TIL DEATH

by Annette Dashofy

  The woman was a damned good actress. Pete wasn’t going to respond to her question.

  But Baronick did. “That’s exactly what we’re saying.”

  She leaned back in the chair, resting the tips of her long fingers on her upper lip. Her focus shifted from Pete to a spot on the table in front of her. Perhaps thinking up her next lie.

  Except he had the feeling he was getting a glimpse behind the mask. For the first time since he’d met her, he caught a hint of vulnerability.

  The attorney put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Loretta.” Her insistent tone drew their suspect’s attention. “Let’s go.”

  But Loretta shook her head. “If someone killed Frank, I want them caught.” She locked eyes with Pete. “While I was there in his room that morning, a nurse’s aide came in with a soft drink. A can of diet soda. I’d never seen her before and thought it odd. He hadn’t asked for a beverage. And it seemed too early. Too soon after breakfast.”

  Pete exchanged a glance with Baronick. The story could be a diversion. Loretta Marshall wouldn’t be the first suspect who’d tried to send him on a wild goose chase in an effort to deflect the blame. It shouldn’t be too hard to check with the hospital about their staff. “Did you catch the aide’s name?”

  “She wasn’t wearing a name tag. And like I said, I’d never seen her there before. She wasn’t the same one who’d been in the room earlier.”

  “Can you describe her?”

  “Short. Blonde. Cute.”

  “That doesn’t narrow it down a lot.” Although it struck Pete that she’d described the polar opposite of herself.

  “I don’t know if this helps,” Loretta said, “but she mentioned needing the diet soda herself, because she was still trying to lose baby weight.”

  Thirty-Three

  Pete stormed down the hallway to the second interview room with Baronick on his heels.

  “Would you care to explain what just happened in there?” the detective demanded.

  “I’m not sure.” That was a lie. Pete had a feeling he knew exactly who Loretta had been referring to. But he hoped like hell there was more than one short cute blonde who’d recently had a baby in the vicinity. One who had access to insulin.

  One who was not a caregiver for his own father.

  He also hoped Loretta was making up this mystery aide to send him on that wild goose chase.

  Pete hesitated at the door, resisting the urge to charge in and pin Landis to the wall, demanding answers. He drew a slow breath to calm his nerves and turned the knob.

  Landis and an impatient-looking Anthony Imperatore sat at the table. “I’m glad you finally decided to join us,” the attorney said. “I understand you’ve learned that Elizabeth’s killer was in Morgantown shortly before coming to Monongahela County.”

  The change in direction stopped Pete in his tracks, his brain racing to catch up. “First, I know of no evidence linking the serial killer to Elizabeth’s murder. And second, how the hell did you find out?”

  Imperatore smiled smugly. “You’re not the only one with sources, Chief Adams.”

  Pete took the chair across from Dustin, scrolled through his phone to Loretta’s driver’s license photo, and held it up to him. “Tell me about this woman.”

  Dustin squinted at the phone. “She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.”

  “Was she one of your many extracurricular activities?”

  Baronick lowered into the seat beside Pete. “He means one of your lady friends. Mistresses. Paramours.”

  Dustin shot a look at the detective. “I know what he meant. No. I’ve never had an affair with that woman. Who is she?”

  Dammit. Life—and this case—would’ve been so much easier if Pete could solidify the link between these two and put his new theory out of his mind. “Her name is Loretta Marshall.”

  There was no reaction from Dustin.

  “She worked in the same building as you during the time your wife was killed.”

  Still nothing from Dustin.

  Imperatore was another matter. “You have a new suspect?” he asked eagerly.

  Pete set his phone down. “Your client appears to have just cleared her.” His mind continued to race, like a blind mouse in a maze, running into walls at every turn. And that wall happened to be a petite blonde who’d had a baby not long ago. A woman he’d cleared of Elizabeth’s murder. A hundred or so eyewitnesses and a stack of credit card receipts confirmed she was in Chicago at the time. Besides, no way could she be mistaken for a tall athletic man, even in the dark and dressed in black.

