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“Oh, poor dear,” Riley winced with sympathy, as the kid was led inside one of their interview rooms. Even from a distance, she could tell he’d been crying again from his puffy face and trembling chin, and the way he stooped as he walked made him appear even tinier than he was.
“Is that your witness?” Buchan inquired. He’d appeared from the archives to take part in their post crime-scene briefing to get a better idea of what to look for.
“He found the body while playing in the park. Tried to call his parents but they didn’t pick up, so he called 999 instead. I think he’s already told us as much as he can. He’s just here waiting for his parents to come pick him up.”
“Too early of an age to be faced with life’s cruelties like that,” Buchan shook his head and turned to make his way inside the incident room.
“Yeah,” Riley hesitated, her eyes lingering on the door that had closed behind the kid. How often hadn’t she tried to shield her own kids from her line of work? It was a chilling thought that they might someday come across something as awful as the scene this kid had happened upon.
“On bugger off,” she said loudly to herself, making a uniformed officer glance in her direction. She waved him off with a smile. It had been her own line of thought she wanted to get rid of. She’d promised herself she’d be better at keeping her worries about the job and her family in check.
She tutted at herself as she finally followed Buchan inside where Chandler had readied the whiteboard with the information they had so far. They hadn’t started yet as he and Miles were having a discussion about something they preferred to keep at a whisper.
Buchan was at the back, glasses on, and head slightly tilted to take in the information available to him, while Kent was perched halfway on top of his desk, notepad in hand.
Mansell smiled at her from the kettle and gestured with a cup in her direction.
“Thanks, you’re a sweetie,” she said, gratefully accepting the warm cup. Despite the sunshine, it had been a frosty day out, and this was exactly the thing she needed.
“I know, and it should’ve been your job,” he grinned.
“Watch it,” she said bumping him with her elbow, so he nearly spilled his own tea down his shirt.
“Shh-“ he hissed, as he jumped aside and watched the liquid pool on the floor.
“Mansell,” Miles said with the tone of a disapproving father.
“She was the one who pushed me!” he complained.
“Right,” he said shortly. Whether or not he believed him, he didn’t seem to care about that part.
Mansell grabbed a tea towel and as he was cleaning up the spill, he muttered: “This should be your job too.”
“I wouldn’t be saying that while there’s still more liquid in your mug,” Riley retorted with a laugh.
It was only because it was Mansell making those jokes that she took it in good humour. That was just the sort of report they had with each other, but in this line of work, she’d heard too many “women-belong-in-the-kitchen-jokes or similar to count. She was great at giving them what for. Had to be. But that didn’t mean it didn’t irritate her to hell and back.
Mansell gave everyone shit and wasn’t targeting her in particular, if anything that role fell to Kent. They were best buds, and he took her jokes in stride in turn.
It was a good team she had around her now, but it had taken a lot of assholes for her to get there. It wasn’t something she got to talk about a lot, considering she was still the only woman on the team, and the others couldn’t relate to the particular hazing and exclusion that came from just existing as a woman in a male-dominated space, but she’d toughed it out until she’d found her family there who would never knowingly hurt her, although their biases did shine through from time to time.
As was the case that day.
Chandler went through the case so far: A young man by the name Jamie Taylor had been found in the park by a young boy called Gavin Finch when he’d been out playing. The man looked to have been intoxicated, as he’d vomited violently over a larger area of the park before collapsing on the ground behind some bushes. They didn’t know the exact cause of death but were waiting for the autopsy report and toxicology report. It wasn’t certain that it had been a homicide yet, but early investigations had revealed that the man, at least to his friends, was usually stone cold sober, which was why they were currently investigating it to get a clear answer.
Afterwards Kent was tasked with interviewing his friends closer, while Mansell got the cctv job. Buchan had mused about forced intoxication before excusing himself to the archives once more, while Miles and Chandler were gonna go see his employer. He’d worked as a personal trainer at the gym according to a business card in his wallet.
That probably meant that Riley got to do a bit more of a deep dive than their initial search about the victim on the internet. Kent usually got that job, but Riley quite liked filling up the whiteboard with information from time to time. It reminded her of school in a way and every bit of information jotted down felt like progress. She understood why Buchan liked to dig through the archives and assemble them for his theories. She also quite liked helping him when they were having an otherwise slow day.
