Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

have?”
    “I think he’s been through eight of them at least,” St. James told him. He said to his wife, “Perhaps fifteen.”
    “Me or the cat?”
    “The cat, my love.”
    “Then I proclaim his mousing days . . . still ongoing,” Lynley said. He made a hasty benediction over the animal, who was at that moment attacking a fallen leaf with an enthusiasm that suggested he thought it was dinner.
    “There you have it,” Deborah said to her husband. “Tommy knows best.”
    “Having vast experience with felines?” St. James asked.
    “Having vast experience of knowing with whom I ought to agree when paying a social call,” Lynley said. “I had a feeling that Deborah was on the side of mousing. She’s always been an advocate for your animals. Where’s the dog?”
    “Being punished, if one can actually punish a dachshund,” Deborah told him. “She was being far too insistent about having her share of lamb, and she’s been put back into the kitchen.”
    “Poor Peach.”
    “You only say that because you weren’t present to witness her machinations,” St. James told him.
    “We call it ‘love eyes,’” Deborah added. “She casts them upon one and it’s impossible to deny her.”
    Lynley chuckled. He leaned back in his chair and took a final moment to enjoy their company, the day, the simple pleasure of gathering in the garden for lunch. Then he said, “It’s business I’ve come on, actually,” and as Joseph Cotter then rose as if to make himself scarce, Lynley told him to stay if he wished as there was no secret involved in his mission in Chelsea.
    But Cotter said it was time for him to do the washing up. He took a tray from its resting place on the lawn and loaded it efficiently. Deborah helped him, and in a moment she and her father left the two men alone.
    “What sort of business?” St. James asked him.
    “Scientific, actually.” Lynley brought him into the picture regarding the death of Angelina Upman in Italy. He related the details from the phone call Salvatore Lo Bianco had made to him. St. James listened in his usual fashion, his angular face reflective.
    At Lynley’s conclusion, he was silent for a moment before he said, “Could there have been a laboratory error? Having an isolated case of so virulent a strain of bacteria . . . To me, it doesn’t suggest murder as much as it suggests human error in examining what came from the dead woman’s gut. The point at which bacterial involvement is suspected . . . ? That should have happened while she was alive. It’s going to be difficult for Lo Bianco to prove anything, isn’t it? For example, how the
E. coli
entered her system at all.”
    “I suppose that’s why he wants to begin with the lab. Will you do it for me?”
    “Pay a call at University College? Of course.”
    “Azhar claims his lab’s studying
Streptococcus
. Lo Bianco’s looking for anything else they might be studying. As for transport . . .” Lynley shifted in his chair. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Alaska had dived into the herbaceous border and a furious battle appeared to be going on among a patch of violas. He said, “
Could
he have transported a bacteria safely from London to Lucca, Simon?”
    St. James nodded. “It merely needs to be put on a medium that allows it to survive, a broth and a solidifier. Onto the solid, one would streak the bacteria. Placed onto a petri dish, it not only would survive but grow.”
    “How much would be needed to kill someone?”
    “That depends, doesn’t it?” St. James said. “Toxicity is the key.”
    “I have the impression from Salvatore that the
E. coli
we’re seeking is particularly toxic.”
    “I’ll have to be careful, then,” Simon said. He folded his linen table napkin and pushed himself to his feet. He was disabled, so rising was always a rather awkward business for St. James, but Lynley knew better than to offer his assistance.
    VICTORIA
    LONDON
    When Barbara saw who was ringing her mobile, she ducked into the stairwell to take the call. There were voices echoing up the stairs from somewhere far below, but they disappeared as whoever was climbing left the stairwell for one of the lower floors. She said to Azhar, “How are you? Where are you? What’s happening over there?” and although she tried to keep from her voice the desperate urgency that she was feeling, she could tell from his hesitation prior to responding that he heard it and wondered about it.
    “I have a