Dying for Compassion (The Lady Doc Murders Book 2)

by Dr. Barbara Golder

  “That it does, but there’s a problem with the tox. When I finally got to looking at the printout of the toxicology on the glass, I realized the profile didn’t fit. Black Leaf 40 is nearly pure nicotine, but there was another cluster of peaks, something other than nicotine, and it was pretty large. Long story short, it was the volatiles that are in those fancy e-cigarette concoctions. More palatable, I suppose, than decades-old Black Leaf 40, which gets thick and dark and smells awful. So the Black Leaf 40 was a red herring, designed to point towards Eoin as the murderer.”

  I left it at that. Reasonable doubt. I paused a moment, wondering how much more to say. “There were a lot of other suspects once that was discovered. Ultimately, the investigators found smears of Black Leaf 40 on the inside of Dee Matthews’ purse.” I conveniently ignored the smear on Eoin’s jacket. It didn’t matter now. That wasn’t the poison that killed Fiona. But in the back of my mind rested the question: Did Eoin provide the Black Leaf 40 to Dee Matthews, or did she get it herself? Was it there to frame Eoin, or were the two of them in cahoots to kill Fiona? And Dee just decided to use vaping fluid but planted the insecticide to divert the investigation and frame Eoin — which still made him an accomplice in the eyes of God and man? Did Dee just decide to use something more convenient and palatable and forget about the insecticide? Was it possible — still — that Eoin was, if not a successful murderer, a putative one?

  “You mean Deirdre Connor,” Tom Patterson said.

  “What?” Now I sat down in the vacant chair. There was too much to process standing up. I hadn’t seen that coming, and even Ben had not figured out that connection. “Eoin’s long-lost and not terribly lamented sister, the one who went off with Fiona and never benefitted from Eoin’s largesse,” I said.

  Some of the doubts disappeared. “No wonder she knew where to find the stuff, and small wonder that she would cooperate with Fiona. I wonder if Fiona promised to write her into the will?”

  “No, at least that is what Deirdre says; the better to be seen as the faithful minion who helped her dying boss commit suicide and punish her ex-husband. Suskind tells us that the porter told Deirdre that Fiona changed her mind about revising her will the same night Fiona died, and that might make a pretty good motive for murder.” Tom Patterson’s expression made it clear he was chewing on my news as much as I was struggling to wrap my mind around his.

  “That and the fact that Deirdre spent two years in jail because of Fiona.” I quickly explained the history of the jewels, which sounded more and more to me like Deirdre was the patsy in a plan to defraud the insurance company. And a more and more likely suspect in the death of Fiona.

  “Truth be told, I am not sure we’ll ever be completely certain who put that nicotine in Fiona’s drink. Could be she did, and washed down her sleeping pills with it. Could be Deirdre gave her the sleeping pills, and then, when she was drowsy, finished the job with the nicotine.” Tom Patterson suddenly grinned. “I am so glad whoever did it did it in Ireland and not here. That’s a mess to unravel. Nothing worse than having a murder and knowing you can’t prove it.”

  That I knew, and for a moment, my mind went back to Sadie and her request for employment; perhaps I needed to think about that a little more. Then I took back up the thread of thought at hand. I was still castigating myself for such utter blindness. Perhaps I had been blind to the possibility of suicide, because I really did think Eoin might be responsible. The thought did not please me. The fact that the information I had at hand did not dispel those doubts completely pleased me even less.

  “Did you know she was dying?” This time Father Matt tossed the curve. “Makes suicide a little more probable.”

  Another bombshell. “No. How?”

  “Brain tumor. You didn’t see the autopsy?”

  “No. I just saw the tox. I didn’t have access to the investigative file.” Out of stubbornness, I realized. I’d never contacted Eoin’s lawyer until I had some proof he didn’t do it. Afraid of what I might find? Again, the thought did not please me. My postmortem on my own actions was not turning out to my liking. “Tunnel vision, I suppose.” Maybe it was time I reread my own procedure manual. Unless you have all the facts, you can’t have the whole story, I reminded myself. And with the whole story, it was clear: Eoin Connor was not just not guilty. He was innocent. I breathed a sigh of relief just an instant before shame washed over me. I knew the man. And I still suspected him. I would never have suspected John. My pleasure at solving the puzzle was short-lived, but at that moment it all dropped into place for me: Fiona, Eoin, everything.

