“What else do you know about the case?” asked Chapman.
Reid glanced down at his watch. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I just realized that it’s time for my golf round.”
“First, answer the question,” said Chapman.
Reid gave his most disarming smile. “Why don’t you two come along? We’ll discuss it on the links.”
“I don’t think so,” said Chapman.
Reid paused and appeared to think again. “I’ll tell you something. That woman was going downhill for a long time. We hung in with her. Even when her doctor recommended dangerous therapy, we went along with it because we wanted to see her get better. At Kinder we take care of our own.”
“Spare me the bleeding heart routine,” Chapman cut him off. Dex sat back and snapped his jaw shut.
“I’ll tell you something more that you did not know.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I met that woman once. She was mixed up with the doctor’s husband.”
“What?” Chapman exclaimed.
“They had something going on. I know that the good doctor did not approve,” Reid said. His expression somber.
“How do you know this?”
“I know her husband. He broke it off, but the doctor never forgave him.” Reid nodded gravely. “We’ve been concerned about some irregularities with her care. We were looking into it when the worst happened.” He formed a sorrowful face.
Byers repeated, slowly. “Sarah Summers had an affair with Steve Lane?”
“Yes. I’m telling you.” Reid blew a smoke ring and smiled at them as they watched it rise. Chapman licked his lips a little wishing that he had accepted one of those cigars.
“Okay,” said Byers. “So you think that the doctor had something to do with her death?”
“I’m not saying that,” White looked alarmed. “I’m just saying that we here at Kinder were concerned about her health.”
“Because of the doctor?”
“There is probably some better explanation for this, but we thought some of her care could have been carried out differently. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I think that the doctor intentionally killed her patient.” His eyes were wide and innocent.
Byers gave Chapman a sideways look. “Yes, thank-you Mr. White. You’ve been a great help. Can we contact you again if we need to?”
“Yes of course.”
“Thanks again,” said Byers.
Outside the building, Byers looked to Chapman and said, “Was that guy for real? He didn’t register a genuine emotion from the get-go.”
Chapman shrugged. “We gotta check out this connection with Lane.”
“Question is, do we trust that his statements are the truth?” Byers reached for the passenger door of the old, green Buick.
“We’ll just have to pay Mr. Lane another visit and see what he has to add,” said Chapman.
Chapter 11
I arrived at the office of Keats, Keats and Scherer. “Hello, I’m Veronica Lane. I’d like to speak with Mr. Keats please.” I looked around at the waiting room. The heavy, pelmeted, navy curtains probably cost more than the entire decor in my waiting room.
“Which Mr. Keats?” asked the secretary, without looking up. She had a small earphone over her head and continued to type as she spoke.
“Hal Keats.”
“When would you like to make an appointment?” She typed on.
I blinked at her. Brusque much? “Today, please.”
“I’m sorry, we don’t have any times for consultation today. I can set you up some time next week.” The secretary never looked away from her screen.
“Next week?” I leaned over the high marble separation trying to catch her eye.
“Yes.” The woman glanced at me briefly without changing her expression. “There is a cancellation for Monday. Would that be suitable?”
“Yes. What time?”
“Please be here by 8:15.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll put you on the schedule,” she finally looked up at me. “Please keep in mind that our time is carefully scheduled. We have a two hundred dollar fee for missed appointments.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I hoped that the lawyers behind this iron curtain were more accommodating. This woman’s job was clearly not to encourage business. I walked back out across the thick, patterned carpet. There was nothing left to do but wait for my appointment unless I reopened my office. I considered that idea, but I didn’t think would be able to concentrate today. I called Vickie and told her to plan to have the office open tomorrow. I would see patients on Friday.
***
“Ready to see Mr. Lane?” asked Chapman.
“Right there with you, brother,” said Byers.
They left Kinder, and pulled up into Steve Lane’s drive a short time later. This time an old, blue car with a dent on the rear bumper was sitting in the driveway.
Chapman marched straight across the lawn to the front entrance and rang the doorbell. Byers lagged behind, following the sidewalk around.
The door opened and Steve said, “Hello, Detective. What brings you here today?”
“We have a few more questions to ask you.”
Steve opened the door wider and glanced at his watch. “You've got five minutes. I have to leave for a sales meeting.”
“Tell me about your relationship with your wife.”
“We’ve split up.”
“How were things before?” Chapman stepped into the sparsely furnished dining room next to the front door, and straddled a chair.
“She worked a lot at the office. I spent time with her there, but otherwise she didn’t have much free time.” said Steve.
“Did she ask you to hang around like that?” asked Byers from the doorway.
“No, I was her husband, and that was the only time we had,” said Lane, as he perused the men who had just invaded his home.
“So why did you cheat on her?” Chapman pounced.
Lane took a step back and flushed. “What do you know about that?”
“I know about a lot of things. For instance, you are covering for your ex-wife because you feel responsible for what happened,” goaded Chapman.
“For what happened?” repeated Steve.
“The death of Ms. Summers,” said Chapman.
“Hold on. Are you accusing her of murder?” Steve’s brown eyes widened at that. Appalled he stepped back and sank down on the couch across from Chapman.
