On Wednesday morning, Jean Innocent is at the hospital to pick up Lewis when he is discharged. Lewis has not expected this.

"I thought James would come for me."

"I wanted a word with you first."

"Ah." He waits with uneasy patience for her to continue.

But she is silent until they are seated in her car and she starts the engine. She does not, however, put it in gear.

"IT reported to me that you have been accessing pornography on your office computer, Lewis. I'd like to hear your explanation."

He blushes a little. "It's related to our inquiry, Ma'am. One of the victims used the website to contact a woman. We're trying to find her."

She nods. "That much, at least, is consistent with what Hathaway said." Then her eyes narrow. "Monday night you bookmarked the profiles of three individuals, according to IT. Why those three?"

His face goes blank. "I have no idea, Ma'am. I don't recall doing that."

"I see." She scrutinizes him, assessing his credibility. Then her voice takes on a more gentle tone. "Robbie, I hope you don't take this the wrong way. I only ask this as a friend. Are you . . . lonely? For a woman, I mean. Is that why?"

His jaw drops in shock. "Ma'am!" He's furiously embarrassed. "That's not something my friends would ask me." He struggles to contain his temper. "I would never go to a website like that for my own personal use. I can't believe you thought that." He glares out the window, refusing to look in her direction, and huffs.

She sets the car in motion, heading toward the station. After several minutes of silence, she speaks again. This time her tone is brighter. "About Monday afternoon, Lewis. I should have checked with you before assuming you had spoken to the press. You're one of the few officers I have who rarely causes me any problems that way."

He swallows his anger at this pleasant surprise. "Apology accepted, Ma'am."

She frowns deeply. "That was simply a statement, Lewis, not an apology. There is no reason for me to apologize for anything I have said to you."

"No, Ma'am." And he smiles wryly at the window, shaking his head slightly. "No reason at all."

Hathaway seems relieved when Lewis at last returns to their office. "I thought it would be a little earlier, Sir. Why did they wait until half eleven?"

Lewis grimaces. "They wouldn't let me go until they were certain I could pee, alright? Apparently, that's one of the effects of the poison. And it doesn't make it any easier when I know everyone's waiting for me to do it." He studies his partner, puzzled. "Where did I get that stuff, Hathaway? I don't go around eating berries off of strange plants. And the doc said it was more than the berries. Somehow I had eaten some ground-up seeds as well." He shakes his head, bewildered. "I still feel as though I can't remember a lot. Or can't put two thoughts together, more like."

"Well, Sir, you should probably rest some more." He ignores Lewis's snort of derision. "I won't be in the office, anyway. In half an hour, I will be meeting with HotNWilling for a little 'afternoon delight.' Doesn't that sound inviting?"

"Oh, aye? How far are you going to let that go?" He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

James rolls his eyes. "My afternoons with you are all the delight I need. I plan to identify myself more or less immediately and see how much information I can get out of her voluntarily. If she doesn't cooperate, I may decide she tried to interfere with our inquiry by not stepping forward after the appeal went out."

Lewis is satisfied with this answer. "Maybe now we can find out what Garrick was involved in and how that connects with Sawyer." He furrows his brow. "Aren't you concerned at all that the person you meet will turn out to be a seven-foot-tall, male wrestler with a chip on his shoulder?"

Hathaway considers this. "I suppose that's possible. But who would bother? And we're meeting in a public enough place, the Six Bells over on the Eastern Bypass. So if she turns out to be a he, I can simply excuse myself when the questioning is over and be on my way."

"Stay in sight of people, alright? Don't go anywhere with her, even if she is a she." He checks to ensure Hathaway is taking him seriously. "Yeah? James?"

"Yes, Sir." Said with an attitiude.

Lewis shakes his head at Hathaway's cheekiness. "Alright, hand me those old case files. I may as well get working on that."

After Hathaway leaves, Lewis plows through the files for over an hour, but he soon realizes he doesn't know enough about poisons to see any patterns in the cases. He scowls tightly, then picks up the phone.

"Hi, it's me. D'y'have a minute, Doctor? I was wondering if you could give me a hand with some old cases."

"Of course, Inspector. Whenever is convenient."

"Well, now, if that's alright."

