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“Yes sir. No empty packets, bottles, vials, papers, nothing. And we took away and had tested what was still in use. All harmless domestic stuff as you’d find in most people’s homes.”
“Very diligent. Have you any idea where Miss Melville obtained the poison which killed her, or where she administered it to herself?”
“No, sir, we have not.”
“Thank you. That is all. You may step down.”
Rathbone looked around again as the sergeant left and the police surgeon was called. Monk sat lost in gloom. He looked about as miserable and angry as Rathbone felt. There was a certain companionship in their silence. Neither of them had the slightest desire to try to express his thoughts in words. It was a vague comfort for Rathbone to know that he was not alone in his struggle to find meaning in this, in his profound unhappiness and sense of having been helpless and inadequate all the way along.
The police surgeon gave evidence as to his surprise at discovering the deceased was a woman and not a man as she had at first appeared. But she was in every physical way quite normal—indeed, dressed appropriately she would have been a handsome woman, even beautiful, in her own way. He said it quietly and with great sadness.
There was a hush in the room as he spoke. Someone coughed. Someone else stifled a nervous giggle and was instantly glared at. People seemed to be both embarrassed and moved by a deep sense of loss and the finality of death.
“And the cause of Miss Melville’s death?” the coroner asked.
“Belladonna poisoning, sir,” the surgeon answered without hesitation.
“Can you be certain of that?”
“Absolutely. I found traces of belladonna in the deceased’s internal organs. And on examination of the body, every sign led me to consider it as a probable cause of death.”
“What were the signs?”
“Widely dilated pupils, exceedingly dry skin, great dryness in the mouth, redness in the face. On examination of the body in autopsy I also found retention of urine and, of course, failure of the heart consistent with the effects of belladonna.” There was an uncomfortable shifting in the court as people imagined the distress and the fear; the immediate physicality of it made it so much more real.
“The symptoms before death include increased heart rate,” the doctor continued. “Very loud, audible even at a distance from the patient. Often the patient becomes aggressive, disoriented and suffers hallucinations. The police informed me they found one or two items knocked over, consistent with blurred vision.”
Rathbone sat rigidly, his shoulders hunched, his fists tight. His mind was drenched with misery as he thought of Keelin Melville frightened, half blinded, knowing she was dying, hearing her own heart pound until it burst.
“Yes … yes. I do not argue with your conclusion, Doctor.” The coroner shook his head, his voice cutting across Rathbone’s thoughts. “If you found belladonna within the body then that is sufficient. How long before death would it have been consumed? I take it it was consumed? It was not injected, or absorbed through the skin, or breathed in?”
“No sir, it was swallowed. Death can take anything from a few hours to a few days, depending on the dose.”
“And this dose?”
There was complete silence in the courtroom. Rathbone did not look around, but he could imagine everyone waiting. Why? To know what piece of evidence, what revelation or event had finally been more than Melville could take? Did they need the moment of decision?
“A heavy dose,” the doctor replied, pursing his lips. “Sometime during the afternoon.”
“Are you sure? Could it not have been after Miss Melville returned home?”
“No. It doesn’t work that quickly.”
“Or in the morning, before she came to court?”
Rathbone found he could hear his own pulse beating. Could it have been that early? Was it over Wolff’s disgrace? Perhaps there had even been a quarrel with him?
“No sir,” the doctor said with certainty. There was not even a shadow of doubt in his face or his voice. “If she had taken that much before she came to court in the morning, she would have been showing unmistakable symptoms by midday at the latest. No one could have mistaken it. She would have been dead by the afternoon.”
“Are you quite sure about that?” the coroner persisted, his face wrinkled with concern.
“Quite,” the doctor assured him.
“Can you tell us whether the belladonna was taken in liquid or powder form, or a tablet? Or if it was taken with food?”
“I cannot tell you whether it was liquid or powder, but it was not taken with food. There was very little food in the stomach. The poison probably acted as effectively as it did for that reason.”
“How might one obtain belladonna?”
