by Lois Lavrisa
Elias placed our drinks in front of us.
“You know, speaking about Ray, I’m trying to get straight in my own mind what happened.” I pulled my beer mug closer to me.
“You mean his death? Anaphylactic shock. You know that.” Sweetie Pie shook his head.
I raised an eyebrow as I looked at him.
“I know that look, José. What’s going on?” Sweetie Pie asked.
“Just some loose ends that are bothering me, that’s all.”
“Like what?”
“How Ray got exposed in the first place. And why the EpiPen didn’t work.”
“Could the allergen have been in his food?”
“Nope. It wasn’t that. It had to be something else he came in contact with during the tournament.”
“Just so you know, I haven’t had peanuts in my bar for months now. Too much liability,” Sweetie Pie asserted. “Sanders’ Tavern is peanut-free.”
I cleared my throat. “Which makes this all the more complicated. There was peanut residue on his clothing and around the injection site.”
“You’re thinking it was more than just an accident, aren’t you?”
Nodding, I touched my nose. “It smells like murder.”
“Seriously?” Sweetie Pie looked incredulous.
“Yeah, that’s my theory. His hands had peanut oil residue. Maybe it was on the chips, cards, or his clothing.”
“It was my poker set. Trust me, it was clean. Plus, we opened a brand-new deck of cards for the game. He must’ve gotten something on his hands somewhere else.”
“Yeah. Maybe. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. If I could find the EpiPen, that would help a whole lot.”
“Still missing?”
“Yup. Seems to have disappeared into thin air.”
Sweetie Pie finished his beer. “If your theory is true, why isn’t Homicide on this?”
“Because Ray’s death is not being investigated that way.” I took a drink of my beer and shrugged. “That’s why Nowak and I took it upon ourselves to tie up the loose ends. Obviously, it’s very personal to her.”
Sweetie Pie flipped his boa over his neck. “What do you plan to do?”
“Talk to everyone who was at the tournament. Well, those who will still talk to me. I seem to have pissed off a bunch of people the last time we all got together.” I leaned back on the barstool. “Speaking of that, I know how to get a hold of everyone but the dealer.”
“I can help you with that. The dealer is the bartender’s sister.” Sweetie Pie called over the counter, “Hey, Elias, what’s your sister’s phone number? I had it written down but don’t have it handy.”
Elias stopped wiping the bar counter near us and glanced over at Sweetie Pie. “She just changed carriers and has a new one. I don’t know it offhand. Can I get it to you later?”
“Sure.” Sweetie Pie waved a hand. “And can you bring one more beer for my friend here? Put it on my tab.”
Elias nodded and then turned toward the tap.
“I’m going to freshen up before the show,” Sweetie Pie told me. “Why don’t you relax and enjoy the night? You can get back to your Sherlock Holmes sleuthing after you watch marvelous me perform.”
“Sure.” I’d be watching, but my mind would be chasing my murder theory. After chatting with them, I couldn’t imagine that either Norman or Big Mike had any motivation to kill Ray except the universal one: Ray was a jerk.
But if that had been the true motive, then someone would have killed him long ago. Mentally, I moved them further down my suspect list. Patrice had a motive, the blackmail, but I didn’t think she had the wherewithal to do it as she easily caved to pressure. Killing someone would involve a load of pressure. That left four more people to talk to.
Two hours later, after the show finished and the crowd dispersed to the back bar or to the upstairs dance area, a loud voice boomed from behind me.
“Where is Norman Sanders?” McFalls bellowed this as he flashed his badge at Big Mike. Following McFalls was Officer Taylor, a new cop on the homicide squad.
I approached them. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“José, what are you doing here?” McFalls stopped. “You don’t seem the type to hang out in a place like this.”
I stiffened as though I were being attacked. “And what type is that?” I hoped he didn’t notice my defensive tone.
“Easy there. I didn’t mean anything by it. You and I both know this is a gay bar.”
“That doesn’t mean everyone in here is gay, McFalls. Lots of people enjoy the show.”
“I got it. And for the record, I have nothing against gays. Hell, my cousin is gay.”
I felt myself relax a bit. “Well, for the record, I just watched a friend in the show. Why do you need to see Norman?”
“You know where he’s at?”
“He goes by Sweetie Pie here. More than likely, he’s back in the dressing room.” I thumbed behind me.
“Mind showing me where that’s at?” McFalls asked.
I nodded. “Follow me.”
McFalls and Officer Taylor trailed me to the back hallway. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? I assume it’s not a social visit.”
“You’ll find out in a minute.”
Upon our entering the dressing room, Sweetie Pie looked over as he wiped makeup from his face. “Well, hello. To what do I owe this pleasure?” His blond wig and boa sat next to him on the vanity.
“Norman Sanders?” McFalls asked.
“Yes, that’s me under all of this.” Sweetie Pie winked.
“Would you mind if we looked around here?” McFalls put on gloves.
“I just might mind.” Sweetie Pie crossed his arms. “What’s going on? Why are you all here?”
“We received an anonymous tip. We’re simply following through.”
“A tip on what?”
He held up a search warrant. “Sorry, that I can’t discuss. But I’d appreciate your cooperation.” McFalls glanced around the room.
