‘So, why would it have been so high then?’ Grant asked.
‘Now that’s the million-dollar question. She recommended that we talk to his doctor—see if there was a reason why he might have injected insulin. Oh, that was another thing. The only needle mark she found was on his thigh.’
‘His thigh?’ Grant said. ‘Pretty sure my uncle always injected his into his stomach.’
‘I can get in touch with his assistant, Chris,’ Millar said. ‘Maybe he knows who Mark’s doctor was.’
‘I’ll go let the Captain know what Faye found. Maybe he can get in touch with Beverly, see if she knows why Mark may have taken it,’ said Penner. She turned to Grant. ‘When you went to the school to interview the teacher, did she say when Mark started acting differently?’
‘She said it was during the Q and A—so, maybe thirty or forty minutes after he showed up,’ Grant said.
‘Why don’t you go back to the school and see if she can give you a more definite time. If we can figure out when he started acting strange, it might help to narrow down when he took the insulin. I’ll ask Faye if there’s any way to know how long it would have taken him to die based on the amount of insulin in his system.’
‘Sounds good, I’ll head back there this morning,’ said Grant.
‘Good. I’ll go check in with the Captain,’ Penner said. ‘After I get a coffee.’
***
Penner walked down the hall to the small kitchen, greeting a few uniformed officers as she went. In the kitchen, someone had just finished making a fresh pot of coffee. Penner grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard and filled them to just below the rim. She took another cup and poured herself some water from the cooler standing in the corner. She downed the water, placed the cup in the sink, picked up the coffees and continued down the hall to the Captain’s office. She paused at his door and transferred both mugs to one hand, carefully so as not to spill any of the precious coffee, before knocking on his door frame.
‘Come in,’ the Captain called out. He was sitting at his desk, wearing his thick-rimmed reading glasses, paper in hand. ‘Ah, Sue. How’s it going?’
‘Morning, Captain. Not too bad. Bit of a headache but doing alright. Coffee?’
‘Thanks,’ he said, clearing a spot on his desk and grabbing the extra cup from her outstretched hand. ‘Gail had a headache this morning, too. Said it must have been cheap wine last night.’
‘Could have been,’ Penner said.
‘Could have been the quality—also, could have been the sheer quantity of wine that was consumed,’ said the Captain, taking off his glasses.
‘Another distinct possibility,’ Penner nodded. ‘May I?’ She motioned to a chair.
‘Of course. Last night was fun. Been a while since Gail and I have been able to get out together.’
‘Yeah, it was fun. And it was nice to see Gail again. She was looking good.’
‘I’ll let her know you said so,’ said the Captain. ‘I assume you’re not here to reminisce about last night?’
‘No, sir. We got a call from Dr. Pelow. From what she can tell, Mark died from an insulin overdose.’
‘Insulin? I didn’t know Mark was diabetic.’
‘She didn’t think he was, sir. She said he seemed pretty healthy before he died and there were no signs of any issues that would have caused high levels of insulin. Millar’s going to try and find out who Mark’s doctor was—see if he prescribed it.’
‘I’m not sure if he’ll get too far—doctor/patient confidentiality and all. Why don’t I give Beverly a call first,’ the Captain said. He picked up his phone and dialed. ‘Hi, Beverly? Hi, how are you doing?’
‘I’m doing well, thanks. You?’
‘Can’t complain. Just wanted to thank you again for inviting all of us last night. Gail and I had a great time.’
‘I’m glad you were able to make it. You’ll have to let Gail know the other painting she was looking at didn’t sell last night. It would look real nice with the other two pieces she picked up.’
‘Ha! Yeah, I’ll let her know. How’s Gabe doing? I didn’t get a chance to congratulate him on the show last night.’
‘He’s still asleep. It was so late when we got back to the house.’
‘Well, let him know we were impressed with his paintings. I just have a quick question for you. Was Mark diabetic by any chance?’
‘Diabetic? No. Not that I knew of, anyway. Why?’
