Chapter 3
Fern drove home with careful precision, her fingers locked on the steering wheel as she tried to control the panic rising inside once more. She’d calmed down after seeing London again, although her mind still struggled with the green hue she’d seen. She didn’t see auras. These were warning cues to her. And witnessing the hardened wariness in London’s gaze… Regardless of what she’d been through, his months hadn’t been easy either. She didn’t want to sympathize. She wanted to stamp down her happy emotions and use her hate to keep him at bay.
But it wasn’t working.
The smell of poison at Reginald’s house was the same one she couldn’t get anybody else to detect at her trial because the participants’ senses weren’t that acute.
She’d had no idea hers was that discriminating, so definitive that she could detect toxins. She hadn’t known how to convince anybody else poison was involved. Thankfully, her lawyer had, and that trick had turned the tide in the trial. She still had nightmares, thinking about what could have happened if he hadn’t set up those tests for her—ones done right in the courtroom in front of the jurors’ eyes.
Home now, she parked, got out and walked to the rear of her house. She’d left it empty while in England.
And she was more than ready to leave the country again. Particularly knowing a job—and friends—waited for her across the pond. Inside she put on the teakettle, walked to her laptop and turned it on. She could return to Alnwick Garden and do another six months there. Put all this behind her. Walk away before she was embroiled to a level she couldn’t get out of. She knew full well that the chances of getting through another court case with a second acquittal were almost nonexistent. Some people were determined to see her behind bars even now—and could manufacture evidence to keep her there. She knew that firsthand.
So many people believed she’d been a killer. They were wrong. And, if not for some unique friends, Fern would have gone down. The hardest thing about leaving the country the last time had been leaving her few, but true, friends behind. Yet they could communicate on a level she’d barely accessed. She’d worked hard to gain it though and hadn’t been lonely once her skills had increased. In fact, while keeping in touch with her special friends here, she’d met several telepathically similar ones in England. According to them, an entire underworld of people existed with the ability to communicate on different levels. Fern wasn’t sure exactly how much of it she believed, but they had stood by her in her darkest of times. For that she’d be forever grateful.
Considering everyone else had ditched her.
Girlfriends, coworkers, family, friends, and London. Derek had been worse. Even her extended family hadn’t believed in her.
And that had hurt, and still did, a lot. Then again, they didn’t know her. She’d just assumed family stood behind one another. Where she’d gotten that idea, she didn’t know. But the dream had blown up in her face. Again.
She had been well-respected in her field until charged with murder. She was a botanist, following in her parents’ footsteps—only they’d been interested in herbs that healed, whereas hers lie in cultivating those that killed.
In many cases, there was a lot of overlap.
Her fascination had started in childhood and never stopped. Her grandfather, also a botanist, had died from an accidental overdose from picking tea leaves, something he did all the time. But this time, he’d mixed a lethal concoction. She’d often wondered if it had been an accident or intentional. He’d died while she was a child. Her parents rarely spoke of him. It captivated her that something so green and lovely looking could be lethal in so many forms. It had taken her decades to get where she was today. The last six months at the Garden of Death, as it was called, had been an eye-opener. She knew most of the toxic plants; but, to see the precautions necessary to grow these particular ones, especially in such close confines to each other, well, she’d been hooked.
The experience had also been a welcome breather after her nightmare trial.
Still, Ben Kimball, the former head of the Portland conservatory, had been poisoned. With Fern a specialist in her field, well published on the subject, all interests had been on her. It didn’t matter how stupid it was to kill somebody with your own specialty. Better to kill using somebody else’s.
But, when she had tried to convince the police of that, she’d gotten nowhere. So she tried to convince the FBI. No luck. Such was life when people feared you, distrusted what you had to say or just didn’t want to look too close. Particularly when London’s brother was involved. Derek had a lot of pull, and a lot of friends. He’d spread a great deal of poison, sowed numerous seeds of doubt.
She’d survived. But she wasn’t a masochist. She couldn’t go through that again.
With her laptop up and running, she quickly checked her email. One from Brent in England, asking her to please return. He didn’t feel good about her trip home. She gave a strangled laugh.
