Bitter Water

by Douglas Clark

  They rounded the end of the building, still in the same yard surrounded by high walls. There was a fire-escape-type flight of iron steps leading up to McRolfe’s door. But of greater interest to the team was a row of three or four hutches near the base of the escape. Made of wood, with wire netting fronts, they were obviously purpose-made for their occupants and whatever purpose their owner wanted.

  Moller stopped to inspect. Tip, alongside him, said: “No rats, Chief. Not one.”

  “Are you sure, petal?” demanded Green.

  “Perfectly certain. These are guinea pigs. I used to have one when I was a child.”

  Green scratched one ear. “We’ve been done, George.”

  “I don’t think so, Bill. What do you think, Harry?”

  Moller looked at Masters. “I think I should send Berger up to see if McRolfe is at home.”

  Masters nodded to Berger, who began to ascend the steps followed by Tip.

  “Are you expecting to find the rats up there instead?” demanded Green.

  Moller shook his head.

  “George?” demanded Green.

  “Don’t rush me, Bill. Somewhere among all the papers I’ve read there was mention of guinea pigs in connection with leptospirae, but I can’t remember exactly what it was. You see, I was concentrating exclusively on rats. But Harry here seems to be happy to be without rats.”

  “Perfectly happy, George. In fact, I think the guinea pigs seal your case against McRolfe.”

  They could hear Berger’s voice. “Mr. McRolfe? We are police officers. Do you mind if we come in?”

  Masters looked up the stairway. Berger and Tip were disappearing into the flat, presumably behind McRolfe.

  “Right, Harry. Put me in the picture, quickly, before Bill and I go up there.”

  “What you forgot, George, was that the papers you read said that the presence of leptospirae in humans can be tested by inoculating guinea pigs with urine from the patient. If leptospirae are present they grow like billy-ho in guinea pigs. So, briefly, for rats, read guinea pigs in all your calculations except the first one. He obviously caught rats and bought guinea pigs. He inoculated each guinea pig with the blood of one of the rats and cultured the urines of the pigs in suitable media until his tests proved that the organism was present in at least one guinea pig. After that, all he had to do was inoculate all the others with either the blood or urine of the infected rat and he would have a contaminated colony, all members of which would be widdling the organisms for him to collect and keep alive in a culture medium until the time came to transfer them to pure water to add to the swimming pool.”

  “As simple as that, eh?” grunted Green.

  “Not all that simple, Bill, actually. He had to take care in order to get results, and take care that he didn’t cause himself harm. But relatively easy in theory, providing he read up the right methods and tests.”

  “If you say so. Anybody who mucks about with dangerous bugs like that deserves all he gets.” He looked up the stairway. “What about it, George?”

  “We’ll take him in. Harry, you’ll look after the animals, won’t you?”

  “Of course. I’ll need to come up and ring the lab to send a carrier-van and a couple of hands.”

  “Fine. We’ll seal the flat and search thoroughly tomorrow. I don’t like turning a place over before a suspect has been charged, but we’ll just look for samples of those plastic bags and any literature there may be on Weil’s disease. Oh, and his jacket of course, to test the pockets.”

  “Won’t he have got rid of everything by now?”

  “He hasn’t got rid of the guinea pigs.”

  “I wonder why that is?”

  “He likes animals,” suggested Green bitterly.

  “Two possible reasons,” said Masters. “First, he was proposing to try again. Second, he didn’t think anybody would link guinea pigs to the disease.”

  “So he was wrong,” grunted Green, setting off heavily up the stairs.

  It was after eleven o’clock that night when Masters, accompanied by Green, reached home. Doris Green was already there, keeping Wanda company.

  “What’s for supper, love?” asked Green anxiously.

  “You mean you haven’t eaten yet, William?”

  “No, sweetheart, we haven’t. Don’t tell me you haven’t provided.”

  “Doris and I had supper at about eight o’clock.”

  Green groaned and accepted the gin and tonic Masters handed him. “Thanks, George, but I reckon this will make me kalied on an empty stomach.”

  “You’ve always got your forefeet in the trough,” snorted his wife. She turned to Wanda. “Would you like me to cut those cold potatoes into scallops and fry them?”

  “Yes, please, Doris, but I’ll come through and get the salad ready.” She turned to Green. “Is a smoked mackerel fillet all right for you, William?”

  “Make it two, love, and you’re on.”

  Wanda smiled and left them.

  “She’s looking bonny, George.”

  “I think so.”

  “She’ll look even bonnier before the night’s out.”

  Masters said nothing, but refilled the glasses.

  It was when the two men were at table and their wives sitting with them for company that Doris raised her glass.

  “Toast?” asked her husband.

  “Greedy guts. You’ve got potatoes.”

  Green expired. “I meant were you going to propose a toast?”

  “Yes. To all of us.” She smiled at Wanda. “We’ve sold the house, today.”

  “Good show,” said Masters. “Did you get a good price for it?”

  Doris blushed. “Enough to enable us to buy your house, George.”

  “Without too much extra expense, I hope,” said Wanda.

  “With little or none,” said Green. “You see I’ve raised a bit of capital by promising to sell my memoirs to The Sunday Rag.”

  “I see. I shall look forward to reading them.”

  Green smiled. “When you’re safely tucked up of an evening in Housmans? With your family round you?”

  “It sounds idyllic, William.”

  “It will be, love. It will be.”

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