Клэр Донелли - Last Licks

“As you say, most likely.”

“Are there any drugs or substances that might create the same symptoms? Something that might look like a stroke?”

Dr. Snow shook his head and rose from his chair. “I really don’t—”

“Arsenic,” Dr. Collier interrupted. “It’s an oldie, but there’s a reason why people stay with the classics.” He smiled at the aghast expression on his partner’s face. “Some of us enjoy reading or watching mysteries, and some don’t. I do.”

“I think I’m done here.” Dr. Snow gave them all a disapproving look and left the office. Collier laughed.

“Sometimes it’s not a bad thing to have a careful doctor,” Will said.

“It doesn’t hurt to consider possibilities.” The cardiologist shifted back in his seat. “Snow’s the expert, of course, but basically any drug that has a neurological effect could possibly be mistaken for a stroke. There are certain kinds of shellfish poisons, even a drug used to treat breast cancer.”

“Is there anything that could be swallowed?” Sunny asked, remembering Ollie’s story about being awakened.

“Some of the heavy metals, perhaps,” Dr. Collier replied. “Mercury, lead, cadmium, they all have toxic and neurological effects. But they’re usually eaten or breathed in. You can get cadmium from cigarette smoke—the lungs absorb it better than the stomach. Arsenic, though, that’s been a favorite since before the Renaissance. Its symptoms mimicked cholera, which was widespread up to the 1800s, when arsenic got the nickname ‘inheritance powder.’ And it’s still used today—an old reliable.” He got a little more serious. “It would require special tests—tests that a medical examiner might not perform if he thought the cause of death was a stroke.”

“Just for the sake of argument, let’s say the patient we described was being cared for by you and your partner. Given the situation, would you be asking the medical examiner to do those extra tests?”

Dr. Collier silently regarded him for a long moment, and then finally said, “No.”

Will gave him a glum nod. “That’s pretty much what I was thinking, too.”

7

Sunny and Willthanked the doctor for his help and left the office. “So, natural causes or foul play?” she said. “It looks as if we’re coming right down the middle.”

“It would have been nice if he’d gotten something clear-cut,” Will admitted. They walked into the parking lot for the medical building and stood between their two trucks. “Guess we might as well head back to Bridgewater Hall and talk to the people who cleaned out Room 114.”

When they got back to the facility, they found Rafe Warner working the security desk. He was uncharacteristically silent as Sunny signed in. But as she turned away, words seemed to tumble out of him. “Is it true that you’re investigating how Mr. Scatterwell died?”

There goes our chance of keeping this quiet, Sunny thought.

“Where’d you hear that?” Will demanded.

“People say things.” Rafe’s eyes roved the area, checking for anyone who might overhear. “Folks in the office say Dr. Reese has them working on a big document for you to sign.”

The damned confidentiality agreement! Sunny had forgotten all about it.

“I can’t say anything about that.” She kept her voice low, too. “But we’ll want a look at the log to see who came in and went out last night.”

“That’ll be up to Dr. Reese,” Rafe said nervously.

“And he’ll agree.” Will gave him a wolf’s smile. “That’s in the big document, too.”

Then he asked for directions to Housekeeping, which Rafe was willing enough to give, but talking to the crew that cleaned Gardner’s room got them nowhere. The maintenance people weren’t withholding—they just didn’t know anything.

“We go in whenever anybody passes away,” a guy in janitorial greens explained. “We don’t do anything while the other person is in the room. That upsets them. But once they’re away, we clean and clear out as soon as possible.”

He leaned forward. “This time around, the patient had puked. So we cleaned up after that, and did a specially careful job.” He allowed himself a small smile. “They don’t like germs around here.”

Sunny and Will left the office. “Well,” he said, “should we go give Ollie a lack-of-progress report?”

“Hey, we found out a couple of things,” Sunny replied. “Can we help it that they’re things he won’t want to hear?”

When they arrived at Room 114, though, Sunny was surprised to see Luke Daconto just leaving.

“Thought I’d stop by,” he said. “Mr. Barnstable was pretty bummed to lose his friend.”

“Not just Ollie,” Sunny told him. “I’m sure you’ll miss Gardner, too.”

Luke lowered his eyes. “Yeah. It’s kinda rough. He was a great guy.”

It seemed as though Luke wasn’t as plugged in to the rehab center grapevine as Rafe Warner. He obliviously shook hands with Will. Obviously, here was another person that Ollie hadn’t let in on the investigation. Is Ollie being cagey, or did he just get hit with Reese’s confidentiality agreement? Sunny thought. She introduced Will, not mentioning that he was a constable. If that’s the way Ollie wants to play this, I’ll go along.

They chatted for a moment, and then Luke moved on.

If Ollie had been bummed out before, hearing their report didn’t cheer him up much. He sat up in bed, listening with a frown on his face. But when they finished, Ollie said, “I’ve got a suspect for you.”

“Someone here? Someone who knew Scatterwell?” Will asked.

Ollie shook his head. “Stan Orton.”

“The man you did the real estate deal with?” Sunny stared at her boss.

“The guy who threatened me—and then I beat him on that contract,” Ollie told her. “I think he got Gardner by mistake.”

“You think Orton snuck in last night?”

“Of course not.” Ollie gave her a withering look. “He sent somebody, somebody who works here. At first, he probably just hired them to spy on me. That’s when whoever it was must have overheard me talking with Gardner about brandy.”

Will looked doubtful. “So it’s someone who knew who was talking while they were eavesdropping, but couldn’t recognize who was who in the dark?”

Ollie made an impatient gesture. “Okay, maybe two people—one from the day shift, one for the night.”

“And they’d be willing to poison you?” Sunny couldn’t keep the doubt out of her own voice.

“No, no, Orton wanted to punish me, not kill me. It was probably something to make me sick as a dog. But if Gardner got it instead, well, he was in pretty bad shape. Maybe what would have just made me sick was enough to kill him.”

Sounds like the kind of story you’d find on the lamer cop shows, Sunny thought, but she kept her mouth shut.

Will, who had more professional pride, looked ready to argue. “Ollie—”

“We’ll take it under advisement,” Sunny said. The last thing they needed was to provoke a fight with her boss.

“It’s not like you’ve got a theory of your own,” Ollie griped. “So get out there and dig into Orton. Maybe he’s pulled a dirty trick or two before. And don’t sign anything with these people. I’ve got my lawyer going over their so-called agreement.”

“Okay,” both Will and Sunny promised. They said good-bye to Ollie and got out of there before he opened another can of craziness on them. As they walked down the hall, Will lowered his voice, looking up and down the hallway. “Do you know where the john is around here? I know Ollie’s room had one, but I didn’t want to stay in there.”

Sunny spotted Camille the aide walking toward them, and directed Will’s question to her. “Four doors down on the other side.” The girl pointed.