A Scone To Die For (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1)

by H. Y. Hanna

  He chuckled. “You’re on. Shall I give you a call sometime next week?”

  I agreed and gave him my number, then stood on the threshold and watched as he walked down the street. As soon as he had disappeared around the corner, I shut the door and hurried up to my bedroom to call Seth.

  Romance was all very well but I had bigger things on my mind. I had a murderer to catch.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I paced up and down my room, listening to Seth’s phone ring. I hoped that he wasn’t out at some University society event. He answered finally, sounding slightly flustered.

  I launched in without preamble. “Seth, listen—I was just speaking to a doctor who told me that Washington’s company is trying to get FDA approval for a drug called Lassitomab to be used to treat Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Do you know anything about this?”

  Seth was silent for a moment. “Well, I’m no pharmacologist, but since organic chemistry does cross over in some ways, I do have some knowledge in this area. I’ve got access to MIMS online—that’s the database of pharmaceutical drugs—which might give me some information. If you hold on, I can do a quick search for you. It does sound vaguely familiar…”

  I waited, listening to the sound of his keyboard clacking in the background. After what seemed like ages, he came back on the line.

  “Found it. I had to search a few other databases and research archives to find out about the new application but, yes, Lassitomab is being hailed as the next big thing in the treatment of CFS. There’s been a preliminary trial with over two hundred patients.” He sounded quite excited. “They’re not quite sure how it works but they believe it’s by targeting the autoantibodies to the adrenergic receptors found on endothelial cells—which are present in postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome—and helping in the elimination of EBV or CMV, which is the principal mechanism for—”

  “Er… Seth? In English, please.”

  Seth took a breath. “Basically, the drug works by destroying the white blood cells that make the autoantibodies that are responsible for the symptoms of CFS. But what’s exciting about it is that it not only targets the cells making those autoantibodies but also binds to the autoantibodies themselves. So instead of the usual several months’ time lag after treatment, people start to respond within days.”

  “Sounds great. So why isn’t it on the market already?”

  “Well, these things need a lot of large-scale trials and studies to determine their safety, you know, just in case there are side effects.”

  “Does this drug have side effects then?”

  “All drugs have side effects,” said Seth. “It’s just a matter of whether the positives outweigh the negatives. In this case, there are a lot of positives. I’m actually quite surprised it hasn’t been brought to market yet… there must be something…” His voice trailed off and there was more clacking on the keyboard. I tried to wait patiently. Finally, he came back again.

  “Hmm… it seems that it was almost approved a few months ago but was blocked by a member of the approval committee. A world expert in pharmacology maintained that the research wasn’t adequate to license the drug for safe use.”

  I felt my heartbeat quicken. “Can you find his name?”

  “How do you know it’s a ‘he’? It’s an equal opportunity world these days,” said Seth.

  “Huh. Not when I last looked. Women are still earning less in the same jobs and being excluded from the ‘old boys’ club’,” I retorted. “But I’m not here to debate women’s rights with you. Can you find a name?”

  “I’m looking… I’m looking… hold your horses, Gemma…”

  I waited again, trying to contain my impatience.

  “Ah yes… here… Professor Geoffrey Hu… Hughes! Bloody hell, it’s Prof Hughes here in my college!”

  “I knew it! Seth, that’s the missing piece of the puzzle! I found out this morning that Hughes gave the police a fake alibi.” Quickly, I recounted my confrontation with the Oxford don. “He told me that he just panicked and ran away. But I had a feeling that he was hiding something. I think this is it! He lied—or at least, he was economical with the truth—about his meeting with Washington. They must have discussed Lassitomab and I’ll bet you anything that the real reason Washington came to Oxford was to persuade Hughes to retract his objection. Hughes was the only thing that stood between Washington and mass marketing this drug.”

