Run Afoul (14 page)

When Wiki admitted he was New Zealand Maori, he adjusted his pince-nez, studied him intently for a long moment, and declared himself overwhelmed with amazement that a man who had been raised as a savage could take on the trappings of civilization so completely. A few similarly grand compliments followed, and then this leisurely conversation came to an end. Senhor Coffin's services were unnecessary, he announced, as he, Dr. Vieira de Castro, would conduct the hearing in English.

This led to a lot of whispering in the crowd, some restlessness, and a few loud complaints. With a sniff and long, cold stare, Dr. Vieira de Castro informed the troublemakers that it was in the interest of saving time, as the members of the exploring expedition had many pressing matters for their attention. With that, he shifted to excellent English, which he spoke with an educated Boston accent. Wiki sat down, and Dr. Gilchrist was called.

A chair had been placed on a bare patch of floor in front of the coroner's bench. The surgeon's footsteps set up echoes as he approached. Then he sat down, arranged the tails of his coat to either side of his chair, and proceeded to describe Grimes's last moments, while the clerk industriously wrote down every word he said. Dr. Vieira de Castro listened very attentively, asking many questions and taking copious notes of his own.

When Dr. Gilchrist had finished the scratching of pens went on for quite a while. Then Dr. Vieira de Castro looked up and said, “So what, in your opinion, was the cause of death?”

“Strychnine,” said Dr. Gilchrist.

“You sound very sure of that.”

“I am. His jaw was stiff, his tongue was fixed, there were distinct convulsive movements of the body, his limbs were quivering violently, and there was great arching of the spine.”

“Those are also the symptoms of tetanic convulsion.”

“That's true. However…”

“And did you not also say that he was drowsy?”

“I agree that drowsiness could indicate a tetanic condition.”

“But you still believe that the cause of death was poisoning with strychnine?”

“I am quite convinced of that, Dr. Vieira de Castro.”

More scratching. “Dr. Gilchrist, how was the poison administered?”

“I have no idea. When I was called by Dr. Olliver, the day Mr. Grimes was reported sick, there were no symptoms of strychnine poisoning, so it must have been subsequent to that.”

“Dr. Olliver called you?” Dr. Vieira de Castro looked surprised.

Dr. Gilchrist puffed out his chest a little, and said, “I am the official surgeon attached to the flagship of the expedition. Dr. Olliver was summoned when the deceased fell ill, and naturally consulted with me. After that, he remained the attending physician until called away by scientific duties.”

“And you were happy about this?”

“Of course. I gave my permission quite freely. While Dr. Olliver is officially a naturalist with the expedition, he is also a practicing physician.”

“I see,” said Dr. Vieira de Castro, and with no further ado dismissed Dr. Gilchrist, and called for Dr. Olliver.

Dr. Olliver crossed the planks in almost total silence, his gait as neat and light as always, and sat down with ponderous dignity. He and Dr. Vieira de Castro conferred a few moments, exchanging qualifications and pleasantries, and then settled down to business.

“When did you first attend the deceased, Dr. Olliver?”

“At just after four in the morning on the seventeenth of this current month,” Dr. Olliver replied instantly, without having to refer to notes.

“And the reason you were summoned?”

“Wiki Coffin called me, being alarmed about the state of the subject.”

Again, the pince-nez were adjusted. The coroner looked at Wiki and said, “Senhor Coffin?”

Wiki stood up. “Sir?”

“What was the cause of your alarm?”

“Mr. Grimes had a nasty stomach upset.”

“Do you have any idea what caused it?”

“He blamed the previous night's supper.”

“What had he eaten?

“Fried fish and bread, and then a sweet potato pudding.”

“And the same was eaten by all?”

“We all ate the fish.” Wiki paused, and then added, “The pudding was an individual one that had been cooked for Mr. Grimes as a treat.”

“And was anyone else ill?”

“No, sir.”

“Ah. If the deceased was indeed poisoned by Senhor Festin's cooking, the individual pudding must be the culprit, is that not so?”