  Baronick nudged him. “Pete? What are you thinking?”

  “Jenna.” The name slipped from his lips unbidden.

  The detective scowled. “Haggerty?”

  Dustin leaned forward. “What about Jenna?”

  Pete shook his head. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Focus. He needed to find out about the arsenic Zoe had mentioned. Except a nagging voice kept reminding him of something he’d learned early in his police career.

  Poison was frequently the preferred murder weapon of choice…for women.

  He shook his head again and looked at Dustin. “Did you do much gardening before your wife died?”

  He clearly looked puzzled. “No.”

  “Did Elizabeth?”

  “No. What’s gardening got to do with anything?”

  Pete shifted his attention to the attorney. “Has the forensic pathologist you hired as an expert witness reported back to you?”

  Now it was Imperatore’s turn to look confused. “Dr. Davis? No. Why?”

  “He found traces of arsenic in the hair samples from Elizabeth’s autopsy. Arsenic is easily obtained at garden centers. It’s in weed killers, pesticides, insecticides, rat poisons…”

  From Imperatore’s expression, Pete could tell the attorney’s brain was tracing the same maze as his.

  “But Elizabeth was shot,” Dustin said.

  “True. The gunshot wound to her head in the parking lot that night is what killed her. But someone attempted to poison her before that.”

  The room fell silent. Pete noticed Baronick was keeping his own thoughts to himself and, like Pete, was watching the reactions of the other two men. Imperatore appeared pensive, trying to determine what the new development meant for his client.

  Dustin, however, was slowly losing what little color his prison-inmate skin possessed. Wide-eyed, he met and held Pete’s gaze. “Neither Elizabeth nor I did any gardening. We had a service do all our landscaping.”

  “Did Jenna have access to your home?”

  “No,” Dustin said quickly, but then his eyes shifted.

  Pete waited, letting the man think.

  “Well, there was one time. She came to see me there right after I’d broken up with her. She claimed she just wanted to talk.” Dustin massaged his forehead as if trying to coax out a memory. Still seeming vexed, he pivoted toward his attorney. “What were you talking about when you mentioned Morgantown?”

  “The FBI has determined the Deserted Lot Killer struck in Morgantown a couple of weeks before Elizabeth was shot,” Imperatore said. “It places the serial killer in this area at nearly the same time.”

  Instead of appearing victorious, Dustin started shaking his head. “Morgantown.” He looked at Pete. “That’s where the WVU campus is.”

  “Yeah?” Pete said.

  “It may not mean anything, but that’s where Jenna attended college.”

  “Sunshine?” Harry placed a hand on Zoe’s. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine,” she lied, forcing a smile. In truth, she felt like crap. The job with its added responsibilities, the wedding coming up in four days, the unending cold of February…

  Maybe she was coming down with the flu. It was going around.

 
She shouldn’t be here spreading germs to Harry and the other vulnerable elderly residents of Golden Oaks.

  Even her milkshake tasted a little off.

  Harry pressed a cool palm to her forehead. “You are not fine. You’re clammy.”

  She tried to blink away the dizziness. Tried to think. Something was wrong. She felt hungry. Weak. As if she hadn’t eaten in days. The chocolate shake had failed to provide its usual sugar buzz.

  Why couldn’t she concentrate?

  A woman, one of the nurses, approached them. “Have either of you seen Jenna?” she asked.

  “She brought us these milkshakes,” Harry replied. “I haven’t seen her since. But then, I don’t remember stuff.” He looked at Zoe. “Have you seen her?”

  Had she? Zoe blinked. “No.”

  The nurse huffed. “Miss Eloise is due for her insulin, but her dose isn’t in the drug cart. I wanted to ask Jenna if she’d already given it to her and not charted it.” The nurse did a doubletake at Zoe. “Are you all right?”

  Zoe looked at her nearly empty glass. Tried to think.

  Insulin.

