by Gail Meath
“It is quite common for heart problems to go undetected until it is too late,” Doctor Norris stated.
Jax wasn’t convinced. “I read a few articles about that green stuff around his mouth, Doctor, but I got lost in the jargon. Doesn’t it have something to do with the gall bladder?”
“It is called bile, which is produced in the liver, travels through the gall bladder, and mixes with food to help digestion,” Doctor Norris explained. “When a person becomes violently ill, and the contents of their stomach empties, bile can back up into the esophagus. Also, after a person dies, part of the decomposing process is the excretion of those purge fluids.”
“A person’s stomach needs to be empty to produce that bile?” Jax asked.
“That is correct. Judging from the sparse amount of vomit at the scene, I can only assume that Mister Sanders ate very little that day.”
“So, he couldn’t have consumed an entire meal of let’s say, chicken and biscuits?”
“Jax...” Tim said.
“Hang on, Murph. I’m pretty sure he ate at least part of some sort of chicken dish before I found him.”
“How do you know that?” Tim asked irritably.
“Well, if he did, he did not consume much,” Doctor Norris said.
“Did you rule out botulism?” Jax asked, cutting to the quick. “If Sanders ate even a small amount of contaminated chicken, he’d get sick pretty quick on an empty stomach, wouldn’t he? I like to think of myself as a gourmet cook, and I did a lot of reading about it since I didn’t want to kill myself or Ace. When I was growing up, there was an outbreak of food poisoning from canned foods. Several kids at a local school got violently ill. Some were serious enough to end up in the hospital. I read that botulism can be deadly under certain circumstances and rapidly cause a whole slew of problems, like kidney and liver failure. Even paralysis. The way Sanders was sprawled out on his desk tells me that he was having difficulty with his motor control.”
“We didn’t find any food at the apartment, Jax,” Tim reminded him.
“I know, Murph, and that’s the problem. When Sanders got there, he was carrying his lunch pail, but it wasn’t anywhere in the room when I found him. And it looked like someone had cleaned up pretty neatly after he died.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Doctor Norris said. “I do not know anything about the man’s lunchbox, but botulism and poisonous substances have become part of my routine analysis in circumstances such as this. Joe provided several samples of fluids, vomit residue, and such. I was able to isolate certain compounds in those samples and found them to consist of clean protein particles and plant-based substances, free of harmful chemicals and bacteria. In other words, healthy meat and vegetables.”
“No disrespect, Doctor. I know you and the toxicologist have made terrific breakthroughs in detecting several deadly poisons. But aren’t there others that still go undetected?” Judging from Doctor Norris’ stern expression, Jax couldn’t figure out whether he was contemplating the question or damning his insolence.
“Without any other evidence suggesting homicide, I stand by my conclusion, Detective,” the Doctor stated firmly. “The man suffered from heart failure.”
Tim snatched Jax’s arm and pulled him towards the door. “Let’s have a little talk outside. Thank you for your time, Doctor.” As soon as they reached the sidewalk, Tim faced him. “Okay, Jax, I want to know right now. What did you take from the apartment the other night?”
“Not here with your deadbeat partner waiting for you,” Jax told him. “It’s close to noon. I will tell you everything after you drop Butch off at the station and meet me at L’Aiglon’s.”
“Where?”
“You know. That fancy restaurant on Fifty-Fifth Street.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“It won’t take long, Murph, I promise.”
“This better be good.”
Jax headed south and parked his car near the restaurant. He filled Ace’s water dish from the canteen sitting between the bucket seats. “I promise this is the last stop. If you need to do your business, go in the alley over there.”
Inside the restaurant, the receptionist greeted him and summoned a waiter who led him into the dining room. As they made their way to the table in the corner, Jax noticed most of the patrons were dressed in their finest threads, with a few women wearing evening gowns and men in fancy black tuxedos. The ceilings were at least twenty feet high with a second-floor circular balcony overhead for additional tables. The room was elaborately decorated with hanging baskets of flowers, crystal chandeliers dangling from the gilded ceiling, and a large, fancy water fountain in the center.