She pauses a beat. "I'm always happy to see you, Robbie."

He's not sure why that pleases him so much, but it does.

Hathaway steps into the pub, stopping immediately inside the door to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. A moment later, he scans the tables, looking for a floppy, purple sunhat.

There.

The small woman underneath the hat lights up when she sees Hathaway's recognition of the talisman. She waves him over, smiling broadly.

"Hi, you must be Lookin4Luv, is that right?"

James smiles openly in response. "And I hope I've found it. Are you HotNWilling?"

"Ooh, am I ever!" She winks naughtily and holds out her right hand. "It's Celeste. Sit down, I got you a beer. I hope that's alright."

Hathaway takes her hand in greeting. "James. Beer is always alright." He sits next to her and takes a long sip from his glass. He's working, yes, but he's loath to turn down a free beer. And he's not yet ready to blow his cover.

"So, what led you to my profile, Celeste?"

She grins wickedly. "I like my men long, tall, and married. And if your answers were honest, you're all three. It appears you were telling the truth about at least two of those." Her eyes flick first to his left hand, where James wears a borrowed ring, then to the top of his head, then down to his lap. Keeping her eyes there, she licks her lips with the tip of her tongue and moves closer until her thigh is in contact with his.

He quickly takes another swallow of beer. Relax, man.

He stretches out his arm and puts it around her shoulder. "So tell me. What is so attractive about married men?"

"No worries about long-term commitment. I prefer one-night stands. Or, one-afternoon stands."

James looks disappointed. "You mean, today is it? My one chance for true bliss?"

Her laugh sounds genuine. "You didn't say you had a sense of humor. If I really like you, maybe we can do this again."

He lays his free hand on her thigh and moves it slowly upward. "What do I need to do to get you to like me?"

She responds in kind, and her hand is warm on his leg. "That's a good start, James. Tell me why you like me better than your wife."

"What wife?" He leans down and his lips claim hers, his tongue pushing against her teeth.

She pulls back. "Not here, James, they'll kick us out before we've finished our beers."

He sits back, retracting his arm from her shoulders, and looks around a bit guiltily. "Sorry. We'll take care of thirst first, then the hunger." He takes a long gulp of beer. "Let's finish up, then."

"No rush. We can do things the bartender won't notice." She shifts so that he can see directly down the front of her blouse. He nearly averts his gaze before he remembers to stay in character. He stares intently at her breasts.

"Now I am getting hungry."

"And what does this do for your appetite?" She begins to rub him through his trousers. "Ooh, you were telling the truth on your profile, weren't you? Long, indeed."

At her touch, his mind seems to go a bit fuzzy. Time to get down to business. Before it's too late.

"I'll have to thank Paul the next time I see him."

Her hand stops moving. "Paul?"

"Yeah, Paul Garrick. He told me about you. Said he was going to have an evening with you. But I haven't seen him since last week. Was he any good? He thinks he's God's gift the way he talks."

She studies a spot on the table. "He didn't show."

"Paul missed a hot date? Did you tell the police that? They said on TV that they need any information about him."

"I don't like the police."

Hathaway has trouble reading what goes unspoken in her response. And he's having trouble focusing on what he should ask next. Where did I mean these questions to lead? At last, he pulls another strand of thought from his mind.

"Did you do Henry Sawyer, too?"

Her eyes betray surprise at this question. Surprise, and something else. Fear? Hatred? Hathaway's brain encounters too much fog to be certain.

He pulls out his warrant card, fumbling a little, then flipping it open for a second. "DS Hathaway, Oxfordshire Police. I'd like to ask you . . . ask you a few questions about, erm . . . last Friday night. D'you mind?" The room is sliding out of focus.

She removes her hand and pouts a little. "Does this mean we can't at least finish our beers?"

"No, go ahead, I just want to ask . . . a couple questions . . . Routine questions." Though he can't think of any. He drains his glass.

She watches him finish his beer, and smiles slowly. "I'm happy to help, James. What do you want to know?"

Lewis watches as Laura sorts the files into several piles. Then she turns to him, her natural tendency to teach taking over, and she waits until she is certain she has his full attention.

