Donally, Claire - Cat Nap (A SUNNY & SHADOW MYSTERY)

As she shouted, Jane stomped down the hallway, opening doors. Finally she reached a brightly lit examination room. “Martin!”

Jane froze in the doorway, with Sunny at her heels. It was pretty easy to see why Martin hadn’t responded. He lay sprawled across the metal top of the exam table, very, very still.

4

“Oh my God!”Jane rushed into the room, but Sunny grabbed her by the arm.

“If he’s the way I think he is,” Sunny said, “you’d better not be touching anything.”

Jane shook herself loose. “That’s a big ‘if’ right now.” She hurried over to Martin Rigsdale’s still form. He lay under a bright examination light, facedown. Jane put a finger to his neck and then glanced back at Sunny, shaking her head.

Dawn appeared in the doorway beside Sunny. “What are you doing?” Her voice grew shrill. “What did you do to him?”

“We found him like this,” Sunny told the girl. “Better call 911.”

“You’re damned right I will!” Dawn spun around and rushed back to her desk.

“Come on back here,” Sunny called to Jane. “You can’t do anything to help, and you may get in the way of the cops.”

That earned her a cold look from Jane. “I forgot that you and Will first met at a crime scene. Is that what he told you at the time?”

“On occasion. It’s good advice,” Sunny told her. “Especially around dead bodies.”

Jane grimaced but joined Sunny at the entrance to the room. Moments later, they heard the door buzzer shrill, and then heavy footfalls come down the hallway. A pair of Portsmouth police officers appeared, with Dawn behind them.

“They’re in here.” The girl sounded as if she was trying to catch her breath. “He was fine until they arrived.”

The cops split up, one entering the room, the other closely watching Sunny and Jane.

At least he’s not keeping his hand over his holster, Sunny thought.

“Definitely deceased,” the cop in the examination room said to his partner. “Got a contusion on the back of his head. Shirt rolled up on the right arm—I think we’d better secure the scene and call the Detective Division.”

*

That meant apair of detectives who arrived about fifteen minutes later. The lead was a big, burly type, gray-haired with a mournful, basset hound face. His partner was shorter and skinny, with pinched features and lips pursed as if he’d never tasted anything good in his life.

“Detective Trumbull.” The big man identified himself, displaying a gold badge. “And this is my partner, Detective Fitch.”

Fitch was already inside the room, moving with quick nervous steps. He stopped to examine the body. “Guy took a good knock on the head.” Then Fitch delicately raised one of Martin’s wrists. “No sign of rigor.”

“We’ll have to let the lab rats see if they can narrow down the time of death.” Trumbull turned back to Dawn. “When was the last time you saw the doctor?”

“About an hour and a half ago,” Dawn replied. “Then these two came barging in—”

“Thank you,” The detective’s rumbling voice overrode Dawn’s accusations. He looked from Jane to Sunny. “I understand that one of you is the wife of the deceased?”

“Ex-wife,” Jane quickly corrected, not noticing Sunny’s wince. “We finalized the divorce more than a year ago.”

“She killed Martin—Dr. Rigsdale!” Dawn insisted from the background. “She came down here, and the next thing I know, they’re telling me he’s dead!”

“As you told me at the doorway, Ms. Featherstone.” Was that patience or resignation in Trumbull’s voice? “Why don’t you go wait in the front room with the other officers?” he suggested, turning his concentration back to Jane.

“What was your name again?” he asked her.

“Dr. Jane Rigsdale. I’m a vet, too. Martin and I used to have a practice together.”

“You came down here and found Dr. Martin Rigsdale dead?”

Jane nodded. “He was just lying there.”

Trumbull turned to Sunny. “And you are?”

“Sonata Coolidge. I gave Jane a lift over here.”

“My car had a flat, and I asked Sunny for a ride,” Jane explained.

“It’s the maroon Jeep Wrangler outside,” Sunny said. “I know it’s pretty cold out, but if you check, my hood should still be warm. We only got here about half an hour ago. We were barely in the door before we found Martin.”

Trumbull glanced at Fitch, who hurried back outside. “Considering the storm they’re predicting any moment,” the big detective went on, “you must have had urgent business with your ex-husband, Dr. Rigsdale.”

That put a dent in Jane’s self-confidence. “We had things to discuss.” She stepped aside as Fitch returned. “Car’s still warm,” he confirmed, and then resumed his prowling around the room.

Good luck, Jane, if you think you put an end to that topic of discussion, the tough reporter who lived in the back of Sunny’s head silently jeered.

The skinny detective suddenly stopped on the other side of the exam table, bending down and briefly disappearing. “Got something here, Mark,” he reported. “Looks like a rubber tube—the kind doctors use to tie off an arm and make the veins pop.”

“His sleeve is rolled up on the right side.” Trumbull’s voice went down to a low rumble. “Seems as if Dr. Rigsdale might’ve gotten an injection in his right arm.”

That rocked Jane a bit. “Martin had his vices. But I don’t think he’d turn to drugs.” She paused for a second, then went on more slowly. “Besides, he’s right-handed. Why would he inject himself with his left hand?”

Fitch impatiently shook his head. “More to the point, where’s the hypodermic?” He gestured around the room. “I’ve looked. Nothing.”

“It may still turn up,” Trumbull said. “I guess there must be stuff around here to put animals to sleep, right?”

In spite of Sunny’s look of warning, Jane opened her mouth again. “Oh, sure. From what he told me, Martin was trying to get in with the horsey set. He’d need a good supply of sodium pentobarbital if he thought he might one day need to euthanize a fifteen-hundred-pound animal.”

“Enough to kill a horse,” Trumbull said quietly. Fitch just glared at Jane in silent suspicion.

Sunny bit her lip. I know you came here in a bad mood, Jane, and you’ve had a shock . But these are cops. If you’re as smart as I always thought you were, you’d be shutting up now.

“Look”—Sunny desperately spoke up—“why don’t you check us out? We barely got in here before Dawn joined us, and we haven’t been out since. I know that neither of us has that needle. If it left here, it left with somebody else.”

Jane endured a quick search in rigid silence, but Sunny figured the indignity was a small price to pay to get off the suspects list. As she expected, the cops came up empty.

“I think we should get you ladies downtown for a statement.” Trumbull looked even more morose than he had when he’d entered. “And you, too, Ms. Featherstone,” he added over his shoulder.

*

Sunny had seenthe Portsmouth city hall, a vaguely Colonial brick building facing the South Mill Pond, but that part of the complex was like the top bar of a capital T. A string of less grandiose civic buildings made up the body of the T. The entrance to the police station, for instance, looked very much like the door to Sunny’s MAX office . . . not counting the large sign in the shape of a badge and the pair of globe lamps labeled POLICE on ether side of the entryway.

Sunny, Jane, and Dawn had been split up at the veterinary office and ferried to the station in separate cars. Guess they didn’t want us talking, she thought. On arrival, Sunny had her fingerprints taken on a gizmo that reminded her of the multipurpose printer/scanner in her bedroom. Then she’d been stuck in an interrogation room for an interminable wait until finally Detective Fitch came in. He leaned way over the table, invading her space, his ferretlike nose twitching as he asked questions.