When the young man pulled the chair out for him, he grabbed ahold of it. “Thanks. I’ve got it. I’ll have a cup of java. I’m waiting for someone.”
“My name is André and I will be your server today.” He placed the menus on the table. “Our lunch specials consist of...”
“Just coffee for now. Is the manager around?”
“Our maître d' is otherwise engaged. May I be of service to you?”
“Who handles the meal deliveries to the Ambassador Theater?”
André hesitated. “Well, it is usually handled by Maître d' Blanchet. He is in the kitchen presently.”
“Could you tell him that I’d like to speak with him for a minute?”
“Certainly, monsieur.” And with a graceful pirouette, the young man twirled around and headed for the kitchen.
Jax felt someone’s glare burning a hole through him. He glanced over at the next table, and an elderly woman sitting with her husband was staring back at him. He smiled. “How are you doing, ma’am?”
She quickly looked away and went back to her meal.
He leaned over to get a good look at their lunch plates, then picked up the menu. It was written in French, so he scanned through it. Then, André headed for his table carrying a cup in one hand and a silver pot in the other.
“The maître d' will join you as soon as he is available,” he said as he poured the hot coffee for him. “As you can see, we have a busy lunch crowd.”
“What kind of chicken dishes do you serve, André?”
“We have a delightful selection of poitrine de poulet. Coq au vin is a delicious chicken breast braised in our specialty aged red burgundy wine topped with champignons and lardons, which are nice, tasty mushrooms and cured bacon. We also have...”
“How about chicken and biscuits?”
André’s grew irritated. “Of course, Monsieur. One of our regular lunch specials is poulet à l’ail et biscuits, a country-style dish with savory-sweet onions and tender slices of wild parsnips and carrots. Would you like me to order a platter for you?”
“Not yet. Thanks.”
When the waiter left his table, he saw Tim walk into the restaurant. He stood up and flagged him down, ignoring the scowls he received from the other customers surrounding him.
Uncomfortably, Tim made his way through the dining room in full uniform and sat down. “What the heck are we doing here?”
Jax set the ceramic plate chip down in front of him. “I found that under Sanders’ desk. He always ordered his dinner from this restaurant and had it delivered to the theater. Then, he would put it into his lunch pail and take it to his apartment. That night was no different. Before you ask, there was no way he could have disposed of the lunch pail, the rest of that plate, or anything else without me seeing him. The dumpster is on the side of the building in plain sight.”
Tim picked up the chip to study it. “Jax, if you start flapping your gums about food poisoning, you’re going to shut this place down. Then, there will be lawsuits, and all hell will break loose.”
“Settle down, Murph. I don’t think there was anything wrong with his meal when it was delivered. I think someone tampered with it afterward.”
Tim leaned back in his seat. “Go on...”
“Whoever accepted the delivery at the theater put some kind of poison in his
food, potent enough to kill him after a few bites. Then the killer waited until he was dead, went into his apartment, and cleaned up every trace of Sanders’ meal. Except for that broken piece of plate. The landlord at the apartment took me down to the basement yesterday. There’s a back door. He keeps it locked, but someone slipped in and out of the building without me seeing them. I’m sure of it.”
Tim handed the chip back to him. “This could have been sitting under the desk for days or weeks.”
“Yeah, so what happened to the containers his dinner was packed in, and his lunch pail? I’m telling you, Murph, this was murder. I shouldn’t have waited so long before checking on Sanders that night, but I was only there to see if he was cheating on his wife. It never occurred to me that someone wanted him dead.”
“His wife hired you?” Tim asked. “Was he cheating on her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did any women visit him at the apartment?”
“Well, one, but I’m pretty sure she only had a business relationship with him. I think it was just Patricia Sanders’ wishful thinking since she needed solid grounds for divorce.”