And he didn’t know about the email threatening Reggie that had sent her running home. The timing had been too perfect. Her six-month contract was over, and she’d been considering this trip already.
She hit Reply and typed an answer to Brent’s email.
Glad you said that because I don’t either. Now the new head of the department has gone missing. Of course, the FBI wants to talk to me. They were involved last time too with Ben’s death as he’d consulted for them on several high profile cases.
Tears filled her eyes as she tried to explain. She’d spent many a long afternoon telling Brent about the case. A concerned stranger, he had helped her by letting her talk things through. He’d instinctively trusted her. She didn’t want him to think that was unfounded. When she finally finished her message, she sent it to him.
Just then her email dinged, signaling a new arrival in her in-box.
It was from Reginald. Excited, she opened the email and froze.
If you are getting this, it means I’m dead.
She sank slowly back in her chair as she continued to read.
Every day an alert comes up, to Send or Not Send. Every day up until now I could say, no, don’t send. Therefore, if you’re getting this, I’m in no condition to stop it from being sent. In that case, you’re in danger. Last time was a witch hunt. You survived, and got out. I was so happy for you, so proud of you. I never believed you were guilty.
At the same time, I haven’t been completely honest. Not sure it’s possible anymore. Things got very distorted, so completely confused. I wanted to call you back several times to help me. Two people have died here over the last six months. The cops said the deaths were accidental. They are wrong.
Thankfully, you were out of the country at the time, so nobody could pin them on you. But I suspect someone. I just don’t know how to find out the truth without stirring up more problems. For you. For me. For the conservatory.
The worst-case scenario is that the killer found me. Trust me, he knows I’m looking at him. In which case… well, I couldn’t stop this email, so draw your own conclusion.
The best-case scenario is that I’ve had a heart attack after a long-lived happy life, and it’s forty years in the future, and you’re wondering why the hell I sent this to you. But I know better. Also, I received several threats. I’m not a fool, no matter how much I give that impression, but I saw things in my life I didn’t really care for, and I like most people even less. What I really do love is this conservatory. I’d tell you to run the hell away, but I know you won’t do that either. I hope we get a chance to meet again. But, if not, you’ll know why.
There the message ended.
She stared at it for a long moment, shaking her head. Into the quiet room around her, she whispered, “Why Reggie? Why?”
This was so not what she needed.
Her phone rang. She answered, her mind still consumed with the email. And then she saw the name. She gave a broken sob and said, “Hello, Stefan.”
“You’re transmitting very loudly again.”
“I’m sorry.” She tried to shut down the amplification of her thoughts.
He sighed. “Did you tell anyone about the letter that brought you home?”
“I just had some shocking news on top of a shocking day.”
“Yes, it’s been growing until about two o’clock this afternoon.” His voice gentled. “Right now, though, whatever you just saw or did vibrated off the charts.”
She sniffled, trying hard to stop crying. “You could tell? Without knowing the source?”
“I would explain if I could, but it’s not always possible. So what’s going on?”
She told him of the events leading to today’s email from Reggie, ending with, “It’s déjà vu. The letter-writer didn’t even watch or care that I had followed the instructions. I came home in the twenty-four-hour time frame, but Reggie is missing now, as of yesterday morning.”
“No, it’s not déjà vu,” he snapped. “What happened last time shouldn’t have. It sure as hell is not about to repeat itself.”
“I couldn’t stop it then either,” she reminded him.
“No, but the killer has been active since, while you were in a totally different country. I heard another two died at the conservatory…” he let this voice trail off then added in a stronger tone, “We need to consider that the threatening letter was more about getting you to return than harming Reggie.”
“I heard about that today as well, since I deliberately didn’t follow the US news while I was gone.” She took a deep breath and added, “And speaking of bringing me home to the US, somebody’s dead inside Reggie’s house.”
She winced at Stefan’s sharp inhale.
“But I don’t know who.”
“Let me check,” he said, his voice fading.
She waited. If there was ever an odd couple, she and Stefan were it. She didn’t even know who he was until she had been charged with murder. He had walked into the police station, stepped up to her and said, “I believe in you. Don’t give up.” She’d never seen him before—and he was too gorgeous to forget.