  “She came back to Eoin because she didn’t want to be alone,” I said. The same pride that made her color her hair and tuck her face made her want to be desired, not pitied — to have Eoin come back to her because of her, not because of a mass in her brain. And that made me sorry for her all the more, all of a sudden, and greatly. It also made sense of her connection to Joseph Baladin, too. What might have happened if, instead of encouraging her death, Baladin had counseled her to be honest with Eoin about her fears and about her needs?

  Suppose he had told her that we are all a package of hopes, fears, body, soul — desirable parts and ones not so desirable, and ultimately, we choose to be with the whole person, all parts included, or we don’t. That dividing ourselves up and parsing out our motivations doesn’t always help. Relationship commences at a level far deeper than the intellect, and too often, when we start thinking about it to try to control it and figure it out, we mess it up. Suppose he had said that it’s better to risk the chance of refusal in honesty than it is to gain the agreement by deceit. But that, I suspected, wasn’t part of Proserpine’s routine. It might have ended in life rather than death, and death is what Proserpine sells.

  I reread the note. “I guess she decided not to send it when she decided to frame Eoin for her own death to punish him, as well as me.”

  “Looks like it. That’s my best guess, anyway. It certainly wasn’t your Irishman, anyway.” Tom’s voice was quiet. He knew me well enough to know that there was a lot going on inside my head, though I suspected he wasn’t sure what it was.

  “I suppose. How did you find it?”

  “Isa. She was cleaning Fiona’s room when she found it in the shredder.”

  I laughed out loud. Good for Isa!

  “That’s twice now,” Tom continued. “I’m thinking maybe we ought to send her in to the crime scene when we are finished. She’s pretty good at unearthing things. My guys missed it when they made a pass through the room for the guys in Ireland.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  Father Matt broke in. “Eoin’s lawyer was happy for it, as it turns out.”

  I laughed again, the best laugh I had laughed in two long weeks, and it felt good. Refreshing. Cleansing. As though the world were set right again. Here we were, on opposite sides of the world, both of us trying our best to get Eoin out of jail. Tom Patterson ended up working with the lawyers he so disliked — no doubt a result of Father Matt’s benign influence. I, on the other hand, was busy trying to throw a spanner in the works of the conventional mills of justice that I customarily worked to serve. Go figure.

  “Spiteful bitch.” Tom’s voice interrupted my train of thought. “She was too afraid of dying to live. That’s a shame. Worse yet that she would ruin a man’s life because he’d found another woman to love. I’ll never understand jealous women.”

  “Or men.” I’d seen my share of if-I-can’t-have-her-no-one-can murders in my career. I reflected for a moment. I had been too hurt by my own pain to see any in Fiona, but there it was. I wished I had realized it earlier. Once her life wasn’t the perfect façade she had so carefully engineered over all these years, she didn’t want it anymore. Her life just wasn’t worth living. Not to her. I found it unbearably sad. And I wondered what facades I was trying to keep in place myself.

  “Poor woman,” I said, more to myself than to Tom. “If she had just told Eoin outright that she was dying, he’d have stayed by her
side to the end. She would have passed on holding the hand of a man who cared for her and cared about her. Instead, she died alone and in terrible pain, all of it of her own making. Nicotine poisoning is just not a nice way to go.”

  Father Matt looked at me and crossed himself, no doubt offering a prayer for Fiona’s poor soul. “True enough.”

  A pause, a heartbeat too long to be spontaneous, and it came with the silent sound of shifting mental gears on the good Father’s part. It made me wonder what was coming next. He was measuring his words.

  “Eoin’s on his way here now. He shouldn’t be long. We thought we’d take him out for a celebratory lunch. Join us?”

