Miguel was aghast. “A poison that tells your brain to stop breathing?”
Rosa shared his dismay. “That’s dreadful!”
“From what we can tell, the substance would have a delayed reaction of about thirty to forty-five minutes before being fully absorbed into the bloodstream.” Dr. Rayburn stared back solemnly. “Someone slipped it into Miss Adams’ drink, a martini according to what we found in the stomach, and when it finally took effect, she died of suffocation. There would have been no warning.”
“We assume the same thing happened to Jason Brewster,” Melvin Philpott said. “The orange juice sample had a good amount in it.”
Miguel leaned over to Rosa, “See, I told you we need to deputize that cat.”
Rosa rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep from grinning.
Turning back to Dr. Rayburn, Miguel asked, “Have you ever come across the poison before?”
“In a word, no. We can’t find any reference to it in our medical books. Our knowledge of exactly how it is made and formed into a powder is simply not there. We have no record of it. That’s why it took us so long to piece together what we do know. However, now that we have the orange juice sample, it won’t be long before we can more accurately classify it.”
“Onvocyn,” Rosa said quietly while staring down at the floor. She looked up and noticed everyone staring at her. “It’s called Onvocyn.”
Melvin Philpott shook his head. “I don’t think I have ever heard of that.”
Rosa struggled to think of how to explain herself without giving away her source—her mother’s personal journal. Her entries during the years of the First World War had been sparse and annoyingly, but understandably, vague, or worse, rubbed out beyond deciphering. Rosa, a frequent visitor to the London Library, had to do considerable searching to find out what Onvocyn was. Most of the time her intense pursuit of trivia proved to be merely an enjoyable waste of time. Once in a while, it came in handy. Like now.
“It’s a substance that was developed by the Germans about midway through World War One,” she explained, “but it was hard to make and took a long time. One needed exactly the right atmospheric conditions during production, or else it would be contaminated and rendered useless.” Rosa stared back at the stunned faces of the three men in the room, then continued. “It was used a few times successfully during espionage operations by the Germans and then later by the British, but was strictly banned by both sides after the war. Unfortunately, it did show up in Britain on the black market. Drug gangs in London have been known to disguise it as cocaine when they wanted to get rid of rivals and make it difficult to determine the cause of death.”
“How in the blue blazes of hell do you know all of that?” Melvin Philpott finally exclaimed.
“I . . . I . . . read it in some Scotland Yard case files, I think.”
“Who on earth would have access to such a substance, and why use that particular one?” Miguel asked. “There are lots of other poisons that are far easier to obtain.”
“The killer obviously put a lot of thought into what kind of results he or she wanted,” Dr. Rayburn remarked.
“Por todos los santos” Rosa and Miguel both exclaimed out loud simultaneously. They looked at each other in surprise.
“Let’s see,” Miguel cleared his throat. “It had to be a powder or a pill, and it had to be tasteless when slipped into a drink. It’s possible the killer wanted a poison that produced a delayed reaction for some reason.”
“Agreed. As for who would have access, that’s a tricky one,” Dr. Rayburn said. “Substances like this can only be tracked down through the black market.”
“Jason Brewster,” Rosa said.
The men bobbed their heads in agreement.
“We can now refine our investigation a bit,” Rosa offered. “We’re looking at someone who had a motive, someone who was at that party, and someone who had a connection to Jason Brewster.”
“That certainly points away from my wife, thank goodness!” Melvin Philpott proclaimed. “She certainly had no connection with any blasted drug dealer and has no interest or connection to any secretive, bloody poison used by the Germans over forty years ago!” His voice reverberated and hung in the room.
Rosa looked directly at the older pathologist. “Perhaps, sir. But you might.”
“You’ve got some nerve, young lady!” Dr. Philpott ripped off his glasses to reveal wild and angry gray eyes.
“Now calm down, Melvin,” Miguel said, putting a palm up. “Miss Reed’s only stating the obvious here. As an experienced man of medical science, you know how the criminal element operates in our region. It’s not a stretch to imagine that you could have taken on your wife’s offence, which gives you motive. You could know about this unheard-of substance and could figure out how to get it.”
“I take it you mean I’m interested in the old man’s money,” Dr. Philpott shot back. “You know as well as anyone, Miguel, that there was no love lost between me and that curmudgeon. If it were up to me, I’d give all that money away should it be passed down to us.”
“It’s my understanding that it will be passed down to you,” Rosa said quietly.
“That remains to be seen! Shirley and I are not in agreement about that.” Dr. Philpott stared over his glasses at Miguel. “You’ve known me and my wife for a long time, Mick. I find it inconceivable that you would suspect either of us of murder. And not of one person, but two. It’s outrageous!”
Miguel nodded solemnly. “I agree
