Divine Poison

by AB Morgan

  ‘I have a legal colleague who works in the Independent Police Complaints Commission. The IPCC. A good man, Milo Granger. Top legal mind. Rubbish golfer like myself. I don’t want you to report this to me, and then the IPCC hearing it second hand. If I can get Milo here, we can take the details in one sitting. Does anyone else know about this?’

  Still fearful of the potential for a major balls-up, I asked permission to contact a friend for advice. Mr Williams looked most perplexed but actually encouraged me to make the call and left me in the privacy of his office, while I phoned Tam Aitken. ‘Goodness, Monica, you’re a fast worker. Half-finger-man yesterday, and the coroner today. I’ll check Mr Williams out for you and message you back ASAP. What’s his first name and initials?’ I had to scrabble about on Mr Williams’s desk to get those vital details, but once done, Tam chuckled at the end of the phone. ‘No need to wait for a message. Mr Howard Ivor Williams is as honourable as they get. I would willingly bet my life on it. He’s your knight in shining armour, Monica. You have struck lucky. Aye, go with his advice. Well done.’

  ‘Aye, I will,’ I said. The accent-mimic-filters had failed. I had said ‘aye’ back to Tam, which was a good sign. Far more normal.

  27

  Milo Granger was one of the most handsome black men I have ever had the pleasure to encounter in the flesh. A cross between Denzel Washington, Will Smith, and Mohammed Ali, he strode across the office to greet Mr Williams warmly by the hand. ‘Castle, wonderful to see you.’

  Mrs Jennings followed, carrying more refreshments. ‘Ah, thank you, Moneypenny,’ said Milo Granger with a wicked smile aimed directly at Mrs Jennings. She leant forward and whispered in my ear, loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘Don’t get too excited. He’s married.’ She winked at me and left the room, leaving me to wonder if her statement could be true or if she was joking with me to keep him to herself.

  ‘You know why they call him Castle, don’t you?’ Milo Granger turned to face me. I didn’t know they called him Castle at all. ‘It’s because, like castle walls, nothing gets past him, and once he has taken you prisoner, you can’t escape. In the nicest, and most legal of ways. He’s a veritable law fortress.’ Wide grins and warm handshakes dispensed with, the two legal men settled down to suck my brains out. Every fine detail, every conversation, thought, supposition, assumption, and hypothesis was explored. Then I was cross-examined to within an inch of my sanity. I had been mind-raped.

  ‘It’s the four of you and Tam Aitken. That’s it, no one else until this morning. Good. Monica, you have no idea how brave you are about to be,’ stated Milo with a deceptive warmth to his voice.

  ‘Pardon?’ I experienced a horrible sinking feeling as the meanings of his words were eventually absorbed by my energy-depleted brain.

  ‘You have personal contact with DS Adams and he believes you are ignorant of the fact that he has committed murder – if what we think is right. You have legitimate access to him because of your interest in Jan and Ben’s deaths. Correct? You are also close to Father Raymond, working on the medicines amnesty. So, you see, we can’t really do this without you.’

  ‘Do what?’ I knew the answer.

  ‘Help us find the evidence we need to convict DS Adams of murder, and expose the deliberate concealment of child sexual abuse at St Francis’ Church. You’ve already shown your determination and courage …’

  The door opened and in stepped a stylishly dressed lady, slim and fragrant. ‘Ah, Carol. This is Monica Morris who spoke to you last week. Monica, this is my deputy Carol Langford. News from pathology yet?’ Mr Williams asked.

  ‘I spoke to Patrick first thing, and we have a young man who looks to have some anticholinergics in his bloodstream, and evidence for thorn apple in what they could find of his stomach contents along with, or as part of, a ham salad sandwich.’

  ‘Hell’s Bells,’ I said.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘No, sorry, that’s what it’s called, “Hell’s Bells”. I can’t remember the Latin name for the plant but it’s deadly. I looked it up when I was researching for anticholinergic toxicity. Ben wouldn’t have needed much because of the alcohol, it makes it so much worse, and he had liver problems. I didn’t mean to swear.’

  Mr Williams laughed.

