Shock Treatment by Greg Cox Page B

prison.”
    Ray was surprised by his answer. This was more than he had been expecting. He felt like a prospector who had accidentally stumbled onto the mother lode. “What do you mean?”
    â€œAbout a month ago,” Segura said, “Rita received a summons for jury duty. I told her she should try to get out of it, but she insisted on doing her civic duty.” He beamed at her proudly. “That’s the kind of decent, upstanding woman she is.”
    â€œVery commendable.” Ray was eager to get to the point. “So what happened?”
    â€œShe ended up serving on the trial of a vicious drug dealer. The jury even appointed her foreman. I went with her to the courthouse every day, just to provide her with moral support.”
    Or perhaps to keep a close watch on your alluring younger wife, Ray thought. He hated to be so cynical, but that was an occupational hazard. The jobtrained you not to take people’s testimony at face value and to always look for ulterior motives. Maybe this seemingly devoted old man also had a jealous and suspicious streak?
    â€œIf only she hadn’t gotten on that jury,” Segura sobbed, breaking into tears. “Maybe none of this would have happened.”
    Was this just an act? Ray’s gut told him that Marshall Segura was innocent, but he had been fooled before . . . badly. Years ago, long before he became a CSI, he had worked at a hospital much like this one. A killer had also worked there, a self-appointed “angel of death” who had put multiple patients out of their misery before he was caught. The fact that the killer had operated right under Ray’s nose for so long still haunted him, and had taught Ray a bitter lesson: Murder often lurked right where you least expected it.
    Perhaps even in the heart of a weeping husband?
    â€œRita and the other jury members found the defendant guilty,” Segura continued after he had composed himself. “As well they should have. I’ll never forget the way that animal glared at Rita when the verdict was read. She had nightmares about it for weeks.” A bony fist clenched at his side. “That criminal must be responsible for this, or one of his scumbag friends!”
    â€œI see,” Ray said diplomatically. He wasn’t entirely sure how an imprisoned drug dealer could arrange to have Rita attacked by a snake at a spa, or even whether she was actually the intended victim, but stranger things had happened. It was definitely worth looking into. “Do you recall the name of the defendant?”
    â€œI’m afraid not. Sorry,” Segura apologized. “But I’ll tell you what I do remember. The no-good son of a bitch had a tattoo on his neck.” He paused to make sure he had Ray’s full attention. “A tattoo of a snake. ”

8
    â€œM R. B OGGS , I presume?”
    Their next witness flinched at the name. “Yeah, that was my character tonight. My real name’s Hamilton, though. Bill Hamilton.”
    The makeup trailer being perfectly good for him, the middle-aged thespian occupied the same stool formerly graced by Jill Wooten and Debra Lusky. Catherine and Brass had relocated back to the dressing room after vacating Roger Park’s roomier digs. Hamilton didn’t seem to mind being interviewed here. Catherine guessed it was more comfortable than an iron maiden.
    â€œSorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “Thank you for your patience.”
    â€œNo problem,” he rasped. “Believe me, I needed some time to recover.”
    He had the unglamourous, everyman features of a born character actor. He was short and pudgy, with thinning gray hair and a ruddy face. Stubbledotted his cheeks. Lurid red splotches stained his wrinkled business shirt. A blood spatter specialist, Catherine knew stage blood when she saw it. No way was it real; not only was it the wrong shade of red, but real blood would have turned brown by now.
    Guess it