Death in a Summer Colony

by Aaron Stander

  “Tell me how far you read.”

  “In layman’s terms, I know Wudbine died from a severed spinal cord. I also know the insertion point and the dimensions of the part of the blade that penetrated beyond the skin. That gives me a good sense of what we should be looking for. Although, by this point, I think the weapon is long gone.” Ray made several trips from the counter to the table with the bread, fish, and tomatoes. “Ice water?”

  “Yup,” she responded, her attention glued to the report. “Did you read the toxicology?”

  “Didn’t get that far.”

  “You didn’t see the note on the pressure marks and the anterior bruising to the neck?”

  “No. Anything else there?”

  “Yes, but not definitive. The pathologist speculates, based on the pattern of bruising and fingernail marks, that the victim’s neck was held from the front by a right hand, helping pull the posterior part of the neck and spine into the penetrating object. The pathologist further speculates that the perpetrator was left-handed.”

  Ray walked behind Hanna. He reached around with his right hand, gently grabbing her neck. Then he put his knuckles of his left hand against her spine just below her head.

  “You got it,” said Hanna.

  “Feels awkward,” Ray commented. “I’d want it the other way. But it makes sense.”

  And the arsenic, you don’t know about the arsenic?”

  “Arsenic, you’re putting me on. His blood was loaded with….”

  “No, not a trace. His exposure happened a few months ago. Traces were found in an analysis of the hair. The time frame isn’t too precise, six or eight weeks ago. And the exposure was short term, but at a fairly high level. There’s a note that they can order some more sophisticated tests to better estimate the duration and level of exposure. You should have the complete analysis done. Also, they can do a similar study on the fingernails to verify the hair data.”

  “Note those things in the margin. I’ll make sure they are done.” Ray dropped into his chair. “What would that mean, medically? What would be the symptoms of arsenic poisoning? If you wanted to poison him, where would you put the arsenic? Mashed potatoes, oatmeal? Refresh my memory.”

  “Ray, this is way outside my area, I can only speculate. And there are lots of ways he could have been exposed. The fact that it’s present in his hair doesn’t mean someone was trying to poison him. For example, if he was downwind from an orchard that was being sprayed with an arsenic-based insecticide, if that is still done, he could have inhaled it. Arsenic is a common chemical in the environment. There are often trace amounts in water supplies and food.”

  “How about coffee?”

  “Depends where it’s grown, how much might have collected in the soil….”

  “I mean, could you give it to someone in coffee. How does it taste?”

  “Get me your laptop. I’ll do some background reading while I eat.”

  Ray ate in silence, watching Hanna handle a fork with her left hand and keyboard with her right. Finally she looked up and said, “Okay, I know just enough to be dangerous. So don’t take anything I say as the final word. What were your questions?”

  “Given a very discriminating coffee drinker, could you slip some arsenic in his brew without him noticing it?”

  “Yes, especially if you were only lightly lacing the brew. Arsenic is odorless and tasteless.”

  “Would a physician be able to diagnose the poisoning based on symptoms?”

  “Well, that depends on how the patient presents. They would have some moderate to severe gastrointestinal symptoms, depending on the dosage. If blood work were done, an usually high level of arsenic would show up. But, I don’t think most physicians would start there. At a fairly low dosage, the symptoms would look like an intestinal virus or food poisoning, the kinds of things that usually resolve themselves in a few days on a bland diet. No one is going to order blood work for a common ailment unless there are extenuating circumstances.”

  “How about shrimp and prawns?” asked Ray.

  “Give me a few minutes?” Hanna set down her fork, both hands flying across the keyboard. Then she stopped, her eyes scanning the text as she scrolled down the page. “Naturally occurring. Subject to inspection. No reports of arsenic-related illness.” She looked across the table at Ray. “Seafood is usually a leading suspect in cases of food poisoning. I don’t know if it is more fragile than other meat sources, or if it is a problem with shipping, storage, and handling.

  “So what’s going on here?” she asked. “This time you talk while I eat. Give me the back story.”

  “One of the people I interviewed this afternoon told me that Wudbine had been very ill sometime in June. She said that shrimp or prawns were thought to be the source of the food poisoning. The arsenic finding changes everything.”

  “How does the coffee fit into this?”

  “My speculation. The person who usually prepared his coffee was out of the country. There’s a lot here I still don’t understand, but I think the pieces are starting to fall together. I need to call Sue. We need some search warrants.”

  “Tonight?”

  “No, just starting the process. Hopefully we can serve them tomorrow morning. I like to start early, keeps people off balance.”

  Hanna remained silent for several moments.

  “What’s going on?” asked Ray.

  “I think the data just indicates the presence of arsenic in his system at a greater than expected level for a number of days. You would need to study hair samples from other household members and employees to prove that he was an outlier.”

  Ray nodded his agreement as his mind whirled with the language of the proposed search warrant.

  43

  “Everything go okay with the judge?” asked Ray, as he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled the seatbelt.

