In the quiet of her lab, Vanessa peered through the microscope at some tiny, glistening eggs she’d collected from Cordelia’s crime scene nearly a week ago. She’d placed these ones in cold storage, which had delayed their hatching. It was something she liked to do with all her samples, if there were enough, so she could watch the miraculous event unfolding under her gaze. One egg quivered subtly, its surface stretching until, with a delicate persistence, a minuscule larva emerged. The newborn, almost translucent against the white backdrop of the petri dish, wriggled slowly, its form minute yet full of life. Vanessa watched, mesmerised by the tiny creature’s first foray into existence.
She thought of Madeline Layton, so young herself. A news item that morning had implied she might make it. That was some good news, at least.
‘Good, you’re smiling.’ She peered up to see Bronagh watching her, a cup of coffee in her hand, no doubt to ward off her hangover.
‘I was just thinking about the news that Madeline Layton will make it,’ Vanessa replied. ‘Oh, and the birth of invertebrates always makes me smile.’
‘I suppose that’s another decent reason for coming in on a Sunday. I presume you got Egbo’s text about wanting to share his preliminary toxicology results?’ Vanessa nodded. ‘Hey, you know I’m here if you need to talk, right? You just discovered your mother might be involved with an illegal insect smuggling ring and you were in the middle of a crime scene last night. It must be tough.’
‘Yep, it sucks,’ Vanessa admitted. ‘But please, I’m British. I prefer your jokes to your sympathy.’
‘I suppose contraband smuggling does beat my mother’s hobbies: crocheting and the Kardashians.’
Vanessa laughed. ‘Honestly, that sounds amazing.’
‘I’ll invite you to dinner at hers in a couple of weeks. You might change your mind.’
Vanessa grew serious. ‘I still think I should recuse myself from any direct involvement in this investigation,’ she said.
‘I told you when you called last night, not a chance. There’s no proof yet your mother’s involved with smuggling these insects, just hearsay from one random dude trying to get into your pants. But you should give Agent Valdez a call.’
Vanessa nodded. ‘I’ll call him once Egbo shares his results. How about you?’ Vanessa asked, examining Bronagh’s face. ‘Was Joe as grumpy as you suspected he’d be?’
‘Oh, you know, men will be men,’ Bronagh replied dismissively. ‘He made me his famous hangover smoothie, so that’s something.’
‘You know the offer to talk goes both ways? I’m here if you ever need to chat.’
Bronagh frowned and went to open her mouth but then Egbo’s assistant appeared at the see-through window, gesturing for them to come.
‘Egbo must be ready,’ Bronagh said. ‘He even brought in Bourke Street Bakery cinnamon rolls. And I’m fine,’ she added, giving Vanessa’s arm a squeeze, ‘but thanks for checking in.’
They both walked into the conference room, and Vanessa grabbed one of the cinnamon rolls, taking a seat with Bronagh as Egbo sat across from them. Vanessa lifted the cinnamon roll to her nose and breathed in its scent before taking a huge bite, moaning with pleasure as she did.
‘You got the toxicology results back quickly,’ she said to Egbo. ‘It’s been less than a week.’
‘You’re playing with the big guns now, Vanessa,’ Bronagh said. ‘Plus I got a call from Captain Williams in the night to put a rocket up our asses. He wants preliminary results for his press conference today. Fire away, Egbo.’
Egbo walked to the front of the room and perched on the edge of the table. ‘Let’s begin with Cordelia Montgomery.’ A close-up of the hair clip Cordelia had been wearing appeared on the screen. ‘As we learned from Vanessa on Tuesday, this clip featured a sophisticated injector mechanism attached to a minuscule vial. We carried out tests on the parts and have discovered traces of botulinum toxin.’
‘Botox?’ Bronagh said in a surprised voice.
Egbo nodded. ‘And before you ask if it’s simply the case Cordelia had Botox fillers, the traces we found were concentrated to a degree that would cause instant death if a small amount was injected into the skin.’
‘Botulinum toxin is actually one of the world’s most poisonous substances,’ Vanessa said.
‘That’s right,’ Egbo said. ‘In cosmetic procedures, highly diluted quantities are administered in controlled doses. This means the toxin only affects the specific muscles into which it’s injected. But if concentrated enough, even a small dose can cause death within minutes, especially if injected. I suspect it may have been used in the earrings worn by Madeline Layton, too.’
