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

“He’s trying to take custody from a woman in a coma?” he repeated, the shock of such a notion stemming his grief.

I nodded. “We were asked to help quell the situation. He has no legal rights, so our presence was a help.”

Esme listened to all of this, breathing in jilted, gulping breaths, the anger on her face subsiding as Abbie’s side of things became clear. Mills dug out a clean tissue from the packet in his pocket and held it out. She took it, looking somewhat surprised at the gesture, and dabbed at her face.

“Can you think of anyone, anyone else,” I amended, “who might have wanted to hurt your daughter?”

“Hurt her and Abbie,” Esme repeated. “Why is Sonia dead but not Abbie?”

I took a deep breath, debating how much to share, but I’d dealt with the grieving loved ones enough times to know what sort were before me. They wanted to know; I’d tell them.

“The drug that was injected into Abbie was made; the compound took some time to understand. We think that whoever made it, must have gotten the recipe wrong. This time, they fixed their errors.”

Esme let out an angry breath. “Well, good for them,” she snapped.

“Their work,” Mr Petrilli said before his wife started blowing smoke. “Always met some difficulties. From other people.”

“Protestors?” I asked.

He nodded, pushing some hair back from where it had fallen in his face. “It’s one of the reasons Sonia likes living at home still,” he explained. “I think she felt safer here. One or two of those treats, they scared her. They really scared her.”

“Were these recent threats?” I asked, as kindly as I could.

“No. That one was a while ago now. A few years back. She and Abbie had only just started to work together. It was a study on… What was it on, darling?” he asked his wife.

“They were looking for a botanical drug to help with immune diseases,” she replied automatically, blowing her nose loudly. “It wasn’t a very successful study.”

“People weren’t happy about it,” Mr Petrilli went on. “But Sonia didn’t tell us much about it. Even when the threat came, she kept it quiet. She was like that, never wanted us to know what she was working on until it was finished,” he added with a smile.

I looked at Mills, who met my eyes and gave a small nod. We were done here, there was little these people could give us to help in their grief, and they needed to be alone with it. I fished a business card from my pocket and placed it on the table between us.

“Please don’t hesitate to get in touch if you can think of anything that would be beneficial for us to know in this investigation,” I told them. “We’ll be in touch as soon as we have more information for you.”

Mr Petrilli stood up, “Can I show you to the door?”

“We can find our way,” I reassured him, and he sank back down beside his wife. “Thank you for your time.”

“And again,” Mills added, “we are so sorry for your loss.”

Mr Petrilli gave us a somewhat grateful nod, and then we left them to it, making our way through the large, warm and orange kitchen to the front door. The rain was beginning to slow down, but Mills still passed me the keys as we walked towards the car, apparently having had his fill of rain and mud and wheels for one day. I took them without complaint, hoping that the drive would stop my brain from wandering off too far and slid into the car.

“Dr Quaid gave me Sonia’s work things,” he remembered suddenly. “In the boot,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“A laptop?”

“Yep. And the rest of her stuff should all be processed by now.”

I nodded, pulling away from the house and heading back onto the roads. “Sonia was frightened by those protestors,” I murmured. “Maybe we should have another chat with Lin Shui.”

Fourteen

Thatcher

“Well, boys,” Sharp stood in front of us, leaning her back against her desk, hands clasped together. “You’ve officially got a homicide to investigate. What’s the story so far?”

“Sonia Petrilli has a puncture wound in her neck,” I answered. “Similar to that found on Abbie Whelan. We think it’s likely that the killer perfected their recipe and managed to kill Sonia with it.”

“Any leads?” She asked, looking dubious.

“Sonia was our lead,” I told her. “We were heading out to the gardens to question her again about Abbie. She was our lead suspect, and now…” I trailed off with a shrug.

“We think perhaps, it’s not personal though,” Mills took over. “When it was just Abbie, we suspected some kind of personal vendetta, but it’s more likely that this is bigger than that. Both research partners taken down, someone’s got something against them or their work.”

Sharp nodded slowly. “The protestors?”

“According to Sonia’s father,” I said. “She was scared of some threats they received early on in their career, from one of their first studies together. Something to do with working on traditional medicine for immune diseases. We’re planning on looking into what groups or individuals might have wanted to target them for their work back then and see if there’s any overlap now.”

“What about Abbie?” She asked. “Any suspicion that our killer would try her again?”

“She’s still in the coma, so she’s not a trouble to them right now, but we’ve let the hospital security know, and we’ll tighten the rotation of officers outside her room.”

“Good,” Sharp replied. “And anything from Lena yet?”

“Nothing. But she’s calling in Dr Olsen, the toxicologist, to take a look at some blood samples and see if there’s any correlation. She also told me that forensics got back on those blood samples. Most are a match for Abbie, but there’s one that’s different.”

Sharp breathed in and out piercingly. “Well, that’s something. At least we can get a DNA match when you bring someone in. Means that Abbie must have fought back against her attacker,” she