Page 38 of Kiss Me Honey Hone

He scrolled down the list of other missed calls:Taylor. Taylor. Taylor. Mel. Mel. Taylor. Sade. Random number. Taylor.

He didn’t bother to read the messages and instead yanked the phone off charge, shoved it in his jeans pocket and launched for the front door. After opening it, he paused and checked the pot by the door, where Kenny usually threw his car keys. A set was in there, bound by a ring and a chain that said,spare. So Aaron grabbed them, put them in his pocket.

For safety reasons.

Kenny should know as well as anyone not to leave keys in a pot by the door.

* * **

Kenny stepped into the chemistry department’s building. Stark white and modern, it differed vastly from the psychology faculty’s dated walls and antiquated interior. Here, the faint tang of chemicals lingered in the air, a mix of sterile antiseptic and something metallic, almost like blood, but at least the halls were quiet except for the occasional clink of glassware and murmured conversation.

He rarely ventured into the Faculty of Natural Sciences and he adjusted his tie, a reflexive gesture to steady himself when walking into a world of formulas and compounds with a question sounding more like the plot of a bad crime thriller. But when he had a university full of experts at his disposal, he needed to utilise them to his advantage.

It helped keep his mind offotherthings, too.

The professor Kenny sought to help him worked in a corner office on the second floor of the Chemistry department, tucked behind a maze of labs and corridors smelling faintly of ammonia and solvents. The plaque on the frosted glass door readProfessor Vijay Menon, PhD – Analytical Chemistry.And Kenny knocked, thankful he wasn’t the only one in early that morning, the muted thud breaking the quiet hum of the building.

“Come in!” Menon’s voice carried the subtle irritation of someone constantly interrupted. Kenny understood that wholeheartedly. For an academic, there wasn’t much down time.

Kenny stepped inside where Menon hunched over a desk cluttered with papers, chemical models, and an array of glass flasks containing what looked like varying shades of sludge. The office was typical of someone deeply engrossed in their field. Certificates and academic accolades lined the walls, interspersed with photographs of Menon at conferences, always mid-lecture or deep in conversation. Despite their disciplines being vastly different, academic achievements were the lifeblood of those who worked at Ryston and Kenny appreciated having access tocolleagues with as much experience in their fields as he did in his.

“Dr Lyons!” Menon stood, round frame jostling the papers on his desk as he extended a hand. He looked every inch the quintessential professor: slightly dishevelled, eyes bright with curiosity, and utterly in his element. “To what pleasure do I owe this visit? A long way from your department, aren’t you?”

Kenny shook his hand. “I need your expertise on something unconventional.”

Menon’s eyebrows shot up with interest, and he gestured toward the chair opposite his desk. “Unconventional is the heart of science. Please, sit.”

Kenny dropped into the chair, adjusting his bag on the floor. “I’m consulting on a police case. A student, Connie Bishop, found dead under suspicious circumstances.”

“Ah, yes.” Menon frowned. “Terrible business. The university’s abuzz with speculation.”

“Well, the toxicology report found an unknown neurotoxin. Something fast-acting and undetectable through standard tests.” Kenny leaned forward. “I’ve developed a theory, but I need to know if it’s scientifically plausible before I present my report to the DI in charge.”

Menon steepled his fingers. “Go on.”

“I believe the toxin might have been transferred through a kiss. Applied externally to the lips, absorbed lethally through mucous membranes.”

For a moment, Menon blinked, a mixture of intrigue and scepticism. Perhaps even thinking Kenny might be winding him up. A sort of academic joke. Then his face lit up with enthralled excitement. “Fascinating. And theoretically possible. But the chemistry would have to be impeccable.”

“That’s what I need to know. Could someone synthesise a compound that remains stable and potent enough to transfer lethally through such a small dose?”

Kenny could see the scientific cogs whirring, along with the images of formulas and compounds flashing before Menon’s eyes.

“There are substances that absorb through the skin or mucous membranes. Think of scopolamine patches or certain nerve agents. However, achieving lethality through such a minimal application, especially on the lips, would require extraordinary precision. Modified neurotoxinscouldwork. You’d have to stabilise the compound to ensure it remains active until contact and account for environmental factors like saliva or temperature.”

“So, it’s viable?”

Menon scratched his head. “Viable, yes, but it would require significant expertise. Whoever did this wouldn’t just have a passing knowledge of chemistry. They’d need to understand molecular structures, reaction pathways, and absorption mechanisms. It’s not the thing you whip up in a garage.”

Kenny nodded, mind racing. “What about aconitine or ricin? Could those be modified?”

“Hmmm.” Menon’s hum carried an eager edge. “Aconitine, for instance, is a highly complex natural alkaloid thatmightlend itself to modifications to change its activity, make it more amenable to transdermal absorption. Combine that with a synthetic carrier and you’d have something potent. Ricin, though, it’s a protein toxin. It would degrade too quickly on the lips. Aconitine’s a more likely candidate.”

Kenny’s stomach turned at the clinical way Menon spoke of such a deadly concoction. But he needed answers.

“Hang on, let me get us a second opinion.” Menon pressed a button on his desk intercom. “Peter, can you join us for a moment?” He smiled at Kenny. “My technician. Absolute genius.”

A minute later, the lab door creaked open, and a figureemerged. White lab coat, slightly hunched, with unruly hair and a surgical mask covering his mouth.

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