Miles walked up to her, and she returned from her faraway thoughts.
“Can you take care of the kid while we’re waiting for one of his parents to come pick him up? We still haven’t been able to contact any of them.”
“The kid?” Riley glanced around the room at her coworkers getting ready to do their jobs. “Can’t we have a uniform look after him?”
“No one’s available unless we do overtime.”
Riley sighed. “Alright, boss.”
“Good lass,” he said patting her on the arm. “You know how good you are at helping the kids.”
She flashed a strained smile at him as he turned around to leave the room. He wasn’t wrong of course. Chandler tried but was prone to make things awkward, Mansell had a 50/50 percent chance of improving the kid’s mood vastly or make it way worse by joking at the wrong time, while Kent exuded a nervous energy that wasn’t going to help any kid calm down. Miles was great at the task himself, but would rather delegate it to others, more specifically her, since she was so good at the hand-holdy jobs.
“A nice easy job while the rest of us have to run around, eh,” Mansell said, and she didn’t know whether to rebut him by mentioning how he’d be sitting on his ass watching cctv as soon as he’d been out to collect it or remind him how she was just as physically fit as the rest of them. He hadn’t meant anything by it, so she said neither, but she was once again reminded of the many small jabs she’d gotten about how she was less physically capable, due to her weight and being a woman. At least she didn’t think Mansell had thought about that, but she’d noticed that the other people’s biases showed up without them knowing from time to time.
Like how Kent had been recommended to take the sergeant exam despite being young and too ruled by his emotions, and Mansell was considering the same, even though he’d never been serious about it, and that he’d been talking about starting a family with Erica. Riley remembered being an ambitious top performer wanting to take the sergeant exam but having it shut down due to her age and the likelihood of her starting a family, and how once she came back from maternity leave, there hadn’t even been a whisper of her possibly taking the exam then. They’d been right in a way, as she did value having more time with her family than having a higher position, but that hadn’t been a guarantee, and clearly fatherhood didn’t have the same impact.
She took in a deep breath and readied herself. Time to put those maternal instincts to good use.
She knocked carefully on the door to the interview room, but there was no response.
“Gavin, sweetie?” she said, as she opened the door. Her heart broke once more seeing the kid curled up in a chair, red faced, tousled hair, and sleeves pulled across his hands that had clearly been used to wipe his nose several times.
She gathered up a bunch of tissues and slid them across the table.
“Anything I can get for you? Some food or water? We have some hot chocolate.”
“No,” he said in a small voice. There was a small pause until he remembered he was supposed to be polite. “No thanks.”
“Are you sure? I’ve been told it’s quite yummy. I’m sure I could persuade the canteen to bring a piece of cake if you want.”
“I’m not hungry,” still such a small sad voice. “When’s my dad coming?”
He was restless and looking at the door, not unlike some of the kids that were brought in after being up to some dumb stuff, looking for a way out.
“He’s on his way over. It won’t be long.”
Gavin nodded looking everywhere but her, as he began biting his nails. Riley wished she could alleviate his troubles.
“Gavin.”
“Yeah?”
“Because of what you did, because of your bravery, my colleagues are so much better off to start this investigation,” she assured him.
“But I- I wasn’t brave. I ran away from him when he came stumbling out of the bushes.”
“You did?” That was news to Riley. The previous story had been that he’d found the victim already dead.
“Yeah, he seemed scary. He was breathing and moving all weird, like his movements were weird. I thought he was coming after me but-but I- but then- I ran away from him- and I was behind the bench and I looked back and he was fall- he had fallen down- and he had- no he threw up – and then that was when he fell down and I realized he was- that- I was going to call the police, but then he did this weird thing, like-“ he got up from his chair and got down on the floor, hands and feet on the floor and arched his back in an upwards bow, before getting back up. “So then I wanted to call someone to come and help him, but then they came, and then they had to call the police anyway.”
“It was the right thing to run away from a man behaving unpredictably, and calling for help, once you realized he needed it, was even braver. It might sound like I’m just saying things to make you feel better, but I promise you, it’s been super helpful. Like knowing he was alive so shortly before you found him. That could change everything.”
