by Laura Kenner
“Toxicology identified it as being from the fluoride family.” The doctor lifted one shoulder. It might have been another attempt to relieve tired muscles or a shrug; Sara couldn’t tell the difference.
Trainor raised an eyebrow. “Fluoride?” A look of disbelief filled his face. “You mean as in killer toothpaste?”
The doctor glared at him. “Only if you’re in the habit of lacing your toothpaste with roach poison. Luckily, Mr. Bergeron ingested the chemical along with a substantial-size meal, so it slowed the absorption rate.”
Trainor pulled a notebook and a pen from his jacket pocket “You think it was suicide, Dr.—” he glared at the ID clipped to the doctor’s lapel “—Hamilton?”
Sara stepped forward. “Of course not!”
Trainor shot her a look of open disdain. “I was asking the doctor.”
Dr. Hamilton consulted his chart. “I can’t say. I’ve never seen Mr. Bergeron before so I have no idea of his mental state at the time of the incident All I know is—” the doctor looked up and leaned down as if to reveal a secret “—if I was going to kill myself, I’d choose a more effective way than this. No one in their right mind would sprinkle roach poison on a gourmet meal, then sit down and eat it”
Trainor looked up, his interest piqued. “Are you saying that the poison was in the food?”
“That’s what the guys in toxicology say. They tested the food sample the paramedics brought as well as the patient’s stomach contents.” The doctor glanced down at his watch. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have rounds to make. Mr. Bergeron is upstairs but I’ve left strict instructions that he is not to be disturbed by anyone. If you want to question him, do it tomorrow.” He turned to Trainor. “That goes for you, too. If there are any other questions for me, you’ll have to ask them after I finish rounds.”
As the doctor walked off, Trainor turned and beamed a cold smile in Sara’s direction. “A gourmet meal? Sounds like something up your alley, Ms. Hardaway. In fact, this all sounds a bit too convenient. Your fiancé—” he raised his hands and gestured his surrender before she could object “—forgive me, your ex-fiancé sits down to a hearty but potentially lethal gourmet meal and you ar-rive just in time to save him.” His smile evaporated to a hardened stare. “What happened? Had second thoughts?”
Sara felt her hands tighten into fists, but thankfully, she was able to keep them by her sides. “I didn’t try to kill Raymond, if that’s what you’re insinuating. In fact, I was doing your job for you, Detective—locating a suspect so he could be properly questioned.”
“We prefer our suspects to be conscious and in good health. And as far as helping us goes, if you knew which hotel he was likely to hide in, why didn’t you just tell us?”
“I didn’t know where he was. But I did know that Raymond always insists on eating well, especially when he’s stressed. So I put out the word among my fellow restaurant professionals and they did the rest. I got a call this evening from a friend’s chef who had taken a delivery order for a suspiciously familiar gourmet meal to be delivered to a hotel. We put two and two together and—”
“Added a little roach poison to the meal in hopes of subtracting one from the final total?”
Sara crossed her arms and leveled a lethal glare in his direction. “Why don’t you verify my story with the owner of the restaurant who received and prepared the delivery order? Retired Judge Michael F. Russell who owns The Judge’s Chambers in Georgetown.” She rocked back on her heels, knowing that she’d displayed a winning ace. “He’ll verify my story and I think even you have to admit he’s a reliable source for information.”
Trainor tried to save the moment by raising his eyebrow again and uttering a threatening, “We’ll see,” but his attempt to save face fell short of its mark. Having tossed his last retort, Trainor stalked off in the direction of the nurses’ station.
After he disappeared around the corner, Sara sagged against the wall, giddy with relief and guarded victory. “It felt so good to watch that smug look drop off his face!”
Will’s smile was strained at best. “That good, eh?”
She nodded, aware of the thrum of blood that buzzed in her ears, courtesy of an adrenaline surge that had changed from one of fear to one of triumph in the space of a few heartbeats. She leaned forward and gave Will a resounding kiss on the cheek. “That good,” she repeated. She suddenly looked at their position; her with a proprietary grip around his arms and him wearing a faint imprint of lipstick on his face. A sudden flush of heat filled her cheeks and she released him. “Uh…what next? Do you think they’ll let us question Raymond?” Suddenly, she was babbling. “There are so many things I want to ask him, so many confusing points I need to have explained.” She made a beeline for the elevator. “Do you think—”
“Hold it!” It was his turn to grab her. “There’s something you need to know.”
Sara fought the adrenaline-inspired desire to jump to action and instead, obeyed a stronger instinct to listen. She peered closer, realizing his expression meant that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“What?”
He looked around with a conspiratorial glance, then pulled her toward the exit. “It’s about the information that I got from Celia’s files.”
“The disk you lost in the fire?”
He nodded, holding the door open for her. “My friend was able to print out one of the records before his equipment malfunctioned.”
“You have a name?”
Will continued to scan the area as he led her to the car. “Initials.” He refused to elaborate until they reached the car. Once they’d climbed in, he started the engine and then reached into the glove compartment He withdrew a folded piece of paper, flattened out the creases and pointed to a line of text. “Here.”
