by Joyce Lavene
Peggy was actually giving a lecture on that subject in two days. Queens University had asked her to come back from time to time as part of a lecture series. She’d retired from full-time teaching at the school, but she liked to go back for short sessions. It gave her plenty of time to run The Potting Shed and keep up with her own projects—and still draw a paycheck from them.
The university was expecting a large crowd of law enforcement officials for the lecture on poisons that had been linked to murders. They had used her forensic credentials, and her time at the university, liberally.
She’d been hoping to use Ann Fletcher’s case for the lecture. A twenty-year-old murder case that had been ruled accidental death, but proven botanical poisoning, would be a hit with the law enforcement crowd. But she didn’t have enough information to use it. It seemed unlikely that she ever would, unless Ann’s death was somehow linked to Harry’s, and she could prove it.
“There you are!” Dr. Dorothy Beck got up from behind her crowded desk. She was much taller than Peggy, and gaunt as a scarecrow. “I almost wish there were more cases of poisoning so you could be here all the time. It’s always a pleasure working with you.”
Her tone made Peggy’s sun-pink face turn red. “Thank you. I enjoy working here too. But I don’t think a bumper crop of deaths by poison would make anyone happy.”
Dorothy laughed as she caught her reading glasses that fell off the end of her nose. Her brown eyes gleamed. “Well, we have you here now. Let’s make the best of it.”
Peggy walked alongside Dorothy toward the area where autopsies were performed and bodies kept in cold storage.
“So how is Mai doing? We miss her a lot. She must be due any minute.” Dorothy smiled at her.
“Yes. We had a false alarm early this morning. I think she’s ready to get this over.”
“Aren’t we all when that time comes?”
Peggy laughed. “I think so. The body can only take so much stress.”
“Thank God I only put myself through that once!” Dorothy said.
“I feel the same way!”
“I understand the victim was a friend of yours.” Dorothy put her glasses back on the end of her nose. “We’ve already been working on him. If you’d rather not go in, I’ll understand. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Peggy tried to decide if she should tell her the truth. They’d become good friends since Dorothy had moved here to take on the job of chief medical examiner for the city. But she was still part of the system. Peggy didn’t want her efforts hampered toward finding the information she wanted about John.
“He wasn’t exactly a friend.” Peggy decided on a partial truth. “We were working together. He believed his wife was poisoned twenty years ago. I was helping him with that.”
Dorothy frowned. “Was he thinking about exhuming the body?”
“I think he was. First we were going to take a look at her autopsy files and see what the report actually said.”
“What was listed as cause of death?”
“Harry told me it was listed as accidental death.”
“But he had reason to consider it was murder? And murder by poison—as we were just saying—a rare beast.” Dorothy stared down at her. “You know I love a good puzzle. Give me her name. It seems a little coincidental that he may have been poisoned too. Or are you basing your supposition about what happened to him because of his wife?”
“No. I was the one who found him this morning.” She explained what he’d looked like. “There was no sign of trauma. I hope they were able to find the bottle the scotch came from.”
Dorothy looked at her tablet as they reached the first autopsy room door. “I don’t see anything about that here, but we did send in a sample of the liquid the police obtained from a broken glass. Is that accurate?”
“Yes. It wasn’t much of a sample. We should probably nudge the police to see if they recovered the bottle.”
“We should have something on his stomach contents too. If his death occurred quickly, all the better for us so the poison didn’t have time to disperse.” Dorothy handed Peggy a facemask and gloves.
“Let’s hope that’s the case. I wasn’t close to Harry Fletcher, but I don’t want to let him down either.”
“We won’t. Not with both of us on the case.”
They went through the doors into the autopsy room. A body was on the slab, covered by a green sheet.
This was the part that, for all her objectiveness, was difficult for Peggy to get through. It was much different dissecting a plant than a person. Her six weeks of training to be a forensic botanist hadn’t prepared her for the reality of the autopsy room. It wasn’t pleasant.
Dorothy consulted her tablet as she moved the sheet from Harry’s head and chest. “You’re right in thinking there were no trauma marks from any weapons. He wasn’t strangled or knocked unconscious. Stomach content is still being examined. What should we be looking for if poison is involved? Any ideas on what type of poison?”
“I’d expect to see the foaming around the mouth, as I did. There may be some residue around the lips. If the poison is plant-based, it would likely be a glycoside. It would have to be a large amount for him to keel over and die right away. The scotch could certainly have mitigated the taste. If he’d lived for very long, there would’ve been vomiting and maybe some blood. Nothing like that was at the scene, as far as I could tell.”
“Glycoside.” Dorothy put that in her tablet. “Any way to know what kind of plant that could be from?”
“No. Not without further analysis,” Peggy explained. “Glycoside is a common poison found in many varieties of plant life.”
Dorothy pushed her glasses back on her thin face. “Do you think his wife was killed by the same poison?”
“I haven’t been able to see his copies of the police and autopsy files.” Another thing Harry kept in his storage unit.
“What was her name?”