‘Interesting,’ Vanessa said. ‘And is a toxin like this reasonably easy to get hold of, considering its use in the beauty industry?’
Egbo nodded. ‘It is. Now, let’s move on to the watch worn by Maximilian Rossi.’ A photo appeared on the screen of the watch. ‘We found traces of a cyanide compound in a compartment hidden beneath the back of the watch. As you know, the back panel of the watch was designed to sit flush against the skin and engineered to respond to pressure, expelling a fatally concentrated dose of cyanide that was absorbed into the skin. I imagine this is what we’ll find in Rhoda Matheson’s bracelet, too.’
‘The procurement of cyanide is tightly regulated, though, right?’ Bronagh asked.
Egbo nodded. ‘Yes, but unfortunately, no such regulation exists in the digital underworld. It’s highly plausible that the killer used the dark web to acquire the cyanide.’
Vanessa stared at the screen. Illegally procured insects and poison. Faked notes and elaborate gifts. Whoever did this had gone to great lengths to cause as much terror as they could.
‘Right, I better update Detective Hoshino and the captain before the press conference,’ Bronagh said. ‘And you better call Agent Hotsville, Vanessa.’
Vanessa rolled her eyes then headed into her office, picking her phone up and calling the mobile phone number she had for Dariel.
‘Agent Valdez.’ It sounded like he was in his car, the noise of traffic in the background. Perhaps on his way back from the city.
‘Hi, Dariel, it’s Dr Vanessa Marwood.’
‘Hey, good to hear from you. Or maybe not so good. I heard about Madeline Layton. At least it looks like she’ll pull through.’
‘Yes, I was relieved to hear that, too. There’s something else.’ She told him about her mother’s possible connection with the Thorsens. Dariel was quiet as she spoke. He was quiet a little time after as well.
‘Wow, that’s a lot, Dr Marwood,’ he said after a while. ‘So, you say she’s called Delilah de Souza? I don’t think I’ve come across the name. Do you have any idea where your mother might be now so we can chat to her?’
‘No,’ Vanessa replied, eyes homing in on the photo of her mother on her desk. ‘We’ve been estranged since I was a girl. I didn’t even know she was in New York – if she is. She studied art here many years back, though. I think that might be how she met Jacqueline.’
‘I see. I’ll make some enquiries for you.’
‘I’d appreciate that.’
‘Of course, I’m happy to help. Where did she live when she was studying here?’
‘East Village. She was studying at the Cooper Union in the early seventies.’
‘Ever any indication she might be involved in the black market?’ Dariel asked.
Vanessa frowned. ‘During a case I worked on last year in my childhood village in the UK, one of the suspects suggested my mother was involved in an illegal insect trade there. The detective on the case uncovered a bit of an illicit ring.’
‘Interesting. Could all be connected. Can I have his name?’
‘Detective Paul Truss. I’ll send you his number.’
‘Just looking at your mother’s sculptures,’ he said. ‘They’re interesting. Insects, broken apart.’
‘Yes, it’s her theme.’
‘So this insect fascination runs in the blood, then?’
Vanessa sank down into her chair. ‘My father was a butterfly expert. He loved insects. That’s the thing, though,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘my mum loved them too. She always treated insects with respect, never used them in her art. So her involvement with illegal insect trading just feels … wrong.’
‘We don’t really know our parents, though, do we? The role of nurturer and creator can form a block to really needling out the truth of their souls, you know?’
‘So you’re a philosopher, a dad and a USFWS agent?’
He laughed. ‘What I’m trying to say is, my kids definitely don’t know everything about me and I sure as hell didn’t know the reality of what my parents were.’ He was quiet for a few moments. ‘This might sound crazy but why don’t you come visit my offices in Cortland? You could learn more about the illegal insect trade to help with the case, and maybe we can do some research together to track your mom down? It’s only a four-hour drive …’
‘I don’t know, I’d need to check with Bronagh.’
‘Come on. It’d do you good to get out of the city. Cortland is a pretty town. Mountains. Trees. Even a lake or two. Might even remind you of the UK.’
Vanessa’s gaze drifted to the window, watching the city hustle by. Maybe it would be good to escape for a couple of days?