Purple Death Read online

  The floor of the cab lay awash, stained with the vomit that David Arnold had spewed in his final moments. He'd remained conscious and clear-minded to the end, and had been horrified to feel the massive constrictions in his chest and lungs, to feel himself being gradually strangled as if by an invisible assailant, his need for air being met with nothing but more pain, more burning and numbness while his body closed down cell by cell, and the tears ran down his face. David Arnold thought of Vicky and Tracy, his two young daughters, and Angela his wife waiting at home for him to finish his shift and return to them as he always did. He could see their faces in his mind when that final awful constriction hit him and the struggle to breathe became superseded by the need to give in, to let the inevitable consequences of this sudden painful attack take their course. David Arnold died just ten seconds before Ray Fellows the guard opened his cab.

  The horrified faces of Ray Fellows and Mike Smith the platform supervisor mirrored each other as they gawped at the horrific sight that met their eyes when they looked into the drivers cab. Smith looked away and vomited himself, right there on the platform. Fellows, despite the shock of finding the driver in such a state, managed to gasp a call for help into his radio and requested both the police and paramedics be summoned.

  The police were there first of course, since the local force maintained a strong presence on all the major stations on the rail network as part of the modern-day deterrent against the scourge of terrorism. A sergeant and a police constable arrived at the entrance to the cab within two minutes of Fellows' call and the sergeant needed no second look in order for him to determine that the driver was unlikely to be alive. The grim rictus of pain on his face, frozen at the moment of death, served to advertise his deceased state and the sergeant ordered the constable to seal off the area around the cab until the paramedics and a more senior police officer arrived to take charge.

  “What about the train?” asked Fellows.

  “Eh?” the sergeant responded.

  “The train, Sergeant! There are probably over a hundred people in these carriages waiting to continue their journey. What are we supposed to do with the bloody train?”

  Sergeant Peter Seddon thought quickly, and came to a decision.

  “I'm sorry, but until we know for sure that this was an accidental death, they'll have to stay here until a senior officer decides to release them.”

  “You're joking surely,” the guard responded. “How do we keep them all on the train? We don't exactly have a massive security force here you know. They could just open the doors and leave the station and we'd never know a thing would we?”

  “Davies,” the sergeant spoke to his constable. “Get on the radio and get as many men as we've got on duty at the station to get over here. I want the names and addresses of every passenger and I want them quick!”

  “I'm on it, Sergeant,” the constable replied.

  People were already opening carriage doors all along the length of the eight carriage train. It was going to take a superhuman and miraculous effort by the police to keep them all in place until the detectives arrived. Thanks to the sterling efforts of Sergeant Seddon, Constable Paul Davies, and four men from the transport police office at New Street Station, they achieved the near-impossible. As far as they knew, no-one left the train before the arrival some thirty minutes later, of Detective Inspector Charles Carrick and his assistant, Detective Sergeant Lewis Cole.

  The detectives soon set to work, though there was little that could be gleaned from either the passengers or the rail staff on duty on Platform Two. The likelihood that anyone on board the train could have had anything to do with the driver's death was miniscule in the extreme in the detective's minds, and after ensuring that the constables had noted the names and addresses of the passengers they were released to continue on their journeys as best as they could.

  The paramedics were certain that the driver was dead, (the policemen could have told them that) and Carrick demanded that the body remain untouched until it could be examined by the police doctor and officially pronounced as such. The whole procedure took about an hour from start to finish and eventually paramedics removed the body of David Arnold from the cab with as much care as possible, placed it in a black body bag, and removed the deceased to the local mortuary where he would soon be subjected to a rigorous examination and autopsy in an effort to determine the cause of the unfortunate driver's demise. The locomotive would be treated as a potential crime scene for the time being, forcing the station master into the inconvenience of having to shut down all operations on that platform, thus causing severe disruption to the whole rail network, until the police allowed the loco to be moved to a siding.

  Carrick's words as he watched the ambulance carry away the unfortunate driver towards his date with the medical examiner's scalpel would eventually prove to be quite prophetic when he said to Cole,

  “I wouldn't like to see one like that every day Sergeant, no sir, I wouldn't. Gives a man the creeps to see a body like that. The poor sod must have been in agony at the end, from the look on his face. No-one should die like that, no-one. I hope I never see a face like that again as long as I live.”

  “Right, Sir,” Cole replied.

  He could think of nothing else to say at the time. He was too busy trying to hold back the bile and vomit that he'd been fighting against since he too had seen the corpse of the once strong and vibrant engine driver.

  At the time, neither man could think ahead any further than the inevitable autopsy, which they hoped would prove that the man had died from some awful but natural death, food poisoning perhaps.

  That hope proved to be short-lived, as was Carrick's hope that this was the first and last time he'd see such a tortured sight as the body of David Arnold!

