by DS Butler
“Yes.”
“It’s quite a sad story. Derek passed on a couple of years ago, Huntington’s. So Linda’s had a hard few years. Her son’s a student with us, Gus Gilmore, you know? A terrific student, he’ll do well in life.”
Mackinnon looked down at his notes. Maybe that was why she didn’t mention knowing John Weston. Perhaps it stirred up sad memories of her husband.
“How do you know Mrs. Gilmore hasn’t already told us she was acquainted with Mr. Weston?”
A slow smile spread across Sir Jim’s mouth. “Ah, but she hasn’t, has she? And you need to ask yourself, why not?”
62
At eleven am, Charlotte was waiting for Mackinnon to finish his interview with Sir Jim.
He was still in her bad books. She hadn’t forgiven him for gossiping behind her back.
She was in no mood to speak to the DCI either. She just knew he’d told Mackinnon the reason behind her transfer. God knows who else he’d told.
Thanks to Nan’s doctor’s appointment, she had missed the morning briefing, but Collins filled her in. Thankfully, no one else had fallen ill. The secretary had almost completely recovered and was demanding to be allowed home; and the security guard and paramedics, who had treated Weston and were considered at the highest risk, had no symptoms at all.
The interview with Ted Sanders hadn’t gone as well as they’d hoped. He still denied any involvement in the poisoning, and although he admitted contacting the journalist on the forum of his website, he said he’d only posted the message because he recalled that his friend Alex used aconite at work.
To make matters worse, none of the prints found on the note matched Ted Sanders.
They were going to have to let him go.
Even though the prints on the note left on John Weston’s car didn’t match Ted Sanders’, Collins did have some good news. They had a match to a youngster called Dean Wagstaff, who’d previously been charged for possession, so DC Webb was trying to chase that down.
Charlotte turned as she heard the door open and DC Webb entered the room, followed by Mackinnon. Mackinnon smiled and walked over.
Mackinnon told her about the morning briefing while they walked to get coffee from the coffee shop near the station. Ted Sanders had an alibi for the day John Weston fell ill and this was being checked out by DC Collins and DC Leonard. The good news was that Sanders had been able to provide them with names of other protestors, and the DCI felt this evidence might be the break they needed.
And they needed the break. All the students and staff who had access to the aconite had given alibis that checked out. Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t involved. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to smuggle out some of the toxin and hand it over to someone who held a grudge against Weston.
When they reached the coffee shop, she sank into one of the armchairs near the window, and Mackinnon waited at the counter. The place was quiet; the only other customer was a thirty-something mum with a blonde toddler and a small baby in a hugely oversized pram.
Charlotte felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket. The caller ID on the screen told her it was Dr. Jameson from the Health Protection Agency. She took the call while Mackinnon paid for the drinks. It was good news. Kew Gardens had detected small quantities of aconite in samples of John Weston’s urine. He told her he would email over the details.
Mackinnon brought over the drinks, hers a latte and his a filter coffee, together with a bag of miniature muffins.
“To cheer you up,” he said, putting them on the table.
“Chocolate muffins work every time.” Charlotte smiled and opened the bag.
“I’ve got good news. The lab at Kew Gardens has detected the aconite, both in John Weston, and even better, they have traced the source to the biscuits found in his office.” She looked down at the packet of muffins. “I guess snacking really is bad for you.”
Mackinnon didn’t laugh. “Finally. Hopefully that will put Brookbank in a good mood for our next briefing. He was really pissed off this morning that so few people were there.”
“It’s his fault. He sent everyone off on their tasks; they can’t be in two places at once. And I had to take Nan to the doctor’s this morning. I couldn’t let her go on her own. I’m worried about her.”
“How is your grandmother?” Mackinnon asked.
Charlotte took a muffin and offered the bag to Mackinnon. “Arthritis is playing up.”
Mackinnon took a chocolate chip muffin and ate it in one bite.
“He asked her if I’d hit her,” Charlotte said.
Mackinnon turned his head back to Charlotte. “What?”
“Her GP. She had a bruise, you see, and it was the sensible thing to ask, I suppose, but...”
“As if you would ever do that.”
Charlotte shrugged. “He thinks it might be her tablets, making her bruise more easily, but I guess they have to ask. There are some nasty people in the world.”
They sat in silence for a minute or so, sipping their drinks. Charlotte enjoyed the creamy warmth of the latte as the rain started to fall softly outside.
“I’ll email Jameson’s report across to Brookbank now,” Charlotte said, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
“Are you okay? You seem a bit…”
“If you say jumpy, I swear to God…”
Mackinnon put his hands up. “All right. Touchy.”
“Well, that’s another thing you’ll be able to convey back to Brookbank.”
“What?”
“You know, Jack, the thing that gets me is that you act like you have this big problem with Brookbank, when all the time you were giving him updates on me. I knew you sucked up, but I didn’t have you down as a backstabber.”
The confused frown on Mackinnon’s face turned to anger. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard you, Jack. On Friday, you and Brookbank talking about what happened to me three months ago. I heard you telling him I was jumpy, overreacting, letting you down…”
Mackinnon leaned forward. “The hell you did,” he shouted, and the thirty-something mum, sitting with her kids two tables over, turned to look at them.
