by L E Fraser
“A couple more renal tests.” Reece had been on dialysis to remove the ethylene glycol from his blood, but he wasn’t out of the woods.
“Whoever did this must have put something in a drink,” he said.
“Let’s start from the morning,” she suggested.
He grinned. “Well, I had breakfast with you. Maybe I kept you up snoring, and you laced my orange juice with antifreeze in retaliation.”
She rolled her eyes. “Be serious.”
“I visited the Argonauts’ office but I didn’t eat or drink anything. Then I drove to the Habitat for Humanity site. Nothing to drink there.”
“You went to the hospital to visit Brenda,” she reminded him.
“And bought a banana smoothie. I had it in her room.”
“Was it out of your sight?”
His expression was grim. “Yeah. Roger wanted to do a few tests and asked me to step out. I forgot the smoothie. He came out, we chatted, and a nurse went into the room. Roger and I waited in the hallway. When the nurse left, we went back and I stayed for about ten minutes. Brenda wasn’t responding, so I left.
“So Brenda was alone in the room with your smoothie?”
“Yeah.” His stare was intense. “So was Roger.”
For the moment, Sam ignored the implication and asked, “How could Brenda get antifreeze? She’s on a locked-down floor.”
“Someone would have to bring it to her.” His blue eyes drilled into hers. “Someone who had regular access to her. The doctors said one-hundred-fifty millilitres could be fatal. Depending on what it was contained in, I wouldn’t taste it.”
Reece had clearly decided Roger was behind the poisoning, either by enabling Brenda by supplying the antifreeze or by adding it to Reece’s drink himself. That didn’t make any sense to Sam, and she needed him to focus on other possibilities.
Instead of challenging him, she asked, “If there was half a cup of antifreeze in your drink, wouldn’t you notice?”
He shrugged. “Antifreeze is sweet and banana would mask it.”
“But the level of the drink would increase significantly,” she argued.
“Not if they poured out some of the liquid and replaced it with the poison,” he said. “But I don’t think they used that much. The larger the dose, the sooner I would be symptomatic. I didn’t feel ill until I was making dinner.”
The fact Reece was healthy and in outstanding physical condition had contributed to his recovery. But he was correct. The higher the quantity consumed, the sooner he’d have felt symptoms. “That means they didn’t want to kill you or were interrupted before they’d added enough.”
“I bought a Gatorade when I got back to the office,” he said. “Lime. I wouldn’t have tasted antifreeze.”
She frowned. “But you were alone.”
“No, Roger was there. You and I went in the hall. I closed the door so we could speak privately, remember?” His eyes were hard. “He was alone for at least five minutes. All alone with my Gatorade.”
“But Roger was the one who told the ER doctors to test for ethylene glycol poisoning,” she argued.
“Convenient he thought of that prognosis.” His tone was bitter. “Maybe he decided against murdering me, or he didn’t intend to kill me. Just make me sick enough that we dropped the case.”
“Why would Roger want us to drop a case he convinced us to take? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe we’re on to something he didn’t think we’d find.”
They contemplated their own thoughts.
“Jordanna visited after you and Roger left,” Reece said.
“What?” she asked with surprise, leaning forward in her chair.
“That’s why I texted you, remember?” he asked.
“Yeah, but you asked where I was. You never told me she was there.”
“Well, she was.” Reece raised his eyebrow at her. “You should have seen what she was wearing. It was beyond uncomfortable sitting in that office with her.”
“Why didn’t you ask me to come back?”
“Maria bailed me out,” he said. “She went up to clean the public washroom, and I left the office door open.”
Sam smiled. “Maria is the mother I never had and always wanted. But how would Jordanna find an opportunity with you in the room?”
“I texted from the bakery. She wanted a drink and I wanted to escape to clear my head.”
“And you left your drink upstairs?”
He nodded. “When Maria and I went up, Jordan was coming downstairs.”
“Jordan was there, too?” Sam was completely confused.
