A Suitable Vengeance

“Has he a solicitor?” MacPherson asked.

“Of course. We’ve not phoned, but…” Lynley looked at the Scot. His face, in contrast to Havers’, was grave. “He’s said he doesn’t recognise that container, Angus. And surely we’ll find any number of witnesses who can verify his story of going out to buy bread and eggs when she took the drug.” He tried to keep his voice calm and reasonable so they would not wander beyond the death of Sasha Nifford. The idea that MacPherson and Havers had somehow connected Peter to the Cornwall deaths was unthinkable. But the mention of a solicitor suggested nothing else. “I spoke to the print men just before coming to see him. Evidently, only Sasha’s are on the needle. And none of Peter’s are on that bottle. For an overdose of this kind—”

MacPherson’s face had creased with growing worry. He lifted a hand to stop Lynley’s words, dropped it heavily when he said, “Aye, for an overdose. Aye, laddie. Aye. But we do hae more of a problem than an overdose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sergeant Havers’ll gie ye the facts.”

It took an effort for Lynley to move his eyes from MacPherson to the snubby-faced sergeant. She held a paper in her hand.

“Havers?” he said.

Again, that slight smile. Condescending, knowing, and more than that, enjoying. “The toxicology report indicates it’s a mixture of quinine and a drug called ergotamine,” she said. “Mixed together appropriately, Inspector, they not only resemble but also taste exactly like heroin. That’s what the girl must have thought it was when she injected it.”

“What are you saying?” Lynley asked.

MacPherson shuffled his feet. “’Ye know as well as I. It’s a murder.”





CHAPTER 23


Deborah had been as good as her word. When St. James returned home, Cotter told him that she had arrived herself only an hour before. With an overnight case, he added significantly. “She talked of ’aving a load o’ work ahead, printing up some fresh snaps, but I think the girl means to stay till there’s word of Miss Sidney.” As if in the expectation that St. James would interfere with her plans upon his own arrival, Deborah had gone directly up to her darkroom where the red light glowing above the door told him she was not to be disturbed. When he knocked and said her name, she shouted cheerfully, “Out in a bit” and banged about with what sounded like unnecessary vigour. He descended to his study and placed a call to Cornwall.

He found Dr. Trenarrow at home. He did nothing more than identify himself before Trenarrow asked about Peter Lynley, with a forced calm that said he expected the worst but was keeping up the pretence of all being well at the heart of the matter. St. James guessed Lady Asherton was with him. Bearing that in mind he gave Trenarrow only the barest information.

“We found him in Whitechapel. Tommy’s with him at the moment.”

Trenarrow said, “He’s all right?”

St. James affirmed this in as indirect a fashion as he could, leaving out most of the details, knowing that their recitation to Trenarrow or to anyone else was something that belonged by rights to Lynley. He went on to explain Tina Cogin’s true identity. At first Trenarrow sounded relieved to hear that his telephone number had been in the possession of Mick Cambrey all along, and not in the possession of an unknown London prostitute. But that relief was fleeting, and it faded to what seemed to be discomfort and then finally comprehension as the full implications of Mick Cambrey’s double life dawned on the man.

“Of course I didn’t know about it,” he responded to St. James’ question. “He’d have had to keep something like that completely to himself. Sharing that sort of secret in a village like Nanrunnel would have been the death—” He stopped abruptly. St. James could imagine the process of Trenarrow’s thoughts. They certainly weren’t out of the realm of possibility.

“We’ve traced Mick’s activities to Islington-London,” St. James said. “Did you know Justin Brooke worked there?”

“For Islington? No.”

“I wondered if Mick’s trip there somehow grew out of the interview you and he had all those months ago.”

Over the line, he heard the distinct sound of china upon china, something being poured into a cup. It was a moment before Trenarrow answered. “It may well have. He was doing a feature on cancer research. I spoke of my work. I no doubt mentioned how the Islington company operates, so the London facility would have come into it.”

“Would oncozyme have come into it as well?”

“Oncozyme? You know…” A shuffling of papers. The sound of a watch alarm going off. It was quickly silenced. “Damn, just a moment.” A swallow of tea. “It must have come up. As I recall, we were discussing an entire range of new treatments, everything from monoclonal antibodies to advances in chemotherapy. Oncozyme fits into the latter category. I doubt that I would have passed it by.”