with pimples, the telltale sign of an anabolic steroid user.
It went on for a few more minutes, then the screen faded to black and then to snow. It stayed that way.
"Well, what do you think now?" Susan Corrigan asked softly.
"I think the hand-held camera technique is more suitable to documentaries. The lighting is too harsh, the plot a mite thin. The bit with the mirror is cute, but frankly, I prefer The Lady from Shanghai."
"Is everything a joke to you?"
"Not everything, not even this. Susan, let it go. Every family has its dirty little secrets that are best left in the closet."
"My father wasn't like that. Not before her and Roger Salisbury."
"Okay. So she corrupted him. Maybe Roger's no angel, either. But what can be gained now?"
Her eyes blazed at me. "What about catching his killers?"
That again. "I still haven't seen any proof he was killed, much less that Roger Salisbury did it. What about Mr. Universe there? What about a dozen other guys you don't even know about?"
"More lawyer's games. Your beloved client is the only one who cut Dad open the day before he died. And as far as I know, he's the only one who carried poison around in his little leather case."
"What are you talking about?"
"This." She reached into a drawer, came up with something and tossed it at me. A small leather valise, a man's pocketbook if you're the kind of guy who carries that sort of thing. A gold monogram, "R.A.S." Roger Allen Salisbury. I unzipped it. Two hypodermic needles, a clear small vial of colorless liquid, half empty. No labels, no instructions.
A nasty little package. I felt a chill. "What is it?"
"Succinylcholine, a drug used in anesthesia. It paralyzes the limbs, the lungs, too. In anesthesia, a respirator breathes for you. Without a respirator, you would just lie there and watch yourself die."
"How do you know all this? Where did this come from?"
"One question at a time, Counselor. First, I found it in Melanie's room. Hidden in a drawer with thirty pairs of black panties, which is an awful lot for someone who seldom wears any. I think she knows it's missing. Probably suspects me. That's why she changed the locks and tossed my things out. Second, I've done some research on it, had a lab test it. I'm a reporter, and I know a lot more than just box scores and yards-per-carry."
"Has this been in your possession continuously since discovering it?" Ever the lawyer, Lassiter, already thinking about chain of custody.
"The lab at Jackson Memorial took about five cc's out of the bottle. Otherwise, it's intact."
"What's this have to do with Salisbury, assuming the stuff is his?"
"Of course it's his! Melanie was screwing him, must have gotten the drug from him. She hated my father, just used him. She couldn't divorce him. She'd get nothing because of an antenuptial agreement. But if he died while married to her, she got the house, the boat, plus thirty percent of the estate."
I nodded. "Items in joint name plus the marital share."
"Right."
"So she had the motive. But that's all you can prove. For a criminal case built on circumstantial evidence, you need a lot more. Your case against Melanie is weak and you don't have anything on Salisbury. For one thing, your father didn't die of poisoning. He died of an aneurysm."
She turned her head away and blinked back a tear. "That's why I need your help."
"For what?"
"To figure out how they did it."
"Did what?"
"Oh Jake, think about it."
It was the first time she called me by my given name. I liked the sound of it.
"How they killed Dad with succinyleholine and made it look like an aneurysm," she said softly, her armor turning to tin.
I didn't buy it. "A hospital's a pretty risky place to kill somebody, doctors and nurses all around."
"That's what made it work. Who would object if Dr. Salisbury came into Dad's room after the surgery? He could have given the injection then. And who would be looking for poison when the patient dies of an aneurysm? It's a classic misdirection
It went on for a few more minutes, then the screen faded to black and then to snow. It stayed that way.
"Well, what do you think now?" Susan Corrigan asked softly.
"I think the hand-held camera technique is more suitable to documentaries. The lighting is too harsh, the plot a mite thin. The bit with the mirror is cute, but frankly, I prefer The Lady from Shanghai."
"Is everything a joke to you?"
"Not everything, not even this. Susan, let it go. Every family has its dirty little secrets that are best left in the closet."
"My father wasn't like that. Not before her and Roger Salisbury."
"Okay. So she corrupted him. Maybe Roger's no angel, either. But what can be gained now?"
Her eyes blazed at me. "What about catching his killers?"
That again. "I still haven't seen any proof he was killed, much less that Roger Salisbury did it. What about Mr. Universe there? What about a dozen other guys you don't even know about?"
"More lawyer's games. Your beloved client is the only one who cut Dad open the day before he died. And as far as I know, he's the only one who carried poison around in his little leather case."
"What are you talking about?"
"This." She reached into a drawer, came up with something and tossed it at me. A small leather valise, a man's pocketbook if you're the kind of guy who carries that sort of thing. A gold monogram, "R.A.S." Roger Allen Salisbury. I unzipped it. Two hypodermic needles, a clear small vial of colorless liquid, half empty. No labels, no instructions.
A nasty little package. I felt a chill. "What is it?"
"Succinylcholine, a drug used in anesthesia. It paralyzes the limbs, the lungs, too. In anesthesia, a respirator breathes for you. Without a respirator, you would just lie there and watch yourself die."
"How do you know all this? Where did this come from?"
"One question at a time, Counselor. First, I found it in Melanie's room. Hidden in a drawer with thirty pairs of black panties, which is an awful lot for someone who seldom wears any. I think she knows it's missing. Probably suspects me. That's why she changed the locks and tossed my things out. Second, I've done some research on it, had a lab test it. I'm a reporter, and I know a lot more than just box scores and yards-per-carry."
"Has this been in your possession continuously since discovering it?" Ever the lawyer, Lassiter, already thinking about chain of custody.
"The lab at Jackson Memorial took about five cc's out of the bottle. Otherwise, it's intact."
"What's this have to do with Salisbury, assuming the stuff is his?"
"Of course it's his! Melanie was screwing him, must have gotten the drug from him. She hated my father, just used him. She couldn't divorce him. She'd get nothing because of an antenuptial agreement. But if he died while married to her, she got the house, the boat, plus thirty percent of the estate."
I nodded. "Items in joint name plus the marital share."
"Right."
"So she had the motive. But that's all you can prove. For a criminal case built on circumstantial evidence, you need a lot more. Your case against Melanie is weak and you don't have anything on Salisbury. For one thing, your father didn't die of poisoning. He died of an aneurysm."
She turned her head away and blinked back a tear. "That's why I need your help."
"For what?"
"To figure out how they did it."
"Did what?"
"Oh Jake, think about it."
It was the first time she called me by my given name. I liked the sound of it.
"How they killed Dad with succinyleholine and made it look like an aneurysm," she said softly, her armor turning to tin.
I didn't buy it. "A hospital's a pretty risky place to kill somebody, doctors and nurses all around."
"That's what made it work. Who would object if Dr. Salisbury came into Dad's room after the surgery? He could have given the injection then. And who would be looking for poison when the patient dies of an aneurysm? It's a classic misdirection
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