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  Mackinnon shook his head and Claude nodded. “I would guess it would be more than you would get from a normal snakebite, and so it would work faster and be more likely to be fatal.”

  “We are looking into how someone might be able to get hold of this venom. Would they need to have a snake? Or would they be able to buy it from somewhere?”

  Claude frowned. “There’s a process known as milking,” he said. “That is where you milk a snake of its venom and retain it in a suitable container.”

  Claude must’ve noticed the discomfort on Mackinnon’s face.

  “It is a necessary process,” he said. “It’s the only way we are able to produce antivenom in sufficient quantities. The process itself isn’t too stressful for the snake either. If you have the time, I can show you how we do it.”

  Mackinnon didn’t really want to, but he forced himself to agree. It could help the case and move things forward.

  Claude made his way over to one of the snake enclosures. Mackinnon was exceedingly glad to see that there was only a small snake inside. Claude had put on some padded gloves, and he reached inside with a clasping stick, designed to capture the snake at the base of its head. His other hand secured the slithering reptile’s tail and he lifted the yellow snake out carefully.

  Mackinnon took a wary step backwards.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Claude beamed at the snake in his hands.

  Mackinnon remained silent. He didn’t want to do or say anything that would distract Claude while he was holding the snake.

  They made their way over to a different lab bench.

  “This area is known as the milking station,” Claude said and he released the tail. Sensing freedom, the snake wriggled wildly, but to Mackinnon’s relief, the contraption Claude was using to hold its head stopped the snake from escaping.

  Claude picked up a twenty-five millilitre container and held it up for Mackinnon to see. “See the rubber on top?”

  Mackinnon moved a little closer and peered down at the container. The top of the small pot was lined with a semi-opaque sheath.

  “The snake is going to bite and its fangs will pierce the rubber. The venom will be squirted inside for us to collect.”

  When Claude moved the container close to the snake’s head, at first it seemed not to be interested in biting. Mackinnon felt himself relax. It was only a small snake and it seemed quite docile. But suddenly without warning, it pounced. Its fangs plunged through the rubber sheath. Mackinnon could see the venom trickle down into the pot.

  “You see,” Claude said. “It’s easy.”

  Mackinnon, who was sweating buckets and was sure it had less to do with the increased temperature in the reptile house and more to do with the proximity of the yellow snake Claude was holding, just nodded.

  “I have another question,” Mackinnon said. “What do you do about antivenom?”

  Claude nodded. “Sensible question. We always keep some in stock and so do the local hospitals. We haven’t had to use it since I’ve been here, but most people handling venomous snakes would have their own supply.”

  Mackinnon hoped that was true. Right now, it seemed that was their best chance of catching the killer.

  24

  AFTER HE LEFT CLAUDE and his snakes behind, Mackinnon pulled out his phone and called DI Tyler.

  “I think we are looking for a snake expert,” Mackinnon said as he walked along Camden High Street in the direction of the tube station. “It seems easy enough to extract the venom if you know how to handle them.”

  “Right. What about the antivenom?”

  “They keep it in stock and so do the local hospitals. It is a strong possibility that whoever is using this Russell’s viper venom will have stocks of the relevant antivenom.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Tyler said. “Are you coming back to the station now?”

  “I’m just about to get on the train. Have there been any more developments?”

  “Yes,” Tyler said. “An interesting one. Evie Charlesworth has found a connection. It’s a tenuous one at the moment, but it’s the only thing we have to link the two victims.”

  Mackinnon paused at the entrance to the underground station. He wanted to hear what Tyler said next and didn’t want to risk losing his mobile phone signal. He leaned back against the wall as people rushed past him, heading for the escalator to take them down into the belly of London.

  “Beverley Madison and Joe Griffin both went to the same school,” Tyler said. “It was a while ago, class of eighty-seven, but they were both at St George’s at the same time. It’s our first indication that our victims may have known each other.

