Chapter Two-2
674 Words
AFTER SUCH A DEPRESSING day, Rafferty’s one consolation that evening was that it was nearly over. In an attempt to cheer himself up, he planned an Indian takeaway, the latest video blockbuster from the States, and the breaking open of a fresh bottle of Jameson’s.
Fleetingly, he considered inviting one of the ladies of his acquaintance to share them with him, and then abandoned the idea. He wasn’t in the mood. Llewellyn’s steady relationship with Maureen had brought home to him that his private life was as empty of fulfilment as that of the week’s two suicides and had been for months.
This realisation destroyed his previous anticipation of quiet pleasures, so Rafferty wasn’t altogether sorry when Sergeant Llewellyn’s long face appeared round the door just as he was putting his coat on. Llewellyn told him that a man had been found dead in the offices of Aimhurst and Son, the light engineering firm on the roundabout.
‘There,’ Rafferty pronounced, with a kind of grim satisfaction. ‘Didn’t I tell you there’d be a third suicide?’
Llewellyn shut the door and came further into the office. ‘We don’t know yet that it is a suicide, sir. In fact...’ he paused, then went on. ‘PC Smales is there now, and he says the dead man,’ he glanced at a note, ‘a certain Clive Barstaple who was a hired consultant acting as an interim manager, was found slumped on his desk a short time ago by one of the contract cleaners.’ Llewellyn paused again and gave a delicate cough. ‘PC Smales is of the opinion that Mr Barstaple had been poisoned.’
Rafferty stared at him. ‘Since when did Smales become an expert witness? Or was the dead man found clutching a bottle marked poison?’
‘No sir.’ Llewellyn’s intelligent dark gaze was impenetrable. ‘PC Smales has, he informed me, recently been doing some research on toxic substances. He hopes it will advance his career.’
Rafferty snorted. ‘The only thing likely to do that is if he was planning to poison the entire nick’
Llewellyn made no comment on Smales’s ambitions and how they might best be achieved. ‘He said that the dead man – the victim – as he insisted on calling him, exhibited the classic signs of rhododendron poisoning.’
Rafferty frowned. ‘Are rhododendrons poisonous?’
‘Every part of the plant is, I believe, highly toxic, sir.’
Rafferty’s frown deepened. It was a new one on him. ‘He didn’t happen to mention what these symptoms are, by any chance? Only, unlike young Smales, I neglected my studies into the subject.’
‘He says the symptoms include drooling, tearing of the eyes, nausea and vomiting, convulsions, diarrhoea, paralysis and coma. And – again – according to Smales, the dead man had exhibited the more obvious symptoms, as both his office and the lavatory show,’ Llewellyn paused and gave a cough of even more delicacy, ‘evidence of loss of bodily control.’
‘Vomiting and diarrhoea must be symptomatic of any number of poisonous substances,’ Rafferty pointed out. ‘What makes Smales so sure he’s right here?’
‘I believe he mentioned the term ‘gut instinct’, sir.’
‘Gut instinct?’ Rafferty’s instinct was to snort again and retort that the only gut instinct Smales was likely to experience was the usual male one when lusting after a pretty girl. Just in time, he remembered that ‘gut instinct’ was his own invariable defence when he went bull-headed in pursuit of a favourite theory. Now, instead of making a sarcastic comment, he gazed thoughtfully at his sergeant and said, ‘Good old gut instinct, hey? Never to be lightly ignored, even when it’s Smales’s gut that’s getting all instinctive.’ He got up. ‘I suppose we’d better get over there and take a look. See if you can lay your hands on a book of toxicology, will you, Daff? There must be one around here somewhere. I’d like to check it out myself before I invite the world, his wife and Dr Sam Dally to find fault with our expert witness’s deductions.’
‘Smales said he had a copy in his locker.’
‘And did he say where we might find the key?’
‘He suggested we might try using a hairpin, sir.’ Llewellyn gazed unblinkingly at him. ‘He seemed to think you’d be familiar with the required technique.’
‘Did he now?’ Rafferty gave a sheepish grin. ‘Maybe I ought to revise my opinion of young Smales. Come on then.’ He made for the door. ‘I’ll borrow the hairpin and you can bring the swag bag.’ His grin widened as Llewellyn’s features contracted. ‘It’s about time you learned the gentle art of breaking and entering.’
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- Writer