"Okay, each of these cases represents a male victim whose genitals were amputated after death. Each case is unsolved. Nearly all the victims were married. And in each, the cause of death was either stated vaguely or was something like cardiac arrest that could be mimicked by poisons. James did a nice job pulling these."

"He does good work."

"Mmm. The cases in this first pile include identified, plant-based poisons. This second pile: identified, non-plant-based poisons. Third pile: foreign substances were found, but not identified as poisons. And this last pile: no foreign substances were found. Garrick and Sawyer would fit in this category at this point."

"Plant-based poisons, that would include nightshade, like I had, right?"

"Absolutely. Nightshade, foxglove, apple seeds, delphinium, yew, hemlock . . ." She thinks a moment, then gets up and goes to sit at her computer. "Here, look at this."

Lewis leans in close, peering over her shoulder. Their cheeks are nearly touching. For a second, he is distracted: Her hair smells so nice. Then his attention returns to the computer. In a few clicks, they are looking at an online reference to poisonous plants, complete with photographs of the roots, leaves, flowers, and seeds of each. She stops on an image showing a stalk covered in beautiful, bell-like, purple flowers.

"This is foxglove. It contains digoxin and digitoxin, we test for those regularly. They both were present in these two deaths." She pulls out a couple of the files. "The poisoning looks like death by heart attack. Well, it's used to make heart medicine."

"Foxglove, I've seen that, haven't I?"

"Yes, it's quite common in gardens."

She clicks through several more plants.

Lewis grabs her arm suddenly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Go back. Not that one, one more. That one."

The plant has beautiful white flowers. "Sea mango," she reads. "'Also known as "Suicide Tree." Contains cerberin, related to digoxin.' Not something we test for."

Lewis shakes his head as if to loosen up the thickness he feels there. "I've seen that somewhere, I'm almost sure of it." But it doesn't come, and he blows out his cheeks in frustration.

She turns to him directly. At this close range, she can see his pupils are still a bit larger than normal. It makes him look aroused. She shakes that thought away. "It's not found around here, Lewis. It's tropical. Are you certain this was it?"

He stares at her sadly. "Laura, I'm not certain of anything. That nightshade has me head all muddled. Are there any cases of that in here?" He waves at the files.

"In fact, there are two cases of nightshade poisoning. Neither victim was as lucky as you in getting immediate medical attention." She pulls them out. Lewis scans through the files. There is a photograph of the guilty plant, complete with shiny, purple berries. He gestures at them. "These look like gooseberries or something."

"Yes, children sometimes eat them by mistake. Did you eat any berries like that?"

"Naw, I never."

"Well what did you eat Monday night?"

"Nothin' really. I had a bit of a bun, finished it up for breakfast Tuesday."

"A bun? Where did you get it?"

He narrows his eyes, thinking hard, trying to draw the memory out of his reluctant brain. "It was a current bun. Let's see, I got that bun—" He stops, mid sentence, as everything clicks into focus. "Oh, God. I picked it up at Sylvia Dawson's house. That's where I saw that suicide tree, she had one in her conservatory. Foxglove, too."

Laura's eyes are wide. "Not a current bun, Robbie. That was nightshade. The bun was poison."

"Maybe she used the wrong berries by accident."

"From what you just told me, she has a whole room full of toxic plants. I expect she knows her nightshade from her gooseberries, Inspector."

She studies the sea mango screen again. "Foxglove we'd have caught, but this cerberin we'd never notice unless we were specifically looking for some reason. Let me order that up on those two right now." She makes a quick telephone call and adds entries to the records for the two cases.

"How long, Laura?"

"Not sure, at least an hour."

"I hate to lose that much time, but I want to be certain about this before paying another visit to Sylvia Dawson."

"I'll put a rush on it."

"I'd better call Hathaway." He clicks the call through but it gets put over to voice mail. "Sergeant! Call me as soon as you can." As an afterthought, he calls for uniform to go to the Six Bells and see if Hathaway is still there.

He rolls his eyes in Hobson's direction. "James is supposed to be faking a date with a woman who may have been with Garrick Friday night. He's probably getting into some intense questioning right about now."

Then he falls silent for a long time. Without a word, Laura watches him think. At last he turns to her. "Could Sylvia Dawson be poisoning men? And if so, why?"