“Logically, yes,” said Wiki. He, like Dr. Vieira de Castro and everyone else in the courtroom, looked at Robert Festin, who smiled uncertainly. The replaced tooth had turned black, and the effect was dismayingly villainous.

Wiki looked back at the coroner, waiting tensely for the next question, but instead he was told to sit down.

“Dr. Olliver? Did you suspect any kind of poisoning?”

“I gave the cause of the diarrhea very little thought,” the naturalist admitted. “I was more worried about the subject's obvious state of bad health, which I had particularly noted the evening before. When I questioned the subject, he complained loudly of neuralgic pains in his head, and also of pains in his chest, yet it was still difficult to persuade him to let me examine him. When I did, it was to find that his temperature was high, and his pulse was rapid. Of greatest concern, however, was a severe congestion of the left lung, and a threatened pneumonia, the first symptoms of which had been brought on by the chills accompanying the intestinal cramps.”

“And your prescription?”

“Carbonate of ammonia, and a pill which I made up from a compound of Peruvian bark, piperine,
ferri pulvis,
and gentian root, all of which I carried in my medical chest. These were administered four times a day. This regime worked reasonably well until the supply of bark ran out, when his condition deteriorated rapidly. There was none in the ship stores, and the ship had become becalmed off Cape Frio. Captain Wilkes was kind enough to send a cutter into port so that I could visit an apothecary.”

“And this apothecary?”

“Dr. Elisha Tweedie.”

“You knew Dr. Tweedie already?”

“No. The lieutenant who commanded the cutter recommended him, and escorted me to his place.”

“Is he present in this court?”

There was movement on one of the benches near the back, and Wiki turned around, along with everyone else. Lieutenant Forsythe, wearing dress uniform and an extremely forbidding expression, stood up.

“You know Mr. Tweedie?”

“I've consulted with him in the past,” Forsythe admitted, and sat down quickly, forestalling any questions about the nature of the illness.

Dr. Vieira de Castro looked at Dr. Olliver again, and said, “And Dr. Tweedie sold you the bark you needed?”

“And opium, too,” Dr. Olliver said. “The patient was very irritable, and I attributed his slow recovery to his choleric temper. I also asked Dr. Tweedie to make up a bottle of a bismuth preparation—
mistura bismuthi cum soda et tragacanth,
to be exact—as his indigestion had persisted.”

“And after you returned to your patient?”

“He improved so well that when Captain Wilkes issued instructions for a survey of the marine life in the harbor, I decided that it was safe to leave him.” Dr. Olliver sighed deeply, and said, “I greatly regret that I was proved so wrong.” He paused, and then added, “The subject had made some wild accusations, but I'd paid little attention. As I said before, he was a man of irritable temper.”

“Accusations? What kind of accusations?”

“He raved about a conspiracy to kill him.”

There was an instant hubbub, while those who could not understand English asked for translations from their more knowledgeable neighbors, and other men called out for an explanation. The clerk hammered on the desk, and slowly silence returned.

“And did the deceased name the members of this conspiracy?”

Dr. Olliver looked at Wiki, and said, “While he mostly pointed the finger at the cook, Robert Festin, he named Wiki Coffin, too.”

Another commotion, silenced with more hammering. Wiki stood up again, and waited. The coroner surveyed him curiously, and then queried, “Why did the deceased think
you
wanted to kill him?”

Wiki shrugged. “He accused me of wanting to get rid of him so I could have our cabin all to myself—though, as it happened,
he
was the one who was unhappy that we were sharing a stateroom.”

“But why should he feel that way?”

“He was frightened of New Zealand Maori.”

“Meu Deus, a sério?”
Dr. Vieira de Castro was quite astounded. Then he looked thoughtful, and remarked, “Well, your people do have an ominous reputation for cannibalism, I suppose.” Wiki kept an impassive silence, and when Dr. Castro inclined his head, he sat down.

Dr. Vieira de Castro looked at Dr. Olliver again, and the surgeon said, “Mr. Grimes also accused the steward, Jack Winter.”

“Why, is he a New Zealand Maori, too?”

“No, but he
was
the man who carried the fish into the cabin.”

“So you think the fish was poisoned, Dr. Olliver?”

