Intoxication by RedKite (grave mercy txt) 📕

to the door, then turned, his mouth open, a if he was about to say something. He didn't. Turning, he walked out the cottage, leaving Katriona and Arthur in a peaceful silence.


Katriona decided to take the news down to Blackhurst manor to reveal the results of the post mortem tests. She knocked on the door, and Ellen opened it.
"Hello Katriona! Please, come in."
"Thank you Ellen." She followed Ellen into the kitchen. She offered her a seat at a big wooden table.
"Tea, coffee, Katriona?" asked Ellen.
"No thank you, I'm fine," she replied.
"So why have you come?" asked Ellen, sitting down opposite her.
"I wish to speak to Peter Davis. The post mortem results for his wife and child have arrived."
"The master will be down shortly," said Ellen. "He's in his study. I think he's still coming to terms with the deaths."
"It's only natural," Katriona agreed. They both lapsed into silence. Katriona tried to think of something, anything to say. It was Ellen who spoke.
"You know, I saw a man walking across the moors. He wasn't local."
"Oh, really?" said Katriona, intrested.
"Yes. He had white blonde hair, I recall."
"Ah, said Katriona, "That was Tomas, the pathologist."
Ellen turned. "You know him?" Katriona didn't answer, pretending to be interested in a hare strung up on the celing.
"Katriona?" said Ellen, "Do you know him?"
"Yes, yes, I know him!" snapped Katriona, blushing. Ellen smiled. "Hmm?" Katriona looked down, clearly embarrassed.
"Lets just say it didn't last long." Ellen laughed, then realised Katriona did not find it amusing, and stopped. Once again the silence took over.
"So, Ellen, what about you?" asked Katriona. "Are you married?"
"I'm engaged, atually," she replied rather proudly.
"Oh, to whom?" said Katriona, sounding suprised. She had known all along, just by seeing her engagement ring, of course.
"His name is Charlie Tenant. Atually, he said he might drop by."
At that precise moment, a knock sounded at the back door. Ellen sighed. "Speak of the devil." She opened the door, and there stood a scruffy, unkempt man with light brown hair and a stubbly moustache, a grin on his dirty face.
"Katriona, this is my fiance, Charlie," said Ellen. She walked over to him, and he looped his arm around her waist.
"Hello, Katriona," he said, taking her hand.
"Good afternoon, Charlie. Your'e a bricklayer, aren't you?"
"Ellen told ou that, didn't she?" Charlie said.
"No," smile Katriona. "I saw your knees, elbows and hands were covered in a reddish powder which I could only assume to be brickdust."
"It also seems so simple now!"
"Indeed."
At that moment Peter Davis walked into the kitchen, his eyes rimmed with red. He had obviously been crying.
"Ellen, get back to work," he said. "And Charlie, I did not invite you to enter my premesis. Good day to you." He turned to Katriona.
"Hello, Miss DeLeon. What can I do for you?"
"Good morning, Mr Davis," Katriona replied. I have the results of the Post Mortem tests."
"Ah. I see. You'd better come up to my study with me then."
She followed him out of the kitchen, `up several flights of stairs, along a corridor, and through a door. The room was cluttered, but not not as badly as her own cottage. Peter Davis closed the door.
"So, Miss DeLeon, how did they die?" Katriona took a deep breath.
"It was poison. Somehow the poison acted a while later, which holds many advantages for the murderer."
"Ideed." He sighed. Neither of them spoke. Katriona felt an immense sense of smpathy for him. Losing his wife and child at the same time must have been an awful shock. Her thoughts were suddenly interupted by sudden banging, crashing and yelling sounds coming from the floor below. The dynamics increased. They were coming up the stairs. Peter Davis looked at Katriona, confused.
The door flew open. There stood Timothy Smythe, glaring in the direction of Davis. Half a dozen policemen stood behind him.
"Mr Peter Davis?" Smythe said.
"Yes?" he snapped.
"I arrest you for the murder of Natalie and Emmilene Davis, your wife and child," he said. Smythe turned to the Police officers behind him, and jerked his head in Davis' direction. "Well, take him away, then."
The Policemen advanced towards him, one of them producing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. He locked them in place over Davis' wrists, and led him, kicking and screaming, from the room. The other police officers followed, untill only Katriona and Timothy Smythe were left in the room. Katriona turned to him, her eyes blazing.
"What are you doing?! I know for a fact it was not him!"
Smythe looked at her smugly. "Who else would it have been?"
"As detectives, it's our job to find out!"
"Ah, Kat. Back to your embroidery, eh? Leave me to the glory," he replied. With that he turned, and walked from the room.
Katriona stood glaring at nothing in particular, wondering what to do. She would find the real murderer. She had to. The only question was, who was it?


