“My work clothes. I was over at the Craig’s when I called.”
“I see.” She pulled out her laptop, booted it up, inserted the thumb drive, and brought up the Craig folder.
“Here are the spreadsheets I’ve — we’ve — put together. I don’t have permission from the CDC to share this information, so if you want to take this further, I’ll need to talk to them first.”
He nodded, looking over the Victims spreadsheet. “Hmm. Not much overlap. Different cities, different years. Same cause of death.”
“Not arson or even fire-related.”
“No, but there might still be a connection.”
“Yes.”
“They were all genealogists.”
“Yes.”
He looked up. “Does that mean something to you?”
Ginny shrugged. “Not yet.”
He flipped over to the Suspects list and looked it over. “This is for Professor Craig’s death, correct?”
“Yes.”
“How did you decide whom to include?”
“Some of them are qui bono, who benefits from the death. Others are opportunity, those present when we think the virus was injected. I don’t have anyone who fills all four criteria and I could easily have missed someone.”
He leaned back in his chair and looked over at her. “Let us go forward on the assumption that Professor Craig’s death and the attempt to burn his house down are related.”
Ginny nodded.
“The man is dead and buried, yes?”
“Yes.”
“What would our perpetrator have to gain by burning the house?”
Ginny shrugged. “Destroy evidence? Obliterate his memory? For the fun of watching something burn?”
Officer Michel nodded. “Many do set fires just for the fun of it, but let us assume that was not the motive in this case.”
“All right. To destroy something.”
“Something in the office, where the fire started.”
Ginny nodded. “I’ll buy that.”
He smiled over at her. “You were there on Thursday. What was in his office?”
Ginny made a helpless gesture. “Office stuff. Filing cabinets, books, his desk.”
“A computer?”
“Two, a desktop and the laptop he used for his lectures.”
Officer Michel’s eyes narrowed. “He was a teacher?”
“He was a professional genealogist. He lectured and did research, all over the world. He was very good.”
“Did you look at the computer files?”
“Yes, but I didn’t see anything obvious.”
“Your spreadsheet mentions a law suit.”
Ginny nodded. “One of the clients didn’t get the results he expected and wanted his money back.”
“Is this common?”
“It happens. Beginners often think any famous person must have sired all the people who share his surname. That’s not true, of course.”
“The client would want the evidence that destroys his dream to be destroyed, yes?”
“Yes.” Ginny frowned.
“You have another thought?”
“It’s just this. Mr. Adams had already filed a law suit. He had his revenge planned and he made a lot of noise about it. I can’t see him sneaking back into the library to stab Professor Craig in the neck. I can’t see him being able to get that close, not after drawing all that attention to himself.”
Officer Michel pulled one long leg up and set the ankle on his knee. “It is possible Mr. Adams set the fire and someone else injected the virus.”
Ginny nodded. “Yes. They may be completely unrelated.”
“But you do not think so.”
She met his eyes. “No.”
Her phone went off and she glanced down at it.
“I’m very sorry, but I must go.” She put her computer and thumb drive back in the carrying case, then hoisted the bag to her shoulder. “I can meet with you again another time, if you wish, perhaps after you talk to Mrs. Larson.”
“I’m very grateful for your help.” He escorted her to the door. “Thank you.”
She hurried toward the elevator. Once inside she pulled out her phone and texted Hal back, confirming he was waiting at her house, anxious to get to the car agency before the service department closed.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Downtown,” she typed.
“I have your car??????”
“I’m using Mother’s. Be there in twenty minutes.”
* * *
Ginny was enjoying her steak, thoroughly. “Ummmm! Delicious!” She smiled over at Hal.
He smiled back. “I’m glad you like it.”
She licked a bit of garlic butter off the end of her fork, then plunged it back into the baked potato. In addition to the dripping potato and juicy tenderloin, there was also a delectable green salad, with honey mustard dressing, and sourdough bread, fresh from the oven and still warm. It was her favorite kind of meal.
Hal was less enthusiastic about his own selections. He cared more about food than Ginny did and tended to be a bit picky. He was scraping peppercorns off his meat.
“Too much?” she asked.
“Yes, and a bit underdone as well.”
“Send it back,” she advised.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to wait. You’re getting way ahead of me as it is.” He raised an eyebrow at her plate.
Ginny didn’t let it bother her. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste of the meat.
“What were you doing downtown this afternoon?”
She opened her eyes and blinked at him. In the bustle of getting him to the agency before it closed and getting her car home and getting ready to go eat, she had almost forgotten about the fire investigator.
“Oh, Officer Michel.” She outlined what he had wanted.
Hal looked across the table, frowning. “He called you?”
She nodded.
Hal put down his fork, still frowning.
“Ginny, I don’t like this. There are too many people who know you’ve been looking into this death.”
“I told him I know nothing. All I could offer him was a third-hand account of that scene at the library with Mr. Adams. I told him he should talk to Elaine about that.”
Hal nodded. “Did he say anything else?”