“Do you think someone else may have done it?” Chapman watched him closely.
“Yes!” exclaimed Steve. “There’s no way she could have done it.”
“You seem very confident about that. Did you kill her?” asked Chapman without inflection. Dex shot him a stunned look.
“No.” Steve set his jaw, thoroughly hating the man.
“Then who did?”
“Just because I know who didn’t do it, doesn’t mean I know who did.” Steve’s neck reddened, he could feel his blood pressure rising and the warmth rising in his ears with it. Normally, he was a very patient man, but he was losing it. He gave an angry glance at Chapman and then flicked it to Byers.
Byers caught his look and moved closer to Chapman, putting his hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s about time we go. Mr. Lane has an appointment that we don’t want him to miss.”
Chapman continued without looking up. “You had an affair with Miss Summers, and your wife was overwhelmed by jealousy.”
“Did Veronica tell you that I had an affair with Sarah?” Steve raised his eyebrows skeptically.
“So do you admit that you did?” asked Chapman.
“Did she tell you that?” Steve demanded, rising again.
Chapman watched him without twitching a muscle. He looked as though he were enjoying himself.
“I’ll tell you then.” Steve stomped around the living room. “Veronica never told you that. She never knew. I hid that...that pathetic little bitch’s identity from Veronica after she found out about me—
us. I hid it to protect Veronica. She was so attached to her. She worried so much about her. Veronica NEVER knew!”
“Why didn’t you tell us about the affair before when we asked you about Ms. Summers?” Byers asked quietly.
“I told you, my wife never knew. I wanted to keep it that way; besides, I didn’t think that it contributed.”
“She threw you out, but didn’t know that you had an affair? Then what exactly did she throw you out for?” Chapman leaned forward on the back legs of the chair.
“She knew that I had an affair. She just didn’t know with whom.” Steve faced them both.
“I don’t know about that,” said Chapman. He had made a crusade of finding out who his ex-wife was with, then tracked the two of them until he caught them in bed together. He’d considered straightening out the man himself before deciding that she wasn’t worth the trouble.
“I don’t think that I want to continue this conversation with you,” said Steve. He opened the door.
Detective Chapman obligingly rose from his chair. “You should watch your step. Remember, a woman scorned... You haven’t been feeling at all ill lately have you?”
Byers sucked in his breath, prepared for an explosion.
Steve’s voice became low and level. “Detective, you are way out of line, and you have worn out your welcome. Veronica wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s a magnet for orphans and strays.” He sucked in a huge breath, and then mumbled to himself, “I would know, I was one of her strays.”
Chapman simply stepped outside, followed closely by Byers as the door slammed behind them.
On the way back to the station, Byers finger-combed his mustache. “He was pretty touchy about that affair. It’s clear he still has feelings for his wife. Do you suppose he could have killed the girl to clear the way back to his wife?”
Chapman drove as usual. He glanced at Byers. “I doubt it. Poison isn’t a male M.O.. You know that.”
“Sure, I know, but I haven’t noticed that it holds true all of the time. You remember we put away that guy last year for switching out his mother’s heart medication. Lane seems like the passive sort.”
Detective Chapman shook his head. “There is no reason to believe this is an exception. There’s a viable suspect who more closely fits the profile.”
“So you think that the insurance guy was right about her?”
“He’s the only one whose statements are holding up to the facts. Based on what we know, the only conclusion is that she’s the killer.”
They arrived at the station. Chapman gave the thumbs up to Benny, and said, “Now we have motive.” He swaggered to the chief’s door. “We’ve got the perp on the Summers case.”
Chief Dickerson looked his antique pocket watch in his baggy khakis, and snapped the case shut. “I think that’s a record. So whodunit?”
“Veronica Lane. She had motive, opportunity, and means.”
“And intent?”
“I haven’t established that yet. I’ll meet with her tomorrow, but she won’t confess. Hell, even her ex-husband is covering for her. We’ll need more information, but I know where to look now. I need a warrant for her arrest. I’m meeting her tomorrow afternoon at her office, two o’clock.”
“What’s the story?”
“Summers was her husband’s lover. Dr. Lane threw him out six months ago. That’s when the arsenic poisoning began. She has a license for arsenic, and six months ago she reported a burglary where that was the only thing stolen.” Chapman paced in the small area in front of the desk.
“Wait a minute. This woman has a license for arsenic?”
“Yes.”
“What for?” asked Dickerson.
“She makes jewelry,” said Byers. “The gold is mixed with arsenic.”
“So what happened with the burglary case?”
“Never solved. Only one witness, and he couldn’t make an ID,” said Chapman.
“Have you spoken with him?” asked the chief.
Chapman shrugged. “No, but I’ll track him down, for completeness’ sake.”
“So, the doc had all this poison and wanted her dead. Why not earlier?”
“I think that she had to wait until the girl got sick enough to go in the hospital. Maybe she thought that a hospital death would be less suspicious. She pushed for a potentially fatal procedure, and tried to pass the death off as a complication, knowing that they don’t usually autopsy most in-hospital deaths. It would have made it easier to get away clean.”