  Questions Without Answers

  The death of Sam Gabriel had caused more than a stir within the hallowed portals of the old-established law firm. Senior partner Lawrence Betts, having so recently shaken the hand of his newly promoted junior partner had taken it upon himself to notify the authorities as soon as Sam's secretary had informed him of the tragedy that had taken place in Sam's office. Sixty-nine year old Betts, looking visibly shaken and every one of his years, now sat at his desk, his hands filled with a restless energy all of their own as Detective Inspector Sean Connor sat in the comfortable leather client chair that Betts provided for those who consulted him in his professional capacity. At that moment however, Connor saw only a sad old man with a head of white hair and wrinkled temples, hands pocked here and there with liver spots, a man with a look of defeat in his eyes.

  “So, Mr Betts,” he began, “what can you tell me that might throw some light on what took place here today? I understand that Mr Gabriel had been with you in your office shortly before his death and that you'd just handed him a big promotion?”

  Betts paused for a second before answering. Obviously Maggie or one of the other secretaries or para-legals had already given the inspector the news of Sam's promotion.

  “Mm, yes, quite so Inspector,” he eventually responded. “Sam Gabriel was one of the brighter lights shining against an increasingly dull horizon. In modern legal terms he performed quite brilliantly and had a dazzling career ahead of him. I would have promoted him a year ago, but I wanted him to gain a little more trial experience before confirming what I already knew deep down inside. This is nothing short of a catastrophic tragedy Inspector, a catastrophic tragedy!”

  “Yes sir, I'm sure you're quite right. Do you have any idea what might have happened to cause this, this…whatever it was to happen to him?”

  “I can assure you Inspector that I have no idea whatsoever what could have happened to poor Samuel. Let me tell you right now though, that Sam had no time for drugs, so the thought that he might have overdosed on some illegal substance is positively out of the question.”

  “Why on earth do you think that I might be thinking along those lines Mr Betts?” asked the inspector.

  “I don't know Insp
ector. It's just that I know from years of experience that when someone dies in suspicious circumstances with no visible outward signs of bodily trauma, the police tend to think along those lines, don't they?”

  “You do have a poor opinion of us don't you Mr Betts? For all I know Mr Gabriel could have had a heart attack, a stroke, a brain haemorrhage, any number of things that could be attributed to natural causes, and yet you automatically think of controlled substances. I know you're a lawyer, but I think that perhaps it's you who are jumping to conclusions. Is it that you think he really might have taken something that contributed to his death?”

  “No Inspector, I don't think that at all, and you must forgive me for having brought the subject into our conversation. I'm shocked, that's all, shocked at losing a colleague with such a brilliant young mind and shocked at the effect his death is going to have on his wife and family.”

  “Of course Mr Betts, of course. So, you have no idea what happened in Mr Gabriel's office after he left you following your conversation together?”

  “That's right. Samuel left my office at around eleven a.m. and as far as I know from talking to my staff he returned to his office and after a few words with his secretary asking that she allow no-one to disturb him he was never seen alive again.”

  “Wasn't that a little strange sir, you know, him just having received a big promotion and then not sharing it with everyone straight away?”

  “Not at all Inspector. Samuel Gabriel was a modest and a respectful man. He would have wanted his wife to be the first to share in his good fortune. He told me that she was travelling north today, to Edinburgh I think to visit her family and he wouldn't have dreamed of disturbing her by telephoning her whilst she were driving. He'd have waited until she'd arrived north of the border, and then phoned her before telling anyone else.”

  “But the office staff, the other members of your firm, they all knew I suppose?”

  “Of course, but they would have kept that to themselves until such times as they left the building. Besides, apart from his family and friends it wasn't really of much importance to anyone outside of the office was it Inspector? It was just a work promotion after all and could have had no possible bearing on his death.”

  “Perhaps Mr Betts, and perhaps not. We'll have to wait and see what the autopsy throws up won't we? Until that's carried out, anything else would be sheer speculation on our part, and hardly worthy of either of our professional statuses wouldn't you agree?”

  Betts nodded in agreement as a knock sounded at the door. The diminutive figure of Detective Sergeant Lucy Clay followed her polite knock by pushing the door open and peering around it until she caught sight of Connor.

  “Yes, Sergeant, what is it?”

  “It's the crime scene people Sir, and the doctor. They want to know if they can move the body.”

  “As soon as the doctor pronounces the man deceased and makes his initial examination of the body they can take him away,” Connor replied.

  Betts could be of little further help to the police officers, his knowledge of Sam Gabriel extending little beyond the doors of the law firm's offices, so Connor and Clay spent the next two hours questioning the other partners and the staff of Betts, Cowan and Ford with the result that they ended up knowing almost nothing about the deceased apart from his record as a lawyer and the most basic details about his wife and home life. That he was happily married seemed to be a universally accepted fact, and everyone in the office professed the firm belief that Sam Gabriel had been the victim of some tragic accident, or that he'd been struck down by some hideous but as yet unknown disease, and a couple of the staff had even gone so far as to ask the police if they would be screening everyone for the disease that had killed their colleague.