  “But wait, Gemma, it doesn’t make sense…” said Seth. “Why should that give Hughes a motive to murder Washington? If he didn’t want the drug to go to market, all he had to do was block its approval, like he’s done once already. No one can get him to change his professional opinion.”

  “Yes, but what if Washington was trying to force him to change it?”

  “How can he do that?”

  “Well…” I thought furiously. “What if Washington had some kind of hold over Hughes?”

  “You mean like blackmail?”

  “Yes… I’ve been thinking…” I mused. “I’m sure this is all somehow connected to something that happened at Oxford fifteen years ago when Washington and Hughes were here as students.”

  “What happened fifteen years ago?”

  “I don’t know. I think that’s something for the police to dig up,” I said reluctantly, realising that I had yet another reason to speak to Devlin now.

  “Well, if you think it might help, you can always come back and speak to some members of the SCR here in Gloucester College,” Seth offered. “Some of the older dons have been here for yonks and might remember something relevant from fifteen years ago. Hey, why don’t you come to dinner on High Table again?”

  “Thanks, but once a term is more than enough for me,” I said dryly. “But thank you for the invitation. Why don’t you ask Cassie?”

  “Oh… um…” Seth stammered. “I don’t know… I’m not sure if she would…”

  “I’m sure she’d enjoy it. Just ask her, Seth.”

  He mumbled something and I could practically feel him blushing across the line. I decided to let the subject drop. We bade each other good night and I hung up. Going back downstairs, I joined my mother in clearing the table and washing up. She was brimming with excitement over Lincoln’s visit and wanted to pump me for details of our “good bye”. I answered her distractedly, for once not minding her prying. My mind was elsewhere.

  I knew who the murderer was now. I just had to find a way to prove it. And the answer lay in finding out what had happened in Oxford fifteen years ago.

  The next morning brought me answers quicker than I expected. My phone rang as I was about to leave for work. It was Seth.

  “Gemma,” he said excitedly. “I ran into Prof Wilkins this morning in the quad and we had a chat. You remember I said some of the old dons here might remember something relevant?”

  His excitement was infectious and I felt my pulse speeding up in response. “Yes?”

  “Listen to this: he told me that he remembered Washington. He saw a picture of the American in the local papers and it triggered his memory. He said that when Washington was here as a graduate student, there had been some scandal associated with him—some kind of cheating scandal.”

  “Cheating scandal?”

  “Yeah. It seemed that Washington was part of a group of students who managed to plagiarise their exam papers.”

  I frowned. “Cheating can get you sent down, can’t it?”

  “Yes, or if it’s discovered later, then your degree would be stripped from you.”

  “Is that what happened? Washington was expelled from Oxford?”

  “No. Somehow Washington got away with it. They weren’t able to prove that he cheated. But listen to this—” Seth sounded even more excited. “It wasn’t just him in on this cheating scheme, right? It was a whole group of students. And guess who was one of the other students also implicated? Geoffrey Hughes!”

  I drew a sharp breath in. “Hughes! So… you think Washington might have had some hold over his ol
d friend because of this scandal?”

  “Yes! Hughes obviously got away with it too. But if Washington had some kind of proof… and if it came out now that Hughes had plagiarised his thesis or some other research… he’d be done for.”

  “But wait—how can Hughes be employed as a tutor and be a respected member of the SCR if people thought he had cheated?”

  “I told you, there was no proof. He obviously managed to hush it up. Prof Wilkins did say to me that there was a lot of talk in the SCR when Hughes was first given a position in college—behind the man’s back, as it were. Even now, I would say Hughes isn’t particularly liked and I get the feeling that a lot of the other fellows have doubts about his academic integrity. I guess mud sticks. Maybe that’s why he’s so sensitive about things. You know, it’s a bit of a joke among the students how much he insists on citing sources and stuff like that in his tutorials. I mean, that’s obviously good academic practice, particularly in the sciences, but he takes it to the extreme. I think he’s trying to make up for his past reputation.”

