“But why?” Saffron asked. Now she looked at him, he wasn’t wearing a uniform. His fair hair was under a cap, his clothing plain and dark.
“Inspector Green told me we were off the case,” Simpson replied. “But it didn’t feel right. As much as the inspector believes in hard evidence, he always told me I had to follow my instinct too. We came up here a time or two, and it always gave me a feeling. When Jeffery Wells was found dead, my instincts were shouting at me. But a few days ago, we were told our part in the investigation was done. The inspector didn’t like it, but he has other cases to work and moved on.”
“And you didn’t move on?” Saffron asked.
Simpson shook his head. “Didn’t feel right, miss.”
“You’re investigating Wells’s death on your own?” Alexander asked. “That is a risky thing to do. You don’t worry that Inspector Green will reprimand you?”
Simpson straightened up so his height nearly matched Alexander’s. “If I discover a cover-up, Mr. Ashton, I think I’ll be up for a promotion.”
“And if you don’t, and someone finds out you’re poking around what is now a government investigation, you’ll be sacked.”
Simpson’s mouth fell open. “A government investigation?”
Saffron nodded, feeling sorry for him. She had no doubt that Inspector Green had been told that someone, if not Nick, was taking it over. “The ministry has people working on it.”
“And you’re working with them?” Simpson asked. His surprise gave way to enthusiasm. “You’ve been working here at the lab. I’d thought you just were hired on, but you’re here to investigate? I have information for you, then. I’ve been watching this place. And sorting through the rubbish bins for clues.”
It was Saffron’s turn to gape. “You’ve been going through the rubbish bins?”
He went scarlet once again. “It’s nasty work but turns up evidence.”
“Like what?”
“Come to the place I’ve been staying, and I’ll show you.”
Sergeant Simpson’s place turned out to be a second-cousin’s house, where he’d been sleeping on the couch in the parlor.
“Got to be quiet,” he muttered as he unlatched the door. “They’ve got three young ones and it’ll be my head if we wake them.”
He’d taken not two steps into the entry before he kicked something. Saffron held her breath as Simpson scrambled to right whatever he’d knocked over, but the little row house remained quiet.
In the parlor, a shabby but cozy space littered with toys for small children, they settled on a pair of armchairs and the couch. Alexander winced as he tugged a wooden toy boat from under him. He set it on the floor and asked, “What did you find in the rubbish bins, Sergeant?”
Simpson reached for a knapsack tucked next to the couch. It was full of crumpled papers that had been smoothed out. “Found these two weeks ago, just after Petrov died but before Wells. I’d been up to interview the staff and thought I’d see what someone might be trying to hide. Not many fires in that place, and even with the burners in the lab, no one could burn papers without someone noticing. Only place to do it is above stairs or in the kitchen, and that kitchen maid, for all she’s quiet as a mouse, you can’t get nothing by her. She’s run me off the few times she’s caught me lurking.”
Saffron took the papers, split the pile in two, and gave half to Alexander. She scanned receipts for chemical purchases and records of mail received from the other research stations, nodding to herself. She was impressed; Simpson had found things that could have been relevant to Petrov’s death.
“Saffron,” Alexander said.
At the choked way he said her name, she looked up. He was staring at a bit of paper, his jaw clenched. Putting a hand on his arm, she asked, “What is it?”
All the color had washed from his face. “If this means what I think it means, it is not good. It is actually very,verybad.”
CHAPTER41
Given the lateness of the hour, Simpson had reluctantly offered them the use of the parlor for the remainder of the evening. Saffron was forced to take the couch, while the two men did their best to make themselves comfortable in the armchairs.
Saffron didn’t sleep. She knew Alexander didn’t either, from the dark glitter of his eyes beneath lowered eyelids. He waited until Simpson’s snores became regular before he rose and went to the couch to sit next to her.
Whispering, he said, “I might be misunderstanding the note.”
“I wish you were,” she whispered back. “But I think it’s obvious what it means.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and that nervous action made her stomach turn. Alexander worrying made her own anxiety spike. She retrieved the crumpled note from her bag, where she’d tucked it away for further examination. The light was so low it was hard to make out the words, but she’d read it over so many times already that she hardly needed to see them. She could practically hear Quinn speaking.
The insect in question suffered a distended thorax covered in dark green growth. Microscopic observation confirmed fungus, tubular protrusion discovered to be ready to burst through exoskeleton. Neville gave it to Sutcliffe despite warning.