  ‘I think we should send Monica on her way. We can’t keep her here any longer, people will get suspicious. Just tell everyone that I was extremely rude and kept you waiting for several hours. Then I criticised your report and have asked you to focus on improving your standards for the next case. How about that? Realistic enough?’

  ‘It’s fine. Before I leave, can I be certain that not a word of my disclosures gets out. Emma, Jake, and the children, might be at risk and I couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to them.’

  ‘Is the Lodge House on the farm still available to rent?’ asked Milo.

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘Well in that case we’ll rent it, making use of Aitken, Brown and Partners as cover for the tenancy agreement, and I’ll request that a couple of our officers are stationed there. They’ll be an innocent looking couple who can make it a safe base for meeting with you, Max, Jake, and Emma, as well as being on hand at the farm. Will that help?’

  I was grateful for the quick plan, but cautioned Carol, Milo, and Mr Williams that poisoners, on the whole, work remotely and with a delayed action. ‘Poison on Tuesday, dead on Thursday with no evidence to be found at the scene.’

  Fancy me having the gall to tell the coroner about death. Thank goodness he’d turned out to be a wise and tolerant man.

  ‘Quite so, young lady. However, we will do what we can. In the meantime, I will have to open a new inquiry into the death of Mrs Janet Collins because of information coming to light. In the course of the new inquiry, if what Monica has told us is correct, then a crime is most likely to be uncovered. The DPP will have to be informed of this and I’ll request further reports which, in the interest of public safety, will not be disclosed to the police. Hearings will not be public. Lots to do, Carol.’ Mr Williams was sorting through papers on his desk and intermittently handing items to his deputy.

  ‘Monica, can you find a way to fathom what it is that Father Raymond is hiding? He must know something,’ said Milo, who was taking notes and about to make a call on his mobile phone. Mr Williams opened the door for me to leave, thanking me and holding a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but before he wished me goodbye Milo piped up again, ‘Do you have a voice recording facility on your mobile phone? Maybe you could accidentally switch it on when you meet either of the two gentlemen we have in our sights.’

  I nodded, too drained to argue against the idea.

  I liked Mr Williams, despite having to collate more information for another report. Thanks to him, my phone call to the office was strangely enjoyable.

  ‘Hello, Kelly. I’ve only just this minute finished at the Coroner’s Office. I thought you said it was urgent. Well let me tell you, it wasn’t. He kept me waiting for two hours and then informed me that my report was substandard. I told you it wouldn’t pass muster. Not only that but I have another one to do, as well as corrections to the first. Who sent it off before it went to the risk department for scrutiny?’ I knew damn well that Kelly had faxed it and she would have had great pleasure in sending it on Eddie’s orders.

  A sheepish Kelly could do nothing other than apologise.

  ‘Game to Monica Morris, new balls, please,’ I said aloud as I drove out of the congested car park.

  St David’s Church Hall was an example of serene organisation. Groups were being held in the main hall, and the medicine amnesty arrangement had been running smoothly without me. The deliveries had reduced to a trickle and the elderly lady volunteer on duty was resigned to reading a book and sipping tea quietly, in the corner of the entrance hall. I recognised her immediately. ‘Only four more days to go, dear,’ she said as she looked up at me. ‘Still no raids by the druggies …’ I think she had probably been reading too many gangl
and murder novels.

  Father Raymond had noticed me through the glass in the hall doors and could be seen excusing himself to come and talk with me. His gaunt face and haunted look reflected the levels of stress he must have encountered over recent days. As I caught my own reflection in the hall mirror, I too was a picture of nervous exhaustion.

  ‘Shall we escape to the Rectory for a warming drink and a slice of cake? Dora here made me a special Victoria sponge with homemade jam. I simply can’t do it justice on my own and the curate is on a diet. I’ve donated most of it to the group this morning, but there are two enormous slices left for us.’

  The aim of visiting the hall had been to meet my commitments to the medication amnesty and placed me in a position of control as to when I arrived and when I could leave. To meet Father Raymond on my terms. His suggestion of cake in the Rectory was unexpected.

