isn't.”
“Sure,” said Melissa.
“Okay,” I said, “now, I don't want you to take this in the wrong way at all. But I'd like to know if either of you could tell me if Edie was doing any dope, or alcohol, or anything even prescription, that could affect her moods.”
“Is that really your business?” asked Melissa. “Not to be taken in the wrong way, of course.”
“Fair question,” I said. “The answer is, probably wasn't my business yesterday. Now that she's dead, and my problem for now, yep, it is.”
“Aren't you going to do a blood test? I mean, won't you know from that?”
“Sure. But it won't be back for a few days, and when it arrives, it only gives the chemical information, not the substance. You know … it might say acetaminophen, but not a brand name. So if she took Tylenol for a headache, say, it would be a help to know that. That sort of thing.” I was also fishing for a known substance, although I didn't say that. A blood scan for everything cost a fortune, and took forever. You had to give them parameters.
“Oh,” said Hanna. “Oh, sure. Well, I know she'd drink a beer now and then, maybe some wine. No dope …?” and she looked at Melissa.
It was hard not to grin.
“She smoked clove cigarettes,” said Melissa quickly.
“That's it.”
“Okay,” I said, making a note. “You do know what those are?” Melissa wasn't being insulting, she was just a sincere twenty-something talking to a fifty-something. Usually, the only people my age she'd be likely to know were her parents, aunts, and uncles.
I smiled. “Either of your parents cops?”
“What?”
“I strongly suspect that your folks and I have vastly different, oh … What? Life experiences?”
“My father's a minister and my mother is a music teacher.” She paused as it dawned on her. “Oh.” A small smile started forming on her lips.
“Right. I think we definitely move in different circles.” The small smile grew larger, into a full-fledged one. “I'd say so.”
“And the real point's this: If she did occasional dope here, that's something we have to know. If there's a fair concentration in her fluids, and she did it here, that's one thing. If there's the same concentration and she didn't do it here, that's another thing altogether.”
Both the young women looked away from me as soon as I said that. I attributed it to the fact that there was probably at least some dope in the house, even as we spoke.
The phone in the hallway rang, and Hanna answered it. It was for me. As I left the room, I could hear both young women talking to each other in low tones. My best guess was that they were discussing narcotics.
I answered the phone. “Houseman.”
“Hey, no kidding?” Sally, at the office.
“Yeah. What's up?”
“There was a man here, came to talk with Lamar. Lamar said for you to talk with him instead, because he was going to have some family things to attend to.”
“Sure, okay.” Great. Not that I didn't understand, but I really didn't need the distractions, either. Ah, well. I could never say that Lamar didn't delegate.
“Man's name is”—she paused just an instant, so that I knew she was reading from her notes—“William Chester, from Milwaukee.”
My first thought was a pathologist that Harry had contacted regarding the death of Randy Baumhagen, late boyfriend of Alicia Meyer. “What does he do? Or want?”
“Beats me. He looks pretty straight arrow, though. About forty, but that's not all bad. Nice eyes. Slender. Still has all his hair…. ”
“That's not quite what I wanted.”
She laughed. “I don't know. Not an attorney, that's for sure. I asked Lamar that, 'cause I knew you'd just shit—pardon the expression—if we sent somebody like an attorney up there.”
“You sent him here?”
“Well, to Freiberg. He'll get hold of Byng or somebody, and connect up with you later on. Not at the Mansion, though.”
“Okay.” That was a relief. “Anything else?”
“Nope.
“Sure,” said Melissa.
“Okay,” I said, “now, I don't want you to take this in the wrong way at all. But I'd like to know if either of you could tell me if Edie was doing any dope, or alcohol, or anything even prescription, that could affect her moods.”
“Is that really your business?” asked Melissa. “Not to be taken in the wrong way, of course.”
“Fair question,” I said. “The answer is, probably wasn't my business yesterday. Now that she's dead, and my problem for now, yep, it is.”
“Aren't you going to do a blood test? I mean, won't you know from that?”
“Sure. But it won't be back for a few days, and when it arrives, it only gives the chemical information, not the substance. You know … it might say acetaminophen, but not a brand name. So if she took Tylenol for a headache, say, it would be a help to know that. That sort of thing.” I was also fishing for a known substance, although I didn't say that. A blood scan for everything cost a fortune, and took forever. You had to give them parameters.
“Oh,” said Hanna. “Oh, sure. Well, I know she'd drink a beer now and then, maybe some wine. No dope …?” and she looked at Melissa.
It was hard not to grin.
“She smoked clove cigarettes,” said Melissa quickly.
“That's it.”
“Okay,” I said, making a note. “You do know what those are?” Melissa wasn't being insulting, she was just a sincere twenty-something talking to a fifty-something. Usually, the only people my age she'd be likely to know were her parents, aunts, and uncles.
I smiled. “Either of your parents cops?”
“What?”
“I strongly suspect that your folks and I have vastly different, oh … What? Life experiences?”
“My father's a minister and my mother is a music teacher.” She paused as it dawned on her. “Oh.” A small smile started forming on her lips.
“Right. I think we definitely move in different circles.” The small smile grew larger, into a full-fledged one. “I'd say so.”
“And the real point's this: If she did occasional dope here, that's something we have to know. If there's a fair concentration in her fluids, and she did it here, that's one thing. If there's the same concentration and she didn't do it here, that's another thing altogether.”
Both the young women looked away from me as soon as I said that. I attributed it to the fact that there was probably at least some dope in the house, even as we spoke.
The phone in the hallway rang, and Hanna answered it. It was for me. As I left the room, I could hear both young women talking to each other in low tones. My best guess was that they were discussing narcotics.
I answered the phone. “Houseman.”
“Hey, no kidding?” Sally, at the office.
“Yeah. What's up?”
“There was a man here, came to talk with Lamar. Lamar said for you to talk with him instead, because he was going to have some family things to attend to.”
“Sure, okay.” Great. Not that I didn't understand, but I really didn't need the distractions, either. Ah, well. I could never say that Lamar didn't delegate.
“Man's name is”—she paused just an instant, so that I knew she was reading from her notes—“William Chester, from Milwaukee.”
My first thought was a pathologist that Harry had contacted regarding the death of Randy Baumhagen, late boyfriend of Alicia Meyer. “What does he do? Or want?”
“Beats me. He looks pretty straight arrow, though. About forty, but that's not all bad. Nice eyes. Slender. Still has all his hair…. ”
“That's not quite what I wanted.”
She laughed. “I don't know. Not an attorney, that's for sure. I asked Lamar that, 'cause I knew you'd just shit—pardon the expression—if we sent somebody like an attorney up there.”
“You sent him here?”
“Well, to Freiberg. He'll get hold of Byng or somebody, and connect up with you later on. Not at the Mansion, though.”
“Okay.” That was a relief. “Anything else?”
“Nope.
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