The coroner, Dr. Lewis, sat at his desk, his elbows on top of it, his hands clasped. He stared at a spot on the window frame. He wasn’t focused on the spot; rather, his mind was elsewhere. Nowhere. He had let his mind wander away to nothingness and had gone so far away that he hadn’t heard the creaking floorboards when one of his assistants, Adam Dwyer, entered his office. 

Adam was also distracted. As he entered the office, he had a file folder open, reading its contents. When he looked up to greet the doctor, they were both startled. The doctor, by Adam, and Adam, by the doctor’s sudden jolt and low squelch, when the doctor realized that Adam was standing in front of the desk. 

“My God, Man! Could you knock?” 

“I did, sir, but walked in right after. My apologies for making you jump. You must have been off in Wonderland.”

“I would dare say not.” 

“Apologies, sir. Of course you weren’t. Deep in thought?”

“I know I haven’t been very forthcoming in my manner. Especially, I have been baffled by how much this case has perplexed me. This poison, what is it?”

“Of course. We’re all in a cuffle about this. I have the results from the latest victim’s bloodwork.”

“Hand it over.”

Adam hands the doctor the file folder, awaiting his response.

“Just as I thought. The same type of poison,” quipped the doctor.

“After a more thorough look, it does appear that the flesh on his hand was eaten away by animals. We found a few teeth marks on the part of his wrist that was still intact. Medium-sized canines. Likely a fox,” suggested Adam Dwyer.

“That still doesn’t explain why they didn’t find the body when they were tilling the fields or why vultures or other animals weren’t paying attention. It suggests to me that the body hadn’t been there that long. If an animal got to it, could it have been buried that night?”

“We didn’t find any larvae or bugs on the body. If it had been there more than 48 hours, there would have been more bug activity.” 

“Yes. Much more if we were to believe what the Inspector suggested.” The doctor took a deep sigh and shifted in his chair.

“The confusion lies in the fact that the ground didn’t seem to be disturbed. It didn’t seem that way when we were removing the body, though the dirt was soft. Another sign that the body hadn’t been there long,” said Adam Dwyer. 

“The ground would have been much more packed, considering all of the rain we’d been having.”

“You’ll see my note about the condition of his clothing. They were bone dry.”

The doctor chuckled, “Yes. Bone dry.”

Dr. Lewis wasn’t as stiff as he might appear to others. Overworked, yes. The men who worked with him enjoyed their positions, but it didn’t always mean that they liked his methods, or the fact that he refused to admit any confidence in finding results of the poison that was killing these men.   

“Does Inspector McTavish have a copy of the report?” asked the doctor.

“Not yet, sir. I was going to take him one, after I’d shown you first.” 

“Right. Please ensure he gets a copy this morning.” 

“I will deliver it myself.” 

“Well, aren’t we the early bird?” quipped the desk sergeant.

“I need to get ahead of the game, as it seems.”

“I bet that third body showing up in the park isn’t helping much, sir.”

No, Sergeant, it certainly isn’t.”

The Inspector’s report to Superintendent Windemere suggested that the body might have been moved. The Superintendent agreed, but he insisted on confirmation and wanted the Inspector to determine where the body had been originally. Someone could have carefully dug up the potatoes and replaced the plants afterwards, especially if they were a gardener themselves. They’d had a few days of hard rain, which would have washed away any evidence of the ground being disturbed. The owners hadn’t been to the potato field in more than a week, as they’d already done a thorough weeding a few weeks before, and then with all of the rain, they didn’t bother returning until it was time to harvest them. But something wasn’t right. The Inspector felt as if he was missing something.

As the Inspector was about to walk away from the front desk, he heard Adam Dwyer call him from behind. 

“Good morning, Inspector. If you have a moment, I have an update for you on the third victim.”

Adam extended his hand and shook the Inspector’s, then handed him a file folder, “You will find the updated report there. We’ve confirmed that the man who was bludgeoned did not have any poison in his system.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. There was no trace of poison.”

“Hmm. That is interesting and unfortunate. The Superintendent is not going to be happy that there seems to be a snag in our seemingly multiple murders.”

“Bodies don’t lie; they don’t always give up the truth immediately, but they certainly don’t lie, and this man definitely was not poisoned.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about the body?”