  It was with a sense of relief that Connor and Clay eventually left the building and headed back to police headquarters. It remained too early for any post-mortem results, and they decided to use the time at their disposal to check and cross reference the statements they'd received from the employees of the law firm and to contact the police in Edinburgh, where Sam Gabriel's unfortunate widow was expected to arrive at any time. It would fall on the shoulders of some poor unfortunate Scottish officer to break the sad news to the widow, but it would be Sean Connor who would have to deal with her grief and her questions upon her return.

  Arsenic and Old Lace

  Catherine Nickels tied her hair back, pulled on her scrubs and gloves and strode purposefully into the autopsy room. As chief forensic medical examiner for the town, thirty-eight year old Catherine had been called in to perform the examination of the body of the newly deceased Sam Gabriel. Her assistant, Doctor Gunther Schmidt was waiting for her. Gunther was Austrian by birth, of German parents, and had come to England ten years earlier to further his studies in forensic medicine. Tall and good looking in a Teutonic sort of way, Gunther had fallen in love with the country and its people and had been only too pleased to accept the job as Assistant Medical Examiner for Richmond when the post was offered to him. He'd been with Catherine for four years and the two of them worked together with a seamless ease that at times belied the meticulous professionalism that they applied to every case.

  “Morning, Gunther”, Catherine greeted her assistant with a warmth that came from their close and at times intense professional relationship.

  “Same to you,” he replied as he continued to wash down the body on the table in front of him ready for the process of autopsy to begin. “Looks like we have a small mystery on our hands today, according to the police.”

  “What have I told you Gunther? There are no mysteries in forensics, simply answers that have yet to be found.”

  “Of course Doctor, as you say, but this is a little out of the ordinary wouldn't you say?”

  “Perhaps Gunther, perhaps,” was all Catherine would say as the two of them moved into their well-practised routine of opening up the deceased's remains. There was little or no verbal communication between the two specialists as the internal organs were swiftly removed from the chest and abdominal cavities, and the whirring of the high powered circular saw heralded the removal of the brain from its position within the skull. Within the next few hours various tests and procedures would be carried out on the various tissue samples taken by Catherine and Gunther, and if all went well they would soon be able to provide the police with the cause of death of the unfortunate Sam Gabriel.

  As they left the autopsy room, the door at the end of the well lit corridor opened towards them to admit a tall dark-haired figure in a smart but slightly crumpled grey suit. Sean Connor passed through the entrance and moved briskly towards the two pathologists.

  “Any word for me, Doc?” he asked Catherine.

  “Sorry Inspector, not yet I'm afraid. If there was evidence of gunshot wounds or blunt force trauma I could give you a rough guess at the cause of death, but in this case he appeared to be a healthy and well-nourished man with nothing out of the ordinary to categorise in a visual scan of the organs. I've sent tissue samples and stomach contents to the lab for analysis, and we should have some preliminary answers for you by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “As long as that eh, Doc?” Connor spoke with a smile on his face. He knew that Catherine Nickels was good at her job. If she could give him an answer sooner he knew that she would. Sean Connor trusted her to be meticulous. After all, a future prosecution could depend on the reliability and accuracy of her findings. He'd never try to rush the good doctor, though he might sound as if he would.

  “As long as that, Inspector.” she retorted.

  “I know it's not in your usual remit to do so Doc, but, if I were to tell you that your life depended upon taking a complete shot in the dark and giving me an inkling of what secret thoughts are going through your head about this one, what would you say to me? Come on, Doc, you must have a private opinion of some sort.”

  “Inspector Connor,” Catherine grinned, “I do believe you're pushing me to speculate.”

  “Maybe Do
c, but go on, just tell me what you think it might be, please.”

  “Listen Inspector Connor, as you seem to want to push me into a corner on this one, I'll tell you what went through my mind when I looked into the chest cavity of that poor young man a few minutes ago.”

  “Yes Doc?”

  “Well, there was no direct evidence of course, and I won't be sure until we get the test results back from the lab, but…”

  “Oh, come on Doc, don't muck about.”

  “OK. There was evidence of some kind of trauma in the trachea and oesophagus, as though he'd been struggling for breath, and I mean in a big way. The slight discolouration on his lips added to my feelings that we are dealing with a victim of asphyxia, and yet…”

  “Are you saying he was strangled?”

  “There's nothing to suggest that, I'm afraid.”

  “Please Doc, you're holding back on me, I know you are.”

  Catherine Nickels took a deep breath. Speculation wasn't her forte but Connor had pressed her and she had entertained a private speculative thought about the circumstances of this death as she'd looked at the victim's internal organs.

  “If you were to press me, and I stress that this is just a wild shot in the dark, I'd say we're dealing with a case of poisoning of some sort.”

  “Poison?” Connor was stunned.

  “Like I said, we won't know until we get the results back from the lab, but I'd say we're dealing with some fast acting and highly lethal toxin, though I can't tell you how or when it was administered, not yet. Maybe the stomach contents will tell us something. There were no puncture marks on the body though, I can tell you that. Now, if you don't mind, Doctor Schmidt and I have notes to write up and other work to do.