  She felt shaky. Exhausted. She looked at Harry. He seemed okay. Worried. Her milkshake. Tasted funny.

  Insulin. Missing insulin.

  Franklin. Gina. Abby.

  Panic struggled to swim to the surface. But thinking…coherence…felt out of reach.

  Zoe looked up at the concerned nurse. Needed to tell her. Insulin. She opened her mouth. Wanted to tell her to call 911. She’d been drugged. Poisoned. But all that she could squeak out was, “Help.”

  The nurse, the table, Harry…the world around her slanted.

  And all went black.

  Pete filled in the gaps for Baronick on the drive to Golden Oaks.

  “You think Jenna hired the guy who became the DLK to kill Elizabeth?” the detective asked. “And then poisoned three more people, including my sister?”

  “Maybe.” Pete couldn’t commit to a more decisive reply. If Jenna, that cute young woman who was now a happily married new mom, was indeed a murderer, he’d allowed her to walk free for nine years. Worse, he’d allowed her to be around his father, caring for him, ever since Harry had moved to the assisted living facility.

  “You do realize that’s crazy,” Baronick said. “First, you don’t ‘hire’ serial killers. Hit men and serial killers are two different animals. Second, if this girl was out to kill her lover’s wife, why would she go after the others?”

  As much as Pete loathed coincidences and unsolved murders, he found Baronick’s challenge of this newest theory soothing. They would locate Jenna. She’d have an alibi. They’d all laugh at the stupidity of his suspicions. And then he’d get back to tracking down the real killer.

  As Baronick turned into the parking lot, an ambulance greeted them, idling at the front door. The presence of EMS wasn’t unusual. Golden Oaks was home to a population of elderly. Unfortunately, there were falls and illnesses requiring transport to the hospital as a matter of routine.

  Still, fears that the patient might be Harry knotted Pete’s stomach.

  Baronick maneuvered around the emergency vehicle. “There’s Zoe’s truck.”

  “She mentioned stopping to visit Pop.” Pete’s anxiety about his father eased. Zoe was with him.

  Baronick parked, and they trudged through a cold misty rain to the entrance and through the doors. A trio of residents gathered around the piano to the right as one managed a pretty fair rendition of a Frank Sinatra song. A half dozen more residents played bingo in the Bistro area. Life as normal.

  The woman at the concierge desk looked up. Her worried expression offered the first indication of trouble.

  “Where can we find Jenna Haggerty?” Baronick asked.

  “Kidman,” Pete corrected. “Her married name is Kidman.”

  “We’re not sure,” the woman replied quickly. “Chief Adams, you need to get upstairs. Now.”

  The sense of dread slammed him again. “My father?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s Zoe. Something’s happened—”

  He didn’t wait to hear more. He took the stairs two at a time. Baronick on his heels, Pete charged down the hallway to the right, ignoring his sidearm, taser, and other gadgets on his duty belt slapping his hips. At the far end of the hall, near Harry’s room, two paramedics knelt on the floor, blocking Pete’s view of the patient. One of the staff stood off to the side, restraining a distraught Harry who clearly was trying to get to the person—Zoe?—on the floor. Other nurses and caregivers hovered nearby, watching the scene in front of them. They looked up as Pete and Baronick neared.

  The sight of Zoe sprawled, eyes closed, confirmed Pete’s fears. The medics had her on oxygen and an IV. He dropped to his knees next to them. “What happened?”

  “She collapsed,” one of the nurses said. “She looked ill and then fainted.”

  “The flu’s been going around,” another nurse added.

  He caught a glimpse of his father’s terrified face and wanted to comfort him. But right then, Zoe needed him more. He took her hand. Usually so strong—a hand that could rein in a runaway horse or throw a bale of hay or hoist a stretcher into an ambulance—the hand felt wilted and frail in his. “Zoe…babe…I’m here. I’m right here.”

  The paramedics’ words seeped into his brain. Thready pulse. Arrythmia. Shallow respiration.

