Deadly Reunion

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

‘Poisoned? Are you sure?’ Detective Inspector Joseph Rafferty regretted his rash query as soon as it left his mouth. He barely had time to remove the phone from his ear, before Dr Sam Dally let him have it with both barrels.

‘Of course I’m sure. Would I be telling you the man was poisoned if I wasn’t? I never question your professional judgement’ – which was an out and out lie – ‘so I’d thank you not to question mine. Conium Maculatum was what killed him. Or to your uneducated ear, hemlock.’

‘Hemlock?’

‘That’s right. A very old-fashioned poison. Goes back to the classical Greeks, so I believe. Maybe even further back. Now, is there anything else you’d like to question while you’re at it?’

‘All right, Sam. Keep your hair on,’ said Rafferty. Which – given Sam’s rapidly balding pate, was another unfortunate slip of the tongue. But this time it brought nothing more than the testy:

‘Well? Is there anything else you’d like to question my judgement about?

Rafferty felt – given his mounting foot-in-mouth episode – that a simple ‘no’ would suffice.

‘Hmph.’ Dally sounded disappointed as if he was just in the right frame of mind to have another go. ‘Ainsley had been dead between fourteen and sixteen hours before he was discovered. The first symptoms would have started after around half an hour. He’d have experienced a gradual weakening of muscles, then extreme pain and paralysis from the coniine in hemlock, the effects of which are much like curare. It’s probable he went blind, but his mind would have remained clear till the end.’

‘Christ. What a horrible death.’

‘Yes. Death would be several hours later from paralysis of the heart.’

‘Is he likely to have self-inflicted it?’

’Well, it wouldn’t be my choice.’

Nor mine, thought Rafferty. He couldn’t believe that a sportsman like Adam Ainsley would choose such a way to go.

‘But figuring that out’s your job, Rafferty. I suggest you get on with it.’

Bang went the phone. Or it would have done but for the frustrations caused by modern technology, which didn’t allow anything so satisfying.

‘Sam and Mary must have had a domestic this morning,’ Rafferty said to Sergeant Dafyd Llewellyn as he leaned back in the now shabby executive chair that Superintendent Bradley had decreed was the appropriate seating for his detectives. ‘He just bawled me out something chronic.’

Llewellyn, who had never been known to make an ill-advised remark, gave a gentle sigh. ‘Dr Dally has never appreciated having his professional conclusions questioned.’ It was a gentle reproof, but a reproof nonetheless. ‘You were talking about the body found in the woods, I presume?’

Rafferty nodded. Adam Ainsley had been found in Elmhurst’s Dedman Wood around eight in the morning two days ago by a local woman walking her dog. There had been no visible signs of injury, and it had been assumed the man had had a heart attack while out for a too energetic run; the track suit and trainers had suggested the possibility.

Ainsworth had been attending a reunion at Griffin School, an exclusive, fee-paying establishment for eleven to eighteen-year-olds, situated two miles outside the Essex market town of Elmhurst, where Rafferty’s station was located.

‘Did I hear you mention Hemlock?

Rafferty nodded. ‘I thought that would make you prick up your ears. That’s what Sam reckons killed him. Said it goes back to your pals, the ancient Greeks.’

‘Yes. According to Plato it’s what Socrates used to kill himself after he was sentenced to death. He drained the cup containing the poison and walked about until his legs felt heavy. Then he lay down and, after a while, the drug had numbed his whole body, creeping up until it had reached his heart.’

‘Yeah, Sam said it was paralysis of the heart muscle that would have killed him. Sounds like hanging would have been quicker, even without an Albert Pierrepoint to work out the drop required. Anyway, enough of this classical Greek morbidity. We’d better get over to the school,’ said Rafferty. ‘Can you get some uniforms organised, Dafyd? I’ll go and tell Long-Pockets what Sam said and meet you downstairs.’

‘Long-Pockets’, otherwise known as Superintendent Bradley, was obsessed with the budget, in Rafferty’s opinion, hence the nickname. As far as he was concerned, crimes took what they took, in time, money and manpower.

***