  I thought for a moment. “What if Washington came and threatened Hughes with exposing his part in the cheating scandal? He could have used it as leverage against Hughes, to force the latter to agree to approve Lassitomab for the market.”

  “Yeah, it would certainly be some leverage,” agreed Seth. “I mean, aside from his personal pride, if the truth came out that he cheated, Hughes would be stripped of his professorship and lose all his academic standing. In effect, it would kill his whole career.”

  I felt a surge of excitement. “That would be more than enough to drive a man to murder.”

  I stared at the phone in my hand, then looked up out of my bedroom window. I had to speak to Devlin—there was no way of delaying it any longer. It wasn’t just a case of reporting Hughes’s false alibi; now that I knew that he had a motive as well for killing Washington, I had to share the information.

  I sighed and looked back down at the phone. This was stupid. I should just call him and get it over with. I pressed the number and was put through to Oxfordshire police. Once again, I asked to speak to Devlin and once again, I was thwarted.

  “Inspector O’Connor is unavailable at the moment. He’s out on a murder investigation.”

  “I know,” I said. “But this is important. It’s about that murder investigation.”

  “Well, I’ll take a message and ask him to—”

  “I really need to speak to him. It’s urgent. Can’t you give me his number?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Miss. As I said, I’ll pass on your message and ask him to call you back when he can.”

  I swallowed a sigh of frustration. “All right.” I gave my number and hung up. But I had barely put the phone down when my phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Gemma? Devlin here. They said you needed to speak to me.”

  I was slightly taken aback at his brusque tone. I had been intending to treat him with cool indifference but, faced now with his curtness, I didn’t quite know how to begin.

  “Gemma?” Devlin’s voice rose in impatience.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I said hastily. “I… um… I have something to tell you.”

  “Look, Gemma I can’t speak right now. I’m in the middle of something. Can it wait? We can talk later tonight.”

  “No, I don’t think it can. I think this information will help you find the murderer.”

  Devlin went silent for a moment, then he said cautiously, “Yes?”

  “I think I know who killed Brad Washington.” I took a breath, then said in a rush, “It’s Geoffrey Hughes, the Professor of Pharmacology at Gloucester College.”

  There was a pause, then Devlin said, “What makes you say that?”

  “Because he lied about his alibi for Saturday morning. He wasn’t in college at all—he was actually at the tearoom; he had gone to meet Washington there.” I told Devlin about the talk with Tom Rawlings, the answering machine, Nietzsche’s quote, and my confrontation with Hughes.

  Devlin cursed under his breath. “I’m going to have to have serious words with my sergeant about being thorough,” he said savagely.

  “Well, I suppose it wasn’t really his fault—anyone could have been fooled if Tom simply said he heard Hughes talking on the phone in the room. It was only because I was at High Table that night and found out about Hughes’s Nietzsche obsession that I was able to make the connection. But listen, it wasn’t just that…”

  Quickly, I told him about Washington’s new drug and Hughes’s obstruction of its approval, and then what I had learnt from Seth about the two men’s chequered history at Oxford.

  “I’m sure that Washington came to Oxford to persuade Hughes to retract his objections about the drug and he used the threat of the cheating scandal to try and force this from Hughes. This must be what they were discussing when they met on Friday afternoon. And maybe Hughes panicked at the thought of losing his whole career so he killed Washington to silence him,” I finished triumphantly.

  “It’s a nice theory but it won’t wash,” Devlin said.

  “Why?”

  “Because Geoffrey Hughes was murdered last night.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “What? Hughes was murdered?”

  “His body has just been discovered. I’m at the crime scene now.”

  “But… are you sure it was murder?”

  “Well, if it was suicide, then Hughes must have been the most dextrous man in history to be able to bash himself in the back of the head with enough force to smash in half his skull.”

