Michael Baden - Remains Silent

Manny lifted a photograph of Theresa from a doily-covered end table. The beaming woman stood next to a young lady in a graduation gown. “It seems so odd to see her alive.” She glanced at him for a reaction. “That probably sounds stupid to you.”

“Not at all,” he said, without irony.

“I just… I had such an intimate look at her, and I don’t even know her. It seems wrong, somehow. And here I am, looking through her things…”

“To find the reason for her death. We’re investigating what looks to be a murder. If we solve it, that’s the best thing we can do for her children.”

Put so bluntly, it wiped away sentiment. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Sometimes I get sappy when I’m overtired.” She took a deep breath. “So what are we looking for?”

“To begin with, any cleaning products containing carbon tetrachloride she might have breathed in or swallowed.”

“I’ll start with the bathroom.”

It was right off the living room. Jake watched as she bent down to investigate the cabinet under the sink, granting him a view of an alluring tush. Tantalizing. There was no other word for it. He felt an unfamiliar quickening of desire. Whoa. She straightened. Looks pretty good standing up, too. He moved to the kitchen to conduct his own search.

“I’ve found something,” she called, not masking her excitement.

“A bottle with a skull and crossbones marked DANGER: CARBON TETRACHLORIDE?”

She came into the kitchen, carrying a bottle. “This. Our Mrs. Alessis kept it hidden next to the Ajax.”

Jake was accustomed to surprises and good at maintaining outward calm. But this time he gasped.

“Do you have any idea how much this stuff costs?” she asked.

He knew precisely how much. It was a fifth of Johnnie Walker Blue.

“It belonged to Pete Harrigan,” he told her, recalling his friend’s pleasure at the gift. “Elizabeth must have told Mrs. Alessis she could have it. It’s great stuff. I should know. I’m the one who gave it to him.” Jake stared down at the floor.

“Yuck!”

He looked at her. She had unscrewed the top and was holding the bottle away from her.

“What’s wrong?”

“This scotch has gone bad. It’s rancid.”

“Nonsense. Scotch is scotch. It doesn’t turn the way wine does.”

She handed him the bottle. He sniffed it. “Son of a bitch!” His hand trembled as he set it on the table. “You just found our poison.”

Manny sat down heavily. “Good lord!” She examined the bottle. “Wait a minute. Why would anybody drink something that smelled like this?”

“Because it didn’t. Theresa Alessis died yesterday. That means she drank from the bottle two or three days ago. The carbon tetrachloride has been building up in the headspace ever since. But if you opened the bottle often enough and let the gas escape, you might not notice the odor. Only about an inch is left. What she drank was enough to kill her.”

He doesn’t know I’m in the room, Manny realized. The look in his eyes said his brain was running at full speed, and he frowned with a concentration she had not seen before, even during the autopsy. Handsome. Almost beautiful.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

He was startled into awareness of her. “I’m thinking about the color of Pete Harrigan’s eyes.”

JAKE DIDN’T WANT to waste a moment. “We’ve got to get to Harrigan’s cottage,” he said. “Grab your keys.”

“But you’ve already been there, I thought. You were there just last week.”

“Yes, to clear out the study and get rid of the furniture. This time we’re looking for something different.” He grabbed her wrist and started out the door.

She shook her arm free but kept up with his pace. Fatigue, excitement, bewilderment, and foreboding created a volatile cocktail in her stomach. “You think he was poisoned, don’t you?”

He turned to look at her. His expression was somber. “Yes.”

“But you said he was dying anyway. Why murder a dying man?”

“Don’t you see?” There was exasperation in his tone. “Because of the bones.”

The cottage had been broken into again. This time it had been trashed. The cardboard boxes of everyday household furnishings that Jake and Sam had packed were strewn about haphazardly. Furniture was overturned and pillow feathers dusted the floor like snow.

They walked through the rooms, assessing the damage like residents returning home after a tornado. “How long ago do you think this happened?” Manny asked. She realized she was now holding on to his arm, but he seemed to take no notice of it.

“I spoke to Mrs. Alessis day before yesterday. She never mentioned another burglary, only that she worried about getting everything sorted and packed for the Salvation Army, said she was tired. It must’ve been the carbon tetrachloride affecting her.”

“What do you think they were looking for, the Johnnie Walker Blue?”

“I don’t know. You wouldn’t have to do this much damage to figure out it isn’t here.”

“Maybe they trashed the place because they couldn’t find it.”

“More likely they were looking for something else.” He stopped. “Jesus! I may have it. I took home a lot of stuff from the study, piled in boxes and plastic bags. I’ll have to go through it as soon as I get home.”

I’ll help you, she thought, but felt too shy, too foreign, to say so. Instead she said, “Why do I get the feeling that you know more about this than you’re letting on?”

“I don’t. Really. It’s one thing I learned in the ME’s office: people don’t change- not that often, anyway. You see someone come in dead of a knife wound, they’ve got half a dozen healed scars from other fights. We find old bullets in people who’ve died of new gunshot wounds; it’s like they’ve been rehearsing their own ending. Why would a sophisticated killer, who’s gotten away with an apparently undetectable murder, risk exposure?”

Feeling dizzy, she righted a chair and sat down. “You’re scaring me. Sophisticated killer? We meet tonight to discuss a forty-year-old case of malpractice. Now you’re telling me we have two murders, one of them, the housekeeper’s, unintentional. And Mycroft may have been threatened. What does that mean for us? They know we’re looking!” The last was almost a howl. The possibility of danger made her exhaustion unbearable. Was the trip to Poughkeepsie in my lifetime?

He put his hand on her shoulder. “All I mean,” he said, “is that I don’t believe someone smart and organized enough to poison Pete Harrigan with a poison as obscure as carbon tetrachloride, making it look like a natural death, would trash Pete’s house.” He reached for her hand. “You’re exhausted. Time to go home.”

At last. She started to rise. “Did you hear that?”

He stood still. “Hear what?”

“Something outside. Noises.”

He dashed for the lights, extinguished them, and drew her toward the front door. “What did you hear? Be specific.”

“Footsteps on the gravel? I’m not sure.”

Jake cracked open the door and peered outside. In the light of the quarter moon, nothing was visible. “I don’t see anything. Are you sure you really-”

She glowered at him.

“Sorry.” He shut the door silently. “I’ll check the back door. You stay here.”

“Very funny.” She followed him.

He opened the door. “I can’t see anything.”

She pulled out her cell phone. “I’m calling the cops.” The NO SERVICE light flashed.

“No towers,” he said. “In this part of the world, pristine views are more important than pristine service. Let’s try Pete’s phone.”

It had been disconnected. “What are we supposed to do?” Manny whispered. “We can’t just hide here till the sun comes up. I’m supposed to have breakfast with Patrice Perez.” Which means no sleep for me.