“Tell me about the woman you saw at the apartment,” Tim said.
“Laura Graystone, but she went there to pick up a copy of a music script Sanders was writing, and she wasn’t there long.”
“Graystone. I’ve heard that name. How do you know that’s why she went there?”
Jax chuckled thinking about it. “I interrogated her. Or maybe she interrogated me, I’m not sure which.”
“For crying out loud, Jax, you can’t go around questioning people and illegally searching other people’s property. I don’t understand why you’re always dismissing police procedures and refusing to trust the experts. You said yourself that Doctor Norris was the best at what he does, and he determined that this wasn’t murder. Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?”
“You know why...” Jax said quietly.
Tim heaved a sigh. “That was two years ago, Jax. You’ve got to let the past go. You were instructed to follow police procedures or get fired. Everyone knows that incident wasn’t your fault.”
Jax swallowed hard and looked at him. “If I hadn’t followed procedures, I could have saved that little boy’s life. You and I both know that’s why I quit the force.”
“This situation is completely different.”
“Is it? I was supposed to be watching Sanders that night, and he died right under my nose. It feels like the same situation to me.”
A man dressed in a formal black suit approached them and his pencil-thin mustache widened with his grin. “Good day, Monsieurs. I am Maître d' Blanchet. André tells me that you are inquiring about our delivery services to the theaters?”
“The Ambassador is the only theater I’m interested in,” Jax specified.
“How can I help you?”
“A friend of mine is performing there next Tuesday. She loves chicken and biscuits, and I wondered if I could have the meal delivered to her as a surprise around five o’clock.”
“Ah, of course,” he replied. “What a delightful gesture. We can certainly accommodate you. In fact, we have another patron who has a standing order for the same dish to be delivered to the Ambassador every Tuesday.”
Not anymore, Jax wanted to tell him.
“I will let André serve you now. When you are finished with your lunch, I will return to gather the information from you.”
“Excuse me,” Jax said, stopping him. “Will it be delivered directly to her at the theater?”
“No, no. It is against the theater’s policy. It will be given to the doorman, yet he understands our need for prompt service. Rest assured that your friend’s meal will be piping hot and ready to eat when she receives it.”
As soon as the man left, Jax tossed a few coins on the table to pay for his coffee and stood up. “C’mon, Murph. Time to go.” And he led the way outside.
“What was all that about?” Tim asked.
“Do you know who Robert Ashworth is?”
“He owns the Ambassador Theater.”
“Actually, his mother does.” And Jax proceeded to tell him why he thought Robert Ashworth and Patricia Sanders were having an affair. “Whoever took Sanders’ meal to him that day is my top suspect. I’m thinking Sanders’ wife or Robert Ashworth, or both. She needed evidence of her husband’s infidelity to file for divorce and be with Ashworth. Last Sunday, I told her that I hadn’t come up with any proof yet. So, they resort to killing him. She was at the theater right around the time his meal was delivered that day. I’d bet Ashworth was, too.”
Tim started pacing back and forth across the sidewalk. “Jax, I can’t tell my captain any of this gibberish. The Ashworths own most of the property in Manhattan. They’re a powerful family and highly respected. Captain Ryan would fire me on the spot, especially since Doctor Norris determined Sanders died from a heart attack.” He stopped, took a deep breath then turned to Jax. “All right, between you and me, let’s say this wild theory of yours has some merit. Do you know who my top suspect would be? That Graystone woman since she was the last person to see Sanders alive.”
8
Yankees vs. Boston Red Sox
Saturday, June 2
“Hurry up, girls! I don’t want to miss the first inning!” Laura yelled as she waited for Jeanie and Margie by their front door. She wore her game-day uniform, knickers, a red and white middy sailor top, and her Red Sox ballcap. And she religiously carried her favorite leather baseball glove.
