Chapter 7

"I suppose one might consider this visit providential," Detective Inspector Green said, eyeing Saffron, "but I think I know what brings you here."

Saffron shifted in the hard seat across from the inspector's desk. "I hope you believe me when I say I mean only to offer my help, Inspector."

It was difficult to know exactly what the inspector was thinking. When she'd arrived five minutes ago at the King's Cross police station, he'd been standing at the desk sergeant's desk, conversing tersely with a handful of black-clad bobbies. Compared to the gangly young men, Inspector Green's plain, middle-aged face seemed ancient. His brown eyes, which usually regarded the world without emotion, looked at her with what she suspected was something between amusement and exasperation.

"This offer of help was not prompted by a certain friend of yours?" Inspector Green asked.

Amusement, she decided. "I assure you, I mean only to—"

"Help, yes," he said. "As it happens, I was planning to go to the university this afternoon."

Saffron straightened up. "You were?"

He caught on to her excitement, shaking his head. "My needs are less botanical and more chemical, Miss Everleigh."

"But they're agricultural chemicals," she said quickly. "Things one might use in a laboratory."

The inspector's mouth flattened. "I take it Mr. Ashton informed you of the circumstances."

"Of course he did." She softened her voice. "Inspector, his brother is in trouble. He wants to do all he can to help him, and he knows I have some expertise in the very clues you're seeking."

"And I'm to trust that any information you provide is not going to be influenced by your relationship with the younger Mr. Ashton?"

Saffron's fingers twisted together in her lap, but she spoke calmly. "My friendship with him and our professional relationship have raised your concerns, quite rightly. But was I not able to provide you useful information when you investigated Dr. Maxwell? I was honest with you about my own little investigation, however misguided it was."

"Be that as it may," Inspector Green said, leaning back in his chair, "I cannot accept your offer of assistance. You have a significant conflict of interest."

Saffron deflated. "I understand."

"Not to mention there are … ramifications beyond what you've assisted with in the past," he added, seemingly as an afterthought though his finger tapping on the file on his desk suggested he was still thinking hard. He glanced down at the file, opened it, perused its contents briefly, then sighed.

A knock came at the door. Saffron turned, half expecting Inspector Green's usual companion, Sergeant Simpson, rushing in haphazardly as he'd so often done, but it was one of the bobbies who peeked in and asked for the inspector. After a moment's pause, the Inspector patted the file before rising from his desk. He left the room, murmuring, "Excuse me a moment."

Saffron idly took in the plain features of Inspector Green's office. Like the man himself, it was rather nondescript. Graying white walls, a network of rootlike cracks in the ceiling, and furniture that was once average and now had devolved into shabby. Since the last time she'd visited, several more maps had been added to the walls, though she doubted they were decoration. A Bacon's Gem Map of London had a series of red pins that formed a line, resembling a curiously stretched-out caterpillar.

One little leg was in Kingston, to the southeast of London. The line plodded along the train line, marked with minute tracks, up through Twickenham, Richmond, Kew, S. Acton, and Willesden Junction, where another pin went off the train track and up to Harlesden.

Two paths diverged at Willesden Junction, where Saffron knew there to be a confluence of several railways. One went to the northwest, up to Watford, where the map ended. Another map was pinned beneath it, continuing the line, though to a different scale. The pins finished in Harpenden.

Something tickled at the back of her mind at the name, but before it crystalized, she scanned the path of the other line of pins, the one leading into London. She knew what these paths meant; the culminating pin at St. Pancras in King's Cross Station made that apparent. These train journeys were obviously related to the man Adrian Ashton supposedly poisoned.

Her eyes drifted from the maps to Inspector Green's desk, where his file lay open.

Another time, she might have lingered on the edges of guilt and indecision. She did feel bad for looking at something she wasn't meant to, but it was a vague and distant concern that didn't stop her from delving into the information on the top paper.

Inspector Green's handwriting, if the neat black writing on the report was his, was very easy to read. The victim's name was Demian Petrov. He'd journeyed from Harpenden to London on November seventh on an afternoon train. She dared to lift the paper and turn it over to continue reading the report. Petrov had been seen to be ill by not only Adrian Ashton but by two other witnesses.

