Free Absolute Poison by Geraldine Evans

“You're absolutely sure the poison was in the yoghurt?” he asked, desperate to debunk Sam's theory. It was an unwise move. “I'd have thought-”
    “In this instance I'm the one paid to do the thinking,” Sam crisply reminded him. “And I'm telling you I'm sure.”
    Rafferty had to accept it, but as consolation, he had now come up with a theory about the hazelnut yoghurt. “Anyway, no matter who brought the poisoned yoghurt into the office, it's obvious that someone deliberately removed the empty, poisoned yoghurt carton from the bin, emptied the hazelnut one of its contents—presumably down the sink in the kitchen—and then placed it in Barstaple's wastebin. The thing I want to know is why? What possible advantage did the killer think they'd get from it?”
    “I've no idea, Rafferty. But I suggest we make a pact. You don't try to tell me my job and I won't try to tell you yours.”
    As he'd already, most effectively, too, told Rafferty his job, this suggested pact would put Rafferty at a severe disadvantage, so he demurred, adding, “But thanks for the offer, Sam. You're all heart.”
    “I know. And that being the case, I'll tell you one thing that occurred to me. It's my guess your poisoner assumed the prawns and yoghurt would get so jumbled together in the victim's stomach we wouldn't be able to tell precisely where the poison was introduced, especially without the help of an obviously poisoned yoghurt pot. The poisoner probably hoped we'd concentrate on the prawns and whoever had the opportunity to tamper with them yesterday. If he—or she—was lucky and deliberately out of the office on the day he died, they might expect to be removed from the list of suspects altogether.”
    “And would you say that was a reasonable expectation for the killer to have?”
    “Reasonable enough for a layman. As long as the victim ate the yoghurt immediately after the prawns.”
    Rafferty brightened. At least they could check who had been out of the office yesterday. It might give them a helpful pointer. “Thanks Sam. You've certainly given me plenty of food for thought.”
    “Well, while you're chewing on it, a word of advice.”
    “What's that?”
    “Don't eat the yoghurt.”
    When Llewellyn returned to the office after getting in touch with Barstaple's previous temporary employers, Rafferty told him Dally's post-mortem findings. “Sam suggested the killer was probably hoping to confuse the issue by putting the poison in the yoghurt rather than Barstaple's main lunch dish. What do you think?”
    “It's something to be considered,” replied Llewellyn with his usual caution. “It's possible, of course, as Dr Dally inferred, that the person who poisoned him wasn't in the office yesterday. Equally, it could be that whoever killed him just wanted to spread suspicion by making it look as if the poison could have been introduced to the food on another day. On similar lines, maybe the location of the murder was chosen to confuse. Was he killed in his office because his murderer either didn't know where he lived or was unable to gain access? Or because, for the killer, the location of the murder held symbolic significance?”
    Rafferty sighed. “Don't go getting all psychological on me,” he pleaded. “At least, not this early in the case.” He'd already overdosed on ancient Greeks and Romans. The last thing he wanted was the not-so-ancient Freud and Niesc—Nits—whatever his name was—getting in on the act.
    Ignoring the interruption, Llewellyn went on. “Then again, for all we know, we're crediting the killer with more intelligence than they possess. Maybe they just put the poison into whatever food was available at a time they were available to administer it and were prepared to await results.”
    “Light blue touch-paper and retire, hey?” Rafferty grinned. “But if that's the case, why not wait for a more convenient time and a wider choice of foodstuffs in which to put the poison? It would have the