  ‘It’s a tempting offer, Father, but I only have a few minutes. I wanted to pop in to see how you were coping, and to apologise for not phoning you back on Friday, I was in no fit state to hold a reasonable conversation. Sorry.’

  He had caught me off guard, but I had taken control back. Then I doubted myself. Should I go to the Rectory with him? Would this be the opportunity to get the evidence needed to identify those responsible for four deaths? I was so unnerved I couldn’t decide what to do for the best.

  ‘Are you sure you can’t spare a few minutes? A cup of tea and a slice of cake won’t kill you,’ he said, smiling with encouragement. I hesitated.

  ‘No really, I can’t. Can we make it another day? Tomorrow maybe. I have another report for the coroner to write and he sets high standards and short time scales.’ It was far too risky to be on my own with Father Raymond. ‘After all, what would the neighbours and Dora think of us disappearing to be alone together in the Rectory?’ I was only too aware that I could get locked in a cellar, poisoned, and buried alive. No one other than Dora would have known I was there, and she, of all people, would have been dismissed by police as a wild fantasist.

  ‘That’s true, Monica. Very unseemly. We wouldn’t want any gossip now would we? No indeed.’

  ‘Seriously though, tomorrow would be better. Can we say after lunch, about two?’ I asked. I could take someone with me, I decided, even if it was Deefer the dog. ‘That’ll allow me a few hours to finish my report in the morning and then I can give you my full attention. How are the gang doing, by the way? Karen, Vanessa, and Pip … especially after Ben’s death?’

  Pip, it turned out, was in a poor state and had been admitted to hospital immediately after the events at the station on the previous Thursday. I pretended to be surprised by the news of Father Raymond’s and Pip’s involvement with Ben’s dash to the railway line. ‘Oh, it was you on the CCTV pictures. How incredibly lucky you weren’t killed yourselves.’

  Pip had apparently been transferred to Pargiter Ward.

  ‘Shall we visit Pip tomorrow instead, and have a cuppa at the hospital?’ suggested Father Raymond.

  ‘What a great idea, I’ll meet you there at two.’ What a reprieve. That was a much safer option. Public places were preferential to being in the Rectory alone with Father Raymond and Father Joseph’s ghost.

  I phoned Max when I was safely cocooned in my car. It was drizzling with rain and the wind had picked up again, making it a day for watching a black and white film and dunking biscuits into a mug of tea. The phone rang numerous times. No answer. I left a message. ‘Nothing urgent. See you at home later and I’ll tell you about my day. I’ll light the fire.’

  There was no need to reference my patient notes in order to write the outline of a report for the coroner regarding Ben Tierney, so I drove home and wrote a sizeable chunk of it sitting in front of the fire with Deefer for company. Kelly could type it up first thing in the morning for her sins, once I had cross-referenced the dates in my diary with those in the notes. This had to be accurate and I didn’t hold back on Ben’s disclosures of sexual abuse or his attempts to report them to the authorities.

  I hadn’t quite finished when my phone beeped with a message. ‘Oh shit.’ It wasn’t Max, it was from Charlie Adams – the word ‘Dynamic’ had appeared on the small screen. The message was polite and simple. ‘Hope your family crisis is resolved. Thanks for your support and sorry I worried you and Max unnecessarily. Charlie.’

  There were no sinister undertones, and no double meanings to be found. An innocent enquiry and an apology. Yet receiving a text from DS Adams generated a feeling of such uncertainty and dread, that I stood up and had a sneaky peak through the curtains into the dark of the lane outside, in case he was lurking there.

  ‘Poisoners don’t lurk, Deefer. I should know that. Poisoners plan very carefully what they are going to do and how. If we are not a threat to secrecy then we are not a target.’ Deefer listened intently and licked his lips. ‘Was that a hint? It’s your dinner time isn’t it, silly me, and there I was thinking that you were interested in my knowledge about poisoners.’

  Talking to myself seemed to soothe my anxieties, and so did sharing the burden with Mr Williams and reporting the facts to the IPCC, which had certainly alleviated much of my internal angst.