“Margie doesn’t want to go,” Jeanie told her, dressed far more formally in a casual mint-green drop-waist dress.
“Not go? But she promised she’d give baseball a chance. This is the third time she backed out on us, and it’s the only Saturday I’ve had off in so long. Well, forget her, let’s go.” She swung the door open and hurried down the hall with Jeanie struggling to keep up.
They arrived at the new stadium in plenty of time for the first pitch. Laura bought their tickets, a bag of popcorn, and two sodas before settling into their seats between home plate and first base, several rows back. The Yankees were playing the Boston Red Sox, which has been Laura’s favorite team since she grew up just west of Boston. She was only six-years-old when her father had taken her and her older brother to her very first ballgame against the New York Highlanders, the Yankees' original name. And they attended every game after that. Even after her father’s death, she and her brother would attend the games as often as they could.
She loved the sport and their team. Of course, now that she was living in New York, it was difficult listening to the jeering crowd whenever the fans saw her colors, but she didn’t care. Even though Babe Ruth, her favorite player, was traded to the Yankees three years ago, she was still a loyal Red Sox fan.
Jean, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so enthusiastic about the sport. “I have a date tonight, Laura, so I can’t stay for the whole game.”
“You’ll be home in plenty of time. It’s only one o’clock. It’ll be over by three. Now hush and stand up for the Star-Spangled Banner. The first game starts as soon as the band is finished.” But as she proudly sang along with the crowd, Laura’s focus was drawn away from the field to the opposite aisle seat, four rows down. “I don’t believe this...”
“What’s eating you, Laura?” Jeanie asked.
She remained silent until the tune was finished, and everyone started cheering. “That detective is here. The one I told you about.”
“Where?”
Discreetly, she pointed. “Wouldn’t you know it? There are twelve thousand people in the stadium, and he just happens to be sitting no more than an arm’s length away from us.”
“I can’t see what he looks like,” Jeanie said as she stood on tiptoes trying to get a better view.
“Well, at least he’s not wearing that silly brown suit,” Laura stated. And for a second, she thought he looked rather dapper in white pants and a sweater vest. But she quickly
washed that traitorous thought out of her mind.
“He’s sitting with another couple,” Jeanie noticed. “Oh, look. That cute little girl just climbed into his lap. I wonder if that’s his daughter?”
“I don’t know, nor do I care.” She plopped down in her seat and pulled the brim of her cap down over her brows.
She remained in that position, forcing herself to keep her vision on the ballfield. Although every time Babe Ruth came to bat, she would move to the edge of her seat knowing the damage that he could do. By the fifth inning, she slumped in her seat watching Boston fall behind three runs while the massive crowd was still on their feet, whistling, clapping, and cheering.
During the next two innings, Laura forgot all about Jax and kept her eyes peeled on the game. With a sudden burst of energy, Boston retaliated with two runs in the top of the sixth, and a whopping four runs in the seventh. She was so engrossed in the game, she didn’t realize the seventh inning stretch had just been called, and Jax was heading up the stairs towards her.
“Miss Graystone, what a surprise,” he stated, standing beside her.
Slowly, she looked up at him. “Hello, Detective Diamond.”
“I didn’t peg you for a baseball fan. Of course, judging from your ballcap you’re rooting for the wrong team.”
Jeanie leaned forward. “Hello. I’m Jeanie. Laura’s best friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Jeanie.”
“Likewise,” she replied, smiling.
“I’m heading for the concession stand. Would either of you ladies like a bag of popcorn or a soda?”
“Not me. I’ve got to fly,” Jeanie said as she got to her feet. “This isn’t as much fun as I thought it would be, Laura. I feel bad ditching you like this, but Bobby is picking me up at five o’clock, and I have no idea what I’m going to wear.” She looked up at Jax. “Would you mind keeping Laura company for the rest of the game, Detective? You’d be doing me a huge favor.”
Laura stood up. “Jeanie!”
