Critical Affair, page 16
She lifted her face to his, her eyes full of sadness.
He took a step forward, wanting so badly to touch her, struggling to restrain himself.
“Jenny, I understand how shocked you must have felt when you found out I was still married, and didn’t know the circumstances. I don’t blame you for what you said. Believe me.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was a soft exhalation of relief. She stretched on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.
It was a chaste kiss, the kind that was meant to last no more than a second. Michael knew that. But the brush of her lips, the scent of her filling his senses—that was all it took to knock every thought out of his head.
Suddenly his arms were around her. For several blinding seconds, the only thing that existed in the world was the feel of her fitting every part of him. Then unwelcome sanity returned, ripping him back to reality.
He forced himself to release her. Without a word or backward glance, he hurried toward the door and let himself out.
Three miles down the road, his hands were still shaking on the wheel.
THE COURIER ARRIVED on Jennifer’s doorstep Monday morning with the documents from Russell’s lawyer, relinquishing her claim to everything that Russell had bequeathed her in his will. After Jennifer had read them over, she took them to her bank and had her signature notarized.
As she was leaving the bank, she glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of Caroline Sprague coming out of a diner with Frank Keller, the manager of the Courage Bay Grand Hotel. Startled, Jennifer halted in her tracks.
Frank kissed Caroline full on the lips before she slipped behind the driver’s seat of her car. Once he’d watched her drive away, he headed to his vehicle on the other side of the diner’s parking lot.
Jennifer had had no idea that Caroline and Frank even knew each other, much less that they were this friendly. Caroline had turned thirty-two the month before; Frank was somewhere in his fifties. Not that these things didn’t happen every day, but it sure made Jennifer curious as to when this one had happened.
She was still puzzling over those questions as she started for home. A few blocks later her cell phone rang. It was Michael.
“Hi,” she said, a pleasant warmth heating her blood. Memories of his firm embrace the night before immediately crowded out every other thought in her head. She came to and braked at the last second, aware she’d almost hit the car in front of her, which had stopped for a red light.
And that, Jennifer, is yet another sign of why such thoughts of this guy are so dangerous.
“You okay?” he asked in her ear.
“Fine,” she responded, hoping her heart would stop banging her rib cage sometime soon.
“I heard a squeal of brakes.”
“I’ve been meaning to have them checked. Have you learned anything new?”
“I called because the jeweler said he could see us. But it has to be right away. He’s heading for the airport in less than an hour and will be out of town for the next two weeks. Any chance you can meet me at his place?”
“What’s the address?”
He gave it to her. She knew the cross streets. “I’m only about fifteen minutes away. See you there.”
THE JEWELER GREETED Jennifer by name when she and Michael walked into his store.
“I met Russell at a chamber of commerce meeting five years ago,” he told them. “He was offering a ten percent discount to all members. I recall the day I was in the chair and he said that he was on the lookout for a unique diamond for a unique lady. Then he told me all about you. Took him several visits before he selected this stone.”
The jeweler had been examining the diamond engagement ring that Jennifer had handed to him. He looked up at her. “It’s as flawless as I could find. Russell was a good guy. When I heard about his murder, I was stunned. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Did Dr. Sprague buy any other jewelry from you?” Michael asked.
“A pair of earrings.”
“Can you describe the earrings?”
“I can do better than that. I’ll show you.”
The jeweler brought out a catalog and pointed to a picture at the bottom of the page. “Star ear clips in eighteen karat gold with agate and rubies. He picked them up a week ago Saturday morning.”
The morning of his death.
“Did anyone else know about them?” Michael asked, noting that the earrings cost eight thousand dollars.
“Only one I told was the detective who came to see me last week,” the jeweler said.
“Did Russell mention who the earrings were for?” Jennifer asked.
“He said he wanted stars for his star. They were your engagement present, Ms. Winn. Didn’t you get them?”
“HE TOLD HIS JEWELER and his mother that the earrings were for me,” Jennifer said to Michael as they left the store. “But he gave them to someone else. It can’t have been Gina. She won’t wear clips. Complains her earlobes are too small and they keep falling off. Could it be he was seeing another woman?”
“Even if he were, I very much doubt he would have given the earrings to her.”
“Why?”
“His behavior toward Elissa and Gina suggests that he compartmentalized women. He had no respect for the ones he slept with. You, on the other hand, he would have considered worth the eight thousand dollars those earrings cost.”
She shrugged, clearly unimpressed by what Russell had paid for them.
“According to the jeweler, he picked them up that morning,” Jennifer said. “Who wore them into his room that night? This doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. Might help if we knew how he was murdered.”
“Does the headache or the soreness across his back suggest anything to you?” she asked.
“The headache would be natural following a mild concussion. As for the soreness, he probably was hit by something when the plane crashed—no doubt the something that caused him to fall and strike his head.”
“Vivian said there were no other marks on him. What could have killed him?”
“I need to get a look at the autopsy report. And since the pathologist has been warned not to talk to me, that leaves only one option.”