It felt wrong to talk to him about the man dying, but the kid was old enough to know that that was what had happened, and in her experience, talking around the subject to try to spare the kid further, usually just made them feel talked down to, and it was the kid who had volunteered the extra information, so it was clear he wanted to continue to be helpful as his way of dealing with the experience.
“Really?” He wanted to believe her but was still doubting himself.
She nodded encouragingly.
“Really really. Not many people could give as precise a retelling as you just did, and I’m speaking from many years of experience here.”
And she really wasn’t just trying to make him feel better, although that was her top priority. Not only did it give them a very precise time of death, but his weird behaviour beforehand was very noteworthy, and definitely something to bring to the team.
“Can- can I still get some hot chocolate?”
“Of course you can, dear,” Riley beamed at the progress they’d made in such a short while.
By the time Gavin’s dad arrived, he’d relaxed considerably and was telling her about the characters in some video game, which Riley listened to intently, remembering what he’d told her previously, so she could ask relevant questions later, and the kid was thriving under her undivided attention.
The door opened and before Riley could say hello or ask the man standing there anything, he ran towards the kid.
“Gavin!”
“Dad!”
Riley was halfway out of her chair in defense of the boy, but she stepped back as the father and son embraced.
“Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” he said gently grabbing Gavin’s cheeks and looking him over.
“I’m fine, dad. Me and Meg were just talking about-“
At the mention of her, the father’s attention shifted towards her.
Riley’s smile became more tightlipped as she saw Gavin wither as his sentence trailed off into nothing.
“Thanks for looking after him, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Finch,” Riley said shortly.
“So who am I to talk to, to be given the full detail of what happened with my son? They wouldn’t tell me everything over the phone.”
“Well I’m the one who’s been talking to Gavin and-“
He held a hand up in the air. “Yes, I know, but I meant the detectives working on the case.”
Riley stared at him blankly and continued: “Well, as I was saying, I DC Riley, have been the one talking to-“
The man rolled his eyes. “Ye-es, but I mean the ones who are investigating th-“
“What do you think interviewing a witness counts as?” Riley interrupted.
“Well, witness is a bit strong, don’t you think? He’s a kid.”
“That doesn’t really matter to the definition of a witness. Your son saw what happened, he used the phone to call for help and has given much more useful information than most witnesses we see on a day to day basis. Also, I’m sure you were told the relevant details of the case over the phone, but beyond that we’re not at liberty to share things from an ongoing investigation.”
She would have shared more details than the bare minimum with the man, but her patience had run thin.
“Gavin,” she turned to the kid with a warm smile. “You’re free to go home with your dad now, honey.”
He smiled back at her. Whatever face his dad was making, Riley didn’t care to see, as she left to go back to her job, though she felt a bit bad leaving his dad in what was probably a sour mood for their ride home.
“-can see him staggering and vomiting, but then- yeah he leaves the view of the camera here and there isn’t a direct line of sight to his place of death because the shrubbery.”
She’d walked into a team meeting where Mansell was explaining what he’d found on the cctv.
“Ah Meg, we didn’t mean to start without you, if we knew you’d be here so soon. Has the dad come to pick him up?” Mansell asked.
“Yes-“
“We have to get the case moving,” Miles said loudly. “Kent, what’ve you found?”
Kent straightened up, as he opened his notebook to read for a moment while gathering his thoughts.
Riley walked up next to Mansell and they shared a look, as the young detective recited his findings like a studious schoolboy being called upon.
What he’d found just backed up what they’d already gleaned about him. He was a nice man, but a bit of a stick in the mud, since he adhered so much to his healthy lifestyle.
“He was almost a teetotaler,” Kent said.
“Bit like the boss,” Mansell grinned.
“Oh, you’ve gotta admit he’s improved quite a-“ Riley began.
“His employer and work colleagues all corroborated this about him. He didn’t go out drinking cause he was on a strict diet and workout regiment to keep up his physique. He said his body was like a billboard in terms of getting new clients. The better his physique, the more trust they'd have in him as a personal trainer,” Chandler said.
“Now the clients present us with the next part of our workload and we need all hands on deck to interview them all. We have a list here.” Miles got up to pass around copies of the list.
“But before you all do that, we got back the toxicology report, and it shows us something very interesting.”
