Free 01 - Memories of the Dead by Evelyn James Page A

right in saying he was in his prime. By parrot terms he was
still a young bird, which makes it seem all the more odd that he should drop
dead the same night as his mistress.”
    “You are quite right Mr
Fitzgerald.” The inspector reappeared in the room, “I was equally perturbed and
had our laboratory run a quick test on the bird. Early indications suggest
Augustus died from a high dose of strychnine. Question remains how and why was
it done?”
    Clara felt the world was
spinning away from her.
    “Someone killed the parrot?”
    “It may have been an accident.
The drug was probably meant for his mistress, which means we are looking for a
very determined killer who planned this crime carefully.” The inspector placed
Tommy’s service pistol on the table, “As you said sir, completely unusable.”
    “Thank you inspector. Was
there anything else?”
    “No, I doubt I will need to
disturb you again, I will take my leave.” The inspector doffed his hat and left
without waiting for Annie to show him out.
    “I don’t like it Tommy.” Clara
said as soon as he was gone, “Does a poisoner suddenly decide to take up
shooting to claim their victim? One method distances one from the crime, the
other means the act has to be up close and personal. Why such a dramatic
change?”
    “Maybe they became desperate?”
    “But the shooting seems so… so
spur-of-the-moment. It just doesn’t fit together right.”
    “There is another thing that
doesn’t make sense.” Tommy frowned as he added to the confusion, “White
cockatiels are mimes, they talk but only by repeating what they have heard and
it takes ages to teach them phrases. Trainers work with these birds for months
just to get them to say a few simple sentences. Yet Augustus was able to say
peoples’ names and recite messages instantly.”
    “Oh my.” Said Clara.
    “Exactly, it shouldn’t have
been possible.”
    “Unless he was a very unique
bird? But somehow I doubt that. He was a trick like everything else.”
    “So how does that help or
hinder us?”
    Clara shook her head.
    “We have far too many
unanswered questions and I have a pounding headache.” Clara felt the pain
spiking across the top of her head as she spoke, “I think I will go lay down
for a while.”
     
    Clara lay on her bed, but it
was hardly restful, not when her mind was whirring so fast. Strychnine and then
a shooting? She didn’t like it, it felt awkward. Poisoning was such a subtle
approach compared to drawing a gun on someone, but was she trying too hard to
see reason where there was none? In a story it would make no sense, but in real
life things tended to be more messy. Murderers did random things, especially
when a situation demanded urgency. Yet that left the question, what urgency?
For that matter, why would anyone, aside from this mysterious Bumble character,
who she wasn’t convinced about, want to kill Mrs Greengage in the first place?
    She tried to rack her brain
for something she could compare the event to, but all that kept springing to
mind were the stories she had heard of the Borgias in school. At the time her
teachers had felt she had an unhealthy appetite for that long dead Italian
dynasty, who were renowned for popping off unwanted relatives and rivals with
poison. But her father had been less troubled and saw it as a promising natural
curiosity. Though Clara doubted he had ever imagined she would be using that
knowledge to try and solve a real murder.
    Then again, perhaps all these
thoughts of the Borgias that were stuck in her head were more of a nuisance
than a help. Perhaps they were blinding her? They again made her feel the
change of murder style was all wrong. Something made no sense. Perhaps if she
could work out how the poison was administered?
    Then there was that other nag.
Wasn’t poison the usual tool for women? Most poisoners were female, as the case
of Lucrezia Borgia emphasised. It was a feminine weapon, but that left her
suspicions firmly pointing again