Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4) by Oliver Davies (best black authors txt) 📗

“We’ll be sure to reassure your team, Dr Quaid,” I told him. “What’s the security like here?”

“Oh, we take a lot of care with it,” he told me. “What with some of the materials and substances we have on-site. Most of our more dangerous studies happen upstairs, which is where Abbie and Sonia are most of the time. We have a key card system with restricted access up there, CCTV on the entrances and exits and a top of the range alarm system. It’s why I have to come in at half-eight,” he said with a faint chuckle. “To turn the blasted thing before everyone comes in.”

“What about out in the gardens themselves?” I went on. “In the greenhouses or around the deadly plants?”

“The whole facility is surrounded by a metal fence,” he told us, and I nodded. We’d spotted it on our way in. “The greenhouses are always locked with unique keys that only the necessary staff have. In terms of cameras, we’re a bit stuck out there. The place is old, so we’re short on access. There is a camera by the deadly plants. I can access the footage for you.”

“That would be much appreciated,” I told him. “What’s the access to the greenhouse itself like?”

“You can reach it from anywhere on the property, the same with the other greenhouses.”

“And you’re sure that there was nobody else on the property this morning?” I asked him, my voice darkening.

Dr Quaid lost some of his confidence at my question, and he went back to fumbling with his glasses.

“None of my staff checked in, but it’s a big place. I didn’t see anyone,” he said resolutely. “But I would never have hurt Abbie. I valued her as a worker and as a friend. She got me this,” he tapped the pot of a cactus on his cluttered desk, “for my birthday this year.”

I couldn’t quite imagine him being the sort of man to stab a woman in the neck with a needle, but appearances could be deceiving. And yet, I was inclined to believe him.

“If you can get us footage from all the CCTV you have here, we’d very much appreciate it, Dr Quaid,” I told him.

“I’ll get it together as soon as I can. Shall I send it to the station?”

“My email address is on the business card I gave you earlier. Feel free to send it there.”

“I shall let the company know.”

“Thank you. Now, if we can, I’d like to speak to Miss Petrilli.” I stood up, and Dr Quaid shuffled to his feet, pushing his glasses back onto his face.

“Certainly. This way, I shall take you to her.”

Mills picked up Abbie’s coat and back, and I tossed him the car keys as he walked to the door. We passed the stairs that curved up to the first floor, where the security was tightest, and I wondered what exactly they had up there. I watched a man walk up, fishing a card from his pocket as he reached the landing, swiping it to get through the door. In the brief moment, it was open, and from where I stood below the stairs, I could see the hallway beyond, lined with metal doors, all with similar card readers. The door shut with a clunk and a hiss.

Mills jogged back in, handing the keys back, and Dr Quaid led us on, into the maze of glass walls and desks, over to a water fountain where a woman stood, inky black hair swept into a plait, her lab coat rolled up to her elbows.

“Sonia, this is Detective Inspector Thatcher and Detective Sergeant Mills. Gentleman, Sonia Petrilli, Abbie’s research partner. I shall leave you to it,” he said, giving Sonia a light squeeze on the shoulder, “and see what I can do about those cameras.”

He wandered off, leaving us with the olive-skinned woman who looked down her nose at us with a frown between her eyebrows.

“Abbie’s alive?” she asked simply, her voice expressionless.

“She is,” I confirmed.

“Good,” she said. “How can I help you, Inspector?”

Five

Thatcher

Sonia led us over to a quiet table, the white surface gleaming and smelling faintly of antiseptic. She sat herself down and regarded us with a somewhat unimpressed expression.

“So, what happened to her?” she asked, sipping her water.

“It looks like she was drugged,” I answered, my dry tone matching hers. “The hospital is still working on exactly what it was.”

“Through the arm?” Sonia asked.

“Neck,” I told her.

She gave an impassive nod and set her cup down. “I’m sure Quaid’s told as much already, but I wasn’t in this morning. I came not long after you and your team rolled away.”

“What time would that have been?” I asked. “The more precise timings we have, the better.”

“Clocked at ten fifty-two,” she said with a tight smile. “Bit of a stickler for being on time.” She brushed an invisible crumb from her spotless coat.

“Never a bad thing,” I told her. “Dr Quaid told us that Abbie came in this morning early.”

“She did.”

“Can I ask where you would have been this morning between nine and ten?” I asked.

“I was at home. Down in the local village,” she pointed in a vague west direction.

“Can anybody vouch for you being there at that time?”

She sucked a tooth and nodded. “My parents. I’m living with them until I get my PhD sorted. Easier. Here.” She tore off a scrap of paper from a desk behind her and scrawled down a number that I passed to Mills.

“Thank you,” I smiled. “We hear that Abbie came in to check on some of your research before taking her holiday.”

Sonia nodded. “I would have done it myself, but Abbie insisted. She’s not the sort of person I waste my breath arguing with. Like trying to argue with a brick wall.”

“You’ve worked together a long time,” Mills said.

“We have. Got a few studies under our belts. We got on well, make a good team in the lab.”

“What about