“Well, I can confirm that the cause of death was a hatchet to the head. They were hit from behind, so they likely didn’t see their assailant.”

“Could they have been running away from their assailant?”

“That is possible. Unfortunately, since you found the body after it had rained, much of the blood had been washed away, so there is no way to tell from the location of the blood itself.”

“I do appreciate the update, and I will make sure to pass this information on to the Superintendent,” said the Inspector.

“I’ve a complete report in the folder,” responded Adam Dwyer. 

“Thank you for the update. I’ll read over the file.”
“There is something else.”

“What’s that, Mr. Dwyer?”

“Dr. Lewis seems to be having some difficulty in…  figuring out the exact type of poison that was given to the victims. They seem to show signs of cyanide poisoning; however, it’s not showing up in any of the blood samples.”

“Acts like cyanide, but isn’t cyanide. Are there other poisons that act this way?”
“A few, and some of those are plants, but so far, nothing is a match. He hasn’t been… very forthcoming about it. He admitted so this morning. I’d appreciate it if you keep this under your hat.”

“I see. I do appreciate you sharing this with me. I will keep it quiet that it came from you; however, this is important for me to know. I will have some of my constables go over both of the locations again to see if there are any traces of some other types of poison bottles or containers that might contain something that could have killed the victims.”

“That is a solid idea. The reason that the doctor hesitates to share this with you is his pride.”

“I think it’s a little more than pride; it’s likely more his ego. He does not like being wrong about anything. No coroner does.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could send your constables out again. Please keep me updated.” Adam extended his hand and shook the Inspector’s, “I hope we find this killer soon and before the city ends up in a panic.”

The Inspector let out a long, deep sigh. “I agree, Mr. Dwyer. It’s the last thing we need.”

Bea shifted in her chair. It was the longest he’d kept her waiting. The wooden chairs were old, and the padding in the seats was worn, with thin stuffing. The chair also squeaked every time she moved. In a quiet room, the sound echoed off the turquoise and gold coloured leaf wallpaper. Bea felt it was quite garish for a professional waiting room. Something less abrasive would make waiting less uncomfortable. 

As she waited, she used the wallpaper as a way to pass the time. First, she tried to see images in the leaves. As she did, she began to notice areas that had worn down, likely from the backs of chairs and corners that had grown ears, possibly, from the glue giving way after many decades of holding the paper to the wall. 

She shifted again, and when she did, the secretary looked up at her, pulling her glasses down her nose, giving Bea a disapproving look. She imagined that if the secretary had chosen a different career, she would have been a strict schoolmarm. Was Bea expected to sit stone still the entire time she waited?

A bell rang. Finally, she would be seen.

“Mrs. McTavish. Mr. Grant will see you now. Please show yourself in.”

Bea imagined that, had she been a man, the secretary would have escorted her in. She straightened the papers she’d been holding, stood, and as she walked by the secretary’s desk, she made sure to stare directly at her. Bea intended to make her uncomfortable. When the secretary made eye contact with Bea, she too shifted in her chair uncomfortably.    

Without looking at her, the editor motioned her to sit, his attention on the manuscript he was reading, which he continued to do in silence. 

As with everything he read, he ran a ruler down the page, using it to assist him in reading the small typewritten words on the page. Bea thought it an odd way to keep track of the sentence you were reading and wondered if his eyesight was failing. When he reached the bottom of the page, he moved it to a separate pile and then placed a paperweight on top of the pile he’d been reading. 

“Ah, Bea. Let’s immediately get to it. I have another meeting in fifteen minutes.” 

“Sir? You kept me waiting for half an hour. Surely, you can spare me more than fifteen minutes.”

“I didn’t realize you were out there that long.”
“Your secretary didn’t alert you?”

James Grant didn’t like aggressive women. He especially didn’t like being put in his place. He could have scolded Bea for her abrupt behaviour, but he knew better. She was one of the main reasons their newspaper was surviving, when many of the other city papers were folding, due to the new, larger company who’d been either buying them up or forcing them to close. It was hard to compete with a millionaire news mogul. Bea’s weekly food column was the main reason their subscription sales increased. Housewives were insisting that their husbands purchase delivery subscriptions, so they wouldn’t miss Bea’s column. So, he bit his tongue.

