A Murder In Hartley (Part 2)
Origin of Murder Series
The clock struck four, fetching the Superintendent from his thoughts. The room was getting dim, as the sun dipped below the horizon. A towering wad of papers stacked on his desk threatened his attention, only to be replaced by a figure knocking at the door.
“Sir?” Tom stepped in, his youthful exuberance flickering across his brown eyes.
The Superintendent nodded slightly. “Yes?”
“I have the preliminary report from the coroner here for you.” He passed a crisp white paper across the desk and stood back to attention.
“Thank you, Tom.” The Superintendent scanned his eyes across the writing, a perplexed expression growing as he reached the last few lines. “So far, the coroner seems to think Jimmy Nibs had a violent heart attack, which killed him. He did note though that he hasn’t finished examining the body, and there are a couple of things that aren’t quite lining up with his theory. Also, he put the time of death at around eight in the evening the day before he was found.” He paused and studied the paper again. “That is interesting…” his brow furrowed.
“What’s that, sir?”
“The coroner says he’s found no evidence of alcohol in his system. So why the bottle?”
“Maybe he tipped it out somewhere, deciding not to have it?” Tom offered, unmistakable curiosity written across his face.
“No I doubt it. Something just doesn’t seem right about this…” The Superintendent stood up, grabbed his coat, and rested the hat upon his head. “We’ll go and talk to Doctor Hafling about this - if Jimmy Nibs had any prior health conditions, he’ll know.”
A couple minutes later, the two men were winding through the dark streets in a black automobile; the headlights flooding light across the cobbled road. They soon arrived at a populous cottage, surrounded by well-kept shrubs and bushes. Frost sparkled on the leaves, and the rumbling wind coaxed the men to hurriedly reach the door.
After a couple of knocks, the doctor appeared at the door. He was a tall man, dressed in a tweed coat, and possessing a rather clever-looking face, to which some individuals have the privilege of bearing. An auburn-coloured spaniel stood attentively at his feet, pulling a perfectly wistful look.
“Come in, please. It’s bitter out there, isn’t it?” He warmly welcomed them in, leading the way into the lounge. It was a stark contrast to the weather outside, with a crackling blaze at the hearth, and a tantalising smell in the air, coming from the kitchen.
“Velma, dear, would you make us some tea, please?” The doctor’s voice was deep, yet ever so kind. “Are you wanting to talk about Jimmy Nib? Such a shame - he was a delightful fellow. Really, his end seemed to come too quickly, but then I know the Lord has numbered all our days.”
The Superintendent nodded. “Yes you’re right. I just have a few questions for you. How was his health lately?”
“Perfect, nothing to worry about. I’m surprised the government allowed his conscientious objection, seeing how fit and strong he was. He’d done a lot of good for himself since giving up the drink. Anyway, why do you ask?”
At this moment, Velma walked in and placed a tray of steaming cups upon the low table. A plate of biscuits accompanied the tea, much to the delight of both Tom and the spaniel.
The Superintendent took a sip of the steaming liquid. “Thank you, Velma. Now, George, you’re telling me there was nothing wrong with his health, no heart conditions or anything?”
“Yes, that’s right.” He stroked the spaniel, who was tilting his head, tormenting poor Tom with the most implorable look in his smoky eyes.
“Well, the coroner’s first thought was that it seemed as though he died from a severe heart attack, but that doesn’t seem consistent with what you’re saying about his health.”
A puzzled expression clouded the doctor’s face. “But I saw him that morning, and he was in perfectly good health. Does that mean..” he faltered, “that he might have been murdered?”
The Superintendent watched the man with a sad expression. “Yes it’s looking like that even more now. I don’t believe, for one moment, that you did it, George, but you know I have to include you as one of the suspects. Especially seeing as you saw him on the day of his death.”
The doctor nodded, a worried expression cast upon his intelligent face. “Yes, Oliver - I definitely didn’t do it, but I wouldn’t expect you to do anything different. I’ll aide you in any way I can.”
The Superintendent rose. “Thank you, George. I’m sorry to have interrupted you. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” Then turning towards Tom, who was hastily sneaking another biscuit from the table, under the watchful eye of the spaniel, he said “Come on, Tom. We’ll be going now.”
The wind charged them as they left the house, quickly making their way to the car.
The Superintendent sighed deeply. “That will be it for today. Tomorrow, I have a murderer to catch.”
“Dad, would you like another cup of coffee before you leave?” Emma’s cheery voice carried up the stairs as the Superintendent slowly made his way down. The morning light peeped in through the windows, blanketing the room in a golden glow.
“No I’d best be going - thank you though Ems.” He walked in, his coat lying across one arm. Emma stood in front of the sink, trimming a bunch of rich pink flowers and softly singing a tune.
“They’re beautiful - where did they come from?” He smiled, pointing at the fresh petals.
“Near the edge of the forest.” Her eyes twinkled as she arranged the vase carefully on the table. “Do you mind if Jack and I go out today? It’s his last day off before he has to go back to base.”
“Of course, just don’t be too late. Jack’s a good boy though - I trust him.” The Superintendent gave her a quick hug and then stepped towards the front door. “I love you,” he called out.
“Love you too, Dad.” She replied. “Oh, I forgot to ask last night - how is your case going?”
Cold air crept through the partially open door, as the Superintendent paused for a moment. “It’s a complicated one, Em. But we’re getting there.” He smiled and left.