He paused, wondering whether he should tell her. If she didn’t know and something went wrong, she’d be able to honestly profess her innocence.
“We’re in this together, “she said, interpreting his hesitation for exactly what it was. “Please. I’d like to know.”
“My sister, Becky, works for a security firm that does consulting work for companies who need to protect the proprietary information on their office computers. She’d be able to gain access to the pathologist’s files on the hospital’s computer records.”
“Would she?”
“If I ask, yes.”
“What happens if someone discovers you’ve accessed the files?”
“Let’s just say that I won’t have to worry about the findings of the ethics committee.”
WHEN MICHAEL REACHED his sister at her office, she suggested they meet for lunch at his place. Jennifer offered to pick up some sandwiches, and dropped by a deli on the way. When she arrived, Michael buzzed her through the gate.
Becky answered his door, a tall woman in a dark blue business suit, wearing a smile that reached into her eyes. She introduced herself, whisked Jennifer inside, closed the door and gave her a hug. “I am so happy to meet you.”
Jennifer drew back, more than a little startled.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Becky said. “But you’ve been the talk of the Temple family for days. Mom and Dad say hi. Come on. Michael’s in the study.”
They found him at the computer. Jennifer could see the Courage Bay Hospital logo at the top of the open file on the monitor.
“You got in already?” she asked as she passed out the sandwiches and cold drinks.
“All doctors on staff can dial into the hospital computer from their homes to get to patient records,” Michael said. “Now that I’m on the hospital network, Becky tells me that she’ll be able to go elsewhere within it and find what we’re looking for.”
“And we can do it right about now,” Becky said as she took a quick bite of her sandwich and laid the rest on a napkin. Michael got out of her way.
Pulling a disk out of her pocket, Becky slipped it into the hard drive and sat on the vacated chair.
“What you’re about to see is a demo program I wrote to show companies how vulnerable their sensitive files can be to unscrupulous employees with access to their internal network,” she said.
A whirring sound was followed by a pop-up menu.
“What’s the pathologist’s name again?” she asked.
“Nealy,” Michael said, and spelled it.
Becky typed it in. “And you’re sure he’s on duty now?”
“In the middle of a meeting, according to the clerk who answered my call a couple of minutes ago.”
“Good,” Becky said, and hit the enter key. “We can’t be accessing the files at the same time he is.”
A log-in screen requested a password. She hit a function key that set the CD drive whirring once again, and eight asterisks appeared where the password should go.
With another touch of the enter key, a list of the pathologist’s autopsy records were on the screen.
“Your hospital needs better security on their computer system,” she said. “When this is all over, be sure to give them my card.”
She paged down and highlighted the name Russell Sprague. The instant the autopsy report appeared, she hit a button. The laser printer in the corner of Michael’s office came to life.
A minute later the report had been printed and Becky had signed out of the pathologist’s records.
Sliding out of Michael’s chair, she retrieved her disk and gave it a pat before slipping it back into her pocket.
“Even if someone checks the computer records, all they’ll find is that Nealy accessed his files for a couple of minutes today. And since it was during his shift, I doubt if even he’ll remember whether he did or not.”
“It won’t show which file was accessed or the fact that it was done by an off-site computer?” Michael asked.
“Your sister’s a pro, remember?” Becky said, a big smile on her face.
“That she is,” he said fondly. “I owe you.”
“I’m collecting. Bring Jennifer to dinner tonight. The boys are dying to meet her. And Steve wants to tell you some interesting things he’s discovered.”
“About what?” Michael asked.
“He hasn’t even told me yet, except to say that a few possibilities began to occur to him after our conversation with that police detective.”
“Detective Batton came to see you?” Jennifer asked, unable to keep the concern out of her voice.
Becky twisted toward her. “Don’t worry, Jen. I told him to his face that he’s an imbecile to suspect you and Michael. So, what time can we expect you?”
“We appreciate the offer, Becky,” Michael said, “but Jennifer has a lot to do between her six and ten o’clock broadcasts tonight. Fitting in dinner would be very difficult for her.”
Jennifer understood he was trying to give her an out so she wouldn’t feel compelled to accept his sister’s invitation. It was thoughtful of him—the kind of thing that made him the man he was.
“Michael’s right,” she said. “It will be difficult. But I can work around the difficulties. I’d love to have dinner with you.”
Michael smiled at her before turning back to his sister. “Seven-thirty?”
“Perfect,” Becky said. “Now, I’m going to take my sandwich and soft drink and get back to the office, where I am indispensable. Great to meet you, Jen. See you both tonight.”
AS MICHAEL AND JENNIFER munched their sandwiches on the leather couch in his study, he tried to keep his mind on the autopsy report in front of him and away from the woman beside him.
When Becky had called to tell him about Batton’s visit, she’d been more excited about his involvement with Jennifer than their being suspects in a murder case.
