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Reilly nodded. “Take it steady, you’ll know when the time’s right. Now, maybe we should get going before that psychopath of a pathologist starts to hunt us down.”
Gardener laughed. He was about to close the door when he froze. The hairs on his neck bristled, and his legs wobbled.
Reilly saw his eyes go wide. “What’s wrong?” He pushed past Gardener, barrelling into the shed. He turned to face his partner. “What is it?”
Gardener turned, glancing everywhere. He felt as if his veins had frozen. “Can’t you smell it?”
Reilly’s expression darkened. “Smell what?”
Gardener moved around Reilly, lifting boxes, pushing inanimate objects out of the way.
“For God’s sake, what are you looking for?” Reilly asked incredulously.
Gardener turned, about to speak. Instead, he reached past Reilly to a shelf, pulling down a plant housed in a shallow pan. He held it close, almost dropped it.
They both stared at it for a moment, then leaned into the plant and sniffed. Reilly drew back. “Jesus Christ!”
Gardener grabbed the Venus flytrap again, leaned in close, and inhaled once more. The same vile odour of rotting garbage and excrement the corpses had smelled of penetrated his nostrils.
He put the plant on the nearby work surface, then stepped out of the shed and turned slowly to his partner.
Reilly had obviously read his thoughts. “Bit of a long shot, isn’t it, boss? It’s too much of a coincidence for my liking. Let’s go and see Fitz, see what he has to say.”
Gardener agreed, but it didn’t make him feel any better. His partner was right. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore. After all, what were the chances his father, and possibly his father’s older girlfriend, had access to what could be the murder weapon in his investigation?
There had to be a logical answer. So why couldn’t he see it?
Chapter Sixty
By the time the two detectives arrived at Fitz’s lab, the corpse of Harry Clayton had been laid out on a gurney. Fitz was working by himself, humming along to music from an opera by Verdi. The pathologist glanced up as they entered. Gardener noticed Clayton’s body was still decomposing.
“Have you got a minute?” he asked the doctor.
“Of course,” replied Fitz. He led them into his office and sat at his desk. Gardener closed the door behind him.
“We’ve come across something we’d like you to take a look at,” Gardener said, nodding to Reilly.
Reilly removed the plant from a carrier bag. He passed over the syringe at the same time.
“Smell the plant.”
Fitz inspected them both. “I’ve no need to.”
“We need to know if it’s possible this plant was used to melt those men,” said Reilly.
Fitz drew a sharp intake of breath. “Could the enzymes from the plant cause the destruction we’ve seen in the four bodies? I’m not a botanist, but it might be possible.”
After searching around his desk, the pathologist found what he wanted.
“The results of the syringe analysis from Frank Myers came back from the lab this morning.”
“And?” asked Gardener.
“The problem when you start from scratch is that you don’t know what you’re looking for. Let me see. Characteristics of known chemical groups. The content of the syringe doesn’t fit into any. Opiates and amphetamines also drew a blank. The only thing we know for certain was the compound destroyed the proteins in the body. To answer your first question, gentlemen, yes, the plant enzymes from the Venus flytrap are probably powerful enough to do it.”
It was not what Gardener wanted to hear. The fact he’d found the plant in his father’s shed stuck in his mind. Too much of a coincidence. “You’d need a good botanical knowledge to be able to carry out using this enzyme, right?”
“Definitely. You’d have to know what you were doing in order to extract it.”