She was so desperately in need of a friend then that it hadn’t mattered he was strange, possibly crazy, or that the stories he told her had all the same nuttiness to them. For some reason, she trusted him. Felt like she knew him. He certainly did her. The things he said about her, well, they’d all been true. Except for one. She had no psychic ability at all. She had a great sense of smell; that was it.
Stefan came back on the phone and said, “Yes, somebody is dead in that house. However, it’s a female. The energy clinging to the dining room is that of a middle-aged woman.”
She slumped in her chair. “Maybe Reginald’s partner, Pam? If that’s the case, where is Reggie?” The unknown was making her crazy too.
“No idea,” Stefan said in a low voice. “Are you going to tell London why you came back?”
She shivered. “That would be the last thing I’d want to do.”
“You tried to handle this on your own then. Are you sure you want to do it that way again? London could be a huge help if he wanted to.”
“And there’s the trick. If he wants to. Remember he blames me for his brother’s condition? He’s thinks I’m guilty of killing Ben and three others from my trial.”
“He’s also had some time to think. Maybe enough to realize things weren’t as they appeared.”
“He’s also had time to reconsider and reaffirm my guilt. He wasn’t friendly today, Stefan.”
“No. It probably shocked him to see you,” he said. “He wasn’t part of that original circus.”
“But we’ve always known he was in the background. His brother pointing the ‘evidence’ at me, keeping everyone directed at me, focused on me.”
“But we never clarified Derek’s motivation for that. Easy to say he’s guilty. A killer himself because of that. But it could just be because he’s jealous about you and London.”
“Sure, but who else could be doing this? I’m as much in the dark now as I was then. But it’s happening all over again.”
“Did London say anything to you, implicating that you were involved?”
“No, not in so many words. His partner just loved the coincidence that I’m back in town and that Reginald’s gone missing.”
“Yes, wonderful timing, isn’t it? That should help us sort this out.”
“Why on earth do you trust London? I’ve never understood that.” Stefan had been a staunch supporter of London since the beginning.
“I don’t have proof to justify it, but I can read his energy. He cares about you, yet is conflicted because of his brother’s statements.”
She shook her head. “I hate it when you talk like that. What do I do? Leave the country again?”
“That’ll just make you look guilty.”
“As far as everyone is concerned, I am. Already tried and convicted. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the police at my door this evening. Or in the next hour.”
“Remember your thoughts are important, so don’t send out negative energy.”
She snorted. “London saw me. He’s got everything all mapped out and sees me as guilty already.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Stefan said quietly. “I’ll check out a few things and get back to you. Stay calm, and take care of yourself.”
*
London made an excuse to slip away from Reginald’s house. The forensic team had arrived, and he was in their way. The coroner was en route, and the place swarmed with people already. London didn’t object to the process, but he had somebody he needed to keep in the loop. Saying good-bye to Steve, London headed for his vehicle.
Instead of returning to FBI headquarters or the police station, he took a circuitous route and drove around the winding driveway at a huge private mansion. He parked around back and got out. The rear doors to the house opened before he ever got to them.
Bruno, the manservant, inclined his head and said, “He’s waiting for you in the office.”
London nodded. “Thanks.” He walked straight down the main tiled hallway and took a left, heading into the office. He stopped in the doorway and rapped on the doorjamb.
Dr. Sartain looked up, then smiled and motioned for him to come in. “You have news, I presume?”
London glanced around—saw his boss standing in the corner and felt reassured, even though the director said nothing. London walked to the closest chair and sat. Sartain dealt with poisons and chemicals on a global level. He often consulted with the FBI on terrorists’ cases. London didn’t understand the connection to this one except that Dr. Death had been on their private watch list for a long time. Unfortunately.
“Some.” London gave a brief edited version of what they’d found so far. He was uncomfortable with the duplicity involved in his job now. He wasn’t as much undercover as checking out the process and the people involved, as well as Fern’s involvement.
“Any idea if she’s actually guilty?” Dr. Sartain asked.
