Perri O’Shaughnessy - Breach Of Promise

“Okay, Paul, do it. Damn you. I won’t sleep until you tell me you’re wrong.”

“That’s my Nina,” Paul said.

She slammed the door in his face.

Paul headed straight for the South Lake Tahoe police department to root out an old acquaintance, Sergeant Cheney.

Cheney welcomed him with a smile, motioning him to sit. He had a phone glued to his head, and a pen scribbling in one hand. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Yep.” This continued for several minutes, while Paul examined the photographs on Cheney’s desk, especially the one of his wife, a lovely toasty-brown-colored woman with hair lighter than her skin, looking much younger than the overweight Cheney.

Finally, Cheney hung up. The phone rang. He ignored it.

“Haven’t seen you around in a while,” he said. “If you don’t count the fact that you’ve been involved in two out of the five deaths I’ve investigated in the past coupla years.”

“I can see you’re busy,” said Paul. “I appreciate you taking the time to see me. I’ll keep it short.”

“Let me help you along,” said Cheney. He looked down at his papers. “Clifford Wright, white male, thirty-two. Died from a severe allergic reaction called anaphylactic shock, presumably from ingesting some form of peanuts. Have I got it so far?”

“Well, yes,” said Paul, utterly taken aback. “How did you know I was here about Wright?”

“I’m a detective, remember,” said Cheney, “and then there was that phone call just now from Doc Clauson. He says you came nosing around the medical examiner’s office this a.m. You got the Doc’s curiosity bump itching. He’s asked me, unofficially, to look into a couple of things.”

“Such as?”

“They use peanut oil at the Five Happinesses or not?” asked Cheney. “I’ll probably mosey over there this evening. I feel a hankering for kung pao prawns. They have that over there? You know?”

“I didn’t notice.”

Cheney clapped his hands together. “Figured you’d already been. Bet you noticed a bunch of things about peanuts.”

“Like, they don’t use them or peanut oil.”

“Seeing you here, figured they might not.”

“I guess you’ve already answered my question.” Paul got up to leave.

“Which was?”

“How final is the medical examiner’s ruling on Wright’s death? Legally, I mean. The family is hiring me to find out.”

“Now, how’d you hook up with them?”

“Called with my condolences and happened to mention that insurance companies don’t pay as well for a natural death. They’ll inherit more if somebody else hurried him along. Turns out Wright had a hefty life insurance policy. If I come up with some proof that Wright’s death was less than kosher, how hard will it be to get Clauson to change his ruling on the cause of death?”

“Oh, his report’s final. Unless he changes his mind.”

“He can change it.”

“Yep. Quick as popping one of those sticks of gum he’s always got lying around these days. But the real answer is, our files on that case remain open. And now you’ve opened up a brand-new direction for our ongoing inquiries. Keep in touch, why don’t you?”

“Be glad to,” said Paul.

Back in his car, he punched numbers into his phone. “Sandy,” he said. “Any idea how I could reach Wish?”

“He’s right here.”

“Put him on.”

“Why?” asked Sandy.

“I have some work for him.”

The phone must have flown to Wish, because he answered only a second later. “How,” said Wish, “Chief Wish Whitefeather here,” and that greeting was followed by a thumping noise, then an “Ouch.” Sandy’s son had a sense of humor about being Native American his mother apparently didn’t appreciate.

“So you’re a chief now,” said Paul. “Too important for me to corner you for a couple of hours for a project I’m working on?”

“I’ll check my calendar.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” said Wish, hurt. “I’m taking classes at night, you know. Police administration.”

“Oh. Sorry,” said Paul.

“When do you need me?”

“Today, possibly into tomorrow.”

“What are we doing?”

“Interviews.”

“You running the show?”

“Nope. You’ve been promoted from assistant to detective-in-training.”

“Outstanding! But… how will I know what to ask? Are you going to fill me in on what’s going on?”

Paul did.

“Okay, let me see if I have this straight. You think someone put something into the Chinese food this juror ate right before he tossed in his chopsticks.”

“Yeah, someone out for a puff, or a stretch. Someone went out there and took care of our friend Clifford Wright.”

“How do you know that’s what happened?” asked Wish, sounding dubious. “I never heard anything about him being killed by someone.”

“I don’t know it. Yet. It’s just a hunch.”

“Oh,” said Wish.

“I spoke very briefly with one of the jurors this morning already, Grace Whipple. She said the bailiff brought lunch in a little late, at about twelve-fifteen. They jumped on that food like prisoners of war. Said it was a real high point in a nasty morning. They had all probably been thinking about it for at least an hour. Nobody could have fiddled with anything in full view of the rest of the jury under those circumstances.”

“So you think it happened when the food was out in the hall for about fifteen minutes after it arrived, before anyone ate, and all the jurors were coming and going.”

“Well, it was outside the anteroom in a private hall that leads to the clerk’s offices and the judge’s chambers. That hall is locked. You have to have business with the court, or work there, to get in.”

“So you think it was one of the jurors.”

“If anyone. Only they knew what was happening in that jury room. At this point, I don’t know anyone did anything. I’m just intrigued.”

“Do you really think someone planned to kill this guy by giving him an allergy attack?”

“Not really. It’s more likely, if this actually is the case, someone got angry, saw an opportunity, and grabbed it without knowing how serious the consequences might be. Maybe they just thought it would temporarily put him out of commission.”

“Where would they get the peanuts?”

“Apparently, most of them brought snacks.”

“I really don’t get this.”

“What?”

“Nina won the case. Why does she care about that juror?”

“She told me to go ahead and check it out, Wish.” Paul had known she would. Ultimately, the truth was too important to Nina, even when it might work against her. “She doesn’t expect us to find anything.”

“But if one of the other jurors offed him, Nina’s verdict will get put aside, won’t it?”

“We’re a long way from that happening, Wish. Right now, our role is to gather information, not to worry about what might happen.”

“Okay. Who do I go see?”

Paul decided to assign Wish the bulk of the jurors, those who had supported Mike in the beginning, and those who had been persuaded by Cliff to go with Mike later, according to exit interviews conducted by the media, which had pounced on the jury after the verdict. They would have less cause to want to harm him. Paul would take the ones that opposed Wright-Diane, Mrs. Lim, Courtney, and maybe Sonny. And then he might want to talk with Lindy. She had the most to gain, although how she could know what was happening in the jury room was a problem, unless she had a confederate.

“So I need your help on two fronts. Before anything else, the first thing I want is, I need you to… um“-some of this was tricky; he didn’t want Wish to break any ethical rules to get him what he needed, but it was the lazy way and the sensible way to keep this investigation short-”get me the jury’s addresses, phone numbers, everything. Nina will cooperate on that front.”