‘Just wondering is all. Alright—I’ll let you get back to your day. Gail wants you to give her a call at some point to meet up for a drink. And let us know when you decide to have the service for Mark. We’d like to be there.’
‘Thank you. I’ll let you know. Talk to you soon.’
The Captain hung up his phone. ‘As far as she knows, Mark wasn’t diabetic.’
‘I guess it’s possible he didn’t tell her. Maybe he just got diagnosed and didn’t want her to worry until he had it a bit more under control,’ Penner said.
‘It’s possible,’ the Captain said. ‘Okay. Let’s see if Terry gets anywhere with Mark’s doctor.’ He put his glasses back on.
‘Will do, sir,’ Penner said, grabbing her cup of coffee and standing up. ‘I’ll let you know what we find out.’
Penner left the Captain’s office and retraced her path back to Millar’s. She stopped briefly in the kitchen to have another drink of water. When she got to his office, Millar was putting on his coat.
‘Heading home already?’ Penner asked. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’
‘Hardly. I just got off the phone with Chris, Mark’s assistant. As far as he knew, Mark wasn’t diabetic. He was able to give me his doctor’s name, though, so I was just going to go pay him a visit,’ said Millar. ‘Want to go for a ride?’
‘Yeah, sure. I might feel better if I’m out and about doing something. Give me five minutes to finish my coffee,’ Penner said, sitting back down.
‘You’re not going to be sick, are you? You’re looking kind of pale.’
‘I’m fine—just need some coffee,’ Penner said, taking a large mouthful. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘If you puke, you’re cleaning it up,’ Millar said.
‘Deal. Now if you could just shush for a couple of minutes. My head is pounding.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A quarter of an hour, and another couple of ibuprofen later, Millar and Penner were pulling out of the parking lot of the precinct. Millar thought it best if he drove—he didn’t think Penner was looking too attentive at the moment. She was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and leaning her head on the headrest.
Only a few blocks from the parking garage, Millar could tell that Penner was asleep. She wasn’t snoring, but her breathing had gotten louder and slower. The drive would take at least another twenty minutes, so he decided to let her sleep.
Millar figured it must have been snowing all morning. There wasn’t quite enough for the city to send out the fleet of snowplows, but there was enough to cover the asphalt. Millar tried to stay in the tracks of those who had driven before him. Occasionally he felt the tires leave the bare asphalt and the car would slip slightly to the side. He would jerk the car back into the path, causing Penner to stir.
He finally pulled into the parking lot at the doctor’s office and found a spot close to the door. There was only one other car in the lot. Millar turned off the engine and gave Penner a little nudge. She turned her head towards the window.
He briefly thought about leaving her in the car, but, with the temperature already dropping, he didn’t think it would be the best idea. He knew she would never let him live it down if he did.
‘Hey, sleeping beauty,’ he said, shaking Penner by the shoulder. ‘Time to get up.’
Her eyes stayed closed, but she said, ‘Couldn’t you have driven around the block a couple more times? I was just starting to doze off.’
‘I think you dozed off as soon as your butt hit the seat,’ Millar said, opening his door. ‘Come on. I’ll get y
ou another coffee when we’re done.’
Penner rubbed her eyes, unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. Millar waited for her at the door, and they walked into the building. It was a small office complex, with a few doors off a main hallway. The first door on the right was the door they wanted. Millar turned the handle and they walked in.
Inside was a small waiting room with four chairs, a coffee table with some out-of-date magazines, and a few toys scattered on the floor. No one was waiting. A receptionist was sitting behind a long counter, talking on the phone. Penner sat down in one of the chairs, still wearing her sunglasses. Millar stood and waited.
‘Sorry about that,’ the receptionist said after hanging up the phone. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Hi, I’m Detective Millar, this is my partner, Detective Penner. I was wondering if we could see Dr. Pfeiffer.’
‘Is it for her?’ the receptionist asked, pointing at Penner. ‘She’s not looking so good. Flu bug?’