  Pete looked at the nurse. “Where’s Jenna?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “We don’t know. She brought milkshakes to Zoe and your dad. No one’s seen her since.”

  “Do you have anyone here who’s taking part in testing a new drug? An insulin taken orally?”

  The nurse’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

  “HIPAA laws be damned,” Pete growled. “Tell me.”

  She nodded. “Miss Eloise.”

  Baronick’s hand clamped onto Pete’s shoulder. “I’ll put out a BOLO,” he said, his voice husky, fierce. “You stay with Zoe. Leave Jenna to me.”

  Pete caught the detective’s arm. “Check her residence. She has a baby.”

  “Roger that.” Baronick broke into a jog back toward the stairs.

  Still clinging to Zoe’s limp hand, Pete turned his attention to the paramedic next to him. “Treat her for insulin shock.”

  “Is she diabetic?”

  “No.”

  “But then—”

  “Do it.” He looked at the nurse. “You said Jenna brought her a milkshake?”

  The woman pointed at the two cups on the table. “One for Zoe and one for your dad.”

  He looked at Harry. “Pop, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, son. But Zoe isn’t.”

  “I know.” Pete again looked at the nurse. “I believe Jenna slipped insulin into Zoe’s milkshake.”

  “No.” The nurse shook her head. “Jenna wouldn’t make that mistake.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake.” As realization crept into the woman’s eyes, he pointed at the cups. “I need those. For evidence.”

  “I’ll make sure no one touches them.” She swallowed. “A dose of Miss Eloise’s insulin went missing right before Zoe collapsed.”

  Pete noticed the paramedics swapping out the IV fluids for a different bag. “We’re going to transport her to Brunswick ER,” one of them said.

  “Mind if I ride with you?” Pete asked, knowing Baronick was on his way to Jenna’s house.

  “No problem. But, sir, you need to step aside right now.”

  Pete hated to release Zoe’s hand. Hated to break the connection. As if he was the one keeping her anchored in this world. “I’m right here,” he whispered to her. Letting go, he stood and moved out of their way. As they maneuvered the gurney next to Zoe, Pete crossed to Harry’s side and draped an arm around his old man’s shoulders. “You sure you’re okay, P
op?”

  He nodded, tears brimming. “I couldn’t do anything to help her. I’m sorry.”

  Pete hugged his father closer. “You were here with her. That means a lot to me.”

  “She’s a good girl.” Harry pushed away and pointed. “You go take care of her. You hear me?”

  One of the paramedics suggested Pete sit up front with the driver, but Pete gave him one long, withering glare and claimed a seat on the jump bench. He leaned forward, gripping the rail on the gurney to keep from being thrown to the floor—or worse, on top of Zoe—as the swaying vehicle careened along the streets of Brunswick. During the entire trip, he kept up a heartfelt but senseless patter of encouragement, assuring her he’d be at her side no matter what.

  By the time they backed into the ambulance entrance at Brunswick Hospital’s Emergency Department, Zoe’s coloring had improved. Or Pete was seeing what he wanted to see, willing her to come back to him.

  He trailed after them as they wheeled her through the automatic doors and shot a look at the security guard, daring the guy to stop him. But no one did.

  Dr. Fuller met them as the medics steered the gurney into one of the cubicles, a mixture of anger and concern on his face. He held an arm out, blocking Pete. “Not again,” the doctor said. “Hypoglycemia?”

  “I’d bet my life on it.”

  “So would I.”

  “I’m not waiting out here.”

  “Of course not. Just stay out of our way while we’re working on her. I know you love Zoe, but let us do our thing to save her.”

  The thought of them failing choked him.

  Dr. Fuller barreled into the cubicle. Pete started to follow but his phone rang. Caller ID showed Baronick’s name. With a glance at the medical staff circling Zoe, Fuller barking orders, paramedics and orderlies sliding her from the gurney to the bed, Pete stepped back and swiped the green button.

  “Pete.” Baronick’s voice sounded triumphant. “We got her. Jenna Haggerty is in custody.”