“As Wiki Coffin said, the rest of us ate it with no ill effects—though there is the slight chance that the top two fish, which were the ones the deceased ate, might have been polluted with something. Personally, I had perfect trust in the steward—so much so that the subject, most unfortunately, was in his entire care at the time that he died.”

Silence fell as everyone took in the implications of what the surgeon had said, so complete that Jack Winter's sharp intake of breath could be heard. When he was summoned, he moved with uncharacteristic awkwardness, dropping into the witness chair with a thud after being given permission to sit.

Dr. Vieira de Castro said, “Were you aware that the deceased considered you to be part of a murderous conspiracy?”

Jack said defensively, “No one paid no attention to his ravings. As you said yourself, sir, if anything poisoned Mr. Grimes, then it must've been the pudding what Robert Festin made specially for him.”

“But you were the one in charge of his nursing?”

“If by
nursing
you mean getting medicine into him despite his wild complaints, then that's right, sir.”

“Dr. Olliver gave you clear instructions?”

“There was two big bottles of medicine, and a vial of enough pills to last the time while he was away. One of the bottles held bismuth, and Dr. Olliver told me to give him a tablespoonful of that after food. The other ones he got four times a day. It worried me something horrible,” the steward said plaintively. “He was asleep mostly, but his arm twitched all the time, and he complained of pins and needles and how the medicine tasted bitter—he complained a-constant, sir, but what was I to do?”

“Pins and needles?” Dr. Vieira de Castro looked at Wiki, and said, “What does he mean?”

Wiki did his best to explain the term in Portuguese, and after a while the coroner understood. Then he frowned at Dr. Olliver and said, “But is that not a symptom of strychnine poisoning?”

Dr. Olliver heaved himself to his feet and said angrily, “I assure you, sir, that the deceased never complained of anything like that to me!”

“But it certainly indicates that strychnine was administered while you were away—that he was, in fact, being poisoned.” Dr. Vieira de Castro looked sternly at Jack Winter, and said, “What did you give the deceased to eat?”

“I didn't give him nothing but medicine, sir,” the steward exclaimed. “Robert Festin was the one who cooked and fed him his invalid food!” His face had gone pasty, and he was beginning to sweat.

“Aha,” said the coroner, and consulted his notes for what seemed a very long time, while everyone waited for the accused to be called. When Dr. Vieira de Castro finally looked up, however, he merely remarked, “I think it is time that we heard from the Colonial Analyst,” and nodded to Jack Winter to stand down.

The steward, looking shaken and somewhat baffled, returned to his seat next to Wiki, and a blond, sturdily built man took his place. In a strong accent, he attested that his name was Johan Ohlsson, and then went on to state in matter-of-fact tones that he had received a jar of human organs from the postmortem.

Then, without needing any prompting from Dr. Vieira de Castro, he reported that he had also received the postmortem report, which had made particular remark of the congested and extremely inflamed left lung. Apart from the lung, the organs were anatomically normal, though the stomach was blackened in places by bismuth, and the liver contained a bitter substance that was probably strychnine, though the tests were inconclusive.

“And did you test the medicines?” Dr. Vieira de Castro asked.

“Of course,” the Colonial Analyst replied. “First, I ground up the pills, of which there were fourteen in the bottle, and which had been competently made, in my professional opinion, and finished with powdered licorice root. The resultant powder proved to contain approximately fifteen grains of chinoidine, which is a common form of Peruvian bark, one grain of piperine, two and one half grains of
ferri pulvis,
one grain of gentian root, and four grains of opium.”

Delivered in a thick accent, this was quite incomprehensible to most of the audience. Dr. Vieira de Castro, however, looked very thoughtful, indeed. He tapped the end of his pen against his lips, and then said, “Were any toxins present?”

“None that I could ascertain.”

“So what about the bottles of medicine?”

There was a hushed pause as Dr. Ohlsson took out a notebook and waved away the flies that circled about his head. Then he said, “The first bottle contained carbonate of ammonia, and the second, a bismuth carbonate compound.”

“And?”

“I found the first free of poison.”