be going with him or not. “How soon can you be ready to go?” he asks me.
“Give me half an hour or so.”
Richmond glances at his watch. “You have an hour,” he says. “Meet me at the station at two o’clock and we’ll ride over to the daughter’s house together.” He starts to leave but then turns back. “And we’re taking my car,” he adds pointedly. “I’m not showing up there with a frigging hearse in tow.”
“Fine,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. Though I’m not looking forward to having to spend time with Richmond, in order to keep tabs on the investigation and determine the degree of Hurley’s involvement, I feel like I should be in on as much of it as possible. So I need to stay on Richmond’s good side.
As Richmond turns to leave, he delivers a parting speech. “I’ll get some guys to search Minniver’s house and look into his life more thoroughly to see what else we can find out about him. But I’m telling you, poisoning is personal. I’m betting we don’t have to look far.”
I spend another few minutes helping Izzy and then head for the shower to get cleaned up. By the time I’m done I’ve got twenty-five minutes to spare and the police station is only a one-minute walk away, so I decide to use the extra time by doing a bit of research. I head for the library computer where a quick search of cyanide reveals all kinds of intriguing information, including the fact that it is often used in metallurgy work and electroplating.
This revelation sends a chill down my spine as I once again recall Hurley’s garage workshop and his metalwork hobby. Then I hear Richmond’s voice in my head, warning me that poisoning is personal. So far, all the fingers in this case are pointing firmly at Hurley.
As guilt over not telling Izzy what I know washes over me, I reach a decision and head for his office.
Chapter 12
M y good intentions are thwarted by two things. The first is the fact that I can’t find Izzy in either his office or the autopsy room. The second is a call on my cell phone.
At first I think it might be Richmond but when I look at the caller ID, I see it’s Hurley. I hesitate, debating for a few seconds, before I take the call.
“Hello?”
“Mattie, it’s me.”
“Hey, what’s up?”
“That’s what I need to be asking you. There’re a bunch of cops swarming around Minniver’s house, so I’m guessing you found something on the autopsy.”
“Yes, we did. We just finished up. In fact, I was about to call you,” I lie. I head back to the library and shut myself inside, glancing around to make sure no one is close by to overhear me.
“So what did you find?” Hurley prods. I hesitate just long enough for him to deduce that the news isn’t good. “Damn, it’s something bad, isn’t it? Is it something else that points to me?” He sounds both worried and angry. “It is, isn’t it? Come on, tell me, Mattie. I need to know what the hell I’m dealing with here. Give it to me, would ya?”
“I will if you’ll stop fretting for a moment,” I manage when he pauses long enough to take a breath.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just that I feel like I’m operating in a vacuum here. You’re the only person I can talk to right now.”
The faint hint of desperation in his voice leaves me feeling guilty for doubting him. Even though I have no idea where in his house he is, or even if he’s in his house, in my mind’s eye I see him pacing back and forth in his kitchen, running his fingers through that thick shock of blue-black hair, worry creases crinkling the corners of his eyes. And rather than feeling empathy for the man, I find myself turned on. The idea of Hurley rendered helpless and vulnerable is oddly stimulating. After shaking off my mental images and cursing the fact that my libido seems to surge like a tsunami whenever Hurley’s involved, I drop my informational bomb.
“It isn’t confirmed yet but it looks like Harold Minniver was
“Give me half an hour or so.”
Richmond glances at his watch. “You have an hour,” he says. “Meet me at the station at two o’clock and we’ll ride over to the daughter’s house together.” He starts to leave but then turns back. “And we’re taking my car,” he adds pointedly. “I’m not showing up there with a frigging hearse in tow.”
“Fine,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. Though I’m not looking forward to having to spend time with Richmond, in order to keep tabs on the investigation and determine the degree of Hurley’s involvement, I feel like I should be in on as much of it as possible. So I need to stay on Richmond’s good side.
As Richmond turns to leave, he delivers a parting speech. “I’ll get some guys to search Minniver’s house and look into his life more thoroughly to see what else we can find out about him. But I’m telling you, poisoning is personal. I’m betting we don’t have to look far.”
I spend another few minutes helping Izzy and then head for the shower to get cleaned up. By the time I’m done I’ve got twenty-five minutes to spare and the police station is only a one-minute walk away, so I decide to use the extra time by doing a bit of research. I head for the library computer where a quick search of cyanide reveals all kinds of intriguing information, including the fact that it is often used in metallurgy work and electroplating.
This revelation sends a chill down my spine as I once again recall Hurley’s garage workshop and his metalwork hobby. Then I hear Richmond’s voice in my head, warning me that poisoning is personal. So far, all the fingers in this case are pointing firmly at Hurley.
As guilt over not telling Izzy what I know washes over me, I reach a decision and head for his office.
Chapter 12
M y good intentions are thwarted by two things. The first is the fact that I can’t find Izzy in either his office or the autopsy room. The second is a call on my cell phone.
At first I think it might be Richmond but when I look at the caller ID, I see it’s Hurley. I hesitate, debating for a few seconds, before I take the call.
“Hello?”
“Mattie, it’s me.”
“Hey, what’s up?”
“That’s what I need to be asking you. There’re a bunch of cops swarming around Minniver’s house, so I’m guessing you found something on the autopsy.”
“Yes, we did. We just finished up. In fact, I was about to call you,” I lie. I head back to the library and shut myself inside, glancing around to make sure no one is close by to overhear me.
“So what did you find?” Hurley prods. I hesitate just long enough for him to deduce that the news isn’t good. “Damn, it’s something bad, isn’t it? Is it something else that points to me?” He sounds both worried and angry. “It is, isn’t it? Come on, tell me, Mattie. I need to know what the hell I’m dealing with here. Give it to me, would ya?”
“I will if you’ll stop fretting for a moment,” I manage when he pauses long enough to take a breath.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just that I feel like I’m operating in a vacuum here. You’re the only person I can talk to right now.”
The faint hint of desperation in his voice leaves me feeling guilty for doubting him. Even though I have no idea where in his house he is, or even if he’s in his house, in my mind’s eye I see him pacing back and forth in his kitchen, running his fingers through that thick shock of blue-black hair, worry creases crinkling the corners of his eyes. And rather than feeling empathy for the man, I find myself turned on. The idea of Hurley rendered helpless and vulnerable is oddly stimulating. After shaking off my mental images and cursing the fact that my libido seems to surge like a tsunami whenever Hurley’s involved, I drop my informational bomb.
“It isn’t confirmed yet but it looks like Harold Minniver was
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