A string of renowned scientists have been found dead of lethal poisoning. The FBI has just one suspect, the brilliant toxicologist Dr. Christine Palmer. The doctor has an eccentric personality and classified access to the world’s most deadly experimental neurotoxins, but the FBI has no proof.
One of the most problematic aspects of the case is the longitudinal factor; the deaths have occurred over a span of at least a decade,” Edmond Sweetheart said. He was standing by the window of his room at the Eldorado Hotel. Behind him the New Mexico sky was the color of raw turquoise and quartzite, metallic cirrus clouds highlighting a blue-green scrim.
“Why did it take so long to put it together?” Dr. Sylvia Strange had chosen to sit at one end of a cream-colored suede sofa in front of a polished burl table, the room’s centerpiece. For the moment, she would keep her distance—from Sweetheart, from this new case. Her slender fingers slid over the black frame of the sunglasses that still shaded her eyes. Her shoulder-length hair was slightly damp from the shower she’d taken after a harder than usual workout at the gym. She studied the simple arrangement of flowers on the table: pale lavender orchids blooming from a slender vase the color of moss. Late-afternoon sun highlighted the moist, fleshlike texture of the blossoms. The air was laced with a heavy, sweet scent. “Why didn’t anybody link the deaths?”
“They were written off as accidents.” Sweetheart frowned.
“Everyone missed the connection—the CID, FBI, Dutch investigators—until a biochem grad assistant was poisoned in London six months ago. Her name was Samantha Grayson. Her fiancé happened to be an analyst with MI-6—the Brits’ intelligence service responsible for foreign intelligence. He didn’t buy the idea that his girlfriend had accidentally contaminated herself with high doses of an experimental neurotoxin. Samantha Grayson died a bad death, but her fiancé had some consolation—he zeroed in on a suspect.”
“But MI-6 chases spies, not serial poisoners.” Sylvia stretched both arms along the crest of the couch, settling in. “And this is a criminal matter.” She was aware that Sweetheart was impatient. He reminded her of a parent irritated with a sassing child. “So who gets to play Sherlock Holmes, the FBI?”
“Here’s the latest mystery featuring Dr. Sylvia Strange, a forensic psychologist who frequently assists the FBI in cracking really tough cases. This time out, Strange and FBI counterterrorism expert Edmond Sweetheart are trying to build a case against a woman they’re convinced is systematically killing people while working on a top-secret Department of Defense project involving lethal toxins. But there are a couple of problems: their suspect is a highly placed member of the project team and is the daughter of an eminent and well-respected scientist. Can Strange and Sweetheart–Lovett does have a knack for unusual names–solve the case before more people die? As usual, the author packs the novel with plenty of forensic-psychiatry info (the book is a real treat for fans of that field) and creates a genuinely suspenseful story that will keep readers glued to their seats until the very end.”
“There is much more to DARK ALCHEMY than a serial poisoner novel. The heroine’s partner has his own agenda and is willing to sacrifice anyone including her to make sure a spy/mole doesn’t get away with espionage. Sarah Lovett writes an exhilarating, enthralling crime thriller that will keep readers turning the pages until the end because it is not until the climax that the audience finds out whether Dr. Palmer is a sinister villain or a brilliant victim.”
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