According to the report, Adrian Ashton, age thirty-four, lived and worked in Kingston upon Thames as an engineer at Hawker Engineering. Saffron dashed away her surprise at learning Alexander's brother was also a scientist, albeit a different sort, and kept reading.

Adrian had been to visit a colleague in Harlesden, then got on the train to come to London. It was noted in the same neat script that he'd not planned to go to London but had decided last minute to visit his family in town. Her lips pursed. That was no doubt suspicious, as was the detail that Adrian did not appear sober during his interview.

A scrape of noise in the hall beyond the office door made her jerk away from the desk, but no one entered. She bit her lip. Eyes locked on the door, she eased back over to the file and nudged aside the top papers.

Another page caught her eye: the coroner's report.

Her experience with Lee had taught her much about the human body and the language used to describe the ways it could be injured, but it proved insufficient in deciphering the majority of text on the page. The only thing she was confident of as she finished scanning two pages of the coroner's scrawl was that the victim, Petrov, had died of nephritis, which she knew to mean something to do with the kidneys.

Glancing at the door, she scrambled for her notebook to dash down the collection of words included in the rest of the report. She'd head to the library at the first opportunity to see what she could make of them. Just as her pencil marked the last letter of "xanthochromia," the sound of footsteps had her swiftly closing the file and returning to her seat.

Inspector Green entered, muttering under his breath. He did not resume his seat, going instead to his desk and picking up the file. Saffron's fingers spasmed as he briefly paused over the papers. He'd left the file open, and she'd closed it.

She cleared her throat to claim his attention. "If you are unable to accept my help, Inspector, I hope I can make a recommendation to you about another botanist who might assist you."

"I would appreciate that. University College is close enough to the station to make it extremely convenient should I find an expert there I could consult."

As much as she didn't want to give disagreeable Dr. Miller any more credit than he was due, he would be the one within her department to ask about agriculture. "We don't have a separate agriculture department at the U, but Dr. Eugene Miller's research comes the closest to it. He'd likely be able to give you some insight into whatever you might need. But I have to ask, Inspector, haven't you inquired with the lab itself what sort of things the victim was working on? They ought to be able to tell you what work he was doing and what he was exposed to."

Inspector Green nodded, looking somber. "They ought to, indeed. The difficulty is that this is a government laboratory. They tend to be touchy about such things. They've given me a list of chemicals the victim was regularly exposed to but not the amounts or configurations." His nostrils flared slightly. "The director seemed concerned about spreading word of anything more definite than that was a matter of security."

From his dry tone, she could tell the inspector's opinion about that. She was inclined to agree; providing the police with information for a possible poisoning seemed vastly more important than maintaining the secrecy of a new breed of potatoes or something.

She rose and thanked the inspector for seeing her and repeated her suggestion of Dr. Miller. Should he take her up on it, she'd be poised to learn far more about Petrov and his demise than she'd been able to glean in this office.

Medical jargon truly was a language all its own, Saffron decided with a glare at the medical dictionary. Upon her return to campus, she'd nabbed a tome Lee had regularly used from the library and hauled it up to her office, where she'd been squinting at the minuscule text for an hour.

Perhaps it was the burden of the tasks she was leaving undone, sitting on the corner of her desk, that made it more difficult to connect the Latin and Greek words to their meanings. More likely, Saffron conceded, it was that this was most certainly not her strong suit. She'd figured out that Petrov's kidneys had failed and that he was jaundiced, but apart from that, her progress was slow. She'd hoped that her visit would at least inform her as to the reason the police believed Petrov had been poisoned or why Adrian, in particular, was under suspicion. She'd seen nothing to answer either question, nor had she written down anything that would effectively assist her with diagnosing a poison, botanical or inorganic, and that sent rivulets of panic creeping down her spine. Alexander and his brother were counting on her to help, and she'd done nothing more than get some words on paper and send Dr. Miller a visitor.

She sighed, cupping her chin in her hand. She knew the quick solution to this problem.

Harley Street was a brisk fifteen-minute walk through Fitzrovia and into the neighborhood of Marylebone. The buildings became grander, the brick and pale gray stone cleaner. Black iron pickets separated many homes from the pavement, and a good many shining automobiles rested before residences.

Saffron reached Number 67 and paused on the pavement to take it in. She knew Dr. Lee, senior, must have had a successful practice from how Lee, junior, had spoken about it. The tall white stone building with four levels of gleaming windows suggested it was not just success that kept the place looking so prestigious but the support of the wealthy Lee family as well.