“We were discussing the case. On the way back from Oxford, in the car, the suspect was jumpy.”
Charlotte was silent for a moment, thinking it through, wondering if he were telling the truth.
“You can keep your secrets. I really don’t care. All I care about is whether you can do your job properly,” Mackinnon said as he stood up and drained his coffee.
“But I heard Brookbank say I was overreacting…” Charlotte looked up at Mackinnon.
He looked down at her, quiet for a moment, but the fury was evident in his expression.
“No. Brookbank said I was overreacting. I told him it was my fault we hadn’t caught Ted earlier, that I’d let you down.”
He left Charlotte staring down at her cold latte.
63
Along with everyone else, Charlotte attended the next briefing Brookbank set up. He demanded full attendance at this one.
She took a seat as far from Brookbank as possible. The DCI stood at the front of the room next to the whiteboard DC Webb had been conscientiously annotating over the course of the investigation.
She sat beside Mackinnon at the back, notepad and pen in hand, ready to jot down anything new. Mackinnon hadn’t even looked up as she slid into the seat next to him.
Brookbank summarised the case so far. Ted Sanders had been released. There was no case to hold him any longer, but members of MIT were following up a number of names he had given them.
The rest of the briefing was a sombre affair. As Weston had passed away, it was now a murder investigation. Charlotte’s mind drifted off, thinking about the pain Weston must have felt after ingesting aconite.
One vivid description of aconite taken from the many toxicology books she’d read had stuck in her mind. According to Greek mythology, a three-headed dog, which guarded the gates of the under
world, dripped venomous saliva onto the ground and the poison was taken up by the aconite plant.
Fanciful, but creepy.
She thought about John Weston. Thought about his painful death and the fact he had no family and no friends by his side when he died.
Charlotte noted a hush in the room and looked up.
Brookbank was looking at her expectantly, and some of the other officers in the room had turned around in their seats to look at her. He must have asked her a question.
“I am sure DC Brown can explain in more detail,” Mackinnon said. “But the toxicologists have detected aconite in samples from John Weston.”
Thank you, Jack.
“That’s right,” Charlotte said. “Aconite and its metabolites were positively identified in samples of Weston’s urine. They have also detected high levels of aconite in biscuit crumbs found in John Weston’s office. More than enough to kill. Sally Turner confirmed that both she and Weston had eaten the biscuits. It looks like we’ve found the source.”
Brookbank nodded. “I spoke with Dr. Jameson from the Health Protection Agency a short while ago. We have motive, we know the method. Now we need to track down the perpetrator.”
Everyone took that as a cue to get cracking. Chairs were pushed back and officers started to head back to their desks. Charlotte had almost made it out of the room when Brookbank called her over.
“DC Brown, I have a special job for you.”
64
The last thing Charlotte wanted to do after their argument in the coffee shop was spend an afternoon with Mackinnon, but Brookbank wanted them to visit the Oxford lab and Dr. O’Connor again for a fresh round of questions, so she didn’t have much choice.
They took the train down to Oxford from Paddington. Mackinnon used the return portion of his ticket. It was unlikely he would need to go back to London tonight. Charlotte watched his profile as the train sped past Goring. He looked miserable. She knew from overhearing people talk that he was having problems at home, something to do with his daughter.
She wasn’t a hypocrite, though; she didn’t expect privacy and then assume she could pry into the personal lives of others. Especially not now.
She should apologise and clear the air. But she didn’t want to do it on the train.
Charlotte slid further towards Mackinnon as a snack trolley was pushed past by a train attendant. She was hungry, but would wait until they got to Oxford to pick up a sandwich, one that had its nutritional information printed on it.
The train was on time, and they arrived at Oxford Station at two fifteen. They walked up Beaumont Street, past Debenhams and made a quick detour to Boots, where they picked up sandwiches in a meal deal before continuing up Broad Street. They left the rain behind in London. In Oxford, it was a bright but cold spring day. Enjoying the sunshine, they ate the sandwiches as they walked along Broad Street and turned into Parks Road.
There were cyclists everywhere. One whizzed past on the pavement, forcing Mackinnon and Charlotte to step out of the way and into the daffodils that lined the kerb. She watched as Mackinnon, with a mouthful of crayfish and rocket sandwich, looked after the cyclist angrily, but in the end, let it go without comment and returned to his sandwich.
South Parks Road and the science area were free from protesters. The university’s animal house, opposite the Chemistry Research Laboratory, looked almost structurally complete.
The ten-foot gates surrounding the building stopped her looking too closely. She heard the workers had been forced to hide their identities and were transported by van to the site so they couldn’t be identified by animal rights groups.
Mackinnon had called ahead and told Ruby to expect them. She stood at the reception desk, holding a form and talking to the receptionist when they arrived.
After signing in, they followed Ruby away from the administration side of the building and towards the labs. She swiped her access card through a panel next to the door leading to the chemical biology area on the lower ground floor. They walked down the corridor with its transparent walls, looking in at students and staff busy with lab work. At the end of the corridor, Ruby opened the door to her lab’s write-up area.
