"Mr. Marsh, how did you know that there was poison in the zipper of Miss Voyles' small white crossbody bag? I am quite certain that I haven't mentioned it from the beginning," Inspector Sharp, his sharp eyes and intimidating expression, with a deep voice, closed the forensic data paper, concluding the current conversation.
M. Marsh remained silent. His mouth moved briefly, but the most significant aspect was his stumbling speechlessness, glancing in our direction with confusion.
I couldn't say anything. If that person understood specific information about the location of the poison, I had to say that he had stepped into the red zone and officially become a suspect. The clock continued ticking, filling the silence in the interrogation room. As if the conversation had reached its climax, both M. Marsh and Inspector Sharp were waiting for a decision. However, I didn't feel the climax yet.
Would he surrender? Or perhaps he still had another alibi?
Nevertheless, I still felt that the case was not as simple as it seemed, such as with this cough syrup bottle. Upon closer inspection, the label of the black cough syrup brand did not appear new. It was even partially torn in the antitusin cough section. There were some accidental cough drop stains on the label of the black cough syrup brand.
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On the contrary, Glucagon looked neat and new on its packaging. Its small glass bottle did not even show any signs of yellowing.
These two items had contrasting characteristics. One appeared used, while the other looked brand new. If they were swapped, how could it be exchanged with a bottle that looked used? Wouldn't that be easily detected? Even the cap looked somewhat worn.
And then... I didn't know much about Glucagon, but I realized that its shape resembled something like the content of insulin.
Hemlock poison, in essence, had a bitter taste that I rarely encountered in a case. Unlike cyanide, strychnine, or arsenic, which were tasteless, odorless, and colorless and popular for their practicality, or Ethylene Glycol, which had a sweet taste and was famous for its flexibility, Hemlock was challenging to use in certain conditions. This was because anything entering the mouth passed through the tongue. If one tasted an unfamiliar bitterness, the stomach automatically received receptors and instructed to induce vomiting. This could even be more pronounced for those who disliked bitterness.
Then, how could the perpetrator use such a difficult poison, especially when we were in the gondola or waiting in line? Moreover, how could it be found in the body of Mlle. Howell, who supposedly disliked bitterness?
In a matter of seconds, we heard footsteps approaching before the door was promptly opened.
"Sir, I bring important news for this case!"
It was the constable who brought Mlle. Voyles five minutes ago. Now, Mlle. Voyles was returning to the interrogation room. However, I did not get the impression that it was a good thing. There was no way a suspect would be brought back without a reason. The reason was difficult to find if it was a good one.
"What's the matter, Constable Hodge?"
Constable Hodge explained that Mlle. Voyles admitted that she brought Fomepizole as a precaution in case Ethylene Glycol was ingested, as she had an antidote. Mlle. Voyles confessed with a bowed and resigned expression that she intended to swap the lemon soda, which had been filled with Ethylene Glycol. Of course, her effort required a scenario as if she were deceiving her victim, who almost lost her life, Mlle. Voyles herself. Because of that, Fomepizole was the trump card that extended her life. Since Mlle. Voyles knew about medical matters, it was difficult to deny that. This was Strikes Two. Only one more, and they would be out.
"What is your motive for doing this, Miss?" Inspector Sharp impatiently asked.
"Mr. Inspector! I've told you, it wasn't Eira who did it!" M. Marsh protested without clear reason.
Instead of explaining his reasons, Mlle. Voyles' closed and resigned eyes indicated that whatever motive and incriminating evidence existed, they were tried to be hidden. In short, there was no turning back.
"We have a team that will surely find it, sooner or later," Inspector Marsh sighed, nodding towards M. Marsh. "Now, since your colleague has already admitted it, there's no need to hold back, right?"
M. Marsh seemed unable to hold back his thoughts any longer. It looked like shaken soda waiting to be opened. When opened, its contents would burst out. Perhaps the thoughts in his mind forced him to express them through his lips.
M. Marsh took a breath, as if he wanted to start explaining. However, at the same time, Mlle. Voyles cut in.
"This was just a simple plan. It's not enough to call it a misunderstanding..."
Mlle. Voyles stated that at some point, their relationship turned serious. The peak was after the meeting at Happywood Hills Theme Park. During that time, there were no problems. Mlle. Voyles claimed that everything would go smoothly.
It was at a later time, after leaving Spectrum Park Hunstanton, that they stopped at a small cafe. Mlle. Voyles recounted that M. Marsh, in front of his three friends, proposed to Mlle. Howell. The ring was neither too expensive nor conspicuous. Nevertheless, its value mixed with M. Marsh's determination, according to Mlle. Voyles.
Certainly, the ring more than met the qualifications of a symbol for someone to bind their life to another. A simple beautiful gold ring with a small gem in the middle. Although not a diamond, at least a natural zircon stone was an affordable alternative.
"I... I hate..." Mlle. Voyles spoke softly, her hands now trembling as she held them. From her expression, I felt that she was truly cursing. "I hate Howell and everything about her... She smiles as if joking, even though none of us was joking at that time. She rejected my best friend, Billy, as if it were a joke..."
Mlle. Voyles added that, despite Howell's cheerful demeanor, she should have accepted the offer with her zero effort. Mlle. Voyles continued to praise M. Marsh while devaluing Mlle. Howell.
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Upon hearing this, including M. Marsh, we remained silent and stunned. More precisely, M. Marsh was more affected. M. Marsh, a neatly combed-back black-haired man, someone calming and composed. However, now, his forehead seemed wrinkled, and his lips formed an inverted U.
So, Mlle. Voyles said that after all that, she conducted a slow investigation. She sacrificed holidays or even took leave for it. The revelation was that the root of the problem was M. Gill. At that time, Mlle. Voyles and M. Gill happened to work near each other. Specifically, they were in Suffolk.
M. Gill, a freelance employee, got a job from Mlle. Voyles' acquaintance from her previous job as a Medical Representative, to be a repair mechanic for medical equipment. Sometimes, M. Gill also assisted in support for the calibration process of medical equipment or other chemical devices.
Coincidentally, Mlle. Voyles found out about it. Feeling jealousy within her, as she often found M. Gill accompanying Mlle. Howell to the hospital. It happened not once but several times.
"Actually, Nick always claimed to go to the hospital to accompany his brother, even though I had no time. But because I felt strange, trying to connect it to this case, I sought the truth. And it turned out to be true!"
Since then, Mlle. Voyles admitted that she sought M. Marsh's opinion and planned this.
How could they carry out this crime? It was through the next meeting, building a plan, letting them continue their relationship.
Now, the situation had changed, concluding Mlle. Voyles. The atmosphere fell silent. After that admission, I could understand Inspector Sharp's swift movements, a man had a buttin-chin, sharp and an intimidating gaze, wanting to give instructions to detain these two suspects.
I also wanted that, but because this was Strikes Three... This meant they were the perpetrators of this incident.
However, it didn't happen after M. Marsh denied it.
"I might as well admit that I did it. I was foolish to follow this selfish plan! But believe me! It wasn't supposed to be like this!"
M. Marsh's eyes, tilting downward, shifted repeatedly to the right and left. He uttered that sentence not hesitantly or to defend himself or Mlle. Voyles. But he truly wanted to provide the real explanation.
And for me, it was easy to tell whether he was being truthful.
"What do you mean, monsieur?"
"I didn't go through with the plan..."
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