  “We’ve got the tech team going over all their social media accounts, trying to find out if they’ve been keeping in touch. We are also combing their phone and financial records. Nothing so far, but if we continue on this line, we might get lucky.”

  Tyler drew a long breath and Mackinnon could sense what was coming.

  “We might…” Mackinnon said. “But you don’t think we will?”

  “It is a connection but it might not be the great lead it appears to be. Brookbank has fastened onto the idea. He wants lists of past students and staff and he wants us to interview them. It’s a huge task. We have to go all the way back to nineteen eighty-seven. I know Brookbank is just being thorough, but…” Tyler swallowed his words with a heavy sigh.

  After a moment’s pause, he said, “It’s a rabbit hole, Jack. It’s going to take ages, and the more time we waste on this, the more likely it is our killer will strike again.”

  Mackinnon could see both points of view. Right now, the school was the only link they had, and so it made sense to focus some of their resources on investigating that connection. But resources weren’t unlimited, and it was clear Tyler was worried that they would overlook other potential leads if they focused solely on this.

  “You know what Brookbank is like once he has got a bee in his bonnet,” Tyler said. “It looks like he’s going to put most of the team on this, tracking down ex-students and staff, but it’s crazy. I mean, how likely is it they stayed in the same place since nineteen eighty-seven? They’re going to be all over the country, some of them might be abroad.”

  Mackinnon looked up at the grey December sky and couldn’t help agreeing with Tyler. He didn’t much fancy interviewing hundreds of ex-students, surely there could be a better way to use the resources.

  “Anyway,” Tyler said. “I’ll ask Collins to focus on any criminal records first. Hopefully that will give us a hit and save us interviewing every Tom, Dick or Harry who got within one hundred yards of the bloody school.”

  Mackinnon could hear the stress in Tyler’s voice. He told him he’d be back at the station within half an hour and hung up. As he took the escalator down into the underground station, he couldn’t help thinking that Tyler was right. This case was a rabbit hole.

  ***

  Shortly after Mackinnon got back to Wood Street station, DCI Brookbank called an emergency briefing.

  As DI Tyler sat scowling in the corner, obviously unhappy with the direction the investigation was taking, Brookbank assigned everyone new actions.

  “We need to focus on the link between our victims.” He nodded at Mackinnon and Charlotte. “Jack and Charlotte, I want you to go to St George’s Academy and talk to the headmistress there. She is…” Brookbank looked down at his notes. “Sandra Diamond. Talk to her, find out if there are any staff still at the school who were working there in nineteen eighty-seven.” Brookbank shrugged. “It’s a long shot, but we might get lucky.”

  Mackinnon nodded and then shot a look at DI Tyler who was rolling his eyes.

  “With respect, sir,” DC Webb said in a nervous voice. “All we’ve got is two victims who went to the same school. It could be a coincidence.”

  Brookbank stared at DC Webb, who seemed to shrink in his chair.

  “It could be,” Brookbank conceded. “But right now, we don’t have another link, so that’s where
we’re going to focus our energy.”

  “We need to make sure we don’t overlook any other links,” DC Collins said, and Mackinnon admired him for speaking up. “They could have shopped in the same supermarket every week, or gone to the same evening class five years ago.”

  Brookbank put down his sheaf of notes and steadily surveyed the room. “All right. I sense your reluctance, and to some extent, I understand it. They don’t shop at the same supermarket, DC Collins. If they had, we would have discovered that when we looked at their financial records.”

  Collins looked down at the table and nodded.

  “As for the evening class idea, sure it’s a possibility, but we don’t have any evidence of that. We do have evidence that they went to the same school and that is what we need to investigate. It may lead to nothing, but it’s all we have right now. So is everyone on board?” Brookbank glared at everyone in the room, and Mackinnon didn’t think anyone would dare disagree.

  “The thing is,” Tyler said from the corner of the room and everyone turned to face him. “I understand that we need to investigate this.”