“Only that whoever had set the fire had used some sort of chemical to start it with.”
Hal shook his head, returning to his steak. “Nonetheless, I wish you were out of the investigating business.”
“I am. Well, for the most part.”
“Oh?”
Ginny didn’t want to confess to Hal that she suspected Jim, but she did want to reassure him she was taking the possibility of a threat to herself seriously.
“Something happened last night at work.” She gave him a précis of the scare in the basement. “He insisted on taking me back to the E.R. and doing a workup for that virus.”
Hal’s eyes grew large. “Did he find anything?”
“No, but the experience was unpleasant enough that I don’t want to repeat it. And the only way to manage that is to butt out, which is what I’m doing.”
Hal nodded slowly, then caught her eye and held it. “I just hope it isn’t too late.”
* * *
Chapter 33
Tuesday
Hal’s warning was still ringing in her ears when Ginny rose the next morning. She’d driven home, looking over her shoulder the whole time, and locked herself in before retiring to her bed.
She’d tried to shake off the uneasiness, telling herself he was over-reacting, that nothing she had done posed a threat to anyone. But it hadn’t worked. She’d slept badly and woken still tired.
She was in the middle of fixing breakfast when her phone rang.
“Ginny, it’s Elaine Larson. I have a favor to ask.”
“Oh?”
“I’m hoping you can help me find some missing documents.”
“What kind of documents?”
“They’re described as a Rev War era personal letter and a Colonial physician’s ledger. Professor Craig borrowed them from the owner several months ago. The owner has since died, bequeathing all of her genealogical materials to the local museum. There was an inventory prepared in anticipation of the event; dates, addresses, photocopies, all very businesslike. The museum curators have asked, in the politest possible fashion, to have the items returned, but I haven’t found anything that fits that description among the Professor’s papers.”
“That sounds like what Hal is looking for.”
“Yes. I’ve been trying to reach him, but my calls keep rolling over to voice mail. I’m hoping you might know something about them.”
Ginny lifted an eyebrow. “I was over at the Professor’s house last Thursday and pulled all of the primary source documents out of his home office files, but didn’t find what Hal was looking for.”
“Are you sure?”
“He and I both went through them. You’re welcome to do the same. I was going to give them to you anyway.”
“Can you bring them down to the library? Today?”
“Sure. Just let me get cleaned up. I can be there around eleven.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you then.”
* * *
“You’re right,” Elaine said, “They’re not here. Is it possible they were destroyed in the fire?”
Ginny shrugged. “It’s possible, I suppose.”
“Was his briefcase there?”
“Yes. We had to break it open on Thursday. Nothing historical in it. Just lecture notes.”
Elaine sighed. “Well, I don’t know what I’m going to tell the museum people.”
“There’s one other possibility,” Ginny said. “His car is in the body shop and they haven’t let anyone near it.” She explained about Mrs. Campbell and the tiny screwdriver.
“That’s property damage. She could have gone to jail over that!”
“I don’t think she cared at the time. Anyway, it occurred to me that Hal’s proofs might have been left in the Professor’s car, but I haven’t had access to it so I don’t know.”
Elaine grabbed a notepad. “Who should I talk to?”
“Mark Craig. He’s the owner of the vehicle, now.” Ginny dug out Mark’s telephone number and read it off for her. “I hope this isn’t another wild goose chase.”
Elaine sighed. “Me, too.”
“If you do find something, would you please make copies for me? I’ve heard so much about those documents, I’d really like to take a look at them.”
Elaine nodded. “I’ll let you know what happens.”
Ginny rose, recognizing her cue. She hesitated at the door.
Elaine looked up. “Was there something else?”
Ginny looked at the other woman for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Good luck.” She turned and left. There had been something else, but how do you ask a perfectly respectable woman if she killed her boss so she could have his job?
* * *
Jim spent Tuesday morning working on his article. It was a good thing he’d already done most of the work, as the tantalizing subjects of virus-as-murder-weapon and the best-way-to-detach-Ginny-from-Hal kept interfering with his concentration.
Jim found himself splitting his attention among the three projects, jotting down notes and questions about the engineered virus, then staring off into space, seeing her green eyes looking up at him from under long lashes, then flipping back to the article he absolutely must finish today.
He forced himself to focus, slogging his way to the conclusion, then zapping it electronically to his publisher with a sigh of relief.
The engineered virus was a lot more exciting. He outlined a series of articles on the subject of tinkering with DNA and the dangers of unforeseen consequences. He was careful to confine his remarks to the virus, with no reference to misuse or theft or murder. He wanted no libel suits. When he’d gone as far as he could, he set the writing aside and turned his attention to Ginny. This was going to be harder.
He stood up from his chair and stretched, then decided he wanted lunch, and fixed himself a sandwich and coffee. He took his time, sipping the coffee and thinking about his problem.
Ginny hadn’t even been born when he and his family moved away from Texas. She had grown up here, knew everyone, had known Hal for years. That they were a couple had been obvious from the start.