That Becky hoped for a relationship between him and Jennifer was certain. Having dinner at her home tonight could prove to be awkward if his sister let her enthusiasm become too obvious in front of Jennifer.
Becky wasn’t the only member of his family who was becoming a problem. His mother, too, kept asking about Jennifer. Even his father had suggested he should bring her by the café again.
Batton hadn’t sown any seeds of confusion or mistrust in Michael’s family about him and Jennifer. He’d sown seeds of hope.
“Russell died of nicotine poisoning,” Michael told Jennifer when he got through the report and put it down.
“The addictive stuff in cigarettes?” she said. “That doesn’t make sense. Russell didn’t smoke.”
“His lungs were clear. He didn’t inhale the nicotine.”
“Are you saying it was in something he ate?”
“If someone ingests enough nicotine, they’ll die of a heart attack. But the analysis of Russell’s stomach contents didn’t reveal any.”
“I’m confused.”
“The nicotine poisoning was found through a tox screen. When the initial autopsy showed no obvious wounds or organ impairments to account for the fact that Russell’s heart had stopped, Dr. Nealy spent a day and night running different tox screens until he got a positive on the one for nicotine.”
“You said the nicotine wasn’t found in Russell’s stomach. Since he didn’t inhale it, how did it get in his body?”
“Before Nealy could do a thorough testing of all possible sites to determine the point of entry, Batton served him with a court order that required him to turn Russell’s remains over to the medical examiner’s office.”
“So we know what killed him, but we’re still in the dark as to how it was done.”
“We might be able to make some educated guesses. Nicotine is deadly in all its forms, but especially lethal when absorbed through the skin.”
“Like a nicotine patch?” Jennifer said.
“Patches typically contain seven to twenty-two milligrams of nicotine, less than the nicotine in a cigarette. But putting four patches of the higher dose ones on someone’s skin at the same time could be enough to kill.”
“Who would have known that many patches would be fatal?”
“Offhand, I’d say the most likely candidate would be a doctor, which is no doubt why Batton likes the idea of you and me committing this murder together. But practically anyone can find out about lethal doses of nicotine, especially a smoker who’s tried to quit.”
“Wouldn’t the person also need access to nicotine?” she asked.
“Squeezing the juice out of enough cigarettes will give it to you. Or walking into a store and buying the patches.”
“Except if someone had tried to plaster nicotine patches on Russell,” Jennifer said, “he would have objected.”
“Did Russell wear contact lenses?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“If the nicotine was slipped into his lens solution, it could have been absorbed into his eyes.”
“How long would it take for the nicotine to kill him that way?”
“The poison would have quickly traveled through Russell’s central nervous system, causing seizure, paralysis and finally respiratory arrest. From the concentration of nicotine the pathologist found in his body, I’d estimate it to be less than an hour.”
“Then if that’s what happened, it had to have been done by someone who saw him between eleven and twelve that night. That points to Gina.”
“Or Don Hardrick. Very few autopsies are requested by the hospital. When someone dies, the physician usually determines the cause from the symptoms and signs the death certificate accordingly. That may have been what the killer was hoping for in this case.”
“So this murder was committed by someone who knew about hospital procedures?”
“Possibly,” Michael agreed. “The killer may have hoped it would be assumed that Russell died of an undetected aneurysm, a result of his injuries from the plane crash. If the E.R. doctor hadn’t requested the autopsy and if it hadn’t been performed by someone with the expertise and diligence of Dr. Nealy, that might have happened. Not many pathologists would have thought to check for nicotine.”
Jennifer took a last sip of her soft drink and discarded the cup in the trash. “We know Gina and Hardrick saw Russell during the critical time. But we can’t be sure that someone else didn’t go into his room. Vivian was obviously too busy to notice. Anyone who knew he was there could have entered and left without being seen.”
“Agreed,” Michael said. “The murderer also had to be someone who not only knew about nicotine but had it on hand in the right quantity and in a medium that could be passed to Russell without his becoming suspicious. That suggests that the crime was carefully planned.”
“But no one knew that Russell was going to be in the hospital that night.”
“Maybe we need to look at this from a different angle. In the last news report, the NTSB spokesman said that the trauma from the crash caused the pilot’s death, but that the plane had been tampered with, which means that the pilot was murdered.”
“You can’t be thinking that the plane crash was premeditated for the sole purpose of injuring Russell sufficiently to have him taken to the hospital and kept overnight?”
Michael chuckled. “No. That would be too big a stretch, even for my active imagination.”
“Then I don’t understand the connection.”
“Let’s say someone had a serious beef with Russell and was planning to kill him with the nicotine. That someone might have seized the opportunity when he learned that Russell had been injured and rushed to the hospital.”
“I see,” she said. “Russell’s name wasn’t released that night. That leaves his family and the obvious others. Gina. Dorie. Harvey. And Don, because his contacts on the emergency teams always call him when something newsworthy comes along.”
“And someone else we haven’t talked about—Frank Keller, the hotel manager. He was one of Russell’s patients.”