“It feels like I don’t have a choice. So, suit yourself.” Sweetie Pie glared at McFalls.
McFalls motioned to Taylor. “You look under the counter and in that pile next to it. I’ll cover this area.”
Sweetie Pie locked eyes with me.
I shrugged and shook my head. “Hey, McFalls, why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for so I can help out?”
“Thanks, but we got it.” McFalls shoved the feather boa aside.
Taylor rummaged through some hanging clothes and then bent down to search in some bags lying on the floor.
With gloved hands, McFalls picked up a closed makeup case sitting on the counter. “Can you open this, please?” He pushed it toward Sweetie Pie.
“Of course, but powder-blue eye shadow would not look good on you. We have different coloring,” Sweetie Pie observed.
McFalls didn’t laugh but stared at Norman impassively.
Taylor, having finished his own search, stood next to Sweetie Pie.
Reluctantly, Sweetie Pie unzipped the case. He started to sit back, but something got his attention. He leaned forward and peered inside the case as McFalls rummaged around in it.
“Be careful,” Sweetie Pie said. “That stuff costs a mint.”
“I’m not sure what you think is in there—” I began just as McFalls paused and pulled out an EpiPen.
Holding it up, he said, “Norman Sanders, you’re under arrest for suspicion of murder.”
Officer Taylor cuffed Norman.
“How did that thing get in my makeup bag? It’s not mine!” Norman shouted. “It wasn’t in there earlier this evening when I was getting ready.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to tell us your side at the station.” McFalls nodded toward Taylor.
Taylor put a hand on Sweetie Pie’s shoulder and guided him out the door while reading Norman his rights.
“This is a huge mistake. I have no idea how it got in there. José, help me!” Sweetie Pie called ba
ck as he was escorted through the bar. “I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t like the guy, but no one did,” Sweetie Pie choked out.
McFalls held up the bag with the EpiPen. “Looks like evidence to me.”
“Really? Think about it. Norman would put the murder weapon in his own makeup case? That doesn’t make sense,” I pointed out.
“Criminals are dumb,” McFalls claimed.
“What’s his motive?” I asked.
“We’ll figure that out when we question him.” McFalls cleared a path through onlookers as he exited the bar.
“I didn’t do anything; I’m not a killer!” Norman said.
“Keep your mouth shut until you talk to an attorney,” I cautioned Norman as I followed them. Who made the call, and why now? I knew that Norman was innocent. That meant Ray’s killer must have set Norman up. And that meant the killer must’ve been close by in order to have staged the evidence in Norman’s makeup bag.
The killer was in the bar, lurking around in plain sight.
“Why are you telling him that?” McFalls glared at me. “Whose side are you on?”
“He’s my friend, McFalls. I’ve known Norman a long time, and there’s no way he killed Ray. As far as I know, he doesn’t have a motive.”
“As far as you know.” McFalls repeated my words. “We’ll know for sure once we talk to him. You might’ve been right this whole time, José, about there being more to Ray’s death. Until now, we had nothing to go on.”
“Who called it in?” I wanted to know.
“Some anonymous call on Crime Stopper.”
“That’s convenient, isn’t it? Who would know to call except the real killer? Norman isn’t guilty.”
As we made our way outside next to the squad car, McFalls stopped. “We’re friends, so I’m not going to tell anyone that you told a suspect not to talk to us. You’re too close to this. Your perspective is being clouded by your friendship with the perp. I know how to do my job, so I suggest you back off and let me do it.”
“You know as well as I do that there are flaws in the legal system that let guilty people go free and innocent people get locked up.”
“I don’t make mistakes.” He opened the squad door and guided Norman into the backseat of the police cruiser.
As instructed, Norman remained silent.
Norman looked at me again.
I nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. Hoping to convey that I had his back.
He weakly nodded before he disappeared into the back of the police cruiser.
“Oh, and we executed a search warrant on Sanders’ Tavern too. We have the poker chips and cards logged in as evidence. They’re being tested as we speak. Our tipster said we’d find traces of peanut oil,” McFalls informed me as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
Had Norman lied to me? Did he really have it in for Ray, enough to commit murder? On the other hand, if Norman didn’t do it, then that meant the killer had set him up.
Who would do that?
Chapter 22
Two hours later, McFalls was still grilling Norman in the precinct’s interrogation room. It appeared he wouldn’t let up until he got a confession. Norman’s attorney sat adjacent to him. He’d hired Earl Chu, the handsome attorney with pitch-black hair and high cheekbones.
I stood behind the observation window the entire time, watching and listening to the interrogation.
McFalls held up the evidence bag containing the EpiPen. “Let’s go over this again. Instead of epinephrine medicine, this shot was full of a blend of peanut oil that had the same consistency and color as EpiPen fluid. And you knew Ray was allergic to peanuts, correct?”
“Yes, I knew that. I told you. Everyone at the tournament knew that. Why aren’t they in here, too?” Norman rubbed his eyes. “Can I go now? I’m so done with all of this.”
“My client has been more than cooperative. I think we can wrap this up now,” Earl agreed.