  Mackinnon could see the ‘but’ coming from a mile away. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. It was generally accepted in the briefings that people could give opinions and be open with ideas. Sometimes that was how seemingly unsolvable cases were cracked. Even the most junior staff could have a great idea that no one else had thought of, but a high ranked officer casting doubt on the action plan of the senior investigating officer was pretty much a no-no.

  Mackinnon waited with interest to see Brookbank’s reaction.

  Brookbank turned his thick neck and hunched his shoulders as he faced Tyler.

  Tyler didn’t back down. He continued, “I need Charlotte to keep working on the DWA licences and the antivenom. We can’t let that go in favour of this link with St George’s.”

  Brookbank nodded. “Absolutely. I agree one hundred percent.”

  Tyler looked surprised. He nodded. “Okay… Well, that’s good, and I want to prioritise by having us look at students or staff with records.”

  “Agreed,” Brookbank said and began to gather his papers together. “Okay, if everyone knows what they are doing, we’ll meet again this evening,” Brookbank said as he brought the meeting to a close.

  Mackinnon got to his feet and filed out of the meeting room with the rest of the team. It was going to be a long day and he had to start it by going back to school.

  25

  MACKINNON HEADED TO ST George’s Academy on his own, leaving Charlotte to track down people who had purchased antivenom over the past six months.

  St George’s had been built in the fifties, but had undergone some changes over the past few years. It was now an Academy, focusing on business and sports. The outside of the school was plain red brick. Mackinnon thought it was more attractive than most of the modern comprehensives he had seen.

  When he had been at school, Mackinnon remembered pretty much anyone could just walk across the playground and into the school. St George’s was surrounded by twelve-foot high fences, and admission was through a gate that only opened at certain times of the day.

  Mackinnon rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache developing, probably due to his lack of sleep.

  He pressed the buzzer beside the gate and waited until a crackly voice came over the intercom. He had phoned ahead, so they were quick to admit him. The gate clanged shut behind him, and he walked across the empty playground towards the entrance.

  He was intercepted by an efficient-looking secretary before he reached the blue double doors. The secretary introduced herself as Mrs. Rogers and escorted Mackinnon into the building.

  The inside of the building was far more modern than the outside had indicated. There was a large atrium, and as he had arrived just in time for the changeover between lessons, the kids’ voices echoed around the great hall and their trainers squeaked against the floor. That was something new. Trainers would never have been permitted as part of the school uniform in Mackinnon’s day. The uniform at St George’s consisted of dark grey trousers, for both the boys and the girls, and navy blue sweatshirts, with the school’s logo embroidered on the chest.

  The secretary led the way to the headmistress’ office. She rapped on the door and then stood back, gesturing for Mackinnon to enter the room.

  Mrs. Sandra Diamond stood up when Mackinnon entered her office. He guessed the plump, grey-haired lady must be nearing retirement.

  She held out her hand to Mackinnon. “Detective, I’m Sandra Diamond the headmistress of St George’s. How can I help?”

  Mackinnon sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. From the doorway, the secretary asked if they would like some coffee. Mackinnon said he would. He was going to need a lot of coffee to get through the day.

  “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice,” Mackinnon said. “I know you must be very busy.”

  “Not at all,” Mrs. Diamond said. “I will be quite happy to help in any way I can.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard on the news about the unusual murders in the city.”

  Mrs. Diamond nodded. “Yes, I did see that last night. We usually have the news on in the background while we eat our dinner. Do you somehow think it is related to the school?”

  “We are just checking into the victims’ backgrounds,” Mackinnon said, eager to reassure her. “It just so happens that the victims were students here in the past.”

  Mrs. Diamond’s forehead crinkled as she raised her eyebrows. “Really? I didn’t recognise the names.”

  “Well, the students attended the school some time ago. They would have started at St George’s in nineteen eighty-seven.”

