The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(25)

He sounded very matter-of-fact, without a hint of sorrow for Hale's passing. If this man was the closest thing to a friend that the doctor had, it was rather sad.

"Before your investigative brain begins to pin the murder on me," Mr. Pitt said, "may I point out that I was nowhere near the hospital that day. I am also already wealthy, thanks to the success of my Cure-All." He nodded at the pyramid. "I have no need of Jonathon's money."

"Your Cure-All?" Matt plucked a jar from the top and made a show of inspecting it. "Dr. Hale's name is on the label."

Mr. Pitt's nostrils flared. He gave Matt a cool smile. "I created it and asked him to put his name to it. Dr. Hale's Cure-All sounded better than Pitt's Cure-All. Hale and hearty and all that. Pitt conjures up pock marks."

"Not to mention that it seems as though a doctor has endorsed it," Matt said.

"A doctor has endorsed it. I can tell from your accent that you're not English, Mr. Glass, but I can assure you, my Cure-All has an excellent reputation here. Have you used it, Miss Steele?"

"I have," I said. "I've found it of great benefit for all sorts of ailments." Perhaps that last was a little too effusive, but it certainly made Mr. Pitt smile. I'd rather have him on our side through a little flattery than not at all.

"Excellent. I am so pleased to hear it. My wife swears by it. She says it settles the children to sleep when they're restless with an ache or pain, and it works wonders on the complaints that the fairer sex suffer."

"Quite," I said tightly.

"So, you see, Jonathon's death is causing my business problems." He glanced at the clock and shook his head. I was about to mention that it ran slow when he said, "It's mid-morning, and I haven't had a single customer. They stop out the front to ogle and whisper then move on without entering. I'll wring the neck of the murderer if I find him. He's ruining me."

He'd more than ruined Dr. Hale, but I didn't point that out.

"Is that because the newspapers revealed the poison was in a bottle of Cure-All?" Matt asked.

Mr. Pitt nodded. "Bloody irresponsible of them, if you ask me, and quite unnecessary."

A customer looked as if she were about to enter, but her companion shook her head, pointed at the bottles on the counter, and said something that made the first lady gasp. They bustled away.

"I will weather this setback," Mr. Pitt said, resembling a general addressing his troops. "I'll change the name of it, if I must, although it will be costly to re-do the labels."

"Not to mention a shame," I said. "For the memory of Dr. Hale, I mean."

"Of course."

"Did Dr. Hale have any enemies?" Matt asked. "Anyone who would want to see him dead?"

"Perhaps," he hedged. "I don't like telling you this, but I know I must. I've already told the police. Jonathon mentioned an incident that happened two weeks ago. A man threatened him, you see. Someone we're both acquainted with, an apothecary. His name is Oakshot. He was the husband of one of Jonathon's patients who sadly passed away. He accused Jonathon of administering too much morphine. She was petite, and morphine is dangerous if the incorrect dose is given to an already ill patient. One must be careful."

"Why did Oakshot suspect Dr. Hale administered the incorrect amount?" Matt asked.

"Jonathon thinks—thought—one of the other doctors put it into Oakshot's head. The other doctors at the hospital have been against him ever since his appointment to the staff. Physicians and surgeons look down on apothecaries, you see. They consider us little better than herbalists." He rolled his eyes.

"But Dr. Hale was a qualified physician," I said.

"Indeed. He went to Oxford and completed his medical training at St. George's Hospital. But his background as an apothecary rankled with them. He could never quite shake it off. It never bothered him, though. He was quite ambivalent to the opinions of others, until Oakshot accused him of killing his wife. Jonathon was deeply upset by it." He picked up a cloth and began slowly polishing the counter, even though the surface gleamed.

"Forgive me, Mr. Pitt," I said, "but I must ask. Did Dr. Hale give Mrs. Oakshot the wrong amount of morphine? Was that why he was upset? Because he felt guilty?"

Mr. Pitt stopped polishing. "While Jonathon didn't admit as much to me, I think you may be right. It was impossible to prove or disprove, but he certainly seemed as if he were second guessing himself after Oakshot's accusation."

"What did the hospital do?" Matt asked.

"Nothing, as far as I know."

"Does Mr. Oakshot have a shop?"

"He manufactures medicines but has no retail outlet himself. His products are distributed to many pharmacies throughout England." He pointed to shelves lined with medicine jars on our right. "Many of those are manufactured by Oakshot's."

"Does he have his own cure-all?" Matt asked.

I frowned. Was he implying that Oakshot's motive for killing Dr. Hale could have been two-fold—revenge for his wife's death and eliminating a business rival whose name graced another medicine's label?

"Of course. Every pharmacist worth his salt has his own cure-all."

"What sort of reputation does Oakshot have within the industry?" Matt asked.