MFR -asked 10k, rec’d Ok. Case: H. Wilkinson—sentencing hearing—wife’s first husband. Didn’t excuse self. W.—max sentence.
The adrenaline subsided, leaving Sara with an empty, hollow feeling. “What does this mean?”
“You don’t remember the Harlan Wilkinson case? The man plowed into a crowd at a high-school football rally and killed a teacher and injured several students. Wilkinson pleaded guilty of driving while intoxicated and vehicular manslaughter. Mike Russell was the judge in charge of sentencing and he threw the book at the man.”
Sara stared at the words on the paper. “Meaning he gave the man a tougher sentence than normal because…because he’d been married to Mike’s wife?”
Will shrugged. “I guess so. Evidently, Celia thought it was something she could use to blackmail Mike. Apparently she asked for ten grand. It says ’okay,’ so she must have gotten the amount she asked for.”
“If Celia was blackmailing Mike, then maybe Raymond was, too. If Mike poisoned Raymond’s meal, then maybe…” Her stomach turned. “He’s the one who killed Celia, too?”
Will remained silent, then he slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Then why would Mike have his chef call you and give you all the information about the order and the motel, giving us plenty of time to get the cops there and have Bergeron arrested? We may not have gotten the message until after seven-thirty, but your machine time-stamped it at quarter after five. If Mike wanted Bergeron dead, all he had to do was say nothing.”
She looked relieved. “Then there’s a good chance it’s not Mike. What do you suggest we do?”
Will glanced at his watch. “His place is still open. Let’s go there and ask him.”
“As simple as that?”
Will nodded. “It can be if we do it the right way.”
Saturday night
MIKE HELD A GLASS UP to the light for inspection. “So, can I assume that Ray will be remanded over into the custody of the police for questioning after he recovers?”
“I suppose so.” Will fiddled with the cocktail napkin under his drink, straightening the creased corner.
Mike replaced the freshly polished glas
s and picked up another one with water spots. “This is one time that I’m glad I could take advantage of my reputation as a former-but-still-honored-and-respected member of the court”. He shook his head. “Roach poison, you say? What a bad way to mess up a good meal. But—” he performed a shrug “—at least you found him in time.”
“He’s a lucky stiff.” Will knew his smile would appear genuine. It was a proverbial trick of the trade.
Mike nodded, giving Sara a quick glance. “He used to be luckier. Sorry you two broke up but, in light of recent activities…” His voice trailed off, as if it wasn’t seemly to congratulate Sara on getting out while the getting was good.
She nodded self-consciously and pretended to study her drink.
“The place is really hopping tonight.” Will had to speak loudly to be heard over the noise in the bar. “How come?”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t ask why. I just card ’em, serve ’em and take their—” a shriek of laughter from the other end of the bar cut him off “—money. If they start to get too rowdy,” he added in a very carrying voice, “I refuse to serve them.” He turned back to Sara and Will. “You two want to go back to my office where you can enjoy your drinks in a little peace and quiet?”
“Only if you join us.” It was Sara’s turn to put the finishing touch on their masquerade. “We wanted to thank you for helping us.”
“Sure. Hey, Adam! Cover me, okay?” An employee stepped in, replacing Mike as a bartender. “Come on.” He motioned for them to follow him through the crowd and into a room in the back. When be closed the door behind them, the noise level dropped significantly.
Will had never been in Mike’s private office. Paperwork sat on the scarred desk in haphazard piles. A couple of crates with a plank formed a table overflowing with even more paperwork. The room could be described as utilitarian at best. But in the midst of the bare-bones setup, there was an obviously expensive Persian rug and a large, comfortable-looking burgundy couch with matching armchair.
Mike indicated that they should take their seats on the couch and he perched on the armrest of the chair. Will couldn’t help admiring the furniture, running his hand over the soft leather cushion.
“Nice, eh?” Mike smiled. “They’re the last relics I have of my days on the bench.” He patted his chair’s cushioned back. “I might have been able to give up the prestige of the office, but I couldn’t make myself give up my office furniture.” His smile grew a bit maudlin. “I made many a decision stretched out on that couch, staring at the cracks of my chamber ceiling.”
“Like the decision to give Harlan Wilkinson a maximum sentence?”
The smile faded, revealing Mike’s well-trained poker face. Then his gaze narrowed, growing momentarily harsh. “Celia. Right?”
Will nodded. “She left some pretty detailed files.” He shifted to the edge of his seat and rested his elbows on his knees. “As God is my witness, Mike, I didn’t know she was blackmailing anybody. Especially you.”
A deep furrow formed between Mike’s eyebrows. “I never once thought you were part of it. You’re not that type of man.” He shrugged. “At least she didn’t get any money out of me.”
“But, her files—”
Mike lifted his hand, gesturing for Will to stop. “Like I said, she never got any money out of me…not that she didn’t try awfully hard. Celia thought she had me in the hot seat because I failed to disqualify myself on the Wilkinson case despite the fact that I had a connection to the victim. Apparently she’d once dated the poor bastard who did it”
He paused to pay feigned attention to the chair, then shook out of his strained reverie. “Well, anyway…Celia figured she could wring a small fortune out of me to keep quiet but…” Mike stood and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “But she found out she was wrong. I called her bluff.”