  “I was here then,” Mrs. Diamond said. “This is the only school I’ve worked at. I completed my training at a school in North London, but I came here straight after I graduated.” Mrs. Diamond shook her head. “I can’t say I recognised them as St. George’s students when I heard the news. Remind me again, what were their names?”

  “Beverley Madison and Joe Griffin,” Mackinnon said.

  “I’m sorry. They don’t ring any bells. I can have a look through the records for you, though.” She pushed back her chair from the desk. “I’m afraid we will have to look through the paper records and deal with the old filing system. You see, we didn’t have computerised records in the eighties. We are supposed to be moving everything over to the computer, but these things do take time.”

  “Of course,” Mackinnon said. “I’m glad to hear you have paper records.”

  “We should be able to access them quite quickly. They’re stored next door in the secretary’s office. If you’ll excuse me, I will ask Mrs. Rogers if she can pick them out for us.”

  At that moment, the secretary, Mrs. Rogers, brought in a tray containing two steaming cups of coffee. Mackinnon took a cup gratefully, breathing in one of his favourite smells in the world. It may not have pleased a coffee connoisseur, but it was hot and it contained caffeine and that was all Mackinnon cared about.

  Mrs. Diamond asked the secretary to find the files and then turned back to Mackinnon. “Isn’t it unusual that both victims were students of this school? Do you think the school could be involved?”

  “It’s something we’re looking into,” Mackinnon said, unwilling to commit himself further. “We need to find out everything we can about each of the victims, no matter how insignificant it may seem.”

  Mackinnon took a sip of his coffee. “Both Beverley and Joe would have been here between the years of nineteen eighty-seven and nineteen ninety-one. Did anything significant happen during those years?”

  “Like what?” Mrs. Diamond asked.

  That wasn’t an easy question to answer. He didn’t know what they were looking for.

  “Did anything happen in the school’s history? Any incidents, good or bad? Bullying? Perhaps the school had some trouble with a member of staff?”

  “Goodness,” Mrs. Diamond said. “Now you are putti
ng me on the spot.” She put her fingertips against her temples and gazed down at her desk as if she was concentrating.

  “I do remember something happening in the early nineties. It was rather upsetting. A boy hanged himself. A terribly sad situation,” she said gazing over at the window and then back to Mackinnon. “If I recall correctly, it was put down to pressure over exam results. It was a difficult year for us. We lost another student that same year. It was an accident — an asthma attack.”

  “What year was that? Do you remember?” Mackinnon asked.

  “I would have to check the records to be sure, but I think it was probably ninety-one or ninety-two,” Mrs. Diamond said. She picked up her coffee cup as the secretary came back into the room and laid a collection of files down on her desk.

  “Here they are. They weren’t too difficult to find after all,” the secretary said, pushing her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. “Sometimes the old ways are the best. You don’t get paper files crashing or getting infected with viruses, do you?”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Diamond said, reaching for one of the files. “I know you prefer the more traditional methods but we need to get these records onto the computer system as soon as possible.”

  The secretary glared at Mackinnon as if he was personally responsible for upsetting her filing system.

  “Is that all for now?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Rogers.” Mrs. Diamond flicked through the first file. “Ah, yes. I do remember Joe Griffin. Of course I do. He was the head of the school rugby team, very sporty.” She flicked through a few more pages of the records and then said, “Yes, he did the school proud. I always thought he might go on and compete internationally. He didn’t I suppose?” Mrs. Diamond looked at Mackinnon hopefully.

  Mackinnon shook his head. “After he left school, he joined the Navy for two years and then changed career paths. He became a personal trainer.”

  Mrs. Diamond plucked the other file from her desk and flipped through it. “Beverley Madison…” She murmured the name as she held up the first page of the file and turned it around for Mackinnon to see. It was a picture of Beverley taken while she’d been a pupil at St George’s. Mackinnon guessed she must have been around fourteen when the photograph was taken. She had blonde bobbed hair and a sunny smile.