“Please, let me see your column.”

Bea handed Mr. Grant the neat pile of papers she’d been holding onto. Her work was always immaculate. Double-spaced. No errors. 

The room went quiet again as Mr. Grant read her column. Chuckling a few times as he did. 

“Another well-written and entertaining column, Mrs. McTavish. Though often quite dark, your sense of humour never fails to delight. Though the way you’ve described how the meat will fall off the bone… feels… a bit, sinister, wouldn’t you agree?”
“As you said, my sense of humour can sometimes be dark. I’m sure the many wives who read my column will appreciate it.”

“Yes. I’m sure they will. Well, this is fine work,” Mr. Grant pushes the papers towards Bea, “please drop them to the typesetter on your way out.”

“Way out? Don’t we have more to discuss?”
“More?”

“I’ve been told that the subscription sales have gone up quite a bit since you began publishing my column.”

“Yes, and we do appreciate that.”
“Wouldn’t a token of appreciation then be forthcoming?”

“Such as?” 

“A bonus or a pay rise?”

“Pay rise? For a woman, I believe we are already paying you quite handsomely. As well, we don’t hold a contract for your services.”
“For a woman? I see. Well, since we don’t have a contract, I’m certain that one of the other newspapers could use a boost in its sales. I’m happy to take my services elsewhere.”

“Now wait one minute. Who do you think you are, trying to push this on me, this newspaper?”

“Mr. Grant. You pay your male writers double and sometimes triple what I’m being paid. Considering your business is doing much better than it has in years, I think you can afford to increase my weekly amount for my column. If you aren’t willing, this can be my last column with you.”

Mr. Grant begins to feel panic well up inside of him. If Bea moves to another newspaper, so do the wives who love her column. Gripping the arms of his chair, he leans back, letting out his breath. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. 

“Ok. Hold on. I’m sure we can come to a satisfactory arrangement.”

“Which is?”

“A…. ten percent pay rise.”

“Ten percent? You aren’t serious.” 

Bea looked down at her hand and began twisting her ring around her finger. She then looked up at Mr. Grant, her face stern. This made him both angry and uncomfortable.

“Fifteen,”  suggested Mr. Grant.

“I think thirty would be a better number, Mr. Grant.”

He knew he wasn’t going to win this battle. He gripped the arms of his chair even tighter. 

“Thirty percent? I guess we can give you a pay rise of thirty percent.”

“I’m glad we were able to agree on that.”

Bea picked up the papers and straightened them again. She held them in one hand, as she grabbed her shirt in the other, while she stood up. “I’ll drop these off to the typesetter now. I hope your next meeting goes as smoothly as this one.” 

Bea grinned at Mr. Grant, turned, and exited the office. When he heard the door leading out of the secretary’s office close, he leaned back in his chair and attempted to stifle the angry words he wanted to yell. How? How could someone who looked so delicate and beautiful be so illmannered? He just couldn’t stomach direct women. He needed her column, if only he’d had someone at his newspaper who was getting the scoop on the murders. Then she wouldn’t matter. 

The clock chimed eleven. The doctor’s head is resting in his hands as he silently counts off each tone. Realizing how late it is, he rubs his hands over his face and finally admits to himself that he is exhausted. He leans back in his chair and lets out a long, audible sigh. Moving forward towards his desk, he rests his arms on the large pile of books strewn over his desk. All of the books have poison information. While some are piled on top of each other closed, he still had a few sitting in front of him, open. He’s read the same passages over and over again, yet he still cannot figure out exactly what the poison is. It’s similar to cyanide; however, the structure is not the same. The body reacts during and after, as cyanide would; however, once death sets in, the chemical that is left in the body is not the same. What type of poison would do that? The foul, evil person who was using it must understand how poisons work. They would have to. It almost feels like witchcraft at this point. 

He lets out another sigh, and his stomach begins to grumble. He hasn’t eaten in many hours as he was lost in the textbooks. He needs an answer and is running out of time. Another meeting in the morning with the Superintendent, and answers are expected.  When the Superintendent heard the news that the fourth murder was poisoning, he also caught wind that the corner still hadn’t figured out what type of poison was being used. He was at the boiling point and insisted that the corner meet him first thing in the morning to explain himself, and when he did, he needed to have an answer. The Superintendent’s many esteemed connections could cost him his job.  

