by Rayna Morgan
"Sorry, I was wrapped up in the case, that's all, and busy training the recruit."
"Pat Fisher? I like her. How's she working out?" she asked between bites of calamari.
"She's got moxie; I'll give her that."
"You should broaden your perspective on the people you work with. There could be more there than meets the eye."
"I don't mix business with pleasure. Besides, there's nothing to mix."
"She's a smart chick, and not hard on the eyes either, in case you haven't noticed."
"Her looks are alright. I'm more interested in her martial arts skills."
"Do you see everyone from a cop's perspective?"
"Not you. You I see as a gorgeous bright light in my sometimes dark day."
Maddy blushed, ignoring Tom’s diversion tactics. "You should get to know Pat better. I think there's more to her than you might realize."
"All I need to know about Pat is she's there when I need her; that she's always got my back. Same as I expect from all the members of my squad."
Maddy displayed a mockingly stern face. "Okay, I get it. You can't be friends with the people you work with." Smiling innocently, she asked, "You wouldn't mind me striking up a friendship, would you? I thought I might ask her to meet up for coffee."
"What my squad members do on their free time is their business."
"She looks up to you, you know."
Tom scoffed. "Typical case of hero worship. I get it from all new recruits, the same way I idolized the first commander I trained under. In my eyes, he walked on water; he could do no wrong. It wears off once you realize your hero puts his pants on the same way you do. We're all human; we all make mistakes."
"Same way I felt about my Dad when I realized he'd made some of the mistakes he was telling me not to make; that's how he knew what the consequences would be."
"Did it make him any less special in your eyes?"
"At the time, I was a cocky twenty-year-old. I started thinking I was smarter than he was and would never make the same mistakes." She tapped the ice in her glass with her fingernail. "In time, I made mistakes of my own and appreciated him all the more for it."
"When did your outlook change?"
"When I figured out the mistakes we make and the wrong turns we take are as valuable as the things we get right."
• • •
The waitress brought a fresh round of drinks. Stirring the beverage with a swizzle stick, Maddy recalled her conversation with Scott and asked Tom a similar question. "Are you afraid of making mistakes, Tom? What are you afraid of?"
"Afraid I might let some bad person slip through the system because I wasn't diligent enough, and that person ends up hurting or killing someone. Afraid if a person's life or safety depends on me, I won't make the right decision or have the split-second reaction necessary to protect them."
"But you've saved so many people; you've put so many bad guys away."
"Thankfully. A lot of times we get things wrong, but there are times we get things incredibly right. Those are the moments I live for. Those are the things that help me live with my mistakes." He took a long drink. "When are you going to figure out the mistake you're making spending time with that cowboy?"
"Geez, Tom, don't tell me you're giving me advice on my love life. When it comes to tracking down criminals, there's none better than you but when it comes to personal relationships, you're thick as a rock."
"I'll admit I haven't done too well in the dating department since my divorce but I'm improving, don't you think?"
"I think you're close to perfect most of the time but I'm prejudiced. I'm your best friend. Well, second best behind Paul."
"You're more than my best friend, Mad. You're the most important person in my life."
They both looked stunned at his words. Maddy could feel her heart pounding. "I didn't know you felt that way."
"That makes two of us," he admitted. He averted his gaze a moment before looking back into her eyes. "It's more than your being a friend. When I'm with you, I feel like I'm where I'm meant to be, with the person I'm meant to be with. No matter where we are or what we're doing, I feel like I'm home."
Maddy's eyes welled up. She knew how hard it was for Tom to express his feelings. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."
"I guess it's something I've known for a while. Knowing something is the easy part; saying it out loud is the hard part."
His vulnerability at that moment pierced her heart. She couldn't imagine her life without him in it.
The sound of a frog's chirp broke the spell of the moment. He looked down at the pager clipped to his belt and read the message.
"Darn it. The coroner needs me at the morgue." He threw some bills on the table. "I hate to leave."
"It's okay; go. Don't worry. Next time I see you, I'll make sure we pick up where we left off."
• • •
The coroner's office was located in the same building as the morgue, across the street from one of the large hospitals. Tom decided long ago should he ever need to be hospitalized, he'd choose the one across town. He wasn't superstitious, but this setup seemed too much like one stop shopping for his comfort.
A chill went up his spine as he walked down the sterile steel corridors of the morgue. Turning into the last office on the right, he greeted the man in the white smock. "This better be good, Mort."
Every piece of furniture in the coroner's office was covered with files, neatly sorted and labeled. He gestured for Tom to sit in the metal chair in front of his desk and offered coffee.
"Not this time of night. I'd like to go home and get at least a couple of hours of shuteye when we're through."
"I hate to get you down here on a Sunday night, but I'm leaving in the morning for a three-day convention in Chicago. I figured you'd want to hear the findings in the Mason case before I left. I knew I could get hold of you. You're never off the clock."
"I might surprise you someday. Might start putting in regular hours; have a more normal life."
"You might, but I'm not holding my breath." He pulled the top file from a stack and opened it in front of him. "I received the report on the autopsy performed by the medical examiner."
