Murder at the Olympics: a 1920s cozy historical mystery (A Ginger Gold Mystery Book 25) by Lee Strauss

Author:Lee Strauss
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: La Plume Press
Published: 2024-04-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Amessage arrived the next morning from Inspector Van der Meer. Ginger perked up as Basil opened the note. “What does it say?”

“The autopsy on Miss Graves is complete.”

“And?”

Basil sipped his tea. “Water was found in her lungs.”

“She drowned.”

“And she had a significant amount of succinylcholine in her system.”

“That’s a poison arrow derivative, isn’t it?”

Basil nodded.

Ginger slumped back in her chair. “It’s murder, then?”

“Yes, love.” Basil stared over the rim of his glass. “It’s murder.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“Have you got any ideas?”

“I’m assuming the poison was injected?”

Basil’s hazel eyes dropped back to the note. “The pinprick Dr. Jansen found confirms that.”

Ginger leaned forward. “You might recall that I met the veterinarian working at the Olympic stables, Mr. KIaassen, when I last called in to see Scout.”

“Yes, you mentioned that was where you first spoke to Miss Hughes.”

“Exactly. Scout was grooming Miss Hughes’ horse. Afterwards, when I was alone with Mr. KIaassen, he showed signs of confusion whilst going through his supplies. One of his syringes was missing. He said he keeps precise records of everything—medication, surgical supplies, etcetera—so that he’ll never be caught short.”

“I can see why,” Basil said. “When you’re in charge of keeping animals of great value healthy and alive. A disgruntled owner could sue him for everything he’s worth.”

“I didn’t make much of it at the time, but now . . . I don’t know.”

“Well, there is a connection between Mr. KIaassen and Miss Graves.”

“Ah, yes,” Ginger said. “Miss Hughes is boycotting the athletics but has a horse in the Games. And we mustn’t forget about her rider, Bernard Masters.”

“What about him?” Basil asked. “Did he know Miss Graves as well?”

“That I don’t know, but he behaves rather abrasively towards both Miss Hughes and Mr. KIaassen. I just find it peculiar.”

They called at the nurses’ station at the Olympic stadium before heading to the stables. The head nurse, dressed in the usual white frock with a white identifying cap pinned on the top of her head, stared back with tired eyes. In English, she responded to Basil’s introduction and his odd query.

“No, sir. We wouldn’t have a missing syringe as we’re not set up to give injections. We carry bandages, splints, headache pills—that kind of thing. Serious injuries are transported to the hospital by ambulance.”

“If one were to be in the market for a syringe,” Ginger started, “for whatever reason, where would one go for that?”

“One’s doctor, I suspect. The only reason I can think of that a patient would need a syringe without his doctor’s care would be if he was diabetic. Insulin is available in those circumstances.”

Ginger glanced at Basil. Insulin was indeed a miracle discovery for those afflicted by diabetes, but this malaise didn’t seem to be a concern in this particular case.

“Thank you for your time, nurse,” Basil said.

Their next stop was the stables. Just as their taxicab pulled up, another pulled away with Bernard Masters travelling alone in the back.

The stables were abuzz with those attending either the horses or the grounds.

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