  For a moment, I anticipated Eoin’s face, until I realized I wasn’t a part of his life anymore by my own stupid choice. I hadn’t loved him enough to make the choice to stand with him, because I was afraid of what I might find out about him. I was afraid that the Eoin wasn’t the Eoin I wanted, and I was not able to risk the difference. Not unlike Fiona, in my own way. That realization hurt with a pain that was almost physical. “No, Father. I’d best go. I doubt he wants to see me. He certainly doesn’t need me.”

  Tom stared at me. “What? You don’t think that brawling Irishman needs you? Who’s going to keep him out of jail?” He smiled at his own poor joke.

  I shook my head, hoping that my expression didn’t betray the sadness I felt, smiling a smile I did not mean. “He’ll not have me now. I know that much about him. I flinched, Tom, when he needed me most. It’s over and done with, and it’s my fault that it is. I abandoned him. I ran away.” It took a moment to compose myself enough to continue. “It’s probably time I moved on, anyway. He helped me get over John. Maybe that’s all he was supposed to do.” I’d keep telling myself until the ache in my heart stopped. This time I was the one who had deprived a good man of a life with wife and family. And it was worse this time, because I knew full well what that was like. This, I reflected, would be a great time for the earth to open up and swallow me. It didn’t. It never does when I want it to.

  Patterson snorted. “For a smart woman you sure are dumber than a fencepost sometimes. A broken fencepost at that. If this,” he waved the file under my nose, “is your flinching, you can flinch in my defense any time. Damn fool.” I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or not. He and Eoin had a strong man’s respect for each other. They’d end up real friends if they stayed around each other long enough.

  I stood up, looking at Tom until I could look no more, and avoiding Father Matt, then examining the toes of my boots. I was caught between and betwixt, not knowing what to say, wanting to leave and not knowing how to go. Finally, I just shrugged. “I’ll see you later, Father; Tom. Thanks for everything. I’m tired, and I still haven’t unpacked.”

  “Don’t you want to stay?” It was more a statement than a question, and it was from Father Matt.

  I shook my head. “No.” I made sure the words carried more conviction than I felt. “Thanks, though. Tell Eoin...” Tell him what? The interchange was beginning to play out in my head like a third rate soap opera. I backtracked to the last point of composure and dignity. “No, thanks.” It was an awkward end to the conversation but the best I could manage. I turned, listening to the sounds of my distinctive, heel-striking walk on the linoleum floor as I walked away. I’d never been good at taking my leave.

  I paused outside the door long enough to hear two deep male voices in conversation behind the door. I turned away with a half-smile and was almost to the stairs when I heard Eoin’s voice, bellowing down the hall. “Woman! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  I hesitated, and then turned around. Eoin, in a faded denim shirt and jeans, his shearling jacket open, stood at the door of Tom Patterson’s office, Tom and Father Matt right behind. He looked thinner. He hadn’t shaved since I saw him last, and a full, gray beard framed his face. His wiry hair was in need of cutting. Altogether he looked rather wild.

  Wild, but not threatening. Temper or not, I knew Father Matt was right. I had nothing to fear from Eoin. “Woman,” he intoned again, slowly, raising his voice on the last syllable and stating the next sentence firmly and clearly. “Where do you think you are going?”

  I shrugged, but I couldn’t move. I raised my hand in a helpless little gesture and shook my head. My eyes stung, but I was determined not to cry. I just stood at the end of the hall, biting the inside of my lip and looking at Eoin Connor.

  He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and debated with himself about I knew not what. He looked past me and then at me. He closed the distance between us, and took my hands in his, regarded them and kissed them, as he had not so long ago. I was growing to like that gesture.

  “Jane Wallace, darling girl,” he finally said. “I’m a free man, once and for all. Marry me.” Then he took me in his arms and kissed me, as he’d later describe it, strong and proper.

  I suppose he read the answer in my eyes. I kissed him back.

  Did you enjoy this book?