  “He was running late and had just recessed for lunch. He wasn’t happy to see me,” Sue reversed out of the parking place and then headed for the highway. “I had carefully laid out the information from the autopsy report, focusing on the part dealing with the arsenic poisoning. I’m not sure he was completely convinced, but he signed it. I did lay out all the brand names for the household and garden products containing arsenic that we would be looking for, so it didn’t look like we were just on a fishing trip. I think we got this one by based on our positive history.”

  “How much time did you spend on the document?”

  “Most of the evening.”

  “I imagine Harry was thrilled by that. A nice romantic evening in the north woods.”

  “It worked out, Ray. It worked out. We were on dueling laptops researching arsenic. When I had absorbed enough information, I drafted the affidavit. He helped with the rewrites, anticipating the questions and concerns the judge might have. We had a really good evening, sharing our expertise, strategizing back and forth. We’re both too mature and type A to spend a lot of time pitching woo. I did a final draft this morning when I came in. Then it was just a waiting game. There’s a copy in the folder tucked next to your seat. Tell me what you think.”

  Ray carefully read through the search warrant affidavit, looking up occasionally to take in the passing scene. “I’m convinced,” he said, returning the affidavit to the folder. “So our search is basically limited to the food and coffee preparation area at Gull House and Brenda Wudbine’s greenhouse.” He looked over at Sue, “The place will probably be clean. They would be less than bright to leave that kind of evidence around. But nothing ventured…”

  Ray started to check his e-mail on his phone. His attention was pulled back to the present moment when Sue turned onto the long drive that ran up to Gull House.

  “I wonder what’s happened?” she said, motioning toward the ambulance parked near the greenhouse. She pulled in across the drive and they got out of the Jeep just as three
EMTs rolled a gurney to the back of their unit and quickly loaded it. Ray could see Brenda Wudbine’s motionless body secured to the stretcher. “How is she?” he asked just before the doors were closed. The last paramedic to climb aboard, a young woman, didn’t respond verbally, her dispirited expression said it all. As soon as the rear doors swung shut, the heavy unit, its diesel engine laboring under the sudden acceleration, rolled down the drive, lights flashing, siren silent.

  Richard Grubbs was standing outside the greenhouse.

  “What happened?” asked Ray

  “Brenda, it must have been her heart. I know her health has been declining. I put her on my calendar today. I wanted to spend some time with her. That poor woman has been marginalized by everyone.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “Yes. She came down here every morning to cut and arrange the fresh flowers. This was her mission in life. I’d try to stop in and see her occasionally. Brenda, I don’t think anyone in the household even bothered to talk to her. She always seemed starved for conversation.” Grubbs stopped for a minute and took several long breaths before continuing. “Doing the flowers, that’s all that was left for her. She’d prepare the flowers and do the arrangements. Then Pat Eibler, he’s the handyman, would carry them up to the house.

  “I knew I’d find her here. Like always, the door was open. I walked in and didn’t see her right away. I usually stand over there out of her way on the other side of her work area,” Grubbs pointed. “So I walked around, and there she was on the floor. I got down next to her. She wasn’t breathing. I called 911. They were here in just a few minutes.”

  “And you’ve been alone the whole time?”

  “Yes. As I was walking down here I saw Pat in his pickup with Grace, the cook. I think he was taking her grocery shopping. And just before you arrived, I got Elliott on the phone. He’s on his way over.”

  Grubbs was silent. Ray watched as a wave of sadness swept across his countenance. “Brenda died alone.”

  Ray and Sue stood by silently, leaving Grubbs to his thoughts. Finally, Ray said, “Please show us where you found her.”

  They followed Grubbs into the greenhouse, stopping short of the large worktable still covered with roses. “Brenda was right there on the floor. I imagine she was working and just collapsed.”

  “Should I get my camera?” asked Sue.

  “Yes.”

  “What was her position?” asked Ray.

  “She was on her back. Her eyes were open, like she was looking at the ceiling.”

  Ray surveyed the table. Two piles of roses were separated by an open space. A pair of gardening gloves, several thick rags, and pruning shears lay on the near side of the table along with a large coffee mug, a crystal ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter. A brandy bottle stood near the coffee mug. A toppled-over stool laid at an oblique angle.

  “The flowers,” said Ray, “tell me exactly what she did.”

  Grubbs went to the far side of the table, looking across at Ray. “It depended on the type of flowers. More often than not, she was working with roses. That was Malcolm’s preference. And what you see here, it looks like she was in the middle of her normal, what should I call it, pattern. If she was working on roses, she’d pile them to her left. One stem at a time, she would take off the thorns using those rags, trim up the stem with the shears, and move it to the right. It was almost automatic. She could talk to me and just continue working away. After, she would arrange them in vases and, like I said, they’d get carried up to the house. You can see that she was about halfway through.”

  “Was she wearing gloves when you found her?” asked Ray.

  Grubbs looked at the gloves on the table, then back at Ray. “I don’t think so, let me think.”

  “You didn’t pull them off.”

  “No. I’m…a bit squeamish. I was almost afraid to touch her.”