Saffron went up the shallow steps and into the portico before the front door. A gold plaque next to the door announced whose bell she was about to ring.

It took moments for a young maid in black and white to open the door and invite Saffron inside. The entry was formal and elegant, with marble tile and a large staircase with an ornate wrought-iron balustrade. The maid led her into a sitting room that one might have found in any well-to-do townhouse rather than a medical office. After giving her name and her request to speak to the younger doctor, to which the maid gave her a beady-eyed look, she disappeared with the promise to summon him at his leisure.

Saffron had scarcely turned around to take in the elegant furnishings before Lee was bounding into the room.

Dr. Michael Lee was a shockingly handsome man, with hair like gold, eyes shining green, and a sharp jaw. With his stylish, colorful shirts and ties and his inclination to flirt, to many, he was a veritable sheik. To her, he'd been an unwelcome colleague, an enemy turned ally turned friend, and almost something more. Despite her hesitance to see him after their uncomfortable last meeting, her heart was glad to see her friend.

"Good Lord, old thing," he said, coming forward with hands outstretched, "but it did take you an age to come by."

Somewhat ruefully, she placed her hands in his, which he used to draw her to him to place a kiss on her cheek. She removed herself from his grasp and gave him a severe look. "I do hope you don't greet all your patients that way."

His humor evaporated, leaving him looking serious in his white doctor's coat. "You're ill?"

She waved a hand. "No, of course not."

He tutted. "You are tiresome. I wish I had a medication for that to give you. Tea will have to do, however."

He led her to an office off the entry. It was painted fresh, antiseptic white, and the single window offered a view of the street.

"Sit down, won't you?" Lee leaned his head out of the door and called, "Betsy, tea and biscuits, if you please!"

Lee had been perennially messy when they'd shared her office at the U, but this room was as tidy as could be. Papers and files were stacked neatly on his desk, and every surface shone like it'd been polished that morning. The benefits of a maid, she supposed.

When they were settled, Lee's gaze danced over her face. "How was France?"

The strong urge to tell Lee the truth of how exactly her trip had gone caught her off guard, but she had more pressing matters to attend to. She shrugged, plucking off her gloves. "It was very French."

"Didn't care for the food? You're looking a bit peaky."

Saffron glared at him.

He laughed. "You are! You're looking pale, Everleigh. Though that could simply be because you're no longer traipsing about the countryside with naught but a flimsy hat to keep you from burning."

The maid knocked softly before entering with the tea service. Lee waited until she'd departed to say, "Pater doesn't approve of coffee, and barely approves of the stimulating effects of tea, so we'll have to make do with this weak stuff."

"How has it been?" Saffron asked, accepting a cup from Lee. He was right; even taking the tea as she did without milk, it was the palest of amber in the porcelain cup. "Working for your father?"

"All well and good, I suppose. Bit boring after chasing down criminals and being shot." As if sensing she was about to ask, he patted his left leg. "All healed up, by the way." He took a sip of tea and grimaced. "I can't say working here isn't full of its own problems, but it's quite hard to take seriously someone complaining of a stomachache after a lifetime of too much rich food and wine when you've seen people fighting for their lives."

Saffron hesitated, but her curiosity outweighed her other concerns. "You didn't follow up with the Defense Committee's offer."

"No, I didn't."

His green eyes did not leave hers, something of a challenge in them. She'd been furious at the notion of the vague offer of employment from the Imperial Defense Committee at the conclusion of their study. She'd been even angrier that Lee had considered accepting their offer. She hadn't known the government was funding their research, and Lee somehow hadn't seen the problem with the government gathering information about poisonous plants, their effects, and where they grew.

But perhaps he did now. Maybe that was why he hadn't followed through and landed himself a job at one of the science parks the government ran across the country.

Lee tapped a fingernail against the porcelain of his teacup. "I take it your own return to work is not to your satisfaction. Otherwise, you'd not be here at half past three in the afternoon on a Monday."

From the look he gave her, something more tender than usual, she imagined he was asking more than his words suggested.

Saffron set her cup down on the saucer. There was no point pretending she'd come merely to socialize. "I came because I need your advice."

He let out a dramatic sigh. "And here I thought it was because you liked the flowers I sent you. What's the matter?"

