TIL DEATH

by Annette Dashofy

  “Yes.” She shrugged. “But seriously. Does it really matter whether I’m ‘willing’ or not? I’m sure there would be a subpoena with my name on it if I wasn’t.”

  Pete smiled. Rebecca was no fool. He pulled out his notebook. “I realize you’ve answered these questions before, but I have to ask them again.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  The interview revealed no surprises. She reiterated her previous story of a brief affair that had ended well before Elizabeth’s death, her competitive yet friendly relationship with the victim, and her rendition of Elizabeth’s reaction to learning of her husband’s infidelity.

  “How many of Dustin’s other women are you aware of?” Pete asked once he’d completed going over the rest of her story.

  “The ones who came forward for his first trial,” Rebecca said. “And only because I saw them in the news. Other than the girl I told you about at the time, I wasn’t privy to Dustin’s little black book.” A trace of a sneer crossed her lips. “I had no interest in his sexual exploitations.”

  Pete dug his phone from his pocket and pulled up the driver’s license photo he’d saved after his conversation with Zoe. He handed the device to Rebecca. “Have you ever seen this woman before?”

  She studied Loretta Marshall’s photo, then shook her head and returned the phone. “No. Sorry. Is she another one of Dustin’s conquests?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” If she was, some big questions would be answered. But some bigger ones would arise. He stood and shook Rebecca’s hand. “Thanks for your time.”

  “I’m glad to do my part.” Her expression hardened. “Whatever it takes to put that scum behind bars for good.”

  As she ushered him out, he wondered if he should warn her to be careful about her food and drink.

  Except he realized what had been bothering him—and what they may have been missing.

  Zoe paused at Abby’s hospital room doorway and peered in. Seth remained seated next to the bed, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. His eyes were closed, and even from the hallway, Zoe could hear his soft snoring. Abby didn’t seem bothered by it though. She too had her eyes closed. And, Zoe noticed, was holding Seth’s hand. She smiled. A glance at the heart monitor revealed normal sinus rhythm, blood pressure, heart rate, and blood ox levels. Satisfied, she moved on.

  Franklin had died in a room on this same floor but in a different unit. Zoe hoped Dorian, the nurse she’d spoken to last Wednesday, was on duty. The nurses’ station hummed with activity, but Dorian wasn’t there. Zoe leaned on the counter in front of another nurse who was working on a computer. “May I help you?” the nurse asked without lifting her gaze.

  “Is Dorian on duty today?”

  The nurse looked up and studied Zoe. “She’s with a patient right now. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Thanks. I’ll wait.”

  She didn’t have to wait long. Dorian stepped out of a room at the end of the hall and bustled toward the station. She slowed when she spotted Zoe and did not look happy to see her.

  “What do you want?”

  Zoe was taken aback by the sharpness of her tone. “I wanted to ask you about the day Franklin Marshall died.”

  “Sorry. Can’t help you.” Dorian brushed past her and into the nurses’ station.

  Zoe had the definite impression what Dorian really meant was she wouldn’t help her. “Why not?”

  The nurse pivoted on the balls of her feet and stormed back to Zoe. Lowering her voice, Dorian said, “I nearly lost my job the last time I helped you.”

  “Why?”

  She gave Zoe a look.

  “Because I insisted on taking over the autopsy?” Zoe asked.

  Dorian didn’t reply. Didn’t have to. The icy scowl she gave Zoe said it all.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but—”

  Dorian waved her off, spun, and strode back into the nurses’ station.

  Zoe looked around, hoping to see a familiar and preferably friendly face. Recognizing no one, she followed Dorian.

  Echoes of “Excuse me, you can’t be in here, this is for authorized personnel only” followed Zoe and turned Dorian back around.

  “You really are determined to get me fired, aren’t you?”

  Zoe ignored the other staff members surrounding her, although she heard one of them mention calling for security. “I need two minutes of your time. You could help catch a killer.” She spoke loud enough for the rallying troops to hear. It worked. No one moved closer or attempted to toss her out.

  Dorian’s eyes shifted, taking in their audience. “Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “Come with me.”

  Zoe hoped the smile she shot at the gathered staff would put them at ease. She followed Dorian out of the station and into a staff breakroom.

  The nurse folded her arms. “What’s this about catching a killer?”

  “Franklin didn’t die from any negligent action by the hospital. He was murdered.”

  “How?”

  Zoe hesitated before asking, “Do you know anything about an experimental oral insulin?”

  Dorian’s expression shifted from guarded to curious. “I’ve heard speculations about something being in the testing phase.”

  “Any of your patients on it?”

  “No. I don’t think it’s available yet. Why?”

  “Someone poisoned Franklin with insulin taken orally.”

  Dorian stiffened but didn’t reply.

  “Do you remember his wife? Loretta?”

  “You mean the bitch with the black hair?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I think she had more to do with the administrator reaming me out than you did. She really did not want an autopsy.”

  Not if she was the reason he was dead. “Did you happen to notice whether she was here that morning?”

  Dorian’s brow creased in thought. “She was here after he died.”

  “What about before?”

