Free Absolute Poison by Geraldine Evans Page A

advantage of spreading suspicion, too.”
    Llewellyn shrugged. “I doubt they'd have chosen to put the poison on the prawns, anyway. Barstaple would surely have noticed if the prawns suddenly gained a sauce, however minute.”
    “I suppose so.”
    “We've so far more or less assumed that it was one of Barstaple's colleagues who killed him. But we ought to give more consideration to the possibility that someone unconnected with his work hated him and that, as Dr Dally suggested, the victim brought in yoghurt that had already been poisoned. Such a killer could have found a willing accomplice in the office to swap the pots in the wastebin. We mustn't forget that we're taking about a man with a strong talent for making enemies. Maybe he made use of his ‘let them hate, provided they fear’ philosophy at home, too.”
    Rafferty shook his head. “Maybe he would have done,” he said. “But, luckily for us, he didn't have anyone at home.” He had already instigated enquiries about Barstaple's living arrangements. Unfortunately, the neighbours had known little about him. There had been no sign of a wife or other live-in partner at Barstaple's home. Of course, he might had had some more casual arrangement which would reveal itself in due course—but a casual lover was unlikely to be a killing kind of lover, certainly not of the premeditated kind as Barstaple's killer had been.
    The search of Barstaple's home had failed to find his lap-top computer. Rafferty made a mental note to question Aimhurst's staff about it; if he had been using it at his office on the day of his murderer
someone
would surely have noticed.
    Tired yesterday evening, he hadn't noticed the loose sheet of paper tucked between the personnel files, so Llewellyn hadn't had the opportunity to learn more about the victim. But now, Rafferty handed him the PR puff about Barstaple's business consultancy service, which Gallagher must have thought they'd find helpful. Pity he hadn't mentioned it at the time, Rafferty had thought when he found it.
    In it, along with his educational background and qualifications, Barstaple had boasted of being a bachelor, having no ties, no wife or child to make demands on him.
    Rafferty thought it strange that Alistair Plumley hadn't been aware of the fact. But then, he reasoned, Plumley hadn't struck him as a man to be overly concerned with the workers’ private lives, certainly not when the worker in question was a hired consultant like Barstaple.
    Barstaple's handout displayed no false modesty when it went on to proclaim that, as he was only 28, his energy was considerable and he would be able to devote it all to his work.
    As Llewellyn handed back the PR puff, Rafferty added, “Of course, he could have lied about his marital status, simply to make himself look an even more attractive proposition to potential clients. But, until we can check further, we'll take him at his word that he's not only currently single, but hasn't even got a messy divorce in his recent past. Which, if confirmed, will make our job a little easier, particularly as you remarked that poisoning is most often thought of as a woman's crime.” He paused for a moment. “To get back to the yoghurts. We'll have to check out where and when he bought them and when he brought them into the office. Even if Sam's right and someone bought identical yoghurt and added the poison at their leisure, it doesn't really matter for our purposes. If, for the moment, we discount the possibility of an accomplice, it's who had the opportunity to swap the yoghurts in the wastebin that will lead us to our murderer.”
    Rafferty glanced down at Barstaple's PR puff. It said he had left university seven years earlier after following a business studies course. He'd come out of it with Honours. “Must have been the last time Barstaple came out of anything with honours,” he commented as he tapped the relevant section.
    Barstaple had provided Watts And Cutley with glowing testimonials