London strummed his fingers on the armchair. “No, she isn’t. Which means someone is setting her up.”
His boss raised his eyebrows.
Dr. Sartain’s gaze was piercing and dark as he stared at London. “Any idea who?”
London shook his head. “I think we’re back to the same problem we had last time.”
The doctor leaned back, tossed his pen on the desk and interlocked his fingers in front of him. “There have been a lot of deaths. All suspicious, pointing at her. Somebody must really hate her or thinks she’s the easiest one to throw suspicion on to keep himself safe.”
“I can’t argue with either of those statements,” London said.
“And what is your intuition telling you?”
London turned to stare at the window.
The doctor laughed. “I know you’re uncomfortable with the question, but I’ve never met anybody with a stronger one.”
“My intuition is also not unbiased.”
“Of course not. Not only was your brother involved, but you were hung up on her yourself.”
London pinched back the words threatening to burst free. This wasn’t the time or the place.
“Did you sleep with her?” the doctor asked. “Sorry for the personal question, but it’s part of your history, and we must know if it plays into this investigation.”
London shook his head. “It didn’t get that far.”
Dr. Sartain nodded his head in a regal motion. “It’s probably just as well. She was your brother’s girlfriend, correct?”
“Earlier.” London nodded. “They’d broken if off months before she and I got together. Still, I’ve often wondered how much him turning her in had to do with finding her in my arms.”
“I imagine a lot.”
An air of quiet contemplation followed, then his boss added, “People will do all kinds of things for reasons that have nothing to do with the obvious. If Derek thought you two were screwing around on him, then it’s possible he would throw her under the bus.”
“He’s a mess now,” London said. “So, whatever he did back then triggered a series of events that affected him. Of course, he says she tried to kill him, but he survived the attack.”
“Your brother is not the most stable person,” Dr. Sartain said shrewdly. “All kinds of reasons could be going on in the back of his head for his actions.”
London rose. He had done what he was supposed to, but he really didn’t want to be here. The whole situation made him uncomfortable. Spying on coworkers, friends, and family, none of that sat well with him. Especially keeping tabs on his brother. All this was bad news.
The doctor motioned at him. “Sit down. We’re not done.”
Biting back a retort, London sat. Just then Bruno walked in, pushing a tray with coffee and cookies. London wanted to decline, but, at the same time, good manners kept him where he was.
“I don’t quite understand what your role is in all this,” London said.
“And you don’t need to,” the doctor said. “Suffice it to say that the poisons being used in these murders are ones we should know a whole lot more about. My research team is working very closely to develop antidotes. We must have access to who has this kind of information and doing it on a global scale so we can combat it.”
London’s boss spoke up. “He has clearance at the highest levels.”
“People are dying,” London said. “One found today, two within the last six months, and four related cases that we know of from before.”
“And we could quite possibly put Reginald on that list as of now.”
London nodded. “I’m afraid to say that’s a possibility, but it’s quite likely true.”
“I only met with him once or twice. Reginald was many things, but he was not a people person,” Dr. Sartain said. “He’s a simple man with simple needs, and one of those was to keep to himself. He should never have been appointed as the head of the conservatory, but he had the most experience.”
“And often that’s all anybody needs. He was there when needed, and wasn’t when unnecessary,” London said quietly. Too much mystery shrouded this case. It had gotten very cloak and dagger. He was also concerned why he’d been picked for this assignment. Part of him wondered if they were suspicious of him. Hoping to catch him too while he played their games.
So not London’s preferred management style.
London wondered how to get additional information on Sartain without it getting back to him or his boss. Hell, what about his own boss? London needed to know so much more. It boggled the mind that one civilian corporate CEO commanded so much governmental loyalty. Then again, any specialist like Sartain who consulted for the various government agencies at this level, didn’t have to pull hard to get the information they needed to stay abreast of current cases. Operating in the blind like this was not London’s idea of a good time. It also went against his ethics. But who in the hell could he share his theory with? Who could he trust? Maybe he could play his own game within theirs. Meanwhile, keeping Fern in his sights.
