Purple Death
By: Brian L. Porter
Coming Soon, By Moongypsy Press
SUMMARY
Tranquil suburban Richmond-on-Thames, home to such landmarks as Hampton Court Palace and Kew Gardens becomes the setting for a series of shocking and particularly gruesome murders that leads Detective Inspector Sean Connor and his team into a labyrinthine investigation in which all roads lead towards a thirty year old unsolved murder. The victims, all apparently unconnected to each other, are being despatched by the use of a singularly unique poison, previously more closely associated with the notorious medieval Borgia family.
As the murders begin to multiply at an alarming rate Connor finds clues hard to come by, and every lead takes him down yet another blind alley as the killer seems to be one step ahead of the police at every turn. Together, he and his assistant Sergeant Lucy Clay must piece together the shreds of evidence that will lead them to the mysterious "Chocolate Woman" and in turn to the brain behind the horrific murders that soon come to be known as "The Purple Death."
As the murders begin to multiply at an alarming rate Connor finds clues hard to come by, and every lead takes him down yet another blind alley as the killer seems to be one step ahead of the police at every turn. Together, he and his assistant Sergeant Lucy Clay must piece together the shreds of evidence that will lead them to the mysterious "Chocolate Woman" and in turn to the brain behind the horrific murders that soon come to be known as "The Purple Death."
EXCERPT
Prologue
The man pulled the grey cardboard box file from its place in the bottom of the well- worn metal filing cabinet that stood in the darkest corner of his office. The heavy box file bulged from the bulk of its contents. It bore no file name or label in the space that had been provided for the purpose. Placing it on his desk the man removed the pink ribbon that held it closed and slowly began to remove the contents. Old newspaper cuttings, yellow with age, were soon joined on his desk by photographs of a diverse collection of men and women, of streets that betrayed their history by the collection of motor cars of a previous generation, notebooks with discoloured, crumpled pages and a single, leather bound album that contained yet more photographs, this time of a more personal nature.
He spent a good ten minutes perusing the contents of the file before slowly replacing each item in the reverse of the order in which he’d removed it. Finally he spent a few minutes looking at the photos in the personal album, tenderly fingering the face of the central character in each and every one of the pictures that the well preserved photograph album contained. A smile played across his lips and he appeared lost in thoughts of a happier time, but eventually he added the album to the other items back in the box file which he soon replaced in its place in the filing cabinet. He pushed the protruding pop-out auto-lock on the cabinet. His secrets were safe until the next time he decided to delve into his own personal museum of what his life had been, and what, under other circumstances, it might have been.
Unlocking a drawer in his desk, he next took out a polished wooden box. Hand-made from the finest quality oak, it bore a distinctly aged and old-fashioned appearance. He knew it had once belonged to a retired sea-captain who’d sailed the world long ago on one of the old clipper ships, carrying tea and other treasures from one corner of the empire to another. He’d acquired it at an antiques auction, and had put it to good use.
Opening it with a key he kept on a chain around his neck he surveyed the contents with a look of satisfaction. Five small glass tubes, rather like test tubes from a chemical laboratory lay in a bed of green velvet within the box. Each was securely topped off with a closely fitting cork top, and sealed around the edges with strong corrosive resistant black tape. Only the sharpest of syringes would serve to pry the contents of those vials from within their glass homes. He touched each of the vials in turn, his gaze lingering upon the clear, innocent looking liquid that each one contained and then, with a smile of satisfaction on his face, he slowly closed the box, turned the key in the lock and returned the box to its allotted place in the drawer.
The man pulled the grey cardboard box file from its place in the bottom of the well- worn metal filing cabinet that stood in the darkest corner of his office. The heavy box file bulged from the bulk of its contents. It bore no file name or label in the space that had been provided for the purpose. Placing it on his desk the man removed the pink ribbon that held it closed and slowly began to remove the contents. Old newspaper cuttings, yellow with age, were soon joined on his desk by photographs of a diverse collection of men and women, of streets that betrayed their history by the collection of motor cars of a previous generation, notebooks with discoloured, crumpled pages and a single, leather bound album that contained yet more photographs, this time of a more personal nature.
He spent a good ten minutes perusing the contents of the file before slowly replacing each item in the reverse of the order in which he’d removed it. Finally he spent a few minutes looking at the photos in the personal album, tenderly fingering the face of the central character in each and every one of the pictures that the well preserved photograph album contained. A smile played across his lips and he appeared lost in thoughts of a happier time, but eventually he added the album to the other items back in the box file which he soon replaced in its place in the filing cabinet. He pushed the protruding pop-out auto-lock on the cabinet. His secrets were safe until the next time he decided to delve into his own personal museum of what his life had been, and what, under other circumstances, it might have been.
Unlocking a drawer in his desk, he next took out a polished wooden box. Hand-made from the finest quality oak, it bore a distinctly aged and old-fashioned appearance. He knew it had once belonged to a retired sea-captain who’d sailed the world long ago on one of the old clipper ships, carrying tea and other treasures from one corner of the empire to another. He’d acquired it at an antiques auction, and had put it to good use.
Opening it with a key he kept on a chain around his neck he surveyed the contents with a look of satisfaction. Five small glass tubes, rather like test tubes from a chemical laboratory lay in a bed of green velvet within the box. Each was securely topped off with a closely fitting cork top, and sealed around the edges with strong corrosive resistant black tape. Only the sharpest of syringes would serve to pry the contents of those vials from within their glass homes. He touched each of the vials in turn, his gaze lingering upon the clear, innocent looking liquid that each one contained and then, with a smile of satisfaction on his face, he slowly closed the box, turned the key in the lock and returned the box to its allotted place in the drawer.
Picking up the telephone, the man prepared to make a call, checking the number on a pad on his desk. He smiled again as he began to dial. The game was about to begin!
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