“He’d come through the back door.”
“Through the alley? How did he find the correct door? They aren’t marked in the back.”
“I never thought of that,” Reece said. “Maria said she’d left it open. But you wouldn’t guess it accessed our office.”
“You would if you’d done some reconnaissance,” she said slowly. “Planned an impromptu visit. Maybe used your sister as distraction.”
“When I returned upstairs, Jordanna was exiting the washroom. She said she’d left Jordan in the office, hoping he’d leave.”
“Interesting,” Sam said. “So Jordan was also alone with your drink. Why was Jordanna there? What did she want?”
“Nothing, best I could tell,” he said. “Maybe she wanted to speak with us privately but her brother figured it out and interrupted.”
“Maybe,” Sam said.
“Another weird thing. Jordan’s car was in front,” Reece said. “I saw them from the window. There was no reason for him to be in back, and Angelo and Maria saw Jordanna enter the building, meaning she used the front door. Why would her brother go around back?”
“Because he didn’t want anyone to see him,” Sam said. “Maybe he intended on eavesdropping.”
“But she caught him when she went out to the hallway to access the washroom,” Reece said.
“So Brenda had opportunity, but we aren’t sure about means,” she said. “Jordanna and Jordan both had opportunity and could have brought the antifreeze with them.”
He held her eyes. “And Roger. Roger had opportunity, means, and motive.”
She sighed in frustration. “Fine, I understand that you’re positive it was him, but what’s his motive for trying to kill you? He’s the one who begged us to take the case.”
“He’s still in love with you, and I’m in the way.”
“No,” she said firmly. “What happened to you is because of the case. Whoever did this wants us to drop the investigation. At the very least, they want to stall us. Roger needs us to find out who killed Graham. Don’t you see? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Reece slapped his hand on the bedrail and exhaled loudly.
He was clearly annoyed at her but Sam refused to back down, waiting out his silence. If he could remove the personal aspect and look at the facts objectively, she had faith in his ability to stop forcing assumptions to fit his suspicions.
After a few minutes, Reece’s facial expression changed from annoyed to contemplative. “Okay, you may be right. If so, then that means we’re getting close to something. Any ideas?”
She thought about it. “It’s time to learn more about Brenda, Jordanna, and Jordan,” she said. “And to find out if Brenda could leave her room without detection.”
Chapter Sixteen
IT WASN’T MY intention to kill him, not from a distance. The time will come, but, when it does, I’ll be close and witness the moment when recognition dawns in his eyes. At first, he’ll negotiate for his life, and his breath will turn sour with fear as his eyes plead for mercy. But as the hours pass, acceptance will surface, and he’ll debase himself and beg for death. An animal goes limp before its captor’s teeth tear into its throat. The broken wings of a bird lay still before the predator rips the meat from its body. That moment, the instant when denial fades, is the deepest pleasure.
Cats play with mice. It isn’t the hunt. It’s the pleasure
of the game. He’s a distraction, not the end game. He is only a means to hurt her on an emotional level that physical pain won’t reach. Killing the dog would be poetic, but I’ve always liked dogs. An oddity, I suppose. Felines and feral animals are a different story. Dogs are too trusting; their fear isn’t rewarding. It’s too simple. I’m many things, but simple is not one. I’m a complicated creature. I live for the game.
Tick, tock, tick tock. How much time does my lovely have?
Chapter Seventeen
Reece
HEARING A KNOCK, Reece dropped the Architectural Digest he was reading on the kitchen table and headed to the front door, tripping over an excited Brandy who was clearly eager to greet her keyless mistress.
Reece gave an exasperated little chuckle as he yanked open the door. “You know babe, if you’d leave your keys on the altar by the front door, you’d—”
“Be able to find them?” Jim finished with a grin.
“Oh, hey Jim, come on in.” Reece stepped back.
Jim strolled into the thousand-square-foot open space, squinting in the sunlight that streamed from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the exterior south wall.
