Chapter 5
Since Louise had gone for the day, Dr Skinner padded around his office shutting off lights, securing doors, and grabbed his coat. James and he departed out the office door. James and Skinner jumped into “Barney”. James started the engine. The truck jumped to life and James turned on his defroster full blast to clear the foggy windshield. He sure was glad he had changed the heater core in the defroster so it would clear the windshield. Last year he often had to resort to using an ice scraper on the inside of the window as well as the outside of the windows. James and Skinner drove silently down Steuben Avenue which bore the name of the founding Steuben brothers of New Bedford. James made the right onto Winfield Scott Street and pulled up to the sheriff’s department. They saw John Edward’s new, blue cruiser sitting outside the office. Edwards rightfully felt proud of the new car. The county voted recently to help update the law enforcement equipment under Edward’s watchful tutelage. James emitted a huge sigh. James found talking to John Edwards a bit taxing at times. It wasn’t that Edwards was difficult or anything. He just left you with the impression that he only barely tolerated “civilians” interfering with police work. James wasn’t sure how Skinner felt about Edwards.
James and Dr Skinner carefully climbed the remaining icy steps left over from last week’s late spring snow storm and walked in the door. They found Deputy Frank Thompson sat at the desk reading the evening paper.
Thompson looked up, “Evening Docs. What can we do for you tonight?”
Deputy Frank Thompson tempered Edwards somewhat irascible personality with a truly good-natured disposition and genuine love for people. The Deputy stood just shy of 6 feet 5 inches tall without an ounce of fat. All the little, older ladies in town considered him their favorite deputy. It was Frank who climbed up trees to retrieve cats, fixed broken locks, and drove around to visit people. He often just dropped by on his daily rounds to chat with and make the older people in town feel secure. Due to his impressive size, he never even had to draw his gun in defense or anger. The local toughs respected him and never gave him any trouble. The children loved him too. He always had time to talk to them and distributed his endless supply of peppermints with great relish. No problem was too big not to be solved by a peppermint and a talk with Frank.
James took a deep breath and asked, “Is John in now?”
“Yup. He’s in the office in the back. Can I get you and Dr Skinner a cup of coffee or something? How about a peppermint? You look like you could use one Dr Phelan,” smiled Frank with a wink.
“No thanks. We’ll just go back and bother John,” answered James.
Dr Skinner remained strangely quiet and followed James back to the office. James and Dr Skinner strode back to the office and knocked on the door. He took another deep breath and asked quietly, “Lord, help me to be gracious here and do something to help the O’Brien’s.
‘Come in,” boomed the voice of John Edwards.
James and Josiah Skinner entered and sat in the leather, padded arm chairs in front of the massive oak desk. As James sat, it made him feel like the chair enveloped him and swallowed him up. Probably a calculated effect by Edwards thought James somewhat cynically. Dr Skinner looked expectantly at James.
“Well, well Drs Phelan and Skinner. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Edwards sat behind his desk shielded from the world with his feet up on the edge of the desk reading a report. Edwards provided a distinct contrast to Frank Thompson. John Edwards came from a desperately poor family in town. He went off to the army and served in the security police in the first Desert Storm campaign. From there, he returned to the deputy sheriff job, took evening criminal law courses, received an associate’s degree, and finally had been elected Sheriff about three years ago. He possessed thin, sandy hair, a slight build, yet, muscular frame, and the most unnerving green eyes James had ever seen. Some people called them “cat-eyes”. With that cold, unflinching stare, the Sheriff used to intimidate suspects with his gaze seeming to pierce right through the individuals. The Sheriff stood only five foot-eight inches tall but stayed deceptively strong. John lifted weights frequently for strength with endurance training. He also held a black belt in the martial arts. His insecurity due to his social background and upbringing made him sometimes difficult to deal with on certain, sensitive police issues.
“What may I do for you two eminent physicians?” asked Edwards.
“We just came from reviewing some autopsy slides at Dr Skinner’s office regarding the O’Brien case. We wanted to chat with you and see if there were any suspects or motives involved in the case,” began James. Skinner nodded in agreement.
“Whoa there, Doc! What makes you two think this is anything but a plain old drug OD? I mean, we found the drugs by the bedside and in her body. Seems pretty straight forward she died from an OD. Besides, what are you doing poking into an autopsy anyway?” asked Edwards somewhat querulously
“Mary O’Brien was a patient of mine. I just want to make sure that all avenues are explored. As you are aware in police work, things are not always what they seem. If there was a murder, I think we’d all desire justice served and nothing overlooked. I’m not meddling,” replied James patiently.
