Chapter 57

"And after Dr. Prism approached you with her concerns, you decided to be solely responsible for delivering the Alpha's food, is that correct?" Jack asks, his pen poised over his notebook as he waits for a response.

"That's correct," Jenson says. "And I have been diligent in my duties, I can tell you that, sir. I truly have no idea how anything could have slipped past me."

"Why don't you walk me through your protocols?" Jack suggests. Jenson bristles slightly, and Jack must notice it, too, because he adds: "I don't suspect you at all, Mr. Jenson. Nothing indicates to me that you were involved in this in any way.

"I just need to figure out how the culprit slipped by the protective measures that you, Dr. Prism, and Mrs. Potts set up. When we know the how, we can hopefully narrow down onto the who, if you see what I mean."

Jenson looks mollified, and his expression turns from defensive to thoughtful.

"Well, Mrs. Potts prepares the Alpha's food and drink separately," he says. "And she never indicates which tray is his until the very last minute, when she puts it directly into my hands. If anybody was watching, they wouldn't know which tray to poison until it was already in my possession."

"So, whoever is doing this would have to poison all the trays if he wanted a guarantee of success," Jack guesses, and Jenson nods.

"And considering half the mansion didn't drop dead after lunch, we can assume that wasn't how this went down?" I ask. Jack gives me a thumbs up.

"Then," Jenson continues, "I'd take the trays to the Alpha himself. I insisted on hand-delivering them to him, and he – knowing the danger – would not let the tray out of his sight. Unless someone did a sleight of hand, I suppose…"

"It's certainly possible," Jack says. "But risky. What else? What about big dinner parties?"

"I'd serve the Alpha all his courses personally," Jenson says promptly. "Same careful consideration on the kitchen's end, same caution on his end – nothing was out of his sight."

"What about his drinks?" Jack asks. "Any whisky decanters left unattended? Jugs of water?"

"No," Jenson says. "The Alpha drank nothing that wasn't delivered to him in a sealed bottle. Sealed water bottles, we even switched to single-serve bottles of his favorite whisky. His tea was prepared in its own separate pot under the supervision of Mrs. Potts or myself and taken directly to him on the tray."

"Wait," Jack says, pausing in his notetaking. "Always the same teapot?"

"Yes," Jenson says, hesitating, thinking it over. "Well, yes. He has an antique pot that belonged to his grandmother. He always uses that pot."

"Where is that pot stored?" Jack asks urgently.

"In the kitchens," Jenson says. "It's hand washed at the end of the day by myself and put into the locked cupboard that holds most of the Alpha family heirloom plate. There should be no way that someone could access it, unless…"

"Unless they were in a position to be able to get the key," Jack finishes, looking grim. "And if someone waited for a busy morning, one where Mrs. Potts might not notice that someone left some poison in the bottom of the teapot…"

"Because she would assume the locked cupboard meant the teapot was tamper-proof," I breathe, horrified.

"That must be it," Jack says. "Jenson, did the Alpha have tea the morning of his poisoning? And what else happened that day?"

Jenson looks tearful. "He did," he says. "I took it up to him about half an hour before he was found on his office floor. And we were preparing for a large business lunch that morning, down in the kitchens. Which Mr. Charles would have known."

"My god," Jack says, shaking his head. "It was his one chance, and he grabbed it."

Jenson sinks down into the nearest chair in my office, where we are conducting this interview, putting his head in his hands.

"This is all my fault," he says, his voice muffled.

"It absolutely is not," Jack says firmly, and I move to put a comforting hand on Jenson's shoulder. "You've done remarkably well, Jenson, and for such a long time. There was always going to be some opportunity at some point. We just got unlucky."

"That's why Charles needs to be stopped," I say softly. "There's no way for us to protect the Alpha forever, not when there are too many opportunities for a determined party to intervene. This isn't your fault, or Mrs. Potts's, or mine."

"That's right," Jack says. "Mr. Jenson, I assure you, there's nothing more you could have done."

Jenson sniffles loudly, and I pat his shoulder again.

"Now, we need your help more than ever," Jack says gently, reassuringly. "We need to figure out who had access to that cabinet, if we possibly can. Let's go talk to Mrs. Potts."

"Only one I figure could get hold of that key is Charles himself," Mrs. Potts says, pummeling a loaf of bread harder than seems necessary. "My kitchen staff is all above reproach, Mr. Darlington, I tell you that right now."

"We did discuss that last time I was investigating on my own," I supply. "The kitchen staff have been replaced on Emmett's orders; only the oldest and most trusted members of the household work here now."

"Even old and trusted servants can be bought," Jack objects. I know he's right, but something just doesn't feel accurate about it, and I say as much. I pull Jack aside for a private word.

"I know Charles," I whisper to him. "He wouldn't risk something like this on an uncertain bet, for one thing, and he also doesn't have the patience to get in someone else's good graces. He's too paranoid, too.

"He wouldn't waste time or effort turning a loyal servant, and he'd be too afraid they'd squeal," I continue. "He would choose one of his own people, someone he already hand-picked to do his dirty work. And there's only one person I can think of who would do that. Mickle."

"Who is Mickle?" Jack asks, scribbling furiously.

"Charles's main lackey," I say. "He's been with Charles for years as an administrative assistant, before I even went to prison. If I had to stake money on it, I'd bet it's Mickle who is the middleman here."

"I trust you," Jack says. "But the problem is, we can't prove it. Nobody saw anything, nobody knows anything. Except the culprits, of course, but they aren't going to talk."

"Charles is very, very good at keeping his hands technically clean," I agree. "And he never does anything in the plain light of day. He's impatient and reckless in his own way, yes, but he's also cautious."

"Damn it," Jack says. "We aren't going to be able to prove anything after the fact. We're going to have to wait."

"Wait for what?" I ask uneasily, afraid that I already know the answer.

"For them to strike again," Jack says. "We have to catch them red-handed. I'll go talk to Emmett. I know this is disappointing, Doc, but keep your chin up. We'll get them eventually, or I'm not worthy of this badge."