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

“How would someone make this?” I asked, looking down at the pages of what looked to me like Klingon or something.

“They’d need access to a place not unlike this,” she indicated her own lab. “And knowledge, more than anything.”

“If they were playing with the chemicals,” I asked, something nagging at my thoughts. “Could it be that they were trying to kill her?”

“Potentially,” Dr Olsen weighed. “Could be that they got it wrong, and that’s why she’s still with us. Or they got it just right.”

“Do you have a copy of this?” I asked, tapping the clipboard. She turned around to the desk, pulling a paper folder from a stack of others, checked the label and cavalierly slid it across to me.

“Thank you,” I told her with as much earnestness as I could muster.

“Pleasure. Give my best to Lena,” she said, walking us from the lab and back to the lift. “And I’ll be in touch with any changes,” she added, hitting the button for us and walking away, whistling.

“Plant-based poison,” Mills muttered as the doors slid open, and we stepped inside. “What are the odds?” I hit the ground floor button and leant against the mirrored wall.

“What are the odds that we might find Nerium growing in those gardens?” I added. And I’d bet good money that most of the staff in the place knew exactly what it could do when ingested, how much would be needed, and likely had access to everything else that Dr Olsen managed to find in her report.

“Do you want to head to the gardens again?” Mills asked. I did, but now might be too soon. If we were going there with the hope of bringing someone in, we’d need a little more to back up our claims than a plant that could theoretically be growing in half the gardens in the city.

“Not just yet. I want to find out a bit more about Abbie’s work,” I told him, Lin Shui’s words echoing around my head. “Let’s take this back to Sharp and give Paige a ring,” I decided as the lift stopped and we stepped on into the busy reception, making a beeline for the car park. “We’ll need a stronger cause to bring someone in.”

And something told me that at Abbie Whelan’s house, we’d likely find one.

Nine

Thatcher

We left the hospital feeling hopeful. With Dr Olsen’s toxicology report, and with the right treatment for Abbie coming in, I felt like we were getting somewhere. From what the doctor had told us about Nerium, my suspicion towards Lin Shui was fading more and more. I couldn’t see her being behind the greenhouse, the stolen plants. Couldn’t imagine her going through all of this just to take down a woman whose research she wasn’t even protesting right now. Sonia Petrilli was another thought entirely. But all we had was suspicion, driven mostly by our own theories and from what Lin had told us about not even really knowing who Sonia was. I decided that going to Abbie’s house, taking a look through her own work and talking properly to Paige, would give us the right footing to proceed.

The day was growing warm, and even though there was a chill to the breeze, I shrugged my coat off when we returned to the station, and fished out a lightweight jacket, slipping it on and feeling less hot, but significantly lacking in something. I didn’t seem to be the only one who thought so either, as when we entered Sharp’s office for the second time this morning, she looked me over from head to toe with mild alarm on her face. She looked from the jacket, to my face, to the window and back at me.

“Warm out there?” She asked.

“It’s heating up,” I answered, sliding Dr Olsen’s report across the desk to her. “I’d say we’re in for a hot summer.”

“Bout time,” she muttered, flipping the folder open. “Last year was all muggy air, mosquitoes and storms. Nerium?” She looked up at me questioningly.

“Dr Olsen said that it’s the main source of the compounds that have affected Abbie,” I told her. “Combined with the other chemicals, it’s not a very mix. Something that someone put a lot of thought and time into as well.”

“Professional? Well, at least we don’t have to bring in a narcotics team,” she said simply, closing the folder. “I’ll give this a proper read through. What’s your next move?” She asked us, propping her chin up on her hands, elbows braced on the desk.

“We’re thinking of going around to Abbie Whelan’s house,” I told her. “Taking a look through some of her work, see if we can find something there that might give a more solid lead. And have another chat with Paige while we’re there too. I haven’t ruled out the possibility that Grace’s father might be involved in some way.”

“Good. Who are you leaning towards?”

“The researcher partner,” Mills told her. “Sonia Petrilli. She has access to the greenhouse, likely knows a lot about Nerium. We just don’t have a good enough motive to bring her in, and her parents confirmed her alibi.”

Sharp solid and sat back in her chair, using her foot to spin it gently from side to side. “How ironclad?”

“Not very,” I put in. “There’s some leeway in there that could put her at the gardens.”

Sharp nodded slowly, twiddling with a pen on her desk. “You’d better get to it, then,” she said to us dismissively.

We left her with the report, backing out from her office and retreated to our own, where Mills started throwing our new knowledge up on the, otherwise pretty scant, whiteboard. I dug out my phone, calling Paige Whelan, and listened to it ring, and ring, and ring, until finally it clicked, and a breathless Paige answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Paige. It’s Detective Inspector Thatcher. Sorry to bother you.”

“No, that’s no problem. Just trying to find the bloody cat. What can I do for you? Is it