The Washington Lawyer by Allan Topol Page A

The smell of French fries in the air. The waitress in a short-skirted pink and white uniform, who looked to Allison to be about twelve, came over.
    â€œJust coffee.”
    â€œHow about some eggs?” Sara asked. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”
    â€œI’m okay.”
    â€œTwo orders of scrambled eggs with toasted English muffins,” Sara ordered, then turned to Allison. “I can’t imagine the pain of having my sister die.”
    â€œWith a twin, it’s worse.”
    â€œI still can’t believe it.”
    â€œNow tell me what you learned.”
    â€œI took a blood sample for analysis. I examined her body and studied her medical records from Dr. Miller’s office.”
    Allison somehow felt alarmed.
    â€œNot to worry. He won’t tell your mother. Well anyhow, Vanessa had a heart condition known as hypertrophic myopsy. Were you aware of that?”
    Allison nodded. “But she never let that stop her from doing anything.”
    â€œYes, that’s the Vanessa Boyd I remember.”
    Sara pushed the glasses down over her eyes, reached into her purse, and took out some papers. “She also had traces of marijuana and some alcohol, but not a great quantity. Without an autopsy, I can’t say whether any of these caused her heart to stop when she was swimming, or whether it was something else that caused her to drown.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œA sudden swift current. A rip tide. Muscle cramp.”
    â€œAny bruises on her body? I mean evidence of a struggle? Like somebody forced her under the water?”
    â€œYou think someone killed her? That it wasn’t an accident?”
    Allison pounded her fist on the table. “The story I was given over the phone was total and utter bullshit.” Allison was getting loud; the two young mothers were staring at her. One baby started crying. Sara motioned with her hand for Allison to keep it down.
    â€œI know my sister. You know her, too. She’d never take a trip like that herself. She always attracted men like a magnet. She drew them to her and loved being with them, particularly the movers and shakers. She hated being alone. She wouldn’t anymore go to Anguilla herself than I would fly to the moon. Some man had to be there. And he had to be responsible.”
    â€œWell, I looked and I didn’t see any bruises. But that’s not dispositive. Someone could have lured her into the water when she was too wasted to swim—or held her under without leaving any bruises. But there is one thing …” She hesitated.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI did see something suggesting Vanessa wasn’t alone in Anguilla.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œIrritation and inflammation on the inside walls of the vagina.” Sara spoke in a clinical voice.
    â€œYou mean she was raped?”
    â€œNo. Probably just prolonged intercourse.”
    â€œProlonged intercourse,” Allison sighed. “That’s Vanessa. At least that makes sense.”
    â€œWhich means she may have gone there with a man, or perhaps met him in Anguilla.”
    â€œEither way, some scumbag man’s involved,” Allison’s voice rose again. “Son of a bitch left her to die. He abandoned her on the beach where her body could’ve been chewed up by seagulls.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Allison. That’s all I learned.”
    Allison said. “Wait till I catch the bastard. I’ll strangle him with my bare hands.”
    Allison left Sara, then walked to the gray stone Blake’s Funeral Home. The outside was dingy with peeling paint on the wooden front door, but a shiny clean black hearse parked in front.
    Inside, steadying herself against a beam and looking at Vanessa in the open coffin, Allison thought Bruce must have worked hard. He’d restored the body to a good likeness. Had to be a tough job between the Caribbean climate and the lapse of time.
    She sat down in