by Sarah Lovett
Sylvia set her sunglasses on the table next the moss-colored vase. She rubbed the two tiny contact triangles that marked the bridge of her nose. "How many people has she killed? Who were they?"
"It appears the victims were colleagues, fellow researchers, grad assistants. How many? Three? Five? A half dozen?" Sweetheart shrugged. "The investigation has been a challenge; five days ago the target was put under surveillance; we both know it's a trick to gather forensic evidence in a serial case without tipping off the bad guy. Add to that the fact that she doesn't use mundane, easily detectable compounds like arsenic or cyanide. Bodies still need to be exhumed; after years, compounds degrade, pathologists come up with inconclusive data. Think Donald Harvey: he was convicted of 39 poisonings, his count was 86. We may never know how many people she's poisoned."
"Who is she?"
"Her name is Christine Palmer."
"Fielding Palmer's daughter?" Sylvia was visibly surprised.
Sweetheart nodded. "What do you know about her?"
"What everybody knows. There was a short profile in Time or Newsweek a year ago—tied to that outbreak of environmental fish toxin and the rumors it was some government plot to cover up research in biological weapons. The slant of the profile was 'daughter follows in famous father's footsteps'." Sylvia shifted position, settling deeper into the couch, crossing her ankles. She toyed restlessly with the diamond and ruby ring on the third finger of her left hand. "That can't have been easy. Fielding Palmer was amazing. Immunologist, biologist, pioneer AIDS researcher, writer."
"Did you read his book?"
Sylvia nodded. Fielding Palmer had died of brain cancer in the early 1990s, at the height of his fame and just after the publication of his classic, A Life of Small Reflections. The book was a series of essays exploring the ethical complexities, the moral dilemmas of scientific research at the close of the 20th century. He'd been a prescient writer, anticipating the ever deepening moral and ethical quicksand of a world that embraced the science of gene therapy, cloning, and the bio-engineering of new organisms.
Sylvia frowned. It jarred and disturbed—this idea that his only daughter might be a serial poisoner. The thought had an obscene quality.
She saw that Sweetheart had his eyes on her again—he was reading her, gleaning information like some biochemically sensitive scanner. Well, let him wait; she signaled time out as she left the couch, heading for the dark oak cabinet that accommodated the room's mini-bar. She squatted down in front of the cabinet, rifling the refrigerator for a miniature of Stolichnaya and a can of tonic. From the selection of exorbitantly priced junk food she selected a bag of Cheetos.
"Join me?" she asked, as she poured vodka into a tumbler.
"Maybe later."
Sylvia swirled the liquid in the glass, and the tiny bubbles of tonic seemed to bounce off the oily vodka. She turned, holding the glass in front of her face, staring at Sweetheart, her left eye magnified through a watery lens. She said, "That's the beauty of poison—invisibility."
SARAH LOVETT worked as a researcher at the New Mexico State Penitentiary. She is the author of Dangerous Attachments, Acquired Motives, and Dantes' Inferno, and her newest, Dark Alchemy, coming soon from Simon and Schuster. Raised in California, she now makes her home in Santa Fe. Visit her Web site at www.sarahlovett.com.