“Jesus, you need sunglasses in here.”
Reece laughed. “It’s fantastic on a sunny day in the winter. What brings you by? Want coffee?”
“Cream and two sugars, if you have it.”
Jim examined the antique church altar by the front door. He whistled and ran his fingers across the wood. “Gorgeous. Eighteenth century?”
“Yup, circa-1792 was the appraiser’s best guess. It’s from a Quaker church in Uthisca. The town demolished the church six years ago, and I rescued the piece from the site.”
“Wasn’t the church protected by a historical association?”
Reece handed him a mug of coffee, studying the altar with affection. It was one of his favourite possessions. He was especially proud of the restoration job he’d done by himself.
In answer to Jim’s question, Reece said, “No such thing as a historical association in Uthisca.” He cringed. “You should see the modern monstrosity they built in place of the quaint original.”
Jim sat at the kitchen table, stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles. “Bet Sam hates it.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Differences make relationships interesting.” He eyed the pot hanger dangling above the large island. “Let me guess, you installed that when she wasn’t home.”
“It’s growing on her.”
“She’s not here?” Jim asked.
“At the university. I suggested she meet with her adviser to see about changing her thesis proposal. Did you need to speak with her?”
“No. I was driving down Queen Street from the Don Valley Parkway. Nabbed a parking space out front, so I figured I’d drop in to see how you’re doing.”
Reece took a quick sip of his coffee and waved his hand dismissively. “Good, thanks, everything’s great.”
Talking about his health was uncomfortable, and he wished everyone would move on. Victim wasn’t a suit he wore well.
“Any suspects?” Jim asked.
“Several but no evidence,” Reece said, glad to get off the topic of his health. “Police checked the Gatorade bottle. No fingerprints except for a few smudged partials and mine. I’d rinsed the bottle out in warm water before recycling it. They didn’t find any trace of antifreeze.”
“Are you sure it was in the Gatorade?” Jim asked.
“No, it could have been in a smoothie I had at the hospital with Brenda and Roger.” The insinuation hung between them.
Jim sipped his coffee. “You know they released Brenda.”
“No.” Reece put down his coffee too hard and some sloshed out. “When?” He got up and grabbed a paper towel to wipe up the spill.
“Two days ago.” Jim held up his hand before Reece could interrupt. “She doesn’t remember anything. Her psychiatrist says it’ll take time. I’m surprised Roger didn’t mention it.”
It didn’t surprise Reece at all. Roger’s protective nature around Brenda was disturbing. But there was some good news, for a change. If the hospital had discharged Brenda, it would be easier for him and Sam to interview her without Roger’s meddlesome interference.
Since he had Jim to himself, Reece decided to drill down and get some background on Roger from a male perspective.
“You’re the same age as Roger, right?”
Jim nodded.
“Were you friends in high school?”
“We ran in different groups. I was athletic, Roger not so much.” Jim picked up the Architectural Digest, flipped through the pages, and stopped to peruse an article.
“But you lived on Vero Beach with Sam, Lisa, Talia, Abigail, and Roger.”
“My sister and Roger’s older sister were friends.” He didn’t raise his eyes from the magazine. “I dated Sam’s sister.”
“Oh.” Sam rarely spoke about her sister and Reece was curious. “What was Joyce like?”
Jim looked up from the magazine with a raised eyebrow. “High maintenance.” He chuckled. “My mother found her manipulative and controlling. Besides, my parents had a hopeful eye cast in Lisa’s direction.” He laughed. “A suggestion I found disgusting since I was eighteen and Lisa was only twelve at the time.”
“How long have you been married,” Reece asked.
“Six years. She was twenty-four and I was thirty. I’d finished law school and was on the fast-track to becoming partner in one of the biggest criminal firms in the city.” He sighed. “I worried that Lisa was too young to understand the number of hours I’d have to work. It’s hard on her to be alone so much.”