Emma returned to the kitchen table, and picking up a knife, she proceeded to settle her score with the vegetables. The blade was keen, and she, so distracted by her work, hardly noticed the tapping on the door.
“Emma, are you home?” The voice was faint, muffled by the wood.
“Oh Jack! I’m so sorry - have you been waiting long?” She rushed to the door, opening it wide. A young man stood before her, smiling broadly. He bore a smart army uniform, a respectful expression on his young face, and a bunch of snowdrops in his hands.
“Just an hour or so.” He winked, passing the gift to her.
“Oh Jack, I love them! Thank you! Now come inside, I’m just finishing off the vegetables for supper, and then I’ll be ready to go.”
As they walked back inside, Jack paused and looked gently in her eyes. “How are you doing, Emma? And how’s your father doing? You’ve been through a lot.”
Emma’s smiling expression wilted. “Thanks Jack. We’re doing alright - though I still miss him every day. Harry was the best brother I could ever have asked for, and it just feels so different without him here. I know I shouldn’t…” she faltered, brushing a hand across her eyes, “but I can’t help but feel angry at the men who aren’t serving in the war. Maybe if more of them went, Harry would still be alive.”
Jack wrapped one arm around her. “I understand, Emma, I really do. And I wish there was something I could do to bring Harry back home. But don’t let yourself become bitter towards them - we’re all fighting this together; it’s just some of us are right in the thick of it, while others do it back here.” He stepped back, a gentle smile playing at his lips. “Now come on, I’ll help you finish the food, and then let’s go down to the tea room.”
Hartley Police Station stood proudly on the village’s high street, keeping the place under its watchful eye. It was eleven o’clock in the morning, five days after Jimmy Nibs’ lifeless body had been found in the river. A youthful figure hurried up the steps and entered the building.
“Is the Superintendent in?” he asked the man sitting behind the front desk.
“Yes, Tom, he is.”
“Thanks,” he replied, quickly exiting the room, and entering another a few steps down the corridor.
“Excuse me, sir?” He handed a slip of paper across to the Superintendent. “It’s from the coroner.”
The Superintendent’s brow furrowed as he scanned his eyes across the writing. “It seems that the answer is murder.”
Tom’s eyebrows arched. “In what way?”
“Well, the coroner has determined the cause of death to be poison.”
“What type? Arsenic?”
The Superintendent’s face was perplexed. “No, he doesn’t believe it to be that. More likely, it’s some kind of plant or flower that possessed a high enough toxicity content to kill poor Jimmy.”
“And does he have any idea what plant or flower is responsible?”
The Superintended nodded slowly. “Foxgloves - one wouldn’t think that such a pretty flower could produce such a deadly toxin.”
Tom leaned forward, his eyes wide and slightly baffled. “Really?” A rather sheepish expression was cast across his face. “Actually, sir, to be honest, I don’t really know what they are.”
A smile trickled across the Superintendent’s face. “Don’t worry, Tom. I doubt many of our kind would be any more the wiser either.” He drifted backwards into his chair. “You would have seen their flowers all over the place here in Hartley; they grow without hesitation. If my daughter was here, she would be able to give you a far finer description of what they are, but needless to say, they’re pretty things with innocent cruelty.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tom scratched his head thoughtfully. “I guess the question, now, is who gave them to him?”
“And in what form.” The Superintendent added, rising from his chair, and stepping towards a small bookcase that rested in the corner of the room. He strummed his fingers across the arches of the books until he found his prize; a thick work dedicated to the subject of poison and its different kinds. Its pages resembled a well-brewed tea, and some bore the evidence of it too. He lay the book on the desk, turning the pages until he reached a section on foxgloves.
“What does it say, sir?” Tom’s hands twisted eagerly behind his back.
“Foxglove poisoning usually occurs due to a part of the plant, like the leaves or petals, being ingested, more so in a high quantity.” He mumbled a few other lines, to which Tom could not quite make out the translation.
“So the victim would have eaten some?”
“Well yes, or drank some sort of tea or something that contained it.” The Superintendent closed the book. “But who would have done this?”
He retrieved his hat from its’ resting place, and left the room, with Tom following close behind.
“Where to, sir?”
“Back to George Hafling’s - I need his help.”
Half an hour later, the two men found themselves seated in the Doctor’s sitting room, waiting for his arrival. The spaniel sat expectantly in front of Tom, watching the young policeman with bewitching curiosity.
Footsteps thudded up ahead, and the Doctor soon appeared. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting - I was just seeing to a patient. How can I help you?”
The Superintendent smiled wearily. “What can you tell me about foxglove poisoning? Have you ever treated a person with it?”
Surprise stretched across the Doctor’s face. “Well, I know it can be very dangerous, even fatal, if ingested. You don’t need a lot of it to cause serious harm.” He paused, one hand stroking his chin. “I do remember one patient, a young boy, who I treated for foxglove poisoning. It was many years ago; he was being a lad, showing off, and had eaten part of one of the leaves. His heart rate had slowed down significantly, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure he was going to make it. Thankfully though, he ended up being fine, but it was a jolly close call. I never go near those plants - I wouldn’t want to risk it. Why do you ask?”
“It’s related to the case I’m working on.”
The Doctor nodded. “Though, foxgloves are hardly around any more now - it’s not their season. They aren’t exactly easy to find.”
“Yes, I know. Well, thank you for your time, George.” The Superintendent rose slowly. “Have a good evening.”