Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Kerry Greenwood
pathologist paid no further attention to it or to the bruises.
No tattoos, scars, or identifying marks and he had all his own
teeth. His wisdom teeth had not fully erupted so his age was
estimated at between sixteen and twenty-five. Cause of death:
strychnine poisoning. Contents of stomach: a starchy scented
fluid composed of bread and black tea. Subject died about one
hour after eating this austere last meal. Fingernails and contact
traces: substance under the nails referred for chemical analysis.
Phryne leafed through the folder and found another report. It
was found to be common glue, such as is used by carpenters
and shoemakers. Chemical burns on the hands.
To the sound of a Detective Inspector slurping his way
through a second cup of tea, Phryne reviewed her notes. There
was no doubt that he had died of the effects of strychnine. The
pathologist had made a note:
‘No strychnine found in the stomach contents, but it passes
into the bloodstream quickly, being one of the most fast-acting
poisons.’
Phryne replaced all the pages, ordered them quickly, and
closed the folder. She replaced it exactly as it had been, laid her
notebook on the hall table, and came in saying brightly, ‘Well,
Jack dear, how nice to see you! Is Mr. Butler looking after you?
No, really, I couldn’t eat another thing, Mr. B, not after that
wonderful lunch.’
‘Miss Fisher,’ said the policeman, standing up and swallowing
a mouthful of scone. ‘Nice of you to ask me to tea. No one has
a hand with scones like Mrs. Butler.’
He wasn’t adverting to the report which he had carelessly left
on the table where any passing nosy woman could read it, so
Phryne didn’t mention it either. She sat down at the tea table.
‘Any news?’
‘No, no one seems to have seen anything. However, I’ve got
hopes of something breaking soon. Has to be soon, or the case’ll
go stale and my chief’ll go spare. You got anything?’
‘Not really, but you shall have it as soon as any of it makes
sense. You know Miss Lee didn’t do it, Jack, don’t you?’