The doctor snuffs out the lamp, pulls his hat and jacket off the coat rack, and makes his way towards the front door. His stomach grumbles again. Even in his state of anxiety and exhaustion, his body still finds the strength to move, yet as hungry as he is, he doesn’t have the desire to make a meal. Unfortunately, restaurants won’t be open at this late hour. At the age of forty-six, he now truly regrets not marrying. At least he would have a wife to come home to and possibly a warm meal. Being a lifelong bachelor, due to his dedication to his career, he’d missed the opportunity. He feared he would also be missing another opportunity if he did not figure out this mystery soon.

The Inspector quietly moves out of the bed and dresses himself, slinking out of his home before the sun has risen. He needs to make some progress before the Superintendent arrives and begins bellowing for him, especially after the information that Adam Dwyer had shared with him. Finding his way into the office before the rooster even crowed would give him a few hours to review his notes again. The day before, he had his constables return to both of the locations of the previous poisoned victims. They very thoroughly went through the homes again, yet they still did not find any additional information or evidence about the type of poison that could have been used. Is it possible that the poisoner took it with them? How would they have gotten their hands on it, though? One of the very first things they did was investigate all of the pharmacies and stores within the city that would carry poison. They inspected their logs and took very detailed notes about anyone who had bought poison in the last few months. Today, he was going to send his constables back again and have them make additional notes to see if any new information or names had been logged. The pharmacists were told to be aware of anyone purchasing products that were similar to cyanide or arsenic.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

The clock on the Inspector’s desk kept reminding him of how quickly the time was passing and how much further ahead he had not gotten. There must be something that he’d missed. He now had two issues to deal with: the poisonings and the man who was killed with the hatchet. 

As the Inspector stood to stretch, one of his constables came to his door and opened it. “Sir, you’ll be happy to hear this. We’ve at least had one breakthrough,” said Constable Richards. “Someone has just come in and confessed to the hatchet murder.”

“Who? Who confessed?”

“Turns out, it was his brother.”

Though they still had to interview him, the Inspector was finally feeling a bit of relief. That was hopefully one murder solved. Now to figure out the other three.

As he was buttoning up his jacket to make his way to the interview room, he heard the Superintendent blasting his way through the door.

“Inspector McTavish! I need you in my office now! Dr. Lewis is on his way, and I need explanations on WHAT is going on! 

“Well, sir, you will be happy to know we have possibly solved at least one of the murders.”

The Superintendent stopped dead, “Which one?”

“The hatchet murder. His brother has come in to confess.”

“Well, I hope he actually did it. At least that is one of them off our books.” 

The Superintendent was on the move again, and the Inspector followed him into his office, closing the door behind him.

“Lewis will be here shortly, and I need answers. There was another article again today in the newspaper, and it’s making us look like we are absolute buffoons.”

“Sir, I’m sure that’s not what people think of us?

“No? Well, that is what a reporter thinks of us, and I’m sure many will agree with him. How incompetent are we that we cannot figure out who is murdering these men? I want you to be in this meeting with me. I want you to listen to everything the coroner… Lewis is saying, and I need you to question what he is telling us. We need answers! It’s unbelievable that this… so-called doctor is even allowed to be our coroner. Incompetence!”

“Yes, sir, I fully agree with you; however, bullying the coroner is not going to get us much further. We need to work together on this.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Sir, I understand the stress that you are under from the Commissioner and the Mayor. However, by upsetting the coroner and his staff, it isn’t going to have him work any harder or faster to assist us in solving this. If we work together as a team, we will make better progress.”

“As a team? Are you trying to tell me that I don’t know how to run this station?”

“Not at all, sir. You are the one who knows best, as well as the one who gives us our orders. I am just making a suggestion.”

“Well, it seems that you’ve been working with the Coroner, and we are not getting any further ahead here. Correct?”

 The Inspector is saved from answering when the door opens, and Dr. Lewis peeks his head in.

“Superintendent. Inspector.”

“I hope you have some news for me that will help us solve this case faster than we have been.”

