by Jaye Watson
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BioLogic Laboratories usually closed between Christmas and New Year's, but staff often came in to tie up loose ends or to work on their own research. While the 'publish or perish' mentality wasn't really part of the company philosophy, management encouraged independent research and applauded published papers. Emaline went in on Wednesday to check her email and to do some more reading about plant toxins and chemical allergies.
The letter from Dr. Halse was on her desk. Eagerly she opened it. Scanned. And tossed it aside.
Damn!
She picked it up attain, hoping she'd read so fast she'd missed something important.
...impossible to be certain, although I believe that the stomach contents included leaf material like that of the partly masticated specimen, based on size, shape, marginal characteristics and vestiture. Neither is distinctive enough for identification to genus, let alone species. It is possible that the material comes from something in the Euphorbiaceae, but again, I cannot say for certain.
Again she tossed the letter aside. She had the results of the gas chromatography, but alone they probably wouldn't stand up in court. Still, maybe it was time to tell Harry. She picked up the phone and dialed.
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"Okay, let's go over it again." He glowered across her desk. "And while we're at it, maybe you'd let me in on why you didn't say anything about this earlier."
"Because--" She threw up her hands, unable to think of a good reason that wouldn't sound completely stupid. Or totally conceited. "Okay, I wanted to hand you a solution, to show you what a good detective I am." Unable to meet his eyes, she watched a Chickadee at the feeder outside her office window. "I'm sorry, Harry. Have I messed up your investigation?"
He didn't answer while he continued to write in his notebook. At last he flipped it closed and tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. "No, because knowing what killed her doesn't tell us why. And without a motive, we can't really charge anyone."
"Of course you can. Alyssa Kent did it. She poisoned Mary with poinsettia leaves and sap and she tried to make me look guilty." Absently she scratched her arm, where a faint rash still remained. "She knew I'm mildly allergic to latex, so she made sure I'd look like I'd been handling those leaves."
"Well, then, Ms. Poirot, tell me this. Why did Alyssa Kent kill Mary O'Neill? From all we can discover, they were cordial acquaintances, if not friends."
"Because...because-- Friends! Oh, my God!" Unable to sit still, Emaline jumped from her chair and paced around the corner of her desk. "I know why Alyssa killed her. Mary was blackmailing her."
He looked at her as if she'd lost her marbles. "Yeah, right."
"No. Listen. A couple of weeks before the party I went to the restroom. Just as I got to the door, I heard voices inside. Whispery voices, so I couldn't recognize them."
Harry raised one eyebrow, and for a moment she was tempted to tell him she'd just imagined it all.
Just for a moment. "'You're the one who's been selling it.' That's what she said. She wanted money to keep quiet about something the other woman was selling. Had been selling for...for years, she said."
"So...?"
"So the second woman said she'd pay, but only this one time. She sounded...not compliant. Determined. As if she'd take steps to see that she only had to pay once. I didn't hear any more, because I didn't want them to know I'd been eavesdropping."
"You didn't see who they were, then?"
"You've seen the women's restroom. If I'd been inside the vestibule, they'd have known I could have overheard them. And I couldn't hang out in the hall. That would have been just as obvious."
Again she paced, from her desk to the door and back, detouring around Harry's chair. "What do you suppose she'd been selling? It had to be something valuable. Something she had no business selling." Back again to the window, to watch a couple of House Sparrows fight over one perch on the feeder.
"Chemicals? I imagine you use some pretty expensive chemicals here."
"Yes, we do. Some fairly dangerous ones, too."
"And they're pretty tightly controlled, too, I'll bet."
She stopped halfway to the door. "Yes. Yes, they are. Controlled substances, poisons, corrosives, strong acids and solvents. We are supposed to account for every drop, every gram. If we can't--"
"If you can't? What?"
"Piperidine. A couple of months ago, we came up short on piperidine. It wasn't the first time. Shortages occur all the time because the DNA lab techs are notoriously sloppy about recording their usage, but they're usually minor. All except for piperidine. Dr. Burton had Alex Terry investigate. He did, and concluded it was carelessness, because it was never much. A milliliter or two every week. Dr. Burton decided it was within the limits of error and arranged for the techs to have additional training in measuring micro-volumes."
"Piperidine. I've heard that before." He scratched his chin. "Piperidine...piperidine. Damn! I can't remember."
She slid into her chair and reached for her mouse. After a few minutes searching, she said, "Here's a decent article in Wikipedia. '...colorless liquid...flammable, toxic... main active chemical agent in black pepper...' Here it is, I'll bet. Listen! '... precursor under the UN Convention Against Illicit Traffic in Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances due to its use (peaking in the 1970s) in the clandestine manufacture of PCP.'"
"Shit." He pulled out his cell phone. While waiting for his connection, he said. "I'll want to talk to Alex. Hey, Phin, can you send me those lab results on the O'Neill case? Yes, now. Send 'em to--" He looked up, pointed at her monitor and mouthed e-mail address?
She scribbled on a pad, passed it across the desk.
He spelled out the address. " I want to see the chromatography thing, too. Yeah, thanks."
Switching off, he said, "We'll have the lab results in a few minutes. I want you to look at them, see if you see anything like yours. I'll be back in a while." Looking more like a bloodhound on a scent than a friendly basset hound, he left.
Emaline scanned all the police lab information, paying particular attention to the results of the gas chromatography. She pulled up her results and compared them. Sure enough, some of the peaks matched, the same peaks that were in the run on pure poinsettia leaves. She was sliding all three scans into a folder for Harry when she heard a crash.
"Halt!" someone yelled.
"Stop her!"
A woman screamed, "Get out of my way!"
Unable to resist, Emaline went to her door and peeked out. Then she opened it wide, for the hallway was blocked with people, all of them staring toward the reception area. She elbowed her way through, determined not to miss the denouement. She ducked under Roger's elbow and squeezed between him and Alex.
Too late. Just this side of the front door, Harry sprawled on top of Alyssa Kent. She was doing her best to claw his eyes out as she spewed a torrent of abuse. Georgia crouched behind her desk, while Dr. Burton lay sprawled across the end of the hall, for once looking less than dapper and dignified.
"He moves well, for such an old guy," Roger murmured in her ear.
She bristled. "He's not--"
"Older'n me. I take it Alyssa is the murderer."
"Yep. She did it. She killed poor Mary."
"I wonder how?"
"Very cleverly. Death by poinsettia."
The End
About the Author
Jaye Watson is the alter ego of a sweet little old lady who doesn't want her grandchildren to know what dark and bloody thoughts she harbors in her heart of hearts. She would rather write about serial killers than romantic lovers, and much prefers a good treatise on deadly poisons to any collection of homestyle recipes. For amusement, Jaye plots new and different ways to kill off the people who cut in front of her in grocery lines and crowd her on the freeway.
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Jaye Watson, God Rest Ye, Mary