“Yes, we should. Now,” Norman insisted.
“If you could indulge me just a few more minutes, I promise after that we’ll be done. Okay?” McFalls said.
“If it will get me out of here, then fine. Five more minutes, that’s it. I have nothing to hide. I’ll prove my innocence and then get out of here. But right now I need some coffee,” Norman complained. “Five minutes, not a second more.”
“Fine.” Earl leaned back in his chair.
McFalls looked at Taylor, who leaned against the door, “Can you get him a cup of coffee, please?”
“And if you can, add a few shots of Baileys to it,” Norman added hopefully but then shook his head. “Never mind. Two sugars and a splash of cream will do.”
After Taylor left, McFalls leaned forward. “Hey, between you and me, Ray could be a real ass, right?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Earl told Norman.
“I don’t mind.” Norman shrugged.
“But as your counsel, I strongly suggest that—”
Norman interrupted his attorney and glared at McFalls. “Yeah, Ray was rough around the edges. He could be a royal ass.”
“Watch what you’re saying, Norman.” Earl shook his head.
“It’s okay. I’ve got this.” Norman turned to McFalls and went on. “Ray was like that to everyone, not just to me. If you’re implying that I killed him because he was an ass, then you should be interviewing a whole hell of a lot of other people, too.”
“Except you were there when he died. You owned the poker set that was tainted with oil. You hosted the tournament at your establishment. You knew he was allergic to peanuts. And you had the EpiPen, full of peanut oil, in your possession. And I’m guessing that at some point during the night of the tournament, you switched your tampered EpiPen with Ray’s real one.” McFalls pointed at Norman. “It all leads back to you and you alone.”
Norman hung his head and sighed. “We’ve been through this so many times in so many variations during however many hours I’ve been here.” He slumped in his chair. “I never touched that shot, and I don’t know how that damned thing got in my makeup bag.”
The EpiPen was the smoking gun. The fact it had been found in Norman’s possession made him the number one suspect.
To prove Norman’s innocence, I needed to find the real killer.
It would help if I looked at the evidence myself. I left the observation room and walked next door to the crime lab. My forensic scientist friend Cody, nicknamed Beaker, was working.
He stood half a foot shorter than me, slightly hunched over, and wore black-rimmed glasses. His white lab coat seemed two sizes too big on his bony frame. Many years ago, we’d worked in this lab together.
Beaker looked up from his microscope. “Nice to see you, stranger. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Just popping by to say hi.”
“Are you tired of explosives? Are you coming back to the dark side and joining us?”
“As good as that sounds, nope, I’m not.” I looked around the room. I saw a pile of papers stacked on a desk. The trash was filled with discarded fast-food wrappers and drink cups. I could see that Beaker’s love of junk food had not diminished. “I was wondering if you had anything logged in from McFalls regarding—”
“Ray’s case?”
I nodded.
“Yes. It’s high-priority. That’s why I’m still here, working into the wee hours of the night.”
“So, what can you tell me?”
I observed the familiar equipment on the countertops—a fume hood, chromatograph, and spectrometer. The room was brightly lit with overhead fluorescent lights, which shone a yellowish glow on the steel countertops. The walls were standard off-white, and the floor was a worn speckled linoleum. The place hadn’t changed a bit since I’d worked here. And it still had the same hint of bleach scent.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked.
“I was there that night. Things aren’t adding up,” I said.
“What doesn’t make sense? His EpiPen was filled with peanut
oil.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“There’s not one trace of fingerprints anywhere on it.”
“Yeah. That bothers me. Why would Norman wipe it clean and then place it in his own bag? If he really did it, why even keep the evidence at all? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I guess not. But who knows what he was thinking? I still have to do more work on the case, but as you can see, I’m backlogged.” He pointed to a countertop with dozens of boxes jam-packed with plastic evidence bags. “The pile that looks like a mini Mount Everest.”
I nodded. “Quite a backlog.”
“You’re telling me. I need, like, five of me working nonstop to get through all of them.” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “I know your buddy got arrested for Ray’s death.”
“Yeah, he did. But he’s innocent.”
“Everyone that gets arrested says they’re innocent.”
“But Norman really is. And right now, it looks like I’m the only one who believes that. I’m trying to figure out what really happened that night.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence.” I watched as Beaker peered into the microscope.
“I mean, you’re a great cop. If anyone can figure it out, you can. It’s just that the odds are stacked against you, at least from what I can tell.”
“Don’t I know it. But I love a challenge.” I also couldn’t let an innocent man get put away for a crime he didn’t commit. “I need to find out how Ray was exposed to the allergen in the first place. I think the key to finding the killer is discovering who planted the initial allergen exposure. Because I bet whoever did that also knew Ray would reach for his injector, and they had already replaced his real one with the altered one.”
“Yeah, that’s what happened. But finding out who did it—? Well, you’ve got your work cut out.”
“I do. What about the peanut oil?”
“It was on the cards.” Beaker took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Taking a corner of his lab coat, he cleaned his glasses with it and then put them back on.
“All of the cards?”
“Looks like it. Some more than others. I just tested them.” He pointed to the table alongside him. “I have the report there.”
