Chapter 40

Though her body was fairly vibrating with the need to search the stored samples, Saffron forced herself to look over each report before she and Alexander carefully organized them back into their original sheaves and returned them to the shelves. None of the other papers Saffron had spilled provided meaningful information about the specimens in question.

Alexander peered out of the cracked door, and seeing no one lurking in the hall, opened it wide for her.

Getting back into the hall was a relief she'd been waiting for. Even after Alexander's timely kiss, she'd felt like she was being buried alive. Had anyone else seen her in such a state—even Elizabeth, who knew well Saffron's fear of enclosed spaces—she'd have been mortified. But Alexander understood. She felt no judgment for nearly getting them caught from her panic.

She was grateful to see the sample room was larger. It was narrow but long, with rows of little glass bottles and vials with matching green labels. Each stated, "Harpenden Phytopathological Service," in bold black letters, followed by a series of typed words and lined spaces that were filled out with handwritten identifiers for fields, plots, and dates. Most were filled with soil, but there was a section for insects too.

Saffron wrinkled her nose at the heaps of dead insects inside the finger-sized glass jars at the back.

"We need samples from September," she murmured.

"October," Alexander said with a frown.

She shook her head. "September was when they received the samples. The fungal specimen is 28923, that's the date of receipt."

After five minutes of carefully shifting the specimen jars to see the ones at the back of the shelves, Saffron huffed out a frustrated breath. "It's not here."

"We shouldn't be surprised. Most of the information regarding the specimen was taken. Where else would they have written down information about it?"

"Entomology's daily logs didn't have anything," Saffron said. "Though now I know better what to look for, I ought to check again."

"What about personal notes? I didn't find any in Mycology. Perhaps Entomology keeps them at their workstations."

"We can check," Saffron said. "I didn't spend a lot of time looking at anything that looked like field notes."

It was nearing one in the morning. Saffron could feel her body was tired, but her mind was whirring at double speed. She felt if she could just find one more piece of information, things would come together.

Alexander observed the vivariums with interest as they approached Entomology.

"Those are earwigs," she told him.

"Test subjects for the pesticides?"

"Yes." She unlocked the first cabinet again, rolling out the drawer for Alexander's inspection. She held her lamp low for him to sort through the materials within. "Earwigs aren't the worst pest, but they are annoying. My grandfather complained of them on occasion, though I believe they don't generally affect his crops."

Alexander arched a brow at her. "He grows crops?"

"His tenants do." She frowned at the insects. "I wonder why they chose to study earwigs. They are omnivores, according to the records I looked through. Some of their observations suggested they prefer meat or even sweet foods to plants."

"Perhaps they mean to protect the meat industry against invasion by earwig too."

Saffron shot him a look. "Ha, ha."

"If they're omnivores, they likely eat other insects. They could be trying to breed a new generation of carnivorous earwigs so they'll target troublesome pests rather than be pests themselves."

"That is a terrifying thought."

Alexander worked his way through the contents of the drawers and handed Saffron anything that looked promising.

A low creak sounded down the hall.

They froze. Saffron's hand moved to close the drawer, but Alexander stopped her. He picked up the lamp on the counter and moved to the right, to the far side of the room. They knelt behind the last workstation and doused their lights.

Saffron held her breath. She heard no further footsteps, but she sensed another presence enter the laboratory as if the air had noticeably shifted.

There was a click, and an electric torch glared right into their faces, causing Saffron to wince away into Alexander's shoulder.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" asked a voice attempting to be stern. It was terribly familiar.

Saffron sighed and turned toward the light. "Hello, Sergeant Simpson."

It was clear Sergeant Simpson was not pleased to see them, to say the least. He'd dropped the torch, causing it to crash to the ground and crack the bulb, plunging them back into darkness. When it became clear none of the household had awakened at the noise, Alexander lit one of the lamps.

Simpson glared at them. "What are you doing here?"

"We're investigating, of course!" Saffron said in hushed tones. "What are you doing here?"

"Me? I'm investigating!" he shot back.

"But you're in Harpenden," Alexander said. "That's well outside your jurisdiction."

Simpson's youthful face went pink. "I might be … I might have come up here on my own."

"But why?" Saffron asked. Now she looked at him, he wasn't wearing a uniform. His fair hair was under a cap, his clothing plain and dark.

"Inspector Green told me we were off the case," Simpson replied. "But it didn't feel right. As much as the inspector believes in hard evidence, he always told me I had to follow my instinct too. We came up here a time or two, and it always gave me a feeling. When Jeffery Wells was found dead, my instincts were shouting at me. But a few days ago, we were told our part in the investigation was done. The inspector didn't like it, but he has other cases to work and moved on."

"And you didn't move on?" Saffron asked.

Simpson shook his head. "Didn't feel right, miss."

"You're investigating Wells's death on your own?" Alexander asked. "That is a risky thing to do. You don't worry that Inspector Green will reprimand you?"

Simpson straightened up so his height nearly matched Alexander's. "If I discover a cover-up, Mr. Ashton, I think I'll be up for a promotion."

"And if you don't, and someone finds out you're poking around what is now a government investigation, you'll be sacked."

Simpson's mouth fell open. "A government investigation?"

Saffron nodded, feeling sorry for him. She had no doubt that Inspector Green had been told that someone, if not Nick, was taking it over. "The ministry has people working on it."

"And you're working with them?" Simpson asked. His surprise gave way to enthusiasm. "You've been working here at the lab. I'd thought you just were hired on, but you're here to investigate? I have information for you, then. I've been watching this place. And sorting through the rubbish bins for clues."

It was Saffron's turn to gape. "You've been going through the rubbish bins?"

He went scarlet once again. "It's nasty work but turns up evidence."

"Like what?"

"Come to the place I've been staying, and I'll show you."

Sergeant Simpson's place turned out to be a second-cousin's house, where he'd been sleeping on the couch in the parlor.

"Got to be quiet," he muttered as he unlatched the door. "They've got three young ones and it'll be my head if we wake them."

He'd taken not two steps into the entry before he kicked something. Saffron held her breath as Simpson scrambled to right whatever he'd knocked over, but the little row house remained quiet.

In the parlor, a shabby but cozy space littered with toys for small children, they settled on a pair of armchairs and the couch. Alexander winced as he tugged a wooden toy boat from under him. He set it on the floor and asked, "What did you find in the rubbish bins, Sergeant?"

Simpson reached for a knapsack tucked next to the couch. It was full of crumpled papers that had been smoothed out. "Found these two weeks ago, just after Petrov died but before Wells. I'd been up to interview the staff and thought I'd see what someone might be trying to hide. Not many fires in that place, and even with the burners in the lab, no one could burn papers without someone noticing. Only place to do it is above stairs or in the kitchen, and that kitchen maid, for all she's quiet as a mouse, you can't get nothing by her. She's run me off the few times she's caught me lurking."

Saffron took the papers, split the pile in two, and gave half to Alexander. She scanned receipts for chemical purchases and records of mail received from the other research stations, nodding to herself. She was impressed; Simpson had found things that could have been relevant to Petrov's death.

"Saffron," Alexander said.

At the choked way he said her name, she looked up. He was staring at a bit of paper, his jaw clenched. Putting a hand on his arm, she asked, "What is it?"

All the color had washed from his face. "If this means what I think it means, it is not good. It is actually very, very bad."