Pulling over a couple of chairs, she seemed to suddenly remember something. “I didn’t think to ask, have you had lunch?” She glanced at her watch. “There maybe something left at the café if you are hungry?”
Charlotte waved the question away. “No, we’re fine. Thanks.”
Ruby gestured at the empty desks in the room. “That’s where everyone else is, at lunch. Did you need to talk to anyone else?”
“Just you, for now,” Mackinnon said.
Charlotte and Mackinnon sat down and waited for Ruby to do the same.
Ruby sat and pushed her chair a bit closer to Charlotte. “I’m glad you came today. I wanted to ask what was going on with Ted Sanders. I heard you arrested him?”
Charlotte nodded, slowly. “Ted is helping us with our enquiries.”
“But do you think he did it?” Ruby asked. She looked genuinely concerned.
“Is there anything you can tell us, Ruby? Perhaps about Ted?” Charlotte asked.
Ruby looked as if she were about to speak, then stopped, then tried again. “I don’t get on with him at all. He’s Alex’s friend, they’re close. But I am sure Ted wasn’t behind this.”
“You think Ted is innocent?” Mackinnon asked.
Ruby snorted out a laugh. “Innocent is not how I would describe him! But, seriously, I have been thinking about this, and I am sure Ted isn’t responsible.” Ruby leaned forward. “Firstly, Ted knows Alex and me, and he knows for a fact our research is nowhere near the animal testing phase. Secondly…” she said, counting the points on her fingers, “...he knows Alex is working with the aconite too and wouldn’t want to get him in trouble, and thirdly, Ted really does believe in his cause. He knows which drugs have been tested on animals; he would have picked one of those.”
Charlotte studied her for a moment. Much of what Ruby said had been bothering her too, but it was possible they were just missing something.
“You said you don’t like Ted,” Mackinnon said. “Is the feeling mutual?”
Ruby smiled. “I know what you’re getting at. You think if he hates me enough, he would have chosen this toxin to try and get me in trouble. But that doesn’t make sense either, because, it puts Alex in the frame too. And why would he write the letter indicating Weston was poisoned to protect animals if he was trying to frame me?” She looked into the lab as if she would find the answer there.
Ruby nodded, distracted, her mind obviously still occupied by the puzzle. “Are you thinking the animal rights angle might have been used to send you in the wrong direction?”
Mackinnon said, “We’re not ruling anything out.”
65
“The last thing I want to do right now is sit through another interview with that pretentious git,” Mackinnon said.
Mackinnon and Charlotte were sitting in the back of a taxi heading towards the science park. Going to see Dr. Declan O’Connor again wasn’t Charlotte’s idea of fun either, but it had to be done.
Even if Ted Sanders and the rest of his animal rights gang were responsible for the death of John Weston, O’Connor was hiding something. Shady business dealings, perhaps. One more crime to be solved, perhaps, two for the price of one, a nice addition to the crime statistics if they could just apply the right amount of pressure.
“At least it’s another day in Oxford. You could get home early tonight,” Charlotte said.
Mackinnon’s stony look told her that he hadn’t forgiven her yet.
They sat in silence for a while. Despite having to visit Dr. O’Connor today, Charlotte was feeling pretty good. Handling Trish’s ex last night and then seeing members of her old team afterwards, when they came to arrest him, had felt good. The fact she hadn’t heard from Wayne helped, too.
“We’ll see O’Connor, then I’ll buy you an early dinner,” Charlotte said.
“At a pub, you can choose,” Charlotte said.
“Okay,” Mackinnon said, as if he were doing her a big favour. “But you can talk to the slimy sod. I’ll just be decoration.”
The taxi driver indicated left and swore as a car in the next lane cut him up.
“And what lovely decoration you will be,” Charlotte said. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“No one does. That is why we get lumbered with going to see him. It’s a punishment because I’ve pissed off Brookbank.”
“Dr. O’Connor is not the most charming company, but you must have come across far worse.”
Mackinnon’s face wrinkled, as if he had just smelt something particularly nasty, but he didn’t reply.
Like their last visit, O’Connor’s secretary greeted them as they arrived at the little temporary building that housed O’Connor’s offices. They hadn’t phoned ahead, hoping to catch him off guard.
There was no answer from O’Connor as the secretary repeatedly buzzed through to him on the intercom.
“It’s been playing up,” she said. “Follow me. I’ll take you through to his office. He hasn’t got anyone with him at the moment.”
She led them through the narrow corridor towards O’Connor’s office. She rapped on the door twice and entered.
O’Connor was standing by his desk, rummaging through the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet.
“Ah, Suzy, I can’t find…” On seeing Mackinnon and Charlotte standing by his secretary, O’Connor froze. If Charlotte had ever seen anyone look guilty before, they had nothing on O’Connor. His eyes opened wide, his face paled, and he reached a hand over to cover some sheets on his desk.
“The intercom’s broken again,” Suzy said, cheerfully.
O’Connor nodded and after a pause, he said, “Please take a seat.”
He turned the sheets on his desk over so the type was face down. Charlotte immediately wanted to know what was printed on them.
They did as O’Connor asked and sat on the same uncomfortable chairs as last time.
