Case of the Poison Powder Chapter 10
Margaret Mitchell Mysteries - The cozy cousin of Carson Crime Files
The Case of the Poison Powder
(Miss Chapter 9? Find it Here) Or start with the first chapter!
Chapter 10
Margaret walked into the Baltimore Police Department with a lightness in her step she hadn’t felt in days. The construction worker’s statement sat in her briefcase alongside news about the warehouse raid. Sade Jalloh would be going home to her babies. Finally.
Detective Camilla Alvarez met her in the lobby, looking considerably more exhausted than Margaret felt energized. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her coffee cup had clearly been refilled multiple times.
“Ms. Mitchell.” She gestured toward an interview room. “Thanks for coming in.”
They settled into chairs across a scarred metal table. Alvarez opened a folder thick with reports and photographs—the warehouse, stacked boxes, and there in one photo, the distinctive blue plastic bucket.
“The chlorpyrifos from AgroSynthetics,” Alvarez confirmed. “Twenty-five kilograms, exactly what was reported stolen. We’ve got four suspects in custody. The ringleader is Marcus Warren, history of environmental activism, some protest arrests, but nothing violent until now. The others are college-age kids, true believers.”
“Environmental activism,” Margaret repeated. “So this was ideologically motivated.”
“Looks that way. They had maps of Baltimore, D.C., Annapolis. Equipment consistent with planning a mass poisoning event.” Alvarez’s expression was grim. “If we hadn’t stumbled onto them, this could have been catastrophic.”
“But they’re in custody now. And my client had nothing to do with this.”
“That’s where things get complicated.” Alvarez pulled out another file. “We’ve been looking into how these terrorists acquired the pesticide. They had to have inside help, someone who could bypass security.”
“Yes, exactly!” Margaret leaned forward. “Someone framed Sade.”
“It’s possible. We’ve identified a person of interest.” Alvarez opened the new file. “Nick Liu, the R&D director at AgroSynthetics.”
Margaret’s breath caught. “What did you find?”
“Liu designed their security system. He has access to the restricted storage area. And he has a history of environmental activism—arrested twice in his twenties for protest-related incidents. Both about ten years ago. Misdemeanors, no jail time.”
Margaret’s mind raced. “So he has the means, the access, and the ideological motivation.”
“Had the motivation,” Alvarez corrected carefully. “Those arrests were over a decade ago. He’s been a model employee since.”
“People don’t just stop believing in causes, Detective. They just get smarter about pursuing them.” Margaret made rapid notes. “Have you questioned him?”
“Not yet. We only made the connection this morning.” Alvarez closed the file. “But in anycase, this is good news for your client.”
Margaret walked out into the cold January afternoon, excited to update Katherine and her team about this as soon as she could get to their office. With luck, she’d be just in time to get a cup of Jake’s famous coffee.
Margaret’s car made a sound like a dying animal when she turned the key. A grinding whir, a click, then nothing.
“No. No, no, no.” She tried again. The same pathetic whir-click-nothing.
Spotty, who’d been dozing in the passenger seat, opened one eye with the expression of someone deeply inconvenienced by mechanical failure.
“Don’t look at me like that. I had it serviced three months ago.” Margaret tried the key again. Nothing. Not even the clicking now. Just dead silence.
She popped the hood and climbed out, staring at the engine with the confidence of someone who knew exactly three things about cars: where to put gas, where to add windshield wiper fluid, and that engines should not smoke. This one wasn’t smoking, which seemed positive. Beyond that, she was lost.
Spotty had somehow escaped the car and was now investigating an interesting smell near the rear tire.
“Spotty, get back here.”
He ignored her, as was his custom when something smelled more interesting than obedience.
“Well, well, well. Car trouble, Ms. Mitchell?”
Margaret’s soul left her body. That voice. That greasy, self-satisfied voice that made her want to shower.
She turned slowly. Marty Slye stood three parking spaces away, leaning against his own car with his arms crossed and that insufferable smirk.
“Just a dead battery,” Margaret said with more confidence than she felt. “Nothing serious.”
“Shame. And here I thought you’d be celebrating.” He pushed off from his car and waddled closer. “Big break in the Jalloh case, from what I hear. Eco-terrorists, warehouse raids, bioweapon charges.” He whistled. “This case just keeps getting bigger. Better. More newsworthy.”
Margaret felt her jaw tighten. “I can’t discuss an ongoing case with you, Marty.”
“Oh, I’m not asking for discussion. I’m just appreciating the publicity. Already got three interview requests today. They want ‘the PI who helped crack the case.’” He said it with such pride Margaret wanted to gag.
“You provided evidence of an affair. That’s hardly cracking anything.”
“But it established motive! The foundation of the prosecution’s case!” He was grinning now, that wide, self-serving grin. “And now with the terrorism angle, this is going national. National, Ms. Mitchell. My face could be on CNN.”
“God help CNN,” Margaret muttered.
Spotty had finished his investigation and was now sniffing Marty’s shoes with the intensity of a bomb detection dog. His little nose wrinkled.
“Want me to give you a jump?”
Margaret would rather walk to Katherine’s office. In heels. Through snow. “I’ll call AAA, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
Spotty chose that moment to lift his leg on Marty’s front tire.
Margaret didn’t stop him.
“Hey!” Marty jumped back. “Your dog just—”
“I didn’t see anything,” Margaret said, scooping up Spotty. “Must be a service issue with your eyes. Maybe get that checked.”
She pulled out her phone and called AAA, turning her back on Marty. Behind her, she heard him muttering about “uncontrolled animals” and “unprofessional conduct,” but eventually his car door slammed and he pulled away.
“Good boy,” Margaret whispered to Spotty. “That tire had it coming.”
Twenty minutes later, a AAA technician confirmed her battery was dead and gave her a jump. Margaret thanked him, tipped him, and finally pulled out of the police station parking lot.
Her victorious mood had been thoroughly punctured by Marty Slye’s existence, but Spotty’s small act of vengeance had restored some balance to the universe.
She’d take it.
Stay tuned for Chapter 11, next week!
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Margaret Mitchell, her white terrier Spotty, and her gang at the local nursing home tackle Baltimore mysteries with pluck, perception, and palaver.
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