  I fed Deefer and wanted to settle back down in front of the fire but waiting for Max to get home, and him not returning my call, prevented any sort of relaxation.

  When he did eventually turn up, safe and oblivious to my frantic worry about him, I was crotchety.

  ‘Where the hell have you been, you thoughtless great pillock?’

  28

  Emma was enthusiastic about having officers from the IPCC stationed in the Lodge House at Folly Farm. She phoned me with confirmation. ‘You’ve been busy. Tam o’Shanter was mightily impressed by your work with the coroner and the man from the IPCC, but I don’t understand why there isn’t enough evidence to arrest Dynamic,’ Emma said, choosing to avoid real names.

  ‘Well, I think the IPCC have to find evidence to place him at the scene of the fire at the flat in France. I should think they’d need to take statements from the staff at the Corbet unit, and speak to the gendarmes, and their equivalent coroner and pathologist. The coroner here is opening a new inquiry into Jan’s death, which will question police evidence and their lack of a proper investigation, I should think. Now that will put Dynamic in the spotlight as the investigating officer.

  ‘There’ll be a review of the investigation into Father J’s death, I would also imagine, although there’s evidence that he and Ben were both poisoned, it’s the evidence of who poisoned them, how and when, that’s absent.’

  It was helpful to précis the current situation in this way to Emma, but it was rather too simplistic.

  There was a massive hole yet to be filled.

  ‘Well, they don’t hang about at the IPCC, that’s for sure,’ Emma said. ‘Mr and Mrs Braithwaite, the nice couple who are renting from us, have phoned already to make arrangements. Someone else is coming at the crack of dawn to put CCTV cameras up at the farm and at the Lodge, covering the farm entrance. We’re already feeling much more secure. What’s your next move, Sherlock?’

  ‘I’m going to Hollberry Hospital with Father Raymond to visit Pip tomorrow.’ My surprise invitation to join Father Raymond for tea and cake at the Rectory had shocked Emma. She immediately warned of poisoned jam sponge, being dissected, and buried in an unmarked grave. My reassurances were dismissed as crass stupidity, but she did finally credit me with using common sense to renegotiate a plan to meet in a public place instead.

  ‘But I didn’t, Em, it was Father Raymond’s suggestion.’

  ‘Blimey, Mon, you’re pushing your luck. Maybe he realised how obvious he was being. Be careful and don’t forget to switch your mobile to silent tomorrow when you meet him, and turn off the vibrate function as well, that way you won’t draw attention to your phone. Record everything. Phone me before you go, otherwise I’ll worry. By the way, as I’m on back-up duties, what else was it you wanted me to look up for you? I’ve found some
stuff on Freemasons and banking, but there was another task I offered to take on …’

  ‘Yes, Watson, “the one true Jesuit”. Who the hell is that? I think it’s connected with the boys’ home scandal in the remaining journal, can you follow that up?’

  Emma and I were back in the swing of our comfortable friendship after the testing meeting with Tam Aitken, when the scale of what we had become entangled with had hit home, hard. Both of us were painfully aware that there needed to be a speedy resolution to proving that DS Adams was involved in murder.

  What we didn’t know was whether he was working for, or with, Father Raymond.

  I had decided to explore the relationship between Father Raymond and Pip during the visit planned for the following day. It was a worrying development that Pip had been with Father Raymond at the Rectory. Why were they there together? Tea and cake perhaps? Or was it something more ominous?

  Struck by another series of possibilities, I phoned Emma. ‘Em, sorry to bother you again. Can I just ask whether, on our list for possible guardians, we can add any of the other vicars at the Pathways Project? The Jesuit could be among them. Also, I was thinking, does it have to be a male? If not, then we could add any number of people, even Dora. She did offer to ride shotgun to protect me from druggies, remember.’ The other members of the clergy involved in the Pathways Project would have studied theology; therefore, any one of them could have met with Jan at university. Emma laughed derisively. ‘Jesuits are all male, but I’ll add the female clergy to the list if you like.’

  After shouting at him for being late home, I did nothing to improve Max’s mood when I updated him with details of my meeting with the coroner and the intervention from the IPCC.