‘You’re very interested in poisons, aren’t you?’ she went on, scanning the sheets of paper on her clipboard. ‘Aconitine, strychnine, digitalin, hyoscine hydrobromide, hemlock, arsenic… Obsessively interested, one might say.’
‘It’s my work,’ Ogilvie blurted. ‘I had to research poisons. That’s what the project is all about. I told you.’
‘Your boss disagrees. The title of the book was Deadly Gardens, yes? He wanted you to find gardens where people had died in sinister circumstances-hanged, drowned, guillotined, burned at the stake. He tried to discourage you from focusing so much on poison, but you seemed to take no notice.’
Nigel’s face burned. That little shit Stephen. How he must be enjoying this!
‘So much so that he’s had to give the project to somebody else.’
‘What?’
‘Didn’t you know? He did say that he’d had a lot of trouble getting hold of you recently. Apparently you never answer your phone. Too busy taking pictures with it, probably.’
‘Look, I-’
‘And poisoners! Hamlet’s stepfather, Dr de la Pommerais, George Lamson, Dr Crippen. Did they have interesting gardens? Well, did they?’
‘Not them, especially…’
‘Then why, Nigel?’ Kathy leaned forward across the table. ‘Why this obsession with poison? You can imagine what the prosecution barrister will make of that, can’t you?’
Ogilvie paled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brock reach suddenly forward. He stiffened, but the chief inspector was only turning his newspaper over to the crossword.
‘It wasn’t like that at all,’ he gasped. ‘I had a plan.’
‘Oh, I’m sure of that.’
‘No, no. For the book,’ he gabbled. ‘I was going to work through different means of death, and it seemed logical to start with poisons, because poisonous plants can grow in gardens. And also…’ He hesitated.
‘Go on.’
‘Well, to be frank, Marion did have something to do with it. When I started my research in the library, I went to “P”, and there she was.’
‘What?’
‘The layout of the London Library is different. They don’t use Dewey decimal, the subjects are arranged alphabetically. It’s one of the charms of the place.’ He chuckled nervously. ‘You can get quite unlikely subjects sitting next to one another. People say it’s very serendipitous.’ He saw the stony expression on Kathy’s face and added quickly, ‘That means-’
‘I know what it means. What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Marion was studying Pre-Raphaelites, and so when I was looking for Poisons I met her, further along the shelves. We were both in the ‘P’s.’
‘So it gave you an excuse to get close to her.’
‘Well, not like that. I mean, she was also interested in poisons, because of her work-laudanum and arsenic, especially. So we exchanged information.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Oh, let me see…’
Nigel Ogilvie launched into a rambling account of various sources of information on nineteenth-century poisonings that he’d shared with Marion.
Kathy pressed on, probing Ogilvie with bits of information they’d gleaned from his computer. ‘Who’s Colin Ringland?’
‘What?’
‘His name’s on your hard drive.’
‘Is it? Ringland… Ringland… Oh yes, Marion gave me his contact details. Someone at her university who was interested in arsenic. I spoke to him on the phone once. Something about Bangladesh; I didn’t think I could use it.’
When she’d exhausted this line Kathy moved on to the photographs downloaded from his phone, pressing him about Marion’s house, and about a large shoulder bag she was carrying in several of the pictures.
After an hour she paused and looked at Brock. He glanced up, as if dragging himself away from some other train of thought entirely.
‘Mm, yes,’ he said. ‘Her computer. What is it about that, I wonder?’
Ogilvie looked at him in surprise. ‘Pardon?’
‘You were very uncomfortable each time DI Kolla brought it up. You crossed and uncrossed your legs, fiddled with your watch, scratched your nose. What was all that about, I wonder?’ Brock asked this with an almost kindly interest, as if this was something two reasonable people could surely resolve.
‘No, no. As I said, I don’t know if it was hers, and I really can’t remember the make. Truly, I’ve racked my brains.’
‘So why the anxiety each time it was mentioned?’
‘I haven’t got it!’ Ogilvie yelped, holding himself rigid as if trying to stop his body from betraying him. ‘I don’t know where it is, I swear to God!’
Brock studied him for a moment. ‘I’m almost inclined to believe you, Nigel. But there’s something there, isn’t there? Something you’re not telling us.’
•
‘But there’s not a trace of his DNA at Rosslyn Court,’ Brock objected. ‘And no sign of arsenic at his home.’
Kathy nodded. It was true; they’d tested his clothing, the keyboard of his computer, his fingernails, and every inch of his bedroom and garden shed and found no indication that Ogilvie had ever been in contact with arsenic, let alone acquired enough to poison someone. ‘But we did establish a connection to Dr Ringland, who has buckets of the stuff.’
‘Mm.’ Brock didn’t sound convinced. ‘We’d better organise an audit of that laboratory.’ He checked his watch. ‘Another meeting. I’ll leave you to it.’
Auditing a university laboratory wasn’t something Kathy had been faced with before and she wondered how to set about it. She decided to phone Sundeep Mehta for advice, and he immediately offered to help. They discussed how it should be done, and afterwards, while Sundeep organised an inspection team with Forensic Services, Kathy worked her way through the university administration until she got to speak to the senior academic responsible for the laboratory. The man was guarded and clearly worried when Kathy explained the reason for her call.
‘You’re not suggesting that we were the source of the poison, are you?’
‘We know that Marion Summers visited the laboratory, and so far that is her only connection to a source of arsenic that we’ve been able to discover. So I’m sure the university will be as anxious as we are to eliminate this possibility as soon as we can.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. But she could hardly have just walked in and helped herself.’ The academic left the conclusion unspoken.
‘We have no reason to suspect Dr Ringland or his team of any lapse, but it would clearly be best if they didn’t carry out the audit themselves.’
They discussed the issues at some length, and Kathy began to realise the time and effort that would be involved. There wasn’t only the physical security of the laboratory and its materials to consider, but also the paperwork trail of purchase orders, stock records and disposal arrangements. They agreed to meet the following day to draw up detailed plans for inspection and forensic analysis, supervised by a joint committee. In the meantime, the academic agreed to close down the laboratory and seal its premises and records.
•
Brock was playing devil’s advocate, Kathy thought to herself that evening, as she sat with a glass of wine and the remains of an Indian takeaway on the sofa in her flat. He hadn’t been entirely convinced by Sundeep’s claim that the scene in Marion’s kitchen was staged, and was becoming impatient with the lack of progress. He wasn’t the only one: the case had dropped below the press radar now, and Forensic Services were clearly reluctant to spend more time on it. It had reached that messy stage, she thought, of inconclusive leads and dubious theories. A young