  Check out Book One of The Lady Doc Murders:

  Dying for Revenge

  Book One: The Lady Doc Murders by Dr. Barbara Golder

  Finalist Next Generation Indie Book Awards 2017 Christian Fiction

  Dying for Revenge on Amazon

  As well as other books by Full Quiver Publishing:

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  (O’Donovan Family #1)

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  Gold Medal Winner 2010 IPPY Awards, Religious Fiction

  Amazon Kindle #1 Bestseller Religious Drama

  (February - April 2012)

  A Subtle Grace by Ellen Gable (Historical Romance)

  (O’Donovan Family #2)

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  #1 Religious and Inspirational Fiction

  IAN Finalist 2015

  Discovery by Karina Fabian (Catholic Sci Fi)

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  A World Such as Heaven Intended by Amanda Lauer

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  2016 CALA Winner! (Young Adult Fiction)

  Angela’s Song by AnnMarie Creedon (Contemporary Romance)

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  Amazon Kindle #1 Bestseller Religious Drama

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  The Lion’s Heart by Dena Hunt (Contemporary)

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  2016 CALA Winner! (Adult Fiction)

  Stay With Me by Carolyn Astfalk

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  Finalist 2016 IAN Book Awards (Romance)

  Rightfully Ours by Carolyn Astfalk

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  Acknowledgments

  As always, many people helped bring this very different book to life.

  Thanks as ever to Doreen Thistle, literary midwife extraordinaire, Ellen and James Hrkach of Full Quiver Publishing, and Marisa Corvisiero for continuing to believe in Jane and me. Thanks to James Hrkach for his artistry in creating two beautiful covers.

  Thanks to everyone who enjoyed Dying for Revenge and told me so. Having a cheering section is so important to keeping going. I hope that you enjoy this part of Jane’s story as much as you enjoyed the first installment.

  My bioethics writing group (Ann Marie, Wes, Ashley and Fr. John) have talked me through many a discussion on physician assisted suicide from all the possible angles. I hope the fruits show up here.

  Trying to portray how others see the world is always a challen
ge for a writer. Thanks to Bertin Glennon for his continuing assistance on the journey.

  Rathlin Island is a magical place and the perfect spot for the Connor farm. My thanks to Alan and Hilary Curry for hosting my visit there, for introducing me to some of the local folks, and for answering questions as they came up. Any errors about Rathlin or UK police procedure are mine alone.

  Msgr. George Schmidt (may G-d be good to him) lost his struggle with dementia as I was polishing this manuscript. His loving presence accompanied me as I came down to deadline. Msgr. Jamais shares an illness and a charm with Msgr. George, though they are not otherwise much alike. I was privileged to know Msgr. George and I miss him.

  Msgr. Tomas Halik ‘s writings have influenced how Jane and I look at the world of faith. Although others have noted the wonderful way in which children move from fantasy to reality, the way he presented his thoughts on the subject in The Night of the Confessor provided the key to solving one of the mysteries in the book. I’ve never met him, but I am grateful to his literary presence in my life.

  And, of course, thanks always to my husband—who is still not Dead John—and my daughter and son, for living with a crazy woman and writer. But perhaps I repeat myself. I love you; thank you all for putting up with me.

  Last and certainly not least, Our Lady under the title Undoer of Knots and Our Lady of Guadalupe, St. Luke, and St. Martha walked every step of the way with me.

  About the Author

  Dr. Barbara Golder is a late literary bloomer. Although she’s always loved books (and rivals Jane in the 3-deep-on-the-shelf sweepstakes), her paying career gravitated to medicine and law. She has served as a hospital pathologist, forensic pathologist, and laboratory director. Her work in forensic pathology prompted her to get a law degree, which she put to good use as a malpractice attorney and in a boutique practice of medical law, which allowed her to be a stay-at-home mom when her children were young. She has also tried her hand at medical politics, serving as an officer in her state medical association, lobbying at a state and national level on medical issues, writing and lecturing for hire, including a memorable gig teaching nutritionists about the joys of chocolate for eight straight hours, teaching middle and high school science, and, most recently, working for a large disability insurance company from which she is now retired