Kira was five, turning six, and Reece immediately wondered if Lisa had been pregnant when they married. It wasn’t any of his business.
Reece kept his tone conversational when he said, “Well, for thirty-six, you’ve done remarkably well in your career. So has Roger. I’m curious, why did he pick psychiatry?”
Jim put the magazine down slowly. “Didn’t Sam tell you?”
“No.”
He didn’t say anything more, so Reece remained silent. Sometimes, silence grows uncomfortable and people talk.
Finally, Jim asked, “Do you know about his sister?”
“I know he has an older sister, Veronica.” Whom he attacked with a hammer. Reece kept his face impassive.
“No, I mean the younger one, Suzanna. Did Sam mention her?”
Reece shook his head.
“She got in with the wrong crowd in grade ten. Ended up with a drug problem. Roger had her admitted to rehab twice, but she overdosed at twenty. Heroin, I think.”
That explained Roger’s fierce passion for recovery work. Unable to save his sister, he was trying to save other families from a similar fate. Regardless of his low opinion of the man, Reece felt a tug of sympathy.
Jim finished his coffee. “After Suzanna’s death, Roger’s mother had issues,” he said. “There was an unfortunate incident between Roger and Veronica just before they institutionalized their mother. They haven’t spoken since.”
Unfortunate incident was a gross understatement for attacking someone with a weapon.
“A year later,” Jim continued, “Mrs. Peterson died. Roger was doing a speciality in cardiovascular surgery and changed his discipline to psychiatry. I suppose his family problems were part of the decision, but Roger never recovered from what happened to Abigail.”
“You mean the home invasion attack?”
Jim nodded. “You see Roger blamed himself. If she hadn’t been in the house or if someone had gone with her…” He gazed across the room and sighed. “Regrets, life’s full of them. I think about Abigail every day. So much tragedy.” His eyes returned to Reece. “Why are you asking about Roger?” Hardness had crept into his tone.
“Trying to understand the group dynamics. You may not have noticed, but I’m not fitting into the gang too well.”
“I’ve noticed.” Jim’s expre
ssion softened. “Everyone’s reeling from Abby’s suicide. It’s a difficult time. You liked Abigail,” he said, “but it’s not necessary for you to share all of Sam’s friends. People are different. Just because you don’t mesh with someone, doesn’t mean it should affect Sam’s relationships. We’re all adults.”
The scolding tone of the last sentence was off-putting, but Reece kept quiet, hoping Jim would offer some insight into why Lisa disliked him.
“Sam’s important to my wife.” Now Reece heard a definite challenge in Jim’s voice. “Sam’s very important to my daughter.”
“I’m not stopping Sam from spending time with Kira, and I’m not interfering in her relationship with Lisa,” Reece retorted.
Jim raised his eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. And your implication that I would prevent my fiancée from seeing either her friend or her goddaughter is offensive.” He took a minute to settle his nerves. “I wish your wife would cut me some slack,” he continued. “Do you know what her problem with me is? Maybe if I understood I could find a solution.”
Jim’s face tightened and his eyes narrowed in anger. “Has it occurred to you that Lisa has her own issues right now?”
It was hard to imagine her without a life crisis. The most frustrating part of dealing with Lisa, in Reece’s opinion, was that she didn’t see the problems she created for her friends. She was always so self-absorbed.
Reece had plenty of experience with drama junkies. Having witnessed the ravaging effects real drama had on families who survived violent crimes, he had no tolerance for people who manufactured drama. Life was unpredictable. Enjoy today because fate could heap misery on your head tomorrow. But he understood it wasn’t the right time to engage in a philosophical discussion about attention-seeking pessimists—especially when the man across from him was married to one.
“Does it really matter if you and Lisa get along?” Jim was asking. “The thing is, Reece, there are always going to be people in our partners’ lives whose company we don’t enjoy. It doesn’t need to affect us. The key to cohabitation is respecting choices, rather than endeavouring to twist your partner’s perspective to match yours.”