“Yes, John. We’d just like to make sure you understand this is still a suspicious death,” said Dr Skinner pointedly.
“Darn straight, Doc Skinner! You probably shouldn’t even be talking to Dr Phelan about the case since he is really not involved. But since Dr Phelan was her doctor, I suppose it is alright to give out limited information. I have all the statements from everybody involved, the preliminary autopsy findings, and the crime scene report. I still see an OD. However, the final report might help out,” said Edwards looking at Dr Skinner.
“Hrrumph,” snorted Skinner.
James chimed in, “It doesn’t bother you that there wasn’t a syringe by the bedside or in the room to the drugs into her veins? It doesn’t bother you that Mary didn’t have a drug history? What about the cost of the cocaine? She didn’t have that kind of money,” James finished.
“Now hold on Doc. I don’t tell you how to deliver babies. No need for you to tell me know to do my job or what to look for at a crime scene. We did find a syringe in the room” said Edwards smugly.
“What? Now come no one else knows about this?” puzzled James.
“Because we found it in her overnight bag that we searched through after we collected all her belongings as evidence,” replied Edwards pompously.
“Was there evidence of cocaine in the bag?” inquired James earnestly.
“Yup, and a spoon, matches, and needles too. State police crime boys said pretty pure stuff on the spoon too. So, you see your Mary O’Brien heated the drugs up in her spoon, drew up the dope, pushed the coke into her vein, cleaned up most of her mess, fell asleep, and OD in her sleep. By the way, all this is privileged police information and not open for public consumption; if you get my drift Docs,” answered Edwards self-importantly.
“Yeah, sure, police business. But why didn’t she clean up the rest of the cocaine if she was so careful to clean up the syringe, spoon, and matches? Was the spoon new?” asked James anxiously.
“How should I know. A spoon is a spoon when’s its used for drugs,” said Edwards slightly exasperated.
“Actually, it is important,” interrupted Dr Skinner. “Usually addicts keep the same spoon. It would have a lot of cocaine residue in the spoon itself and significant carbon remnants on the bottom where she heated up the drugs to inject. Also, when did you take all her effects and look at them?” inquired Skinner.
“We took all her belongings the day after the death But we sealed off the room that night so nothing was disturbed,” replied Edwards getting more agitated and not liking the line of questions. “We’re not exactly idiots you know. We do know standard police procedures in this department,” returned Edwards sarcastically.
“Did you post a guard o
utside the room overnight?” asked James.
“What for? This isn’t LA you know. We just locked the door and put up a piece of crime scene tape so no one would bother things or tamper with the evidence. I think I’ve had enough from you two. I suggest you keep out of this from now on, okay? You do medicine and I’ll do police work. We’re going to treat this case like a simple drug OD. There is no murder motive and Mary O’Brien was exactly a model citizen; if you get my drift. Right now my feet hurt; I’m tired, and it’s time for us all to go home,” finished Edwards pointedly.
James opened his mouth to speak, glanced at Skinner who just nodded slightly, and then, instead James shut his mouth. No sense in “casting pearls before swine”. They had more information from the autopsy but nothing that would concretely lead to a murder. James thanked Edwards for his time and walked out the door with Josiah Skinner.
“The man’s an ass,” said Skinner flatly.
James opened the outside door. He and Skinner stepped out and took long breaths of the sharp, cool air. The sun’s last wan attempts to illuminate the day were fading. They looked at the deepening twilight. James looked at Skinner and felt his spirits sag.
“I’ll talk to you later Josiah,” said James.
“We’ll keep in touch,” said Skinner thoughtfully. “I’ll walk home. I need the exercise and some time to think. Goodnight James.”
James climbed into his truck, started the engine, and drove somberly away from the sheriff’s office. What could he do now? The autopsy showed drugs but no pathologic changes consistent with long term use. A syringe had been found in Mary’s things but no one else seemed to know that except Edwards. Edwards seemed convinced that, as an addict, Mary would be so meticulous as to clean up everything but the most incriminating evidence: the cocaine on the bedside table. Something did not fit. But what was the motive to murder Mary? Why the nagging doubt in the back of his head? That inner voice was ringing the alarm bell. As a recovering addict himself, James was not convinced of Mary’s OD. Not exactly easy to explain a gut feeling to someone. Yet, James learned that his mind picked up clues, chewed them over, and came up with conclusions in the back of his mind that were most often correct. Clinical acumen, James thought wryly. Still, hard to believe a murder without a motive. James turned down the road to home. Maybe he could bounce some ideas off Abbey.
Death By Intention Page 5