  Sue arrived with her camera and started to shoot the scene. Grubbs joined Ray on the far side of the table. Ray pointed to the brandy bottle. “Tell me about her drinking? Did she always start early.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Sheriff. That said, I think there was usually a bottle around. I imagine you’ve heard about her drinking. I guess the doctors told her it was killing her. But she didn’t seem to care.”

  “Perfume,” said Sue. “Do you know if Mrs. Wudbine was partial to a specific fragrance?”

  “Perfume, I wouldn’t know about that, either. She did have a certain smell about her. It was sort of musky. I always attributed it to the roses, but now that I think of it, the scent wasn’t rose-like. ”

  44

  Elliott Wudbine rushed into the greenhouse. “Where is she, where is Brenda?” He directed his question to Richard Grubbs, taking no note of Ray and Sue.

  “In an ambulance. They left five minutes ago.”

  “How is she?” Again, his question was directed to Grubbs.

  “She wasn’t breathing when I found her. I don’t think they could do anything.”

  Wudbine’s focus shifted to Ray. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone hostile.

  “There have been some developments in your father’s case. I have a warrant to search this building and part of Gull House.”

  Sue slipped out of the building to retrieve the warrant.

  “Well, you will have to talk to my wife about that. She takes care of the legal affairs. And at the moment she is indisposed. I know she won’t be happy having you poking around.”

  “You won’t have to bother her, sir,” responded Ray, stalling briefly. Moments later Sue returned to the greenhouse with the folder. Ray passed Wudbine the search warrant. “As soon as you’ve read this, we can get started.”

  Wudbine held the document, one hand on each side, pushing it away from his body, squinting as he struggled to bring the print into focus. He remained silent, slowly scanning the words. Then he looked at Ray. “What’s this about arsenic? My father was stabbed for Christ’s sake, and you’re looking for arsenic. How will the poor man ever find justice with your ship-of-fools approach to the investigation?”

  “Did you read the warrant, sir?” probed Ray.

  “I need my reading glasses, but I’ve got the gist of it. I don’t understand about the arsenic.”

  “Some of the tissue from your father’s body showed high levels of arsenic. It appears that he had ingested a significant quantity of that element. We are wondering if there was an earlier attempt on his life. As you can see in the document, our search is limited.”

  “That’s the silliest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard. I’m going to find Jill. We’re going to get this shithead, so-called judge on the phone and have your sorry ass ordered off our property.” Elliott spun on his heels and bolted for the door.

  “Mr. Conviviality,” declared Sue.

  Ray turned to Richard Grubbs. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  “I don’t think so. You know where to find me.”

  “Let’s get this done,” said Ray as soon as Grubbs was out of earshot, “just in case…well…the ship starts taking water.”

  “You do want to treat this like a possible crime scene, don’t you? Until we know otherwise, this is a case of unexplained death.”

  “Absolutely. It’s your scene, and we will secure it until you’re finished. I’ll disappear for a few minutes. I want to call Dr. Dyskin, tell him where he’ll find the body, and ask him to order a forensic autopsy.”

  “Is Hanna at the hospital today?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should give her a call, too. Brenda’s departure is….”

  Ray cut her off, “Just too convenient.”

  “Right. See if you can get the curmudgeonly Dr. Dyskin to consult with Hanna.”

  Ray looked over at her. “I thought you had softened a bit on him since he’s given up cigars.” />
  “I have. But given Brenda’s history of heart trouble, if Dyskin will listen, Hanna can probably give him some useful counsel.”

  “Are you done with the camera work?” asked Ray returning to the greenhouse a few minutes later.

  “Yes. Let’s get the search done before we have any more interruptions. Here are some rubber gloves. First, I want to call your attention to this smock.” She carefully lifted the light gray, cotton garment from a hook and held it in Ray’s direction.

  “What am I suppose to do with it?”

  “Your nose, Ray. Smell it.”

  Sue watched his tentative moves. “Ray, not little sniffs. Put your nose into the material and inhale.”

  “Okay.”

  She pulled a small glass bottle from her pocket and removed its top. “Okay, take a whiff of this.” She passed the bottle under his nose. “What do you think?”

  “Very close. What’s the difference?”

  “The bottle has patchouli oil. It’s quite unique. If one were in the know about aromas and scents, I don’t think they would confuse it with anything else.”

  “Agreed,” said Ray. “So Tom Lea has helped us make a connection between the shadowy woman at the picnic shelter and Brenda Wudbine.”

  “Yes.”

  “What does arsenic look like?” he asked, impatient to get the search completed.

  “Arsenic, the mineral, is described as a silver-gray crystal. It will be a powder or in granules. Until it was banned in most consumer applications about a dozen years ago, arsenic was commonly found in insecticides, herbicides, and on flypaper. Our most likely suspect will be pesticides that contain arsenic, probably as a main ingredient.”

  Ray pointed to a tall, metal shelving unit along a wall at the far end of the building.

  “Yup,” Sue responded. “That’s a good starting point.”

  Twenty minutes of careful label reading had yielded four cartons of insecticide—cardboard cylinders with pry-off metal lids. Three had a tape seal across the top; the fourth had been opened. Ray found a screwdriver in a near-by drawer and removed the lid. They peered in at the grayish powder of the half empty container.