“Ann Fletcher. Sorry. No date of birth or any other helpful information. We’d only just got started when I found him this morning.”
“Okay. We can look for her name. You said she died twenty years ago? We’ll see what we get from that.”
Dorothy put down her tablet, and picked up Harry’s left hand. “These were the only marks we found on him.”
Peggy looked at the small cuts on his fingers. “He was using that hand to hold the glass. It broke when he fell. I’m surprised there was no blood with the scotch.”
“Maybe someone moved him. Or they cleaned up the blood. He was definitely still alive when he was cut.”
Dorothy got a call. “That was the lab. They’re starting on his tox screen. Maybe that will give us some answers. I guess that’s about all we can do for now. Would you like to research his wife’s death, or would you like me to assign that to an intern?”
Peggy knew this was her chance to look up the wheezing man as well. “I’d be glad to do it. Thanks.”
“I knew you would.” Dorothy smiled as she stripped off her gloves and dropped them in the trashcan near the door. “Let me know if you turn up anything interesting.”
“I will.” Peggy took off her gloves and mask. She glanced back at Harry before she left the room. She hoped she could find the answers that he was willing to risk his life for.
That was the thing they’d shared that it was difficult to put into words. She was willing to risk her life, too, if it meant the truth would come out about John’s death. She related to Harry immediately on that level.
Harry’s death suggested that there was something more going on about what he was looking into. Perhaps someone was trying to cover up Ann Fletcher’s death—or even information about John.
Harry’s death seemed impulsive. He didn’t have anything that wasn’t in the storage unit—at least not that he’d shared with her. Why not take the contents of that before killing him? Without documentation, there was nothing.
Peggy sat at the desk they always kept open for her. It was much clean
er and neater than any of the other desks in the office—probably because she rarely used it. She glanced at her watch. There was still twenty minutes to go until she was supposed to meet Paul. She thought she might as well dig in.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Peggy looked up from her computer, and Paul was standing beside her desk.
“Oh, you’re here!” She glanced at her watch. “I’m so sorry. I was caught up trying to find information. You know—the police database isn’t as easy to use as it looks on TV.”
Paul smiled, almost despite himself. “You have to get used to it. When you use it as often as I do, there’s nothing to it.”
She got to her feet and kissed his cheek. “Well, thanks for coming in to get me.” She grabbed her bag and hung up her lab coat. “I’m ready.”
“Good. I’m starving. I saw a souvlaki truck outside. That sounds good to me.”
“Did they have salads?” she asked as they walked down the hall together. She noticed the squeaking sound his leather duty belt made. “You know, some saddle soap would do wonders for that.”
“It’s new.” He grimaced. “It’ll break in.”
Tom nodded to both of them as they left the building. They walked outside to a rapidly-changing weather picture. The blue sky was gone, replaced by heavy, fast moving clouds. Probably still part of the storm at the coast.
“We better get to that food before the sky opens up on us.” Paul looked up. “We can always eat inside.”
They got to the souvlaki truck—Steve’s Souvlaki—they both laughed about that. Paul got his meal, and Peggy got a salad and iced tea, before they felt the first drops of rain. They dashed back across the parking lot and sat in the building lobby with their food.
“So.” Paul opened his sandwich. “How about starting from the beginning on what’s been going on, and don’t leave anything out.”
Kalanchoe
Kalanchoe blossfeldiana is a succulent plant from Madagascar that is a member of the Crassulaceae family. It is related to jade trees and sedum. The species can grow up to a foot tall in its native habitat. It is an ideal houseplant as it requires very little care and has bright, cheerful flowers.
Chapter Ten
Peggy explained about the email from Nightflyer and her subsequent meetings with Harry Fletcher, which culminated in her almost being arrested and finding Harry’s dead body at the motel.
Paul shook his head, his vibrant red hair cut military style. “How do you find your way into these things, Mom? I thought once you and Steve were married, you’d slow down getting into trouble.”
Peggy took some exception to his condescending tone. She raised one cinnamon-colored brow. “I don’t exactly see this as getting into trouble.”
“They brought you into the station for B&E and trespassing.”
“That was unfortunate, but a side effect of looking for the truth sometimes.” She studied his lean, freckled face as he ate. “I know you want these answers too.”
“But not from Nightflyer or some crazy private detective. I want them legitimately—through the police or the FBI. I know the case is still open for CMPD, and Steve said the FBI is still looking into it. Why isn’t that enough for you?”
She was completely blown away by his criticism and lack of rebellious passion she’d believed he harbored about his father’s death. “I thought you’d be one step ahead of me on this. There was a time when you wanted to go out into the streets, guns drawn, to look for your father’s killer.”
He shrugged. “That was a long time ago. I’m not a kid anymore. I know you were afraid being on the job would make me less responsible with my actions, but it’s made me more responsible. I can see where every action really does have a reaction. I want Dad’s killer too, but I don’t want to go to prison for it.”
Peggy ate her salad and stared at a picture of the beach on the wall. She didn’t know what to say. He was so different about her information than she’d thought he’d be.