Laura also thinks a long time. "This kind of work is really beneath my pay grade, you know. But, was there anyone else who had access to the conservatory?"

"Aye, her brother. But he's a lamb, he wouldn't . . ." Yet Lewis knows he has seen more surprising things in his experience.

"Maybe she has dates and he doesn't like them. Or she has him 'take care of' men she doesn't like."

"Well, he'd be big enough to carry Sawyer up all those stairs." He contemplates some more.

"She really seemed to detest men who can't keep it in their trousers." An idea occurs to him. "Maybe Garrick and Sawyer were named as abusers at the Rape Crisis Center. She volunteers there." He checks his watch. "How much longer on those tests?"

"At least forty minutes, guv."

He's on his way out. "You'll call me either way, as soon as you know, right, love?" He hurries from the room.

Laura stares after him. "Love"?

As he is parking his car outside the Rape Crisis Centre, Lewis's phone buzzes. Uniform report Hathaway's car was found in the car park of the Six Bells but the Sergeant is not there. The barman reported a man fitting Hathaway's description leaving the place with a small woman and a large man. It appeared he had been drinking overmuch; the large man had to nearly carry him out. What the hell was Hathaway doing getting drunk?

Lewis has little success in getting answers to his questions from the director of the Centre. "I can't tell you who has been named as a perpetrator, of course. Nearly all the information we deal with is confidential, Inspector, I'm sorry. It is of greatest importance that we protect the privacy of both our clients and our volunteers. There are some very dangerous men in this City, as I'm sure you well know."

Frustrated to the point of nearly exploding, Lewis says nothing, turns on his heel, and strides back to his car. He clicks the locks open and is getting in when he hears a woman shouting behind him.

"Inspector? Inspector Lewis?"

The woman running toward him had been hovering in the background when he was talking to the Centre director. He raises his eyebrows inquisitively.

"I overheard you asking about Sylvia. Now, I understand that our records are confidential and I can't tell you anything about that. But I'm Sylvia's personal friend and I don't think it would breach any confidentiality if I tell you what I know about her personally, would it?"

He relaxes a little bit. "No, I'm sure it wouldn't, Miss . . ."

"Alice Wardell."

"What can you tell me about Sylvia, Miss Wardell?"

"Alice, please."

Lewis smiles at her encouragingly. "So. Alice. What should I know?"

"Sylvia is very good with the clients here, you know. She understands what they go through because she went through it herself. She was raped as a child."

Lewis frowns in concern. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Alice continues. "You may have met a young man, Warren . . .?"

"Ah, yes. Her brother."

"Not only her brother, Inspector. Her son, as well."

It takes him a few moments to sort this out. "Ah. Her father . . . ?"

"Yes." Alice inhales deeply. "He was put in prison for it, and Sylvia ran away and changed her name. She wanted to erase any association with him."

Alice purses her lips and continues. "Sylvia has always been very angry at men. She has made it her personal mission to seek out men who cheat on their wives. I'm not sure what exactly she does when she finds them. All she has told me is that she 'punishes' them. I've never pressed her for details and she has never volunteered any."

"How does she meet these men?"

"She lures them through the Internet. She made up a profile for herself—she showed me it, rather proudly. I was quite shocked, though I tried not to let on."

The low whine of concern that had started in Lewis's head turns into alarm bells, pounding loudly. "Oh, dear God. She's HotNWilling, isn't she?"

He calls for uniform backup, ordering them to use no siren or lights. As Lewis speeds to the Dawson house, his phone buzzes. Although it's not his usual habit, he flips it open as he drives: Hobson calling.

"Yeah, Laura?"

"It's positive. Both men were killed by cerberin."

"Laura, find out what the antidote is, and in five minutes if I haven't called you back, send an ambulance equipped with it to this address." He gives her the location of the Dawson house. Shortly after, he arrives there himself.

He pounds on the door and calls their names but there is no response. However, the door is not locked, and he bursts in, dashing through the house, coming at last to the kitchen. Sylvia flashes an angry and hate-filled glare when he flies into the room and skids to a halt.

Hathaway is sitting on the floor, leaning against the cabinets. His eyes flutter once, but after that he is still.