Chandler got up to write the key points on the whiteboard.
“As suspected, despite everyone saying he never drank, there was alcohol in his system.”
“Maybe he was dumped by a girl and went out to get blackout drunk and his body couldn’t take it,” Mansell suggested.
“If so that doesn’t explain the other thing that was found in his body: Strychnine.”
Oh. That made sense. The muscle spasms it could cause could be the reason for the strange movements the kid explained just before his death.
“Like rat poison?” Kent asked.
“Maybe he mistook some rat bait and ate it?” Mansell said.
“There wouldn’t be such a concentrated amount in rat bait.” Miles shook his head.
“So it was injected?”
“Doesn’t seem to be an entrance point, though we won’t know until Llewellyn gets back to us.”
“What about between the toes?”
“Why even bother with the strychnine then? Besides he’d die shortly after. You think he’d be in the park or even have time to get his shoes back on?”
“What about the alcohol?” Riley said.
“I wouldn’t be so sure they wouldn’t bother with strychnine even under such strange circumstances,” Buchan butted in. “Strychnine is a murder mystery classic. Agatha Christie used this substance for murder on several occasions.”
“You think it’s an Agatha Christie murder mystery copycat?” Mansell asked.
“I will not even entertain that idea,” Miles proclaimed loudly.
“I didn’t say copycat necessarily, but her murder mysteries are wildly popular and beloved and may well have served as inspiration for our victim’s unfortunate end.”
He seemed like he was already mentally down in the archives crafting a theory. Riley stayed quiet. She didn’t engage much in his theory crafting anymore, ever since her friendliness and their similar interests had sent him the wrong message. Their conversations still felt a bit stilted. It was too bad, she liked Buchan and she liked to share ideas with him, but she would’ve loved to leave awkward unrequited crushes in her teenage years.
Chandler looked down at his phone at an incoming message.
“Llewellyn’s got the autopsy report ready.”
“I’ll get it!” Riley rushed to volunteer as both Miles’ and Buchan’s voices rose against each other.
Entering the quiet autopsy room felt like a breath of fresh air.
“Thanks for saving me from the sausage fest up there,” Riley greeted Llewellyn who looked up at her with a curious smile.
“I thought you didn’t mind.”
“Not usually, but sometimes. Sometimes-” she left the rest of it unsaid and Llewellyn nodded knowingly.
Riley settled in to hear what Llewellyn had to say.
“The victim died of asphyxiation. He had muscular convulsions due to the amount of strychnine he’d ingested. Strychnine is a highly toxic, bitter, crystalline alkaloid, normally used as pesticide for killing small birds or rodents.”
“So he really might have ingested rat bait?” Riley asked, even though Llewellyn wasn’t privy to the previous conversation.
“He would have had to ingest a massive amount of it, and he’d probably get wise to it or at least tired of it before he ever got that far. Also, it would have been noticeable in the vomit, but as it was, his stomach contents mostly consisted of chicken, rice and vegetables, and a large amount of champagne.”
“So he might have celebrated something.”
“I thought so too, but champagne is a high-sugar alcohol, and it reminded me how athletes used to mix low doses of pesticides in something like champagne or brandy as a performance enhancing drug. They believed it could improve athletic performance as it increased the strength of muscle contractions.”
“Oh yeah, wasn’t there some lady who did that quite recently?”
“In this day and age? You’d think people would get smarter, but then again, that seems like a vain hope, considering the state of the world.”
“No arguing from me there,” Riley said, digging out her phone for the article. “Yes, it was only a few years since a woman, Anna Strong, was disqualified for using strychnine mixed with alcohol. It was after she won too, oh dear.”
“She must’ve been as bitter as the strychnine,” Llewellyn added.
“Llewellyn, you’re a genius!”
“I’ve been told before, though not usually in regards to my jokes of questionable taste.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you again, then, cause I meant, mentioning this whole thing that made me look up the article, cause who was the person who found out and disqualified her? None other than our victim. Motive and a death related to the very thing she was disqualified for?”
“Sounds promising!”
The rest of the team thought so as well, and as they all worked together on this new lead with renewed teamwork and optimistic banter, all the little annoyances of the day faded away.
She loved her team.