Paul put his hand on hers. “Don’t get me wrong—I want to see a thorough investigation into what happened. I just don’t want either of us to go about it the wrong way. Dad wouldn’t either. I’m about to be a father. I want to live to see my baby girl grow up. I want you to be around for that too.”
She cleared her throat. “I understand. If it makes you feel any better, I’m working with the medical examiner on Harry’s death. We’ll see where that takes me.”
“It does make me feel better.” He grinned. “Just don’t go off on your own again, huh? We both believe in the system. It’ll work for us, if we let it.”
Peggy changed the subject, asking about Mai. Paul told her his wife was a miserable mess and that he hoped their daughter would be born soon. The dark circles under his eyes told Peggy their own story of sleepless nights. She wished she could tell him it would be better when the baby arrived—but that was really only the beginning of their new lives.
He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get going. Call me later if you find out anything about Harry Fletcher. I’ll see what I can find on my end. We can work together on this, Mom, if we stay inside the lines.”
She agreed and hugged him before he left. She watched him walk into the parking lot and get in his squad car. She was very proud of him, although surprised and a little disappointed by his attitude about what she was doing.
“Is that your son?” Tom asked.
“Yes. That’s Paul.” She smiled as she gathered up their trash.
“He looks good in his uniform. I’ll bet his Dad is proud of him too.”
“Actually, his father was a police detective who was killed on the job. He wanted Paul to be an architect. I don’t think he would’ve been happy to see him in uniform.”
Tom frowned. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lee. I didn’t know your husband had passed. Was it recent?”
“No. It’s been a long time. We still miss him. We’ve mostly moved on.” Peggy smiled as she went back through the metal detector. “But you never really get over it, you know?”
“I know. My father was a firefighter. He was killed in a fire when I was sixteen. It’s like I’m still waiting for him to come home—even though I’m grown up and have a son of my own.”
Peggy walked around the metal detector and gave Tom a hug. “Yes. That’s exactly what it’s like.”
“See you later.”
She walked purposefully back down the long hall. She’d managed to find a woman named Ann Fletcher in the police files right before she went to lunch with Paul. She was sure it was the right woman because Harold Fletcher was listed as her husband.
Harry was right about the police not taking his claim of Ann’s death being murder seriously. The police had decided against the expense of an autopsy—Harry had paid for one. Peggy was still looking for that file when she sat back down at her desk.
“Peggy!” One of the young interns she knew stopped at her desk. “I have this plant someone gave me that isn’t doing well. I don’t know if it’s the office or what. Could you take a look at it?”
“Sure.”
The intern put a small kalanchoe plant on her desk. “Thanks.”
Peggy knew what the problem was. The light from the windows was filtered, and the overhead florescent lights weren’t bright enough for the plant to survive. It was wilted and turning brown.
“It’s a bit overwatered,” she said. “And the light is bad in here. You should probably take it home. There are plenty of plants that would thrive in this environment. You could trade it for one of those.”
“But I wouldn’t know what to get,” the intern said. “Any recommendations?”
“A small philodendron would be very good here. I’ll write down a few other suggestions. Plants are good in the office—very healthy—as long as they’re the right plants.”
Peggy wrote down a few ideas on plants the intern could grow there. As she did, she realized how odd it was not to have anything growing on her own desk. But because she was there so seldom
, she didn’t want to bring in anything just to have it die while she was gone.
“Thanks.” The intern smiled. “Would you be able to nurse this plant back to health? I’m afraid I’d completely kill it if I took it home.”
“I can do that.” Peggy smiled. “I’ll let you know how it does.”
“Great. I’ll see about getting one of these other plants. Thanks for your help.”
Peggy looked at the sad little plant. It might not make it, but she could at least give it a chance. For her, it was like adopting pets. Sometimes the pets weren’t healthy and needed some TLC. She hoped the plant would get better at her house.
Putting aside the plant that stared up at her pitifully, she tackled the database again for Ann Fletcher’s autopsy. It was probably done at the hospital since the police hadn’t requested it from the morgue. She looked at the hospital where Ann’s death was pronounced—Charlotte Medical. There was bound to be information there.
There was nothing she could find electronically. She picked up the phone and called the hospital. The attendant at the hospital morgue there told her that files more than ten years old hadn’t been transcribed into an electronic format as yet. He suggested that she should come and get the file.
Peggy was willing to do that. She took the kalanchoe with her when stopped at Dorothy’s office to let her know what was going on. Dorothy told her she was still waiting for the tox screen to come back on Harry. It might be tomorrow or the next day before they had specifics.
The rain was coming down heavier as Peggy sprinted for her car. She started the engine and got out into the heavy traffic.
Rain always brought out the worst in people. Everyone was impatient to get where they were going. The roads were slick and dangerous, holding deep puddles of water in some places. Peggy took her time getting to the county hospital. She made sure she had her credentials from the ME’s office, grabbed her umbrella, and walked quickly inside.