When Hal had talked him into coming to the party, it was with the promise of seeing the house and a sub-category of the human species, specifically genealogists. Jim cared about neither, but he had been feeling isolated and, well, lonely, so he’d accepted Hal’s invitation.
Ginny had been a pleasant surprise. She made Jim feel welcome, and included him in the little circle of insiders. He had appreciated her kindness, and delighted in their conversation, and gone home to an empty apartment made emptier by comparison.
Himself knew about her long-standing arrangement with Hal Williams. He’d made a comment at dinner on Friday. Jim pulled the conversation out of his memory.
“I’m no happy about Ginny Forbes. Ye’ll ken we spoke this day?”
“Yes.”
His grandfather had looked him in the eye. “She says ye were a wee bit full o’ yerself.”
Jim had blushed. “I just wanted to spend time with her, not insult her.”
Himself had made a noise in his throat, then pointed his fork at Jim. “I’ll thank ye no tae do it agin’. I’m no happy at the thought o’ her runnin’ off wi’ young Williams. The clan needs th’ lass and she’d be better off wi’ one o’ her ain.”
“Meaning me?” Jim had asked hopefully.
Himself had eyed him in silence long enough for Jim’s smile to fade completely. “She could be a great help tae ye, Jim, if ye’ve sense enough tae see it.”
Jim had nodded, very uncomfortable at the thought that the entire clan was probably speculating on his role here and whether or not that would include a wife and children. He had changed the subject.
He wasn’t doing a very good job of courting her. First hurt, then angry, now afraid. She’d spoken to him about the pain he’d inflicted, and he’d seen the fury for himself. The fear he’d had to diagnose.
He’d seen it that day at the park, when he was trying to follow her without being detected. That hadn’t worked. She’d seen him, and he’d seen her reaction.
There was research on the ability of trained observers to read micro expressions, the almost-impossible-to-fake lightning-quick facial expressions that reveal what’s really going on in the person being watched. Jim used that sort of thing routinely in his interviews with patients. He’d seen the surprise on her face, replaced almost immediately by apprehension. Which puzzled him. She had seemed fine the night before. Well, not fine, but not afraid of him.
When he’d run into her in the basement of the hospital, he’d seen it again. He hadn’t been able to reassure her, either. She’d been just as afraid when he let her leave as when he had caught her in the stairwell.
Which implied she was afraid of him. He frowned heavily. The only thing he could think of that would explain fear was if she thought he was the murderer. What had he done to convince her of that?
Why did she think she was in danger anyway? He — and everyone else — had been telling her she was making herself a target, but was that enough? In Jim’s experience, it was usually the opposite, people didn’t believe in the threat until it was too late.
Jim finished his meal and cleared away the debris. He hadn’t spoken to her about the investigation for a week and she’d promised to talk to no one other than the police and the CDC. If she’d kept that promise, maybe the actual murderer didn’t realize she was a threat. Maybe she was safe. He certainly hoped so.
* * *
Chapter 34
Tuesday
Ginny drove home from the library, then retreated to her office, pulled out her thumb drive, and plugged it in.
This was not investigating, she told herself. She wasn’t looking for clues. She wasn’t interrogating suspects. This was just clarifying her thoughts.
She opened the Suspects file and added a new column headed Grounds for Elimination. Under Mark Craig she put, In Tennessee when the attack occurred followed by a note, needs to be verified.
Ginny sat back and stared at what she had written. It wasn’t just Mark Craig. Every detail needed to be verified. Jim had set that window of opportunity. Considering what she knew now, she should find someone else who could validate his conclusions.
She frowned hard at the computer, then gritted her teeth and added a new line. Jim Mackenzie. Means. He had access to the virus. He knew how to use a lancet pen. He was the one with the expert knowledge about how viruses worked and what could be expected. Who better to choose a virus as a murder weapon? Motive. Revenge for the death of his friend. Opportunity. Jim was the one telling her when the virus had to be injected to produce the results she had seen in the hospital. If he was the murderer, he would chose some time for which he had an alibi. The man was no fool. All three criteria presumptively met. Damn.
He’d come up to her ICU, he said, and she’d certainly seen someone, and visited Professor Craig, to check up on him. It could NOT have been to inject him with the virus. That had already happened. And there was no reason to think he’d done anything to hasten the death. There had been no evidence of tampering. So did she believe him, believe his explanation, believe anything he’d told her?
Ginny wrapped her arms around herself and tried to look at the thing logically. Means, motive, opportunity. In fiction, that meant you had identified the murderer. But people didn’t behave in real life the way authors portray them in books. There might be suspects she knew nothing about. And there might be an innocent explanation for any of the three criteria.
He was an infectious disease specialist. Of course he had access to viruses and understood them. It meant nothing.
He was a physician. Would someone, could someone sworn to, “First, Do No Harm,” use his expertise to kill? Ginny shifted uneasily in her chair. There had been doctors willing to murder in the past. Nurses, too. His profession didn’t exempt him.
The Arms of Death Page 21