So continuing on with this charade allowed him to do that.
“She said she smelled something.”
The doctor froze, his cup midway to his lips. He stared at London. “When?”
London explained. “She never said what, and I certainly couldn’t smell anything.”
“Did she make it to the back door?”
London shook his head. “I watched her go to the back steps. She made it to the porch and then stopped about three feet from the door, and, instead of turning around, she literally walked backward, down the stairs again. I was there within seconds, but I didn’t detect any odor.” He studied the doctor, surprised at his reaction. His smug smile meant something London had said just confirmed a belief the doctor held. It didn’t make any sense.
“Fern’s nose is, as we know, very sensitive. Even in her court case she was forced to prove the extent of her ability—and it turned her case around.”
London winced. He’d forgotten what the prosecutor had put her through and how the defense had to prove her ability to smell highly toxic substances from a distance greater than most people’s senses allowed. London knew the audience had been captivated. The jurors had certainly not been convinced until the defense got up and ran several tests. At that point, he knew they had been swayed, and the prosecutors were unable to find a way to change that. It’d been downhill from there as far as the prosecution had gone. On the surface, from the start, it had looked like a slam-dunk case, but she’d gotten away with it. As much as anybody ever got “away” from murder charges—considering her life had been destroyed regardless of her not-guilty verdict.
“Dr. Death is an appropriate nickname.”
“Lots of people have been acquitted of murder charges,” London snapped. “I doubt they all have that nickname.”
“No, but she researches poisonous plants. And then, after escaping a murder charge, went to work at those gardens which, of course, are named the Garden of Death. That just added to her notoriety.”
London knew all about those gardens. He’d done extensive research once he realized where she’d gone. He’d even spoken to several of the curators to see just what she was doing while there. They’d been delighted to have her. Giving her a place where she was comfortable and welcomed. Hard to imagine anybody could be working in a garden where any plant could kill them. But, as Fern found that humans were against her every time she turned around, she may have felt more at home there than anywhere.
Of course the media had found out and ran several stories on her all over again. All adding to the tourist attraction of the UK garden.
London finished his coffee and replaced it on the tray. “I need to get to the office. It’s been a long day, with still a lot of paperwork to deal with.”
“Is anybody trailing her?”
London shook his head. “No budget money for that. The hunt right now is for Reginald.”
“Makes sense.” It looked like the doctor wanted to say something else, but he fell quiet.
London stood. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be off.”
So far no one had asked about his coworkers. Which was a relief, but also a curiosity as that was his reason for what he was doing—supposedly.
He turned and walked from the room, only relaxing when he exited the house. Nobody really said what the doctor’s specialty was or what he did other than be the figurehead of his many corporations. But he was involved in pharmaceuticals, weapons, and the military. And obviously he had an interest in anything to do with the poisons Fern might know about. But, for some reason, Dr. Sartain thought something was special about Fern and her expertise. The current cop theory was she’d created a lethal combination that was undetectable—contributing to her acquittal—because nobody had been able to determine what poisons had been used on these four deaths.
Outside, London stopped for a long moment, studying the dark gardens surrounding the huge property. Evergreens lent shadows and shade over the large perfectly manicured lawn. All alongside the property, around the base of the trees, were various beds of assorted plants. A part of him wanted to look at the labels atop the long wooden sticks. The other didn’t want anything to do with it. He had no idea what grew on this property. He also had no right to check it out. But he suspected they were not roses or anything quite so nice.
He got in his vehicle and drove to FBI headquarters. He had left Steve alone long enough. His partner didn’t know anything about London’s secret assignment, and Steve wouldn’t appreciate being kept out of the loop. For London, working in the dark sucked.
*
What was it like being home? Did she realize he’d been in her house? Had wandered through her backyard? Had gone through the contents of her car? Did she give a shit? He’d even gotten into her old office at the conservatory so he could know her a little better.
It’d been six months since she’d left the country. He wanted to reacquaint himself with everything she was, so he could take her apart piece by piece.
He prided himself on his achievements. And his next move would see her go down in flames. His greatest joy in life would be to see the cage locked in front of her as he walked away.