  Dorian gazed into space. “Now that I think about it, yes. She came in to visit him right after his breakfast.”

  “Did she bring any food with her?”

  “Not that I noticed, but we were pretty busy.” Dorian’s eyes widened. “You think she put insulin in his food?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. Did anyone else go in his room?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Like I said. We were busy. I didn’t notice anyone but hospital personnel around his room, but I can’t be sure.”

  There was a knock at the door before it swung open. A stern-looking man in a uniform filled the doorway, his gaze settling on Zoe, although his words were directed at Dorian. “Is everything okay in here, D?”

  “Yes, we’re fine, Sam,” she replied.

  “I was just leaving.” Zoe moved toward the security guard. She stopped to face Dorian. “Thank you. If you think of anything else, let me know.”

  “I will. Sorry I gave you a rough time.”

  “And I’m sorry I got you in trouble.” Zoe eyed the man who still blocked the entire doorway. “Both last week and today.”

  Thirty

  Pete stepped off the hospital elevator and rounded the corner toward Abby’s room. Baronick and Zoe stood outside her door, involved in a heated debate. Zoe spotted him, said something to the detective, and both waited for him to approach.

  Neither showed signs of grief nor worry, so Pete assumed Abby was still okay. “What’s going on?”

  “Did you find the iced tea?” Zoe asked.

  “I just dropped what was left of it off at the lab.” He glanced through the door where Abby watched them and appeared ready to climb out of bed. Seth stood halfway between her and them, as if unsure of his current duties—keep guard over her or join the discussion of the case. “Let’s talk inside.”
r />   Once they’d funneled into Abby’s room, Zoe said, “I have news.”

  Pete gave her a nod. “Go.”

  She told them about the conversation she’d had with the nurse and about Loretta’s visit with Franklin before he died. Looking at Baronick, Zoe asked, “What about Langley’s?”

  “Nothing definite. A couple of the saleswomen recognized Loretta’s photo and said she’d been in the store but couldn’t confirm Loretta was there last Monday. Two other employees, who worked that evening, are off today. The manager said she’d have them call me.”

  Pete glowered at him. “You should’ve gotten their home addresses.”

  “I did,” Baronick said. “They’re not home. I also got their phone numbers and left messages on both voicemails.”

  “What about Gina?” Zoe asked. “How long had she been sick?”

  “According to the woman who was there on Monday, she’d been fine until after her afternoon break.”

  “Did she eat or drink anything during her break?”

  “I didn’t ask. Sorry.”

  Zoe gave an exasperated growl. “I should’ve gone with you.”

  “I’ll ask the other two women when I reach them,” Baronick said.

  “When you do, ask who gave her the food. And if anyone else was around her at the time.”

  “Like Loretta Marshall?” Baronick said.

  “Exactly. Have you learned anything yet about whether it’s her employer that’s developing the new form of insulin?” Zoe asked.

  “Still waiting to hear.”

  She glanced at Pete.

  He was still rolling these latest developments around in his mind, trying to decide if they confirmed or conflicted with his suspicions. “Anything else?” he asked.

  “I talked to Gina Wagner’s mother.” Zoe exchanged a look with Baronick. “She says her daughter never believed Dustin killed his wife.”

  “We knew that,” the detective said. “Gina’s testimony’s in the trial transcripts.”

  “But did you know Dustin couldn’t handle a gun?”

  “So she claims,” Pete said. When everyone else in the room looked at him, he continued. “Gina Wagner still loved the guy, even after she learned he was married. She broke off the affair but could never believe he was guilty of murder.”

  “No one wants to believe their judgment is that bad,” Abby said. “To not only learn the guy had been lying about being married, but to think you could love a man who was capable of murder?”

  Pete eyed her, wondering how much of her assessment of women and bad judgment was drawn from her recent experience with Seth. Pete brought his gaze back to Zoe. “Or he could have been faking. Pretending he couldn’t handle a firearm to cover his ass.”

  “But this happened at least a year before his wife’s murder,” she said.

  Baronick wandered across the room to stare out the window. “He was hedging his bets well ahead of time.”

  “A year ahead of time?” Zoe said doubtfully. “That’s a lot of premeditation.”

  “I’ve had a feeling we’ve been missing something,” Pete said. “I know what it is.” He again had their full attention. “Since Dustin’s conviction’s been overturned and the DA decided to take the case to a second trial, we’ve had two mysterious deaths.” He looked at Abby. “And one near death. Gina Wagner and Franklin Marshall were both witnesses for the prosecution. But neither one of them believed Dustin was guilty. Hell, they probably should’ve been defense witnesses.” Pete looked at Zoe. “Have you read Marshall’s autopsy notes?”

  She flushed. “I’ve been carrying the file around with me, but I haven’t gotten to it yet.”

  “His issue was with the shooter being in the backseat. The trajectory of the bullet was consistent with Elizabeth getting into the car, being surprised, half-turning toward the back, and being shot in the side of the face.”

  Zoe nodded. “I did read that part in the official report. What I didn’t get to was Franklin’s personal notes.”

  Pete met her gaze. “He questioned why Landis would hide in his wife’s backseat. Why not wait for her in the passenger seat? Elizabeth would still have gotten in. He was her husband. There was no reason for him to surprise her.”