"Warren, cut the man's throat." Sylvia barks out the command. Warren lumbers over to Hathaway, pulling a trimming knife out of his pocket. He grabs Hathaway by the hair and pulls his head back, exposing his neck. Then he brings the blade up, moving to cut James across the windpipe.

"No!" Lewis gives a strangled cry and leaps toward the two men. Sylvia flies at him, throwing herself on his back and slamming something sharp between his ribs. Yelping in pain, Lewis reels and nearly collapses. Then he backs up fast, hurling them both into the wall. She hits it with a loud thump and loses her grip.

Panting at the effort, Lewis focuses on Warren, whose knife is pressed against Hathaway's throat.

"Warren, please don't do that. James is my friend. He hasn't hurt anyone."

Warren frowns in concentration. He remembers this man, remembers how kind he was.

Lewis steps slowly toward the bigger man. "It's alright Warren. You don't have to do that. Just put the knife down, please?" Lewis makes his voice as steady and soothing as he can. He's not even certain James is still alive.

"Warren! You do as you are told! He knows too much. Like that nosy bastard, Sawyer."

Warren's hand moves away no more than an inch. Lewis can see his mind struggling with the conflicting demands.

"Cut him, NOW!" The shriek comes from right behind Lewis, and the sudden sound makes him jump. Warren flinches at the order, but does not move.

Lewis keeps speaking quietly. "Come on, Warren. You'd like James, he's a really funny guy. He's my best friend. I'll be very sad if anything happens to hurt him." Lewis creeps closer. He is within arm's reach of the knife, but he does not look at it. He keeps his eyes on the big man.

Warren gives Lewis a tiny smile. But then a stony hardness crosses his face, and Lewis hears a whisper behind him.

"Die, Inspector!"

He starts to turn. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sylvia's arm raised high. Something in her hand glints and it is coming down fast. He knows he cannot get out of the way in time. He is struck hard, and it knocks the air out of his lungs and throws him to the floor. He rolls and scrambles to his feet, gasping for air and relieved to find himself alive. Two bodies lie on the floor behind him, the smaller one almost completely covered by the larger. Then Warren gets up, and Lewis can see the trimming knife hanging from the corner of the spurting slice across Sylvia's neck.

Warren turns to him, terror in his eyes, blood all over his hands, and Lewis hears a distant siren. The ambulance.

He puts his hand on Warren's big arm. "It's okay, Warren. Everything's going to be okay from now on. You won't have to do this anymore."

The bright room slowly swims into focus. Hathaway feels slightly nauseous and his head is pounding. His eyes pass around the walls and he realizes he is in a hospital, and there's a man standing there, grinning at him broadly.

"How do you feel, Sergeant?"

Hathaway smiles faintly. "That was the worst date I have ever been on. Did you catch the killer while I was off on my little lark?"

"Oh, aye. The case is over. You missed it."

"Pity. It was her, wasn't it? She'd lure unfaithful husbands and then kill them by poison, taking a trophy for herself after her brother delivered the corpse. She told me enough but she'd drugged me and I couldn't do anything. I could barely stay awake while she confessed."

He notices Lewis wince as the older man moves closer to the bed. "How did you fare, Sir?"

"A stab wound requiring a couple of stitches, that's all. Better than you."

"Yeah, what was that, some kind of poison?"

"Cerberin. Pretty nasty stuff, but you'll recover . . . from that." Lewis averts his eyes and Hathaway knows he has something worse to tell.

"What? What's wrong, Sir?"

"Well, the poison, that's only temporary. But, erm . . . I'm afraid . . . of course, you'll never grow back your . . . y'know." Lewis's face is full of sympathy.

Hathaway's eyes widen and he whips the bedcovers aside, his hand diving down between his legs. Nothing is missing.

"Oh, very funny, Sir." But Hathaway is too relieved to be angry. And Lewis, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, is laughing too hard to speak.

"Just for that, you owe me a pint when I get out of here." James's attempt to look offended fails. "And another thing, I'd like to make a deal with you."

Lewis, still suppressing giggles, raises his eyebrows, interested.

"I'll stop sending you websites of women if you'll stop recommending dates for me."

"Done, James. Done."