‘What? Oh, no, she’s fine. We just have some questions we need to ask him,’ Millar said. He looked at Penner and could understand the confusion.
‘Okay, let me just see here,’ the receptionist said. She typed something on her computer. ‘He has another patient coming in about ten minutes, but he’s free right now. Do you think it will take very long?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Okay, you can follow me to the back,’ she said, rising from her chair. Millar looked at Penner, still wearing her sunglasses—he couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought she was asleep again. He decided to let her stay where she was.
He followed the receptionist to the back of the clinic, past a scale and blood pressure machine. She stopped outside of a small examination room. ‘Just have a seat, I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.’
‘Thanks,’ Millar said. He stepped into the room and sat on a small bench seat across the back wall. He looked at the different medical posters that were hanging on the walls, not paying any attention to what was actually printed on them. He could feel his anxiety increase slightly, which always happened when he was in a doctor’s office. He didn’t know why. He was healthy and didn’t have anything to worry about. Perhaps it was just the smell of the cleaning products and the feeling that everything was too sterile.
There was a knock and the door swung open. A shorter man with jet black hair walked in, wearing a pink shirt, orange tie and a stethoscope around his neck. As he stepped into the room, Millar could tell that his hair was very obviously dyed.
‘Detective Millar, is it? I’m Dr. Pfeiffer. What can I do for you?’
‘I have a question about one of your patients, a Mark Williams.’
‘Mark? Mark?’ the doctor said, thinking. ‘Oh, of course, Mark. The politician, right?’
‘That’s the one,’ Millar said. ‘I was just wondering if he was recently diagnosed as being diabetic.’
‘Detective, you should know I can’t talk about one of my patients.’
‘I know, but this is a bit different. Mark was found deceased the other day and we’re investigating his death.’
‘Mark’s dead? Really? What happened?’ the doctor asked.
‘That’s what we’re trying to figure out. He was found in the Ottawa River, but he didn’t drown. He was dead before he went into the water,’ Millar said. ‘According to the coroner’s report, he had elevated levels of insulin in his system. From what she could tell, there were no signs of anything that would explain the levels.’
‘Hmm, interesting. Let me bring up his file,’ the doctor said. He sat at the small desk and typed Mark’s name into a laptop sitting next to a model of vertebrae. ‘Alright, last time Mark was here was last month. He was complaining about a sore throat. Turned out to be strep throat.’
‘Did he have any other health issues?’
‘No, nothing really. His LDL, or bad cholesterol, was slightly elevated, but nothing we were concerned about.’
‘No diabetes?’
‘Nope. He didn’t have any family history of it, either. Based on his labs and BMI, he was at low risk of contracting it.’
‘Any heart issues?’ Millar asked.
‘No. Again, he was pretty healthy. He had a stress test done last year. Nothing negative showed up and, for his age, he was in the upper percentile.’
‘So, is there any possible reason he would have had high levels of insulin?’
‘Not that I can think of. I never prescribed it to him or gave him a sample or anything. There were no reasons for it at all.’ There was a knock at the door.
‘Doctor, your next patient is here,’ the receptionist said, opening the door slightly.
‘Okay, thanks. Put her in exam room two. I’ll be there in a minute.’ The door closed. ‘If there’s nothing else, I should get back to my practice,’ he said, standing up.
‘Oh, right. Well, thanks for seeing me,’ Millar said. He pulled out his business card, putting it on the table next to the laptop. ‘If you think of anything else, give me a call.’
‘Will do.’
Millar went back to the waiting room. Penner was still sitting where he had left her, sunglasses on, head drooped to the side. He kicked her foot. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Remember, you promised me a coffee,’ Penner said, slowly standing up and stretching.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Grant walked into the school and went to the office to sign in. Sitting in one of the chairs was the same boy he had seen last time with the ice on his hand.
‘Can I help you?’ the woman at the counter asked.
