Marcia Muller - Games to Keep the Dark Away

What other work remained for me that day was not nearly so interesting. My briefcase lay on my desk, fat with documents to be filed at City Hall-one of my less glamorous but important duties. I regarded it with distaste, then left the office and went down the long hall to the big country kitchen at the rear of the house. A couple of attorneys were there, making a salad. I looked into the refrigerator and saw nothing but lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, spinach, and alfalfa sprouts.

“Yuck!” I said.

Anne-Marie Altman, a striking blond who specialized in tax law, looked over at me and grinned. “Too healthy in there for you, huh?”

“You’ve got it. Why don’t you people buy some real food?”

“Like what?”

“Hot dogs. Hamburgers. There are some wonderful new frozen dinners on the market.”

She made a face at me and tossed me a radish. I popped it in my mouth and left the room. Back in my office, I sat at the desk, contemplating the full briefcase. There was a McDonald’s near the Civic Center. I could stop there for lunch, I thought. But, dammit, I didn’t feel like filing documents. If only Jane Anthony’s murder and Abe Snelling’s initial panic and subsequent cooling of interest didn’t nag at me so.

Then I remembered Liz Schaff. I’d promised to let her know what I’d found out. Maybe she could give me some insight into Jane’s relationship with Snelling. Surely Jane had mentioned more about her roommate than his name. I picked up the phone, remembered Liz worked afternoons, and called her at home. She agreed to meet me for a quick lunch and suggested the Blue Owl Cafe, across from the hospital.

Liz was sitting at one of the umbrella-covered tables when I arrived, wearing her coat against the chill, the fall sunlight glinting off her bright blond hair. It was one of those crisp, clear days that make up for the summer fog in San Francisco, and the striped umbrellas and flowers on the tables added a further note of cheer.

When I sat down at the table, I noticed that Liz had a glass of wine in front of her. It surprised me to see a nurse drinking before going on duty, but I reminded myself it wasn’t as if she was an airline pilot. I ordered wine too, and we both chose cheeseburgers. When the waiter had gone, Liz leaned forward across the table.

“Have you found Jane?”

“In a way.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m afraid your friend is dead,” I said gently. “Murdered. I found her body the night before last.”

“You found…” Her face went pale and she reached for her wineglass. “Where?”

“Do you know the old pier in Salmon Bay?”

“God, yes. We used to hang out there in high school, to drink beer and neck.”

“Well, I don’t think she went there for either reason. But someone stabbed her and left her body on the bank, half in the water.”

Liz drained her glass and signaled to the waiter, who seemed to know her, for another. She passed a hand over her eyes, as if to brush away tears. “Someone? Don’t the police have any idea who?”

“No. Do you know a fisherman named John Cala?”

“Yes. He went to the same high school as we did. He was wild, always in trouble.”

“At first the police suspected him. But he’s got an alibi.”

“Why would they suspect John?”

“He found the body before I did, but didn’t report it. He went out on the pier for some reason, but he’s not saying why. I’d give a lot to know.”

Liz looked thoughtful. “When did this all happen? The other night?”

“Yes. Around eight o’clock.”

“And the police arrested John?”

“He’s probably been released by now.”

“And he won’t say what he was doing there?”

“No.”

“God. What a mess.” She sipped from her fresh glass of wine and a little color returned to her face. “So what else are the police doing about it?”

“The usual things, I would imagine.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m off the case. Abe Snelling decided he couldn’t use my services anymore.”

“I see.” Liz paused as the waiter placed our food in front of us. She looked at her burger with unconcealed distaste.

“Liz,” I said, “what did Jane tell you about her relationship with Abe Snelling?”

“Nothing, except he was a friend and helping her out.”

“She didn’t say anything else? How she met him? About his work or their mutual interest in photography?”

“She didn’t say anything. I didn’t even know he was a photographer until you mentioned it the other night. And of course Jane wouldn’t discuss photography with me-she knew I didn’t even know which end of a camera to look through.”

“How good a friend of Jane’s were you?”

“Oh, we were pretty close. We palled around at The Tidepools, had drinks after work. Sometimes we’d have dinner.”

“And here, in the city?”

“We saw each other occasionally.”

“After the patients died, you left The Tidepools first, right?”

Her eyes widened a little. “So you found out about that.”

“It wasn’t hard. I gather it was public knowledge.”

“Yes, it was.” She picked up her burger, took a deliberate bite, and began chewing as if it were hard work.

“The person who told me about the deaths mentioned a drug they use there,” I said, “a painkiller that the patients overdosed on.”

“Look, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Just tell me about the drug. Then we’ll drop the subject.” I didn’t exactly know why I was prying into the matter of the deaths at The Tidepools, but I had long ago learned to trust my instincts.

Liz sighed and set her burger down. “It’s a variation of something called Brompton’s Mix, which was developed in England. It consists of morphine, alcohol, and one of the phenothiazines.”

“The what?”

“Thorazine, Compazine, or-Look, this can’t possibly mean anything to you.”

I had to admit it didn’t. “It’s a strong enough mix to kill a person, though?”

“Obviously, if taken in sufficient quantity. Which the patients did.”

“How could they have gotten hold of that much of the drug?”

“The police thought they must have saved it up from their daily dosages.” Liz’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Of course, they only came to that conclusion after thoroughly grilling the staff. But they could see for themselves that the pharmacist kept tight control over all the drugs. There was no way he would have allowed anyone to get his hands on more than the authorized dosages.”

“Did you know any of the patients who overdosed?”

“I knew all three. But I wasn’t on the medical team that was assigned to any of them.”

“Was Jane?”

“I don’t…” She paused, a strange look passing over her face.

“Was she?”

“I think so. I’m not sure if she worked with all three of them, but I know she was assigned as Barbara Smith’s social worker.”

“Which one was Barbara Smith?”

“The last one. The one whose husband…” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get to work.”

“Liz-”

“I’ve got to go.” She stood up, placing some money on the table. “Thank you for telling me about Jane.” Quickly, she strode out of the railed-off cafe. I watched her cross the wide street, her white shoes moving swiftly, her brown coat billowing open to reveal her starched smock and pants.

I looked down at my cheeseburger, then at the briefcase that sat on the floor beside my chair. I should go to City Hall and get those documents filed. I should forget about Jane Anthony and the Tidepools. If it didn’t take too long at City Hall, I could spend the remainder of the afternoon hunting for a new apartment.

Instead, I left my lunch untouched and went to Abe Snelling’s house.