  I shuddered. The image was not a pleasant one. “Hughes is dead…?” I whispered, sinking slowly down on my bed. “I was so sure that he was Washington’s killer…”

  “Oh, I have no doubt that his death is related,” said Devlin grimly. “Two murders in the space of a week is too much of a coincidence, especially with the connections between them. I’m willing to bet that the person who murdered Hughes is also the person who murdered Washington. Which means that—nice as your theory is—it couldn’t have been Hughes who killed Washington on Saturday.”

  Devlin’s voice hardened. “And it also means that this murderer is dangerous, Gemma. I know you’ve been doing some investigating on your own. I appreciate your efforts to help and I know that with your knowledge of Oxford and the University, you have an insider’s advantage. But I’m telling you to leave it well alone now. In spite of what Mabel Cooke thinks, this isn’t some Agatha Christie novel where everything will be nicely explained in the library—this is the real deal. And this killer has just shown that he’s not afraid to kill again. You could be in serious danger, Gemma. The next person the killer decides to silence could be you.”

  In spite of myself, Devlin’s words sent a shiver up my spine. Even though I had been the one to find Washington’s body, it had all felt slightly surreal. It was only now that I felt the breath of menace on my neck for the first time and realised that this wasn’t some TV crime drama… this was the real thing. And I was caught in the thick of it.

  I cleared my throat, not wanting to show Devlin that his words had scared me. I was pleased my voice sounded quite calm and steady as I asked, “Do the other suspects on the case have alibis for last night?”

  “I’ve spoken to Mike Bailey and no, he hasn’t got an alibi. He claims that he was at home watching TV—not something that’s easy to prove or disprove.”

  “What about Justine Washington?”

  There was silence at the other end of the line. “Justine doesn’t have an alibi either, although I wouldn’t class her as a strong suspect in this case.”

  “Well, of course you would say that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” I said. Then I burst out, “Why are you so reluctant to consider Justine as a suspect? You know as well as I do that she has a perfectly good motive to kill Washington. And she lied about not knowing that he was in Oxford… and about meeting him on
Friday night… She should be one of the prime suspects and probably would be if it weren’t for you tiptoeing around her dainty stilettos.”

  “Jealousy doesn’t become you, Gemma.”

  “I’m not jealous!” I snapped. “But I know a suspect when I see one, which is more than I can say for some people!”

  I ended the call and slammed the phone down. Seething, I finished dressing and left the house. I was an hour late, I realised. The call with Seth and then the conversation with Devlin had delayed me. But I knew that Fletcher and Cassie would be at the tearoom already—hopefully they could hold the fort until I arrived. If there was any fort to hold, I thought dourly.

  My spirits didn’t improve when I arrived in Meadowford-on-Smythe. I pulled up in front of the tearoom and could see at a glance through the windows that the dining room was empty. I sighed. It didn’t look like today’s business was going to be any better than yesterday’s. I felt fear clench my stomach again. If this case didn’t get solved soon, my little tearoom was doomed.

  Cassie looked up as I walked in and said, “So Hughes is dead.”

  My mouth dropped open. “How did you know? I only just heard from Devlin myself and he can’t have even spoken to the press yet.”

  She grimaced. “Fletcher found the body.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. He was out searching for Muesli again this morning—just near where we were last night—and he found it, dumped behind some bushes. He was the one who notified the police.” She sighed. “He’s really upset about it, as you can imagine. He called to let me know what happened and I told him to take the day off. I didn’t think he’d be much good here anyway.”

  “Oh my God… do you think we should go and see him?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure he’d appreciate it at the moment. He sounded like he just wanted to hole up in his house and be left alone. I think I can understand that—especially with the police crawling all over the woods next to his house. I think he just wants some peace and security, in an environment he can control.” She gave a wry smile. “I told him that maybe there’ll be a silver lining—that with the police combing the area, they might find Muesli. I think that cheered him up a bit. He said he was going to speak to one of the officers and ask them to keep an eye out for a grey tabby cat.”