The next morning Katriona stirred in her bed, a sense of happiness washing over her. Then she remembered the previous night's events, and crashed back down to earth. She should not be happy till she found the murderer, whatever the cost.
Her chain of thoughts were shattered at the sound of banging, crashing and the shouts of, "MISS DELEON!" coming from outside. She flew out of bed, tied her kimono around her waist, and raced downstairs.
At the door was a police officer, his face red. He had obviously ran a long way to find her.
"Miss DeLeon, Timothy Smythe sent me. It's about Peter Davis. He's dead, ma'am.
Arthur Strand joined her at the door. "Katriona, what's happing today?" Katriona ignored him.
"Were there no wounds on him at all?"
"No ma'am."
"Poison." Katriona ran a hand through her curls. "It's happened again. The whole family. The magical three." She sighed. "I'll see what I can do."
"Miss DeLeon, I must return to my base. We're having a crackdown on security."
"If you must. Good day," Katriona said, and, after closing the door, slowly walked back to her armchair. Arthur sat next to her. She sat with her head in her hands. This case was becoming more baffling by the second.


Katriona hadn't moved from her armchair for several hours. Nothing made sense. Then, all of a sudden, it clicked. She sat upright. No. It was unlikely. But she had eliminated all other possibilities. She sprang from her chair, and grabbed her coat and hat.
"Katriona?" asked Arthur Strand, confused as to where she was going. Katriona left the house to go to Haworth, to make a few telegrams. An hour later she returned, and sat down in her chair, resuming the sat position she had sat in before. All that was left to do now was wait.


Not too much later a small crowd of people gathered at the door. Timothy Smythe, with a few policeman, Ellen Court, and her fiance Charlie Tenant all stood there, waiting to be allowed in. Katriona DeLeon opened the door. "Welcome, all of you. Please, come in," she said.
She had pulled the sofas and chairs in the room into a semicircle shape, Arthur Strand sitting in the middle armchair. Everyone else filed in and sat down where they could. Katriona stood in front of all of them.
"I have called you all here today," she started, "Bacause I have solved this baffling case." Murmers and whispers sped around the room.
"I have called these police officers too," Katriona continued, "Because I know the murderer is in this room." She turned to each of their faces. "May I invite you all to draw your minds back to three weeks ago, when the Davis family were still alive. Now, we know their deaths were the result of poison, and what a poison it was! From an anchient Persian fruit, I belive. It is ground down into a paste, and when consumed by the victim, acts a month later. The poison enters the bloodstream through the gut wall, and converts the bloodcells into more toxin, but instead of multiplying, converting. It takes a month for the entire bloodstream to be consumed. But, before I carry on, I have a question. Ellen Court, are you sure you have never met Arthur Strand before?"
Ellen drew a quick breath in before replying, "No, never Katriona. Never in my life."
"Really? And what would you say if I told you that he worked for your fiance?"
Ellen turned to Charlie, an expression of horror on her face. "He's a bricklayer!"
"No, he's not. Fake occupation," smiled Katriona.
"He took me to his work!"
"No. Fake building site. May I ask if that was about a week ago?"
"It was!"
"Right. Do you want to know what his real job is?"
"What?!"
"I'm an occasional assassin," said Charlie Tenant. "Fine. I'll come clean. But let me begin at the beginning.
My real name is Charles Davis. At the age of twenty five I met a woman. Her name was Natalie Deanswood, and I loved her deeply. I asked for her hand, and she agreed, but I could tell that in her heart she was young and uncertain. Then you met my brother. You know him. Peter Davis. She decided she loved him better. Natalie broke off the engagemant and eloped with him. My heart has never mended.
For ten years I plotted my revenge. Occasionally I would hear stories of the Davised, and how wonderful their lives were. Their grand house. Their lovely jobs. Their beautiful daughter. I swore they would all suffer.
And yes, I earned my living by occasional assassination. It was my way of surviving. Then I met Arthur here," he said, gesturing across the room.
"I lured him in with promises of power and wealth. Then I went to Blackhurst Manor, and found Ellen.
"I wooed her with promises of a long and happy marriage. She, of course, belived me." He turned to Ellen. "I'm sorry. I never loved you. I needed a weak target, and you were the only one in my line of view." He turned back to Katriona. "Yes, you were right. The poison as from Persia. I blackmailed Ellen saying that she did not love me if she did not do as I say, and I bid her to coat the mother and daughter's food in this paste. I also knew that the longer I left the ground up fruit, the longer it would take to consume a body, so I purposely left my brother's dose mature longer before making Ellen poison him. That way, if I timed it perfectly, he would hopefully be arrested for the murders of his wife nd child, and if not, he would die anyway.
Two days before the date of Natlie's death, I showed Ellen the fake building site, just to kill any suspicions she might have. After that I traveled down to London to the Grand Hotel was Natalie was staying. I scribbled note, left it on her armchair, and hid behind it. I was that desparate to watch her die. She had been my main target. How you knew, Katriona DeLeon, that I had