The Blood Pit by Kate Ellis Page A

was poisoned then someone stabbed him in the throat?
     Why didn’t they just leave him to die of the poison?’
    ‘Belt and braces? They wanted to make sure?’ Wesley said the words but he wasn’t really convinced. If you went to the trouble
     of poisoning someone, why not just let the lethal substance do its job? Why risk detection by hanging around and getting yourself
     covered with blood? It didn’t make sense.
    He took the report off Heffernan’s desk and began to reread it. He hadn’t taken in the details the first time and now he noted
     every point. ‘Colin’s given us a useful list of the effects of hemlock.’
    Heffernan scratched his head. ‘Go on.’
    ‘Its effects are similar to those of curare although it’s slower acting. It paralyses the muscles.’
    Heffernan held up his hand. ‘Maybe that’s why there were no defensive wounds. Colin was puzzled about that, wasn’t he?’
    ‘It says here that the symptoms of poisoning can take a while to appear and the victim can take several hours to die. There’s
     a gradual weakening of the muscles resulting in paralysis and eventual failure of the lungs but the victim’s mind remains
     clear until death occurs.’
    ‘So when he was stabbed he would have known exactly what was going on. Whoever did this must be a sadistic bastard.’
    ‘Colin makes one interesting observation. Did you know that quail can eat hemlock seeds and be immune to the poison? Then,
     if someone eats the contaminated meat, it can kill them.’
    Heffernan raised his eyebrows. ‘Wasn’t Marrick’s last meal quail or something like it? Do you think that’s what happened? Do
     you think he ate contaminated quail? Perhaps the killer called and found him there helpless and took the opportunity.’
    Wesley considered this scenario for a moment: it was a possibility. ‘But whether or not this quail theory’s correct, we need
     to know where Marrick ate lunch on the day he died. I’ll send someone round all the local eating places with a photo.’ He
     paused for a few moments. ‘Fabrice Colbert seemed most offended when I suggested he was serving quail at the moment. Apparently
     it’s out of season and all the ingredients he uses are fresh. But if he happened to have a quail stuck away in his freezer
     …’
    ‘He might have treated the man he knew had cheated him to a free lunch.’
    Wesley smiled. ‘And we all know there’s no such thing, don’t we?’
    They were interrupted by a knock on the door. DC Paul Johnson was standing there with a sheet of paper in his hand. And he
     looked excited.
    Heffernan gestured to him to come in and Paul opened the door. ‘Fingerprint reports are back, sir.’ He looked from one man
     to the other, his eyes keen as a gun dog, anxious to make a good impression.
    ‘Well?’ said Wesley, wondering when Paul was going to let them into his secret.
    ‘There’s two reports here. First one concerns a letter sent to a Neil Watson – standard computer paper, self-seal envelope
     and a few smudged prints but nothing that matches our records.’ He paused as if he was saving the best till last. ‘And the
     second is from the Marrick murder – Foxglove House.’
    Paul placed the sheet of paper on the desk in front of the DCI. ‘There were several clear prints that didn’t belong tofamily members or cleaners, sir.’ He paused for effect. ‘They belong to a Darren Collins. He’s from London and he did three
     years for a post office robbery fourteen years ago.’
    Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other. This brought a whole new dimension to the case. And it muddied the waters that were
     just beginning to clear.
    ‘Has this Collins got a history of violence?’ Wesley asked.
    Paul considered the question for a moment. ‘He held up a post office with a replica gun but he’s had no form since then.’
    ‘So where is he now?’ Heffernan muttered rhetorically. ‘Is there a photo of this Collins character?’
    Paul produced an old