"Did your initial presumption of the cause of death hold up?"
"Yes, in part. As you recall, I told you the symptoms indicated poisoning."
"Yeah, from a poisonous mushroom known as the Death Cap. You're going to tell me the cause of death wasn't poisoning?"
"I'm not changing the cause of death, but the pathology report indicates the presence of two different poisons which could make a difference to your investigation."
"Go on. I'm listening."
The coroner slid a file in front of Tom. "The report indicates fatal poisoning from Water Hemlock."
Tom showed no interest in reading the report; he preferred hearing Mort tell it. "Is that what's called 'poison parsnip'?"
"Yep. The reason is that Water Hemlock is easily mistaken for water parsnip."
"Why did you initially think Death Cap was the source?"
"Based on the symptoms reported and an initial exam when the body arrived, mushroom poisoning was indicated. The Death Cap mushroom is not uncommon in this area. In fact, the County has experienced a spate of Death Cap poisonings recently. Fortunately, the victims of the other cases survived but it’s not unheard of for a victim to experience rapid organ failure, coma, and death."
"What's the difference in poisoning from Water Hemlock?"
"The symptoms are almost identical: abdominal pain, vomiting, diarrhea, tremors and weakness."
"Is Water Hemlock common to these parts?"
"It's a wetland plant, starts growing in the spring, and shows up along the banks of the streams feeding into the ocean." Mort turned his computer screen so Tom could see it. A picture of Water Hemlock was displayed. "There have been plenty of warnings issued about mistaking Water Hemlock for water parsnip. There was a case just last year of a woman who picked what she t
hought were parsley leaves, took them home and ate them in a salad. That was all she wrote."
"How can it be administered?"
"The roots and tubers contain highly poisonous liquids that are released when the stem is broken or cut. Symptoms can occur fifteen minutes to six hours after the plant has been ingested.”
"What's the actual cause of death?"
"Paralysis of the respiratory muscles, basically, the heart and diaphragm. There's no known antidote and death can result in an hour or two. In the case of Mr. Mason, both poisons were found in the victim's system. The question was in determining which poison caused death."
Tom stood up and paced, scratching his head. "Help me out; I'm getting confused. Poison is poison. How does changing what kind of poison was responsible for Mason's death change my investigation? Are you telling me one person administered two different kinds of poison? Why would someone do that?”
"You may be looking for two people with different intentions."
"I see where you're going with this. Two people poisoned Barrett, but only one had the intent to kill."
"That's what I'm thinking, but you're the cop." Mort turned the computer screen around. "The person who gave your victim the Death Cap may have only intended for him to become very ill."
"You mean like a warning."
"The intent of the person giving Mr. Mason the Water Hemlock was death."
"You mean as in murder."
"I only put a label on death. Figuring out means and motive is your side of the equation."
"What should I be looking for as far as how the poison would have been administered and who might have had access?"
"For starters, the form of mushroom known as Death Cap is noted for its hallucinogenic properties."
"That would tend to throw suspicion onto anyone who is or has been a user of hallucinogens," Tom deduced.
"Most likely, someone familiar enough with them to know how much to use, or not to use, depending on the results they're after."
"You mean controlling whether the outcome is a pleasant high or a trip to the morgue?"
"Theoretically. The outcome of poisoning using Water Hemlock would be harder to control, but given in sufficient quantity, the likelihood of death is greater."
"One last question," Tom said, sliding the unread file back across the desk. "I have to ask, but I'm sure I already know the answer. Is there any way either poison could have been given to Mason by mistake?"
"Death Caps are easily mistaken for edible mushrooms. Similarly, the leaves of Water Hemlock are mistaken for parsley and the root for parsnip. However, anyone who knows cooking would be familiar with the inherent dangers and differences."
"And anyone familiar with Mason's eating habits would know the best way to administer the poison," Tom concluded.
"It would be quite a coincidence for one person to suffer from two cases of accidental poisoning within the same time frame."
"As you know, Mort, I don't believe in coincidence."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Being out and about early in the morning wasn't Maddy's typical modus operandi, especially with the closing shifts she worked at the furniture store. But Pat Fisher's schedule was hectic. The best place to meet with her away from the precinct was for morning coffee at Starbucks before she went to work.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet with me," she told the Officer as they carried lattes to a front table. "I know this probably seems a little irregular to you, but I need to ask something I didn't want anyone at the precinct to hear."
Maddy was relieved Pat showed no sign of surprise, but she knew Pat was trained to display no emotions. She didn't know how to approach the subject subtly; she blurted it out. "My sister is acting on behalf of Angelo Russo in the Barrett Mason murder."
"I didn't know she was an attorney."
"She's not. She's not acting in that capacity."
"You mean she's a private investigator?"
"Well, not exactly," Maddy admitted, adding quickly, "but it's something like that. He's one of her business clients."
"I see," Pat replied evenly.
"I'm sure you know he's on Tom's list of suspects. My sister and I are hoping to solicit your help in proving his innocence."
"That's a job for his legal representative. Our only job is to gather evidence and arrest suspects."
