Amelia Sachs, the woman he’d come here to kill, was quite beautiful.

Since the weather was cold, it wasn’t conspicuous for this man to be wearing gloves, which was fortunate. The ones covering his hands were black wool, since leather gives a print nearly as distinctive as one’s own friction ridges. Traceable, in other words. But cloth? No.

He was now noting where Amelia’s purse sat – on the back of her chair. How trusting were people here. Had this been São Paulo or Mexico City, the purse would have been fixed to the back of her chair with a nylon tie, like the sort used to bind garbage bags and prisoners’ wrists.

The purse was latched but this didn’t trouble him. Several days ago he’d bought a bag just like hers and practiced, practiced, practiced slipping something inside silently (he’d studied sleight of hand for years). Finally he’d honed the technique sufficiently so that it took all of three seconds to open the bag, slip a small object inside and refix the clasp. He’d done this a hundred times.

He now reached into his pocket and palmed a bottle of an over-the-counter painkiller. It was identical in brand to those that Amelia Sachs preferred. (He’d learned this from her medicine cabinet.) She’d had osteoarthritis problems in the past and though she didn’t seem to be too troubled recently, he’d observed, she still popped the pills from time to time.

Ah, the trials our bodies put us through.

The capsules in this bottle looked identical to the ones she bought. There was one difference, however: Each of his pills consisted of compressed antimony.

Like arsenic, antimony is a basic element, a metalloid. The name is from the Greek for ‘banishing solitude’. Antimony had been used in the past to darken the eyebrows and lids of promiscuous women, including Jezebel in the Bible.

It’s a ubiquitous and useful element, employed frequently even today in industry. But antimony, Sb, atomic number 51, has also been the cause of thousands of excruciatingly painful deaths throughout history. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was perhaps the most famous victim. (The question remains: intentional or not? We’d have to ask Antonio Salieri.)

At a jab of pain from her reconstructed knee, which she’d feel sooner or later, Sachs would pop two pills.

And instead of relief she’d be hit with a fierce headache, vomiting, diarrhea, numb extremities.

She’d be dead in a few days – according to the media, yet another victim of Billy Haven, who’d managed to slip the tainted drugs into her purse before he and his terrorist relatives were stopped.

Although in truth the Stantons had nothing to do with this impending murder.