“Well, you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Well, say it then, damn it.”

“I have been searching and researching and reading and rereading and comparing and cross-checking every type of poison that is similar to cyanide. From what we have discovered so far, it kills like cyanide, and leaves similar physical traces of cyanide; however, once the person has died, the chemical structure of cyanide is not what is showing for this poison.” 

The Superintendent raises his hand as if he is about to start schooling the Coroner, but Dr. Lewis interrupts him before he can.

“Sir, I understand the urgency here,  and we are working as hard as we can to figure this out. I have gone through all of the possible poisons you can buy in a store, and I have now started researching more natural ways of making poison.”

“Natural?”

“Yes, I am now starting to research what plants could be turned into something similar to cyanide. This is going to take me a little bit of time, so you do need to be patient with us.”

“How much more time?”

“Give me a day or two, and I can give you a much better timeline. It is going to take all of our efforts to work through the types of plants that are available in our surrounding areas. I have my men out looking now in gardens and fields for anything that is listed as a plant that can become poisonous if turned into a tincture or a tea, or some type of brew.”

“Two days! You have two days to figure this out, and then I need another report,” yelled the Superintendent.

“Yes, Superintendent, we will be back to you in two days with an update on our findings.”

The doctor adjusted his coat and quickly left. He does not want to be in the presence of the Superintendent any longer than he needs to push even harder to find answers. Two days. How was he going to be ready in two days? 

“And you! I need you and your men back out in the field. I need more information.” 

“Not to worry, sir, we are already working on it. However, we do need to deal with this current situation. Once I have successfully and satisfactorily interviewed our victim’s brother, and I am satisfied that he is the murderer, I will then have my full attention back on the poisoning murders.”

“Fine! Fine! Just get to it.”

“Mr. Dunbar. I have read your confession, and everything seems to be in order. I just want to remind you that when you sign this, it becomes final and official. This means that you are solely confessing to the murder of your brother.”

“Yes, I am aware, I just feel that this is the right thing to do. This has been eating away at me since it happened. I never meant to kill him. We got into another heated argument, and something took over me. I never wanted him dead. But it happened.

Mr. Dunbar placed his hands on his face and began crying. They weren’t tears of fear; they were tears of relief. The weight of what he had done had become too much for him. Confessing was the only way to find any kind of relief.

After he signed the confession, he pushed the paper back towards the Inspector. The Inspector looked at it once again and stood. Thank you, we do appreciate that you’ve confessed to this. The Inspector then motioned with his head towards the constables that it was time to take Mr. Dunbar back to his cell. As they were about to move him towards the door, there was a knock.

Constable Richards opened the door slightly, and someone spoke to him. He then turned to the Inspector and said, “Sir, you’re going to want to hear this.”

The Constable opened the door fully and allowed the other constable to escort Mr. Dunbar out of the room. Once Mr. Dunbar was no longer in hearing range, the Constable walked into the interview room and turned towards the Inspector.

“Sir, you’re not going to like this.”

“Well, I’m now to the point where I’m almost expecting something every time I see your face.”

“They found another body, sir. This time in the park. He looks very similar to the other three poisoning cases.”

The Inspector takes in a long, deep breath, “Of course, they found another body. Why wouldn’t they have? What were the circumstances?”

“A woman and a man were out for a walk in a more out-of-the-way part of the park. It isn’t used as often as some of the sidewalks need to be repaired due to the rain. They wanted some privacy, so they walked that way even though the sidewalks were damaged. They discovered the body. The woman was in complete hysterics when a constable arrived. They’ve taken her to the hospital. The husband is still at the scene. There was one very odd thing sir.”

What was that?

“The man’s hat and gloves had been neatly placed on a nearby bench.”

“That is odd. Well, let’s go and add another one to the pile.” 

“Should we let the Superintendent know?”

“I wouldn’t advise that. Not until we know for sure. Go ahead, and I will meet you out front.”

The Inspector gathered his notebook and pencil from his desk, placing them in the front inside pocket of his long outer coat before putting it on. As he was about to walk past his desk to leave, he noticed the framed picture of his wife. Picking it up, he gently smiled at it and whispered aloud, “Well, my beautiful Bea, it looks like I won’t be home for dinner again.”