"But you've seen how hell-bent Tom gets when someone is on his radar. We're trying to uncover other possible motives and suspects which may be overlooked by focusing on specific individuals."
"It still has nothing to do with me."
"We're hoping there may have been emails on his computer suggesting ulterior motives. One teeny peek at that computer is all I'd need."
"Are you crazy?" This time Pat didn't attempt to hide her disbelief. "That's tampering with evidence in a criminal investigation."
"How about you copy his emails to a flash drive for us?"
"I could lose my job doing something like that. Tom would have my head."
"Tom's a stick-in-the-mud, never willing to color outside the lines."
"That's not why he's such a stickler for following the rules. He wants his cases to hold up in court. I admire him for that. I've seen too many criminals walk out of jail on a technicality because some officer didn't follow procedure."
The look of scorn on Pat's face made Maddy feel like a truant in the principal's office. "For your sake, I'm going to pretend we aren't having this conversation."
"But, Pat," Maddy pleaded. "You could be instrumental in solving the case. It could go a long way in securing your spot on Tom's squad."
"I'm sorry; there's nothing I can do." Pat stood up to leave. "I can't help you."
The corners of Maddy's mouth turned down. "Oh, boy. Some sleuth I've turned out to be. I've already failed at the one thing Lea asked me to do."
Pat turned back. "Don't feel bad. We didn't find anything useful on Mr. Mason's computer."
"Thanks for telling me, but it's not making me feel any better."
"I suppose it won't hurt to let you in on one interesting tidbit."
Maddy sat up straighter. "What's that?"
"We've been told Barrett had a second computer reserved for his personal use. It was nowhere in his office at the Theatre. If there are any incriminating emails, that's probably where they'll be found.”
• • •
By the time the other members of the Homicide Squad arrived that morning, Tom had worn a path in the carpet pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard at the front of the room.
Pat approached, handing him a cup of Starbucks cappuccino. "Figured you'd need something stronger than the sludge which comes out of our coffee machine."
Barely able to muster a smile, he took the cup and turned to the group assembled in front of him. "As I'm sure you've heard by now, we're back to square one with Mickey and the Kingpin. The scuzzball I thought I could turn has cashed in his chips."
"How convenient for Mickey," one officer said sarcastically.
"Ain't it though?" another chimed in.
"Where do we go from here, Lieutenant?"
"We have to find the list of code names and phone numbers for the bettors. If we can approach people placing bets with Mickey, we might be able to scare them into coughing up some information we can use against him. They probably know they won't be prosecuted for placing bets, but for some of them, keeping their gambling habits secret could mean saving their job, their marriage, or their reputation."
"How do we get our hands on those lists?” Pat asked. “We can't raid the place without a warrant, and there's no way we're getting a warrant based on what we've got so far."
"Raiding the place wouldn't do us any good," Tom noted. "It's not set up that way. It's all digital. The customers are given an account number and password to access their gambling account on-line. All we'd find is a room full of computers."
Jones continued. "There are security guards and cameras everywhere at the Card Club. They'd spo
t us coming a mile away. By the time we could get to the locked back room, the hard drives on the computers would be wiped clean."
"What are our options?" Pat asked.
"There are two sources for the evidence we need,” Tom said. “The lists of code names and numbers the runners are furnishing at the Finish Line and the information on the bettors Mickey keeps at the Card Club. I figure there are a couple of ways to go about it. First, we've got one scared college student working at the Finish Line. We can get the list he comes up with every shift and make copies before he turns it over to get paid."
"Even if we get the list of numbers, we won't know who we're talking with," an officer observed.
"We can run the numbers through a reverse phone directory," Pat suggested. She looked at Tom. "What's the second way?"
"We can get hold of the information from Mickey's end."
"You mean take it off the bagman before he delivers it back to the Club? What grounds would we have to do that?"
"None. Besides, taking that action would alert Mickey. He'd close down the operation until the heat died down, then start up again. And we still need proof he placed and received bets, the kind of proof that will only be found in Mickey's office."
"We still need a warrant,” Jones observed.
Pat realized where Tom was headed. "The Lieutenant's talking about putting a mole in Mickey's operation. The mole could find the lists and any other records of his receiving bets."
"I'm in," Jones said, pounding his fists. "He as much as offered me a job as a dealer at the Club."
"That's what I'm thinking," Tom agreed. "It shouldn't be too hard to convince him his offer of bigger bucks enticed you."
Several men started talking at once mapping out the strategy. Pat raised her voice. "Boss, I have another idea."
Tom looked in her direction as snickers passed through the room. "You're suggesting a better way to do this?"
"A way to kill two birds with one stone. First, we set me up as a cocktail waitress at the Finish Line. I'll get the lists from the kid, transmit them to you over my phone, and return the list to the kid to make available for pickup. Next, I approach Mickey; tell him I've got a day gig as a cocktail waitress at the Finish Line, but I'm looking to make some extra dough. Ask him for a night job serving drinks at the Card Club. He's going to be looking for a replacement for Hector. I can nudge him to use me to run the bettor lists between the Finish Line and the Club."