She blew out a breath, knowing how it would sound. In a rush, she said, "Alexander Ashton's brother, Adrian, is suspected in the death of a Russian horticulturalist with whom he shared a train compartment. They believe poison of some kind is involved, and naturally, Alexander asked me to help, but Inspector Green has rejected my offer of assistance due to my conflict of interest, being friendly with Adrian's brother. I saw the coroner's report when I was alone in his office, however, and I have some questions that I'd like to ask you."

Lee tilted his head in a rather feline motion, his eyes narrowing. "You know," he said slowly, "I used to think you were a dull person. Obsessed with plants, of all things. Perpetually glaring at me for making jokes. Closeted in your office poring over the most tedious books. But now I realize you're actually a rather chaotic bit of goods, Everleigh." He let out a laugh, shaking his head. "How I did miss you."

Saffron couldn't even bring herself to be annoyed. "Things do have the tendency to get a bit complicated, don't they?" He hadn't said no or seemed offended, so she retrieved her notebook from her handbag. "Will you take a look?"

"Hand it over, hand it over," he said, waving her forward. She gave the notebook to him, open to the right pages, and he removed a pair of gold spectacles from his white coat's breast pocket and slipped them on. "You were in a rush, I take it."

"I wasn't supposed to be looking at the report." She stood and wandered to the window. "The inspector could have caught me at any moment."

"He left you alone with it in his office. Knowing you as he does, he ought to have known you'd be unable to resist."

She hummed, considering that. Inspector Green did know she had a tendency to snoop. "He seemed preoccupied. I suppose he didn't think about it."

Lee settled into reading, nibbling the end of a pencil and occasionally humming. After a few minutes, he said, "Toss me that big blue book, will you?"

From the nearest shelf, Saffron hefted a blue book as thick as her wrist was wide. She allowed it to thunk on the desk rather than attempt to do anything resembling tossing.

"This word here is a mystery," Lee said, tapping "xanthochromia" in her notebook with his pencil. "‘Chrom' obviously means color, but ‘xantho'?"

"It means yellow. I thought that referred to the jaundice." She pointed to the note she'd copied about the victim's yellowed eyes.

"I've never seen it referred to as xanthochromia." Lee flipped to the end of the book, then flipped a few dozen pages until he found it with a soft "Ah!"

Saffron leaned over his shoulder. She didn't know how to feel when she caught a whiff of his cologne mixed with the subtle scent of cigarettes. It was so familiar as to be comforting, and that was disconcerting. She read aloud, "‘Xanthochromia, referring to yellow discoloration, such as may be seen in the skin, as in jaundice, or the cerebrospinal fluid if it contains the residue of haemoglobin from red blood cells.'"

Lee frowned. "Hmm. Why this word, though? They already referred to his jaundice. Xanthochromia must have another meaning."

"Shall we check another book?"

They did, and within half an hour, Lee had found not a definition but a case with xanthochromia reported in a patient's feet and hands.

"So we might guess the coroner referred to yellow discoloration on the feet and hands," Lee said.

He didn't sound convinced, and neither was Saffron. She strained to recall if the report had mentioned hands or feet.

She sighed, and Lee turned in his chair to say, "Come now, old thing. That's still something. I don't recall any nasties we worked on that made someone's skin turn yellow."

"Perhaps not in our study," Saffron replied, "but numerous poisons affect the kidneys."

"The liver too," he said, tapping her notebook where she'd jotted down "hepatotoxicity." "I don't suppose you noticed the weights of these organs."

"The weights?"

"An autopsy includes the weighing of individual organs," Lee said, as casually as one might discuss the weather. "Gives a great deal of information, same as looking at samples under a microscope. A liver plagued with certain illnesses may swell or shrink, depending. Same as the kidneys. If the coroner said the fellow died of kidney failure, though, that likely means the liver bit was just wear and tear from heavy drinking or something."

"But there isn't a way to know without you seeing the report?"

"Or the organs themselves." Now his nose wrinkled. "I haven't done something like that since school. Can't say I'm in a rush to do it again."

Saffron nodded absently. Breaking into a morgue would be a thousand times worse than any of the snooping she'd already done. She'd find another way to solve this. Then she'd find a way to tell Inspector Green without him being angry she'd meddled again.