Shock Treatment by Greg Cox

relationship between them?”
    â€œShe didn’t even know who he was! He was wearing a hockey mask, remember?” A flicker of impatience eroded his easy manner. “Look, I understand that you folks have to ask these kinds of questions, and I appreciate your diligence and commitment to the truth, but, honestly, there’s no big mystery here. We shocked the wrong person and she killed Matt in what she thought was self-defense. You’ve got the footage. See for yourself.”
    â€œWe’ll do that,” Brass promised. “But this location is locked down until we’re done here.”
    â€œNaturally,” Park agreed. “You have any idea how long that’s likely to take?”
    Catherine was used to being nagged by impatient landlords and business owners anxious to open up shop again. She had learned from experience to never let herself get pinned down. “That depends on what we find.”
    â€œThat makes sense, I guess.” He frowned, obviously less than satisfied with her answer. She wondered just how long the studio had leased this real estate for. “But, really, that’s not going to take too long? I mean, it was just an accident, right?”
    Probably, Catherine conceded. But right now they only knew one thing for sure.
    Matt Novak was dead.

7
    D ESERT P ALM H OSPITAL was starting to feel like Ray’s home away from home away from home. Although several years had passed since he had actually worked full-time as a surgeon, he often found himself at Desert Palm processing a victim.
    Like today.
    Rita Segura was hooked up to a ventilator in the hospital’s ICU. An IV was attached to her arm. Blinking apparatus monitored her vital signs, which appeared to be weak but stable. According to her attending physician, whom Ray had already spoken to, she had not regained consciousness since arriving at the hospital. Mechanical respiration was keeping her alive, while copious amounts of antivenin, as well as standard antibiotics, were doing the same. Her face was drawn and pale, her eyes closed, but Ray could tell that ordinarily she was an attractive woman. Her petite frame, and low body mass, helped explain why the venom had takeneffect so quickly. Children and smaller individuals were typically more at risk from envenomation.
    He reminded himself that, on an average, there were only about fifteen fatal snakebites in North America every year, mostly from rattlesnakes and other pit vipers. Nobody had been killed by a coral snake in years. There was every reason to hope that Rita would not become a statistic.
    But she wasn’t out of the woods yet.
    An older gentleman was seated at her bedside. Engrossed in his vigil, he did not look up as Ray approached the bed. The CSI cleared his throat to avoid startling him.
    â€œExcuse me,” he said. “Mr. Segura?”
    Rita’s husband was in his sixties at least, with mussed silver hair and rumpled clothing. A wool sweater vest was unbuttoned. Sitting as close to the hospital bed as he could, he held on tightly to his wife’s hand. Teary, red-rimmed eyes looked up at Ray. His cheeks were damp. “Yes?”
    â€œMy name is Ray Langston. I’m with the Las Vegas crime lab.” He placed his field kit next to the bed. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”
    Marshall Segura pulled himself together. He wiped the tears from his eyes. “That’s all right.” He squinted at Ray. “Langston, you say? Aren’t you the one who figured out what kind of snake had bitten Rita? The doctors here say you may have saved her life.”
    â€œIt was a reasonable deduction,” Ray said. “I’m just glad it proved useful.”
    Unfortunately, Desert Palm had not had the appropriate antivenin in stock, since coral snakes werehardly native to Nevada. It had been necessary to fly the antivenin in from Texas, causing a dangerous delay in Rita’s treatment. Small wonder she