Finally, the chain goes back to the guy who made the sausage. Mathias.
"I did not poison the sausage," Mathias says when I walk into the butcher shop.
"Yes, I know."
That stops him, bloody knife in hand. He wipes it on a cloth, slowly, as if awaiting a punch line.
"You delivered that batch of sausage yesterday," I say. "There was no way of knowing which links would go to Brady, and you wouldn't poison innocent people."
"Thank you." He sets the knife aside and removes his apron. "I did not shoot at Mr. Brady either. I was expecting to see you after that."
"It was the wrong kind of murder."
He chuckles, pleased. When Brady first arrived, Mathias had asked if I wanted him to assess or assassinate the prisoner. If I'd pursued that, he'd have claimed he was joking. He wasn't. I have no doubt that Mathias has killed murderers. He has a modus operandi, though. Poetic justice. What Brady is accused of requires a more fitting punishment than a shot in the head.
"Also," Mathias says, "you are not convinced he is a killer."
"Are you?"
"No. But I am rarely convinced until they confess. Even that is never a guarantee. In Mr. Brady's case, though, I require more interviews to make an educated guess. Which would still not be enough to warrant capital punishment. One must be absolutely certain. Hypothetically speaking."
"I should have you speak to Roy and his crew about that."
Mathias sniffs. "Roy is a cretin. I would like to interview him."
"That can be arranged. We'd appreciate it, actually."
"So if you did not come to question me . . ."
"Even if there's no way you poisoned the sausage, I must be seen coming in here to question you. Otherwise it'll seem as if I'm excusing you because we're acquainted."
" 'Acquainted'?" His brows rise. "That is an odd word to use, and I will presume you choose it because you have temporarily forgotten the French word for friend. Otherwise, I would be insulted."
"If I said we were friends, you'd make some comment about that. Now, I do need to get back to the business of finding who poisoned the prisoner. If you have more of that batch of sausage, I'll take some for analysis."
"You mean you'll eat it."
"That's the best way to test it. Also, I missed lunch."
He walks into the back, leaving the door open. "So it was poison."
I list the symptoms.
"Interesting," he says as he returns with a package of sausage. "Did Mr. Brady say anything?"
"Sure." I make retching noises.
He shakes his head.
"At the time, he only mentioned Storm. When we removed his food tray, he was worried she'd eat what was left and get sick."
His lips purse in thought. "Or worried she would eat it and not get sick, proving the food was not the source of the poison."
"If so, he could just say it must have been in his water or coffee. That was also the first thing he said when he woke. He was concerned that she'd eaten his food."
"Interesting," he says again.
I eye him. "In what way?"