, physicians would be without ‘materia medica’ with which to perform their medical practice.
Poisoning was rife in the 1600’s it seems, and in Italy, the Italian clergy were obliged to advise the Pope himself, of the extraordinary number of confessions by young wives purporting to have murdered, by poisoning, their own husbands. This led to an unusual abundance of young widows in Rome.
The motives, as ever, appear to have been either infidelity or money. Poison was readily available through numerous vendors in a position to make themselves a tidy sum of money. One such poison vendor was a woman by the name of Giulia Tofana, who became so famous in Rome for selling poison to women with murder on their minds, that she had a poison named after her, ‘Aqua Tofana’. The historians indicate that Giulia spent time with apothecaries and had learnt the art of poison making. It ended in tragedy when a customer finally disclosed to the authorities at the Vatican the extent of the poisonings, and Giulia, despite having taken refuge in a church, was hunted down, arrested, tortured, and executed alongside her daughter and three helpers in 1659 following confession to over 600 poisonings.
Mr M was wise to ensure my knowledge of these historical events as it teaches many valuable lessons of modesty, humility, and the value of remaining unobtrusive to name but a few. Giulia Tofana was far too well known by her extensive customer base to remain unnoticed by the authorities.
The need to remain inconspicuous was not heeded by many historical poisoners, which is why the words ‘notorious’ and ‘poisoner’ always appear together. The ‘notorious poisoners’ are ones who have been careless in the main, and seemed most determined to obtain notoriety leaving a trail in their wake. It is said that an effective burglar is one who is never caught, and so it is with poisoning.
What is it that leads a healer such as a chemist, or indeed a doctor, to become a poisoner? Is there a sense of duty to reduce suffering in others that may justify the first steps across that moral line? Or are there circumstances in which chance presents options for redressing an injustice or drives us to seek revenge?
Why poison if that is the case?
There is no doubt that it has its advantages over alternative means of depriving another of life, of killing, of assassination, and
of murder, call it what you will. These are worth exploring and examining as they may be more suited to the task in hand.
Poisoning has advantages above other methods. For example, if suffering is required, there are endless options to ensure the intended victim writhes in pain and vomits torturously before death releases them. A delay between administration of the poison and its impact, can ensure that the assailant is miles away and has a cast iron alibi at the time of the victim’s actual death and some poisons leave barely a trace of their action, leaving the coroner with a mysterious, unexplained death.
There are risks of course, and like any weapon, the utmost care must be taken to avoid accidental self-poisoning in the delivery method.
For both Mr M and me, the art of poisoning and our services for specific requirements was a well-thought-out side-line to what was otherwise a legitimate business. These days it would be seen as filling a much-needed gap in the market. We remained undetectable in the ‘Apothecary’ room, which was well hidden from any inspection that may take place in the dispensary, and it was never seen by anyone other than by Mr M, his son and myself. Not even Bridget, the cleaner, entered our inner sanctum.
There were simple rules that we observed for our personal services:
Ensure, above all else, that the intended victim deserves or benefits from death.
Never leave orphans as a result.
Double-check the identity of the intended victim before acting. (Beware twins).
Research your intended victim thoroughly.
Never disclose one’s true identity.
Never kill more than one member of any one family.
Never choose a method by which others may inadvertently be poisoned.
Take delivery, timing, and contingency options into account in each case.