“What procedure?” Dickerson flipped a gold cigarette lighter over and over on his desk and stared off at the wall while he listened.
“She admitted her for a bone marrow transplant. We have enough to get an arrest warrant,” said Chapman.
“Okay, you’re convincing me, but are you sure that you want to move so quickly in this case? This could get messy if you’re wrong.” said Dickerson.
“I’ve been doing this twenty-six years, Chief. I know when I’m right.” He reminded Dickerson that he had been doing this for much longer than the new, young chief. He resented being passed over for that job, particularly in light of his case clearance rate.
Chief Dickerson calmly ignored the baiting. “This is all circumstantial. You’re going to need prints, or witnesses, or better before the trial.”
“I’ll get it when she’s not around to tamper with it. Just get her off the streets.”
“Do you think she poses a continued threat?”
“It’s possible that her husband could be next. Having her handiwork exposed may trigger a rapid second blow,” replied Byers.
“All right then, I’ll sign the request, but you give me something concrete before the week is out or it’s both your asses,” threatened Dickerson.
The next day Chief Dickerson handed Chapman the neatly signed request for an arrest warrant. Chapman grumbled to himself that it could have been signed yesterday, and that it put him behind to wait until today.
First stop was Ms. Summers’ house. No search warrant was required to search the home of a deceased murder victim. He pulled into the gravel driveway that ran along the left side, and tramped across the lawn to Summers’ door.
He was met by the neighbor in an orange and pink flowered housecoat. “She’s not there. You’ll have to sell your insurance somewhere else.”
“What?” he growled.
“Your insurance. You’ll have to push it somewhere else.”
“Lady, I don’t sell insurance.”
“Then what are you hanging around that door for? Are you looking for uninhabited homes to break into? I’m calling the police.”
“I am the police.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t look like the police. Where's your uniform? Show me your badge.”
Chapman grunted and pulled it out.
The woman squinted her eyes, leaning very close to his badge, and then she smiled up at him, exposing a crooked row of yellow and gray teeth. “An officer. Why didn’t you say so? Come in. Have some lemonade with me.”
“No, I’m here to check out the house.” Chapman turned back toward the yellow tape-wrapped side of the house.
“Like that woman who was here the other day?”
“What woman?” asked Chapman whirling back to face her, eyebrow arched.
“She wasn’t a cop. She was the doctor.”
“Did she go inside the house?”
“No, she just asked me questions for a few minutes. She was very polite.” She frowned at Chapman. He ignored her and resumed his check of the property.
Chapman walked around the perimeter of the house, wading through knee-high weeds. His foot hit something round and hollow-sounding with a sickening thud. He looked down slowly, half expecting to discover a dead body, and found his brogans and the hem of his pants leg covered in rotted pumpkin pulp and seeds. He cursed and wiped the trouser legs with a tuft of grass. The woman had followed him, watching his every move. She cried out at that and hurried into her house for a towel. A sm
all, brown and white terrier charged the field as she reemerged.
“Here, officer.” She handed him a threadbare yellow towel, and backed away to a respectful distance. The dog yapped and rushed him as he leaned over to wipe his leg. Chapman’s knee flexed reflexively in preparation to kick the dog off, and the old woman rushed forward.
“No, Roscoe. That’s the nice officer.” She scooped him up and hugged his oscillating body close to her.
“Who takes care of the lawn?” asked Chapman.
“Sarah used to when she was healthy,” she answered.
“It might be time to pay someone else to come out here and take care of this,” he observed.
“I’ll have the next tenant do it. I can’t take care of things like that. My back keeps me in the house.” She resumed her soft and frail demeanor.
Chapman nodded. “Mm-hmm.” He checked each window, brushing away the dried remains of last year’s morning glories, knocking over the new vines which were swarming up the carcasses of their forebears like hungry octopi. The first four windows were sealed shut, and had accumulated so much grime that a touch would have created a glaring white spot. The last window was cracked, but it was also sealed shut. He put on gloves, and opened the front door. Inside, the rooms were musty and still. Everything was put away neatly and there was no accumulation of mail. Chapman turned angrily to the woman who was hanging by the doorway.
“Have you been taking care of the mail?”
“Yes. I’ve returned it back to the senders.”
“Were you put in charge of her mail?”
“No. I just wanted to straighten everything out since she was dead. The meeting about her estate is next week.”
“You have been tampering with the mail? That’s a federal offense.” Chapman cursed inaudibly.
The poor woman stepped back in surprise. Her eyes were enormous when she asked him, “You’re not going to arrest me, are you?”
“Not if you haven’t disturbed anything else. Have you been in here since the death?”
The old woman trembled. “Yes. She asked me to take care of her plants. I just watered the plants. I didn’t touch anything else.”
Chapman hated to have someone hanging over his shoulder, especially the sort that cowered and darted. It made him sick. “You may be needed for further questioning,” he growled. “Now please go home.”
Treating Murder: Book One of the Veronica Lane, M.D. series (medical thriller) Page 12