‘Hi, I’m Sergeant Grant. I was here the other day to see Mrs. Moore. I was wondering if I would be able to see her again for a few minutes.’
‘If you could just sign in here,’ the woman said, turning the sign-in book around for Grant to fill in his information. ‘Make sure you come back and sign out when you’re done.’
‘Will do. Thanks,’ Grant said. He turned and looked at the boy sitting in the chair. ‘I don’t want to ever see you here again. Got it?’
The boy nodded rapidly like his head was on a spring.
Grant walked out of the office and made his way down the hallway to Mrs. Moore’s class. He looked in the window and saw a student standing at the blackboard in front of the class, probably giving a presentation. He waited until he saw the student stop speaking and sit back down at his desk. Grant knocked on the door.
‘Mrs. Moore?’ Grant said when the teacher opened the door. ‘Sorry to bother you. Sergeant Grant, I was here to see you the other day.’
‘Right. What can I do for you?’ Mrs. Moore asked, stepping into the hallway. ‘Jamie, your turn to present. Go ahead and get started. I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘I just have a question about when Mr. Williams was here to give the presentation,’ Grant said. He saw a girl walk to the front of the class and start reading off a sheet of paper. ‘You said he showed up around eleven and left around noon. Do you have an idea as to when he started to seem, different?’
‘Well, I think his presentation lasted thirty minutes? Maybe thirty-five, or so. He started answering questions and that was around the time he started sweating and took off his suit jacket.’
‘So around eleven thirty-five?’
‘Give or take five minutes, yes,’ Mrs. Moore said. She looked in on her class through the window.
‘And he got up and left about noon?’
‘Probably just before, so eleven fifty-five-ish.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Moore saw a paper airplane hit the blackboard in her class. ‘Seriously. I’m sorry, I have to get back in there.’
‘Sure, right. Thanks for your time,’ Grant said.
‘Alright, who threw that?’ Mrs. Moore asked as she went back into her class and shut the door behind her.
Grant made his way back down the hallway to the office so he could sign out. He looked in and saw three people standing in front of the counter and talking animatedly to the woman behind it.
He decided to wait in the hall until she wasn’t as busy.
He turned around and looked at the pictures that were hanging on the wall. He absentmindedly scanned the pictures, half-listening to the people talking in the office. He overheard them talking about a fight that had happened the day before off school property. It made him think of his high school days. If two students wanted to fight, they would decide to meet down the street so they wouldn’t get in trouble from the principal. A large group would gather to watch, and, somehow, the principal still always found out.
Grant’s gaze stopped on one of the pictures on the wall, and he leaned forward to get a better look. He took out his phone and took a picture of it and read the caption below it. He continued to look at the rest of the pictures and went back to the one that piqued his interest.
The people who had been talking in the office left, still arguing, and Grant went in.
‘I’m ready to sign out,’ Grant said to the woman behind the counter.
‘Very good. Here you go,’ the woman said, giving Grant a pen and setting the book in front of him.
Grant signed his name and put the pen back on the counter. ‘I was wondering, do you have a copy of the yearbook from five years ago I could borrow for a couple of days?’
‘Um, sure, I guess. Give me a minute—we keep copies in the back.’ The woman got up and walked to a filing cabinet in the back of the office. She opened the top drawer and flipped through some hardcover books. She took one out, closed the drawer and brought it back to the counter. ‘I’m going to need you to sign for it.’
‘Of course. No problem,’ Grant said.
The woman pulled out a sheet of paper from under the counter and wrote the year of the book. She passed the sheet to Grant. ‘Just sign and date it here,’ she said. ‘And a phone number so I can call, if you forget to bring it back.’
‘Thanks for this. I’ll get it back in a couple of days,’ Grant said. He grabbed the book and headed back into the hallway. He took out his phone and dialled. ‘Hey, Millar? It’s Grant. Where are you guys? I found something to show you. Sounds good. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’ He hung up and went outside to his car.
The Art of Murder Page 16