Chapter 3 - The Toxin on the Marble
"Nobody leaves this ballroom," I announced, my voice cutting through the rising panic. "Lock all exits."
Among the wedding guests was Dr. Evelyn Reed, the chief toxicologist at Chicago Memorial Hospital and a lifelong friend of my late father. She stepped forward from table two, unfastening her clutch.
"Liam, don't touch the liquid," Dr. Reed warned, pulling out a pair of sterile latex gloves she always carried in her medical kit. "Emily, did you touch the glass itself?"
"Only his sleeve," Emily replied, stepping clear of the spill.
Dr. Reed knelt beside the shattered crystal. She used a clean linen napkin and a sterile sample tube from her emergency kit to soak up a generous measure of the spilled champagne. She held the vial up to the chandelier light.
"Champagne should be clear golden," Dr. Reed observed grimly. "There is a faint, oily rainbow sheen on the surface of this puddle. That is characteristic of organic plant alkaloids."
Vanessa turned toward the service exit behind the head table, attempting to slip through the heavy velvet curtains.
"Stop her!" I yelled.
Two off-duty Chicago police officers attending as family guests bolted forward, intercepting Vanessa at the emergency door. They restrained her by the arms as she fought and shrieked, tearing her bridal veil to shreds against the doorframe.
Within eight minutes, the blare of police sirens tore through the quiet evening outside Michigan Avenue. Four patrol cars and an emergency hazmat forensics unit arrived on the scene.
Detective Ray Miller of the Cook County Major Crimes Division walked into the ballroom, flashing his badge.
May you like
"Detective," Dr. Reed said, handing over the sealed sample tube. "Run a rapid mass spectrometry panel for aconitine—commonly known as wolfsbane or monkshood. It's a lethal neurotoxin that triggers fatal ventricular fibrillation within thirty minutes and leaves almost no trace during routine autopsies."
Vanessa collapsed onto the floor, weeping hysterically, her designer gown ruined, the mask of the grieving bride completely shattered before three hundred cameras and flashing smartphones.