  Zoe’s eyes narrowed in thought. “And how did he get there? Where was his car?”

  “Another question Marshall raised. The killer was seen running away.”

  “He could’ve parked it elsewhere,” Baronick snapped. “Obviously Dustin Landis wanted these questions raised to make himself look innocent. Reasonable doubt.”

  Pete shrugged. “That’s the theory Frattini used to counter Marshall’s testimony.”

  “What exactly is it you think we’ve missed?” Baronick asked. “Gina claimed he couldn’t handle a gun. I say he faked it. And seriously, how much skill does it take to put a gun to someone’s head and fire when they’re at pointblank range? Franklin claimed he had no reason to be in the backseat. I say it only made sense for him to hide there. Especially if he wanted to cast blame on the serial killer.”

  “A serial killer who wasn’t known as such at that time.” Pete closed the distance between him and the detective. “Why would Dustin arrange to have the coroner and the one ex-girlfriend who believed his story killed?”

  “He wouldn’t.” Zoe’s voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear her.

  Pete faced her.

  She raised her eyes to meet his. “If Dustin was going to start having witnesses killed, he’d start with the ones most damaging to his defense. Not the ones most likely to cast reasonable doubt. But…” She looked at each of the others before coming back to Pete. “But if someone else killed Elizabeth, that person would want to eliminate everyone who might work to clear Dustin and keep the investigation from looking elsewhere.”

  Exactly what Pete was thinking. “Loretta Marshall,” he said, “worked in the same office building as Dustin. The dumpster behind the building was easily accessible, and pitching the murder weapon there would immediately cast blame on him.”

  Zoe started pacing. “The conviction is overturned. Loretta comes back to town to make sure no one’s looking for new suspects…or because Franklin’s health was declining.”

  “Or both,” Abby suggested.

  “Either way.” Zoe reached the wall, pivoted, and paced back. “Two birds, one stone. Killing Franklin eliminated a strong case of reasonable doubt. If his substitute…” She pointed at herself. “…only read the autopsy report into evidence without the expert witness opinions, it would look like Dustin had done it. Plus, Franklin was about to write her out of his will. Double motive.”

  Baronick turned his back on the window, his expression dark. “I have two problems with all of this. First, the two different means of murder. She killed Elizabeth with a gun but poisoned Franklin and Gina? Most killers stick with one or the other.”

  “Not all,” Pete said, although the detective had hit on a point that bugged him as well. He could come up with a number of explanations, but they were only theories. For now.

  “And second,” Baronick said, “why attempt to murder my sister? She wasn’t even a cop yet when Elizabeth Landis was murdered.”

  Before Pete could answer, Zoe crossed the room to Baronick. “Because she was looking into another possible killer.”

  “The homeless John Doe?” Baronick looked from Zoe to Abby.

  “Nothing came of it,” his sister said apologetically.

  “But Loretta didn’t know that,” Zoe said to her. To Baronick, she added, “Loretta must’ve found out Abby was investigating a man who was a possible suspect. More reasonable doubt.”

  “How did she find out?” Baronick asked.

  Pete realized another gap in the theory. “And why try to stop the investigation if it might have pointed to anyone other than her.”

  The
room fell silent.

  Until Baronick broke it. “You’re all missing one very likely scenario.”

  Pete and the others turned toward the detective.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I think we need answers from the merry widow, but let me play devil’s advocate for a minute.” Baronick paused to meet each of their gazes before settling on Pete’s. “Dustin Landis is behind all of it. He killed his wife and made it look like a stranger did it. Not necessarily the serial killer, but definitely someone other than him. Then he finally succeeds in having his conviction overturned only to have the DA refile charges and start the investigation all over again. He’s still stuck behind bars but has someone on the outside who starts poisoning witnesses.”

  “But why kill those who were on his side?” Zoe asked.

  “Because he’s smart. If he bumped off those who were firmly against him, of course we’re going to suspect it’s his doing. But no one would think he’d kill his staunchest supporters.” Baronick paused as a victorious smile curled the edge of his lips. “He’s going to force a mistrial without looking the least bit suspicious.”

  Zoe’s phone rang. She glanced at it and winced. “It’s Paulette. I was hoping to get through an entire day without going to a death scene.” She excused herself and headed for the door while answering the call.

  Pete thought about Baronick’s theory. As much as Pete wanted to believe Dustin Landis was guilty, the story the detective weaved had some loose threads. But so did Pete’s supposition about Loretta. “All right, Detective,” he said. “Who do you want to question? Landis or Loretta?”

  Baronick flashed his trademarked too-bright smile. “Why do we have to choose? Let’s talk to both.”

  Zoe charged back into the room, her face flushed. “I think you should talk to Loretta first.”

  “Why?” Pete asked.

  “Because she’s at my office right now raising hell with Paulette. If nothing else, I could use your help defusing the situation.”

  Loretta’s screeching voice reached Zoe the moment she stepped off the elevator. She jogged down the hallway ahead of Pete and Wayne, thankful the other offices on her floor were vacant.