The bricks before the door caught her eye. They were uneven, just like the soil of plot 13. Joseph hadn’t finished reinstalling them properly after tending to the broken pipe beneath. The one with the faulty fixture.
“I think I know where more information is hidden,” she said with false enthusiasm. “This can’t be it. Wells wouldn’t have put it all together in one place. And this spot, over here”—she walked swiftly down the brick path parallel to Colin’s—“these bricks have been disturbed!”
Taking care to keep the case and the shovel at her side, she got on her knees and began pulling bricks from the ground. Sweat trickled down her temples. Her fingernails tore as she dug the bricks away, until at last the grate was exposed. She lifted it and let out a soft exclamation as she peered down into the large gap filled with pipes.
“What is it?” Colin asked. He’d followed her and stood a few feet away.
“There’s another case down there,” she said, standing. “You’ll have to get it, it’s too far away for me.”
He was already striding to the hole in the ground. “Move off over there.”
Saffron bit her lip. That was not what she wanted. She had to stay where she was for this to work. “Er, but—”
“Over there,” barked Colin. He kicked the shovel away from Saffron.
She backed up, picking up the case. Without the shovel, she’d have no way to make the pipe burst, providing her with the distraction she needed to run.
The gun was in Colin’s left hand, the one he was bracing on the ground as he knelt and peered into the hole. Could she reach it?
A light knocking sound came from outside. Someone was there, knocking on the kitchen door of Number 28. Colin’s colleagues wouldn’t knock on the door.
“Help!” Saffron yelled, lunging toward the greenhouse door. “I need help, quickly!”
Colin let out a howl of rage. She turned to see him jerk up, his face contorting with anger. “Shut up, damn you!”
Footsteps thudded on the ground outside. Colin rose to his knees, his gun raised. Cold from the open greenhouse door met her sweaty back. Saffron was pitched forward as something hard hit her shoulder. Her head cracked against the door frame. Her knees hit the hard bricks. A gunshot rang out, followed by a hiss and a scream.
Dizzily, Saffron clambered to her feet. The humid air was strangely acrid. Sergeant Simpson was sprawled next to her, his gun a foot away. Colin was screaming and writhing, his body on the ground next to a column of steam from which came an ear-splitting whistle.
Scrambling up, Simpson gaped at Colin before seeming to recall Saffron. He rushed to her side, reaching for her when she took an uncertain step forward. “Miss Everleigh, are you all right? My cousin gave me your message, but it took ages to place all the telephone calls.”
“I’m fine,” Saffron said, reaching a hand to her head, where a sizable lump was already growing. “We’ve got to do something about Colin.” He was still howling on the ground, his hands against his face, which Saffron could see was violently red.
Simpson ran his hand through his short blond hair, his cheeks nearly as red as Colin’s. “By God, they’re never going to let me live this down. I didn’t mean to fire. The gun was in my hand, and when I tripped—”
Simpson had tripped over her, accidentally discharged his weapon at the pipe, and possibly given her a concussion and Colin Smith severe burns. But she couldn’t argue with the results.
“I think you’re right, Sergeant,” Saffron said, spotting the case laying on the ground where she’d fallen. She stooped to pick it up, head throbbing, and pressed it into Sergeant Simpson’s arms. “I don’t think you’re going to live this down. But I think it’ll be for a much better reason than you expect.”
CHAPTER48
Sutcliffe rounded on Mary and asked with such vicious vehemence that even Elizabeth winced, “What the devil are you talking about?”
She didn’t flinch at him shouting in her face, but her eyes filled with tears. “I … I did it. I made them ill. I contaminated their workstations.” She bit her lip, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I was so tired of Wells and—and Burnwell—”
“What?” Burnwell stepped forward, face darkening. “What did you do to me?”
Mary glared at him through watery eyes. “You and Wells flouted our health and safety protocols constantly! You all do!” She waved a white-gloved hand helplessly. “We work with dangerous substances and specimens, and none of you bother to protect yourselves—or others. You could breathe in spores of dangerous fungi, or have them cling to your person, and just walk out with them, spreading them all around!”
Burnwell took a few angry steps forward. “So you infected us with something? To teach us a bloody lesson?”
“No,” Mary said, retreating until she was steps away from Elizabeth. “No, I didn’t! It was the pyrethrins. I dabbed the oil on the counters and on your tools.”
Elizabeth interrupted her. “What are pyrethrins?”
Mary gave her a confused look. “The chemicals we’re studying, from the pyrethrum daisies. I thought if Burnwell and Wells weredizzy, maybe had headaches, they might realize how dangerous it was to go without their protective equipment.” She looked from person to person with growing distress. “I didn’t mean to seriously harm anyone! I knew nobody here had a serious allergy to it! But I don’t understand how it killed Dr. Petrov or Mr. Wells!”
“Petrov was already ill,” growled Sutcliffe. “He was ill before he left Russia, for Christ’s sake. His kidneys were failing and nobody knew why. Introducing more chemicals into his body would have worsened his condition and weakened him further.”