Will straightened in his seat. “You what?”
“You heard me. I called her bluff.” A look of relief replaced the tension in the judge’s face. “She threatened. I countered and I guess you could say we reached stalemate.”
“You’re telling us she didn’t get any money from you?” Will still needed to be convinced and after taking one look at Sara, he knew she did, too.
“Not a penny.” Mike rattled the coins in his pocket as he paced, following a time-worn trail on the rug. “I must’ve been the first person who ever stood up to her and I guess it took her by surprise. She never said another word about money after that.”
Will couldn’t ignore the little voice in the back of his mind. Sure, she never said anything…if you killed her. He shook away the intrusive thought. “Uh…how long ago did this happen?”
“Three years. I will admit she raised a legitimate problem issue. I should have removed myself from the case once I realized who the victim was. But if anything, I should have been lenient on Wilkinson. The man he killed, Marjorie’s first husband, was a certifiable louse. Sometimes I think Wilkinson did the world a favor. But…I knew in my heart that because of his record, he deserved the maximum sentence allowed by law and that’s exactly what he got.”
Sara was the one who put the pieces together. “Is this the reason why you stepped off the bench three years ago and opened the restaurant?”
Mike nodded. “I came too close to stepping over an ethical line and I decided I never wanted to put myself in that position again.” He slowly scanned the office, his face softening into a smile. “I’ve never been happier since. And I suppose I have Celia Strauss to thank for that. But to use your own words, Will—” he pulled his hands out of his pockets and drew a solemn cross over his heart “—as God is my witness, I never threatened or made any effort to hurt that woman, then or now.”
Will studied the man’s face. Although Judge Michael F. Russell was famous for his ability to mask all emotion, there was an undeniable sense of sincerity to his words. Plus, there was proof by Celia’s own hand. Belatedly, Will realized what she’d meant when she typed “Asked 10k, rec’d Ok.” Ok wasn’t okay. It meant zero k. Zero dollars. No money.
“One more question, Mike.”
“Shoot.”
Will glanced at Sara who returned a small nod of encouragement. “Did Raymond Bergeron ever try the same trick as Celia? To extort money from you?”
The judge’s smile broadened. “Only around the poker table. No time otherwise. Why?” Realization dawned in his eyes and his expression dimmed a bit. “Wait…you thought I might have been the one who poisoned him?” He crossed his arms in mock anger. “You honestly think I’d jeopardize the restaurant’s reputation by poisoning a very public figure like him?”
“Of course not,” Sara answered quickly. “That was the first thing I told the detective in charge.” She paused for a moment, as if making a decision. “From what we can tell, Raymond decided to follow her example and has been blackmailing people, too.”
“Whoa!” Mike rocked back on his heels. “I never expected something like that out of the counselor. I can see that this is going to be a complicated case. Now that you’ve eliminated me as a suspect, where do you stand in your investigation?”
Will shrugged. “Good question. There’s a chance that if we figure out who tried to poison Bergeron, then we might find Celia’s killer.”
“Why don’t you ask Raymond? I presume he’ll be able to talk soon.”
“He’ll probably be up to questioning tomorrow, but being able to talk isn’t the same as being willing to talk. We think it might be one of his extortion victims, and Bergeron may not be willing to implicate himself to finger the killer.”
“Knowing Ray, I can see your point. Since there seems to be only one case of poisoning, why don’t you find out who he ate with?”
Will felt his heart give an extra beat. “What are you talking about?”
“The meal he ordered,” Mike offered as if it were explanation enough. “Didn’t you know?” He released a noisy sigh. “He ordered dinner for two.”
SARA REMAINED inordinately quiet during
the trip back. Will tried to tell himself it was the accumulating effects of the fire, the poisoning episodes and Mike’s revelation about dinner that had overloaded her system. Everybody knew that even the strongest metals break if sufficiently fatigued. And fatigue was the operative word in his vocabulary at the moment. He was bone-tired and he suspected Sara suffered the same fate.
Of course, maybe she wasn’t merely being quiet.
He glanced at her. She had propped herself against the car window, eyes closed, her even breath making a frosty cloud on the glass. A convenient red light gave him a chance to study her features. He couldn’t call her delicate—at least, not when she was awake. There was too much fire in her eyes, too much energy in her step. But now, exhaustion had muted the fire to a soft glow. She had no energy reserves, he would bet.
As far as that went, neither did he.
He drove as far as he could without waking her. But he knew she needed to make a decision soon.
“Sara?”
She jerked up. “Y-yes?”
“Sorry I had to wake you. We’re almost to your home, but I just realized your car is at my office. I thought you might want to swing by and pick it up.”
“I don’t want to keep you out any later. Can we get the car tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“And for the record—” she attempted a smile “—I wasn’t asleep. No chance of that happening tonight.”
For me, either. A surge of something strangely like desire knifed through him. He blamed it on her smile. It cut through his usual reservations, touching something inside him. And to see her being twisted and tugged by her lingering feelings for a louse like Bergeron was more than Will could bear. She might kid herself and say she was over the man, but he knew it would take a while before she could trust someone else.