Ben picked up a photograph of the living room and frowned. “Is this the inside of his house? Man, that place was a mess. That was one strange dude.”
“I lived in Silverton all my life and I never really talked to him,” Cameryn said, feeling a haze of guilt. In her mind’s eye she saw him once again, hunched over his plate of food, his hair a mat of gray coils and his nails stained with tobacco. “He came into the Grand every so often and I served him, but now that I think about it, I don’t even know what he did for a living.” She stopped, considering this. “I mean, how did he pay his bills?”
Justin began rifling through the photographs. “I can’t say for sure, but I know one thing he did that could have scored him some extra cash.” Pulling a few pictures from the back of the pile, he said, “Look at this. Leather Ed grew pot. This was in his basement—the man was a regular horticulturalist. It could have been just for his own personal stash, but it’s possible Leather Ed may have been dealing.”
“You’re serious?” Cameryn asked, genuinely shocked. She studied the various pictures of the basement. It was unceilinged and unpainted, with shelves overflowing with boxes of junk, rags, pipes, and tools, but in the center, sprouting from trays on a wooden table, grew row after row of marijuana plants. Above them hung a bank of grow lights, five-foot rectangles tacked to exposed wooden beams.
“So that is said cannabis. I’ve never actually seen it before.”
“Very good, Cammie,” her father told her, wagging shaggy brows at her. “As a father, I must say I’m encouraged. Perhaps, ‘just say no’ works after all.”
“Dad, I would never touch the stuff,” she assured him.
“But the thing is, Leather Ed wasn’t just sparking bowls and pulling on blunts,” Justin interrupted. “Look, we found a little bit of coke, too.” He pointed to a picture of a box with small tinfoil squares shimmering at the bottom. “Those are called bindles. There’s cocaine inside each one of those little packages.”
“He had cocaine! Why didn’t you tell me?” Cameryn demanded.
“Because you’re not supposed to officially know about this case. We’re bending all the rules here. Anyway, it doesn’t seem like a big operation but might have been enough to generate some serious cash. Jacobs is tracing it down, trying to compare notes with the Durango squad. So far we don’t have much of anything. It’s still early in the investigation.”
Cameryn narrowed her eyes. “Blunts? How do you know to call them ‘blunts’?”
“It’s street slang. Baby Bhang, Gold Star, Acapulco Red, Mota, Bambalacha—I worked in New York, remember? And in case you’re wondering, I never inhaled.” He laughed, but the sound died in his throat when he realized he was the only one who seemed amused. Dr. Moore thrust out his lower jaw, which made him look more like a bulldog than ever. He grunted from somewhere inside the folds of his neck.
His face shadowed with self-consciousness, Justin said, “That’s a joke, by the way.” He looked nervously from one set of eyes to another. “Seriously, I’m one of the good guys.”
Ben’s face, though, broke into a big, knowing smile. “It’s cool, man. I lived in L.A. a while back. I’ve seen some crazy things, too.”
“L.A., huh? So why’d you come all the way to Durango?”
“Probably the same reason you landed in Silverton. I like the small-town life. But even in the big city people didn’t drown while they were sitting in a restaurant. This case is whack.”
While the two of them talked, Cameryn picked up the photograph of Leather Ed in the chair. She concentrated on every detail, studying the shelves and the bit of curtain contained in the shot. Something was there. It tickled at the edge of her mind, taunting her, as though the idea was an image viewed through clouded glass. Every time she tried to grasp it, it seemed to slip away, the shadows shape-shifting, the thoughts turning more blurry. She bit the edge of her fingernail and asked, “Dr. Moore, did Leather Ed have pot or cocaine in his blood?”
“I have no idea.” Dr. Moore spun a quarter turn in his chair so he was facing her. “The toxicology reports take time. They didn’t make their way to my desk today, but it’s possible the papers are still in the lab.” He took off his glasses, polished them on the hem of his lab coat, then hooked them over his ears. “I’ll go see if they’re finished. I’ve got the key.”
“That would be great,” Cameryn answered.
He stood and offered her his chair, and when she sat in it she felt the warmth from his body.
“I told you before, Miss Mahoney, everything takes time. I’m willing to give you mine.”
“Thanks, Dr. Moore. Really.”
As the doctor disappeared through the door Cameryn pretended to be engrossed in the pictures, but inside she was bursting with gratitude for Dr. Moore. Time, the one thing he had so little of, was being freely donated to her when Dr. Moore could be home with his wife and children. Ben, too, had stayed, as had her father and, most important of all, Justin. The feeling of protection, of love, almost overwhelmed her. And yet there was a different kind of malignancy here, too. Kyle, as insidious as the cancer that was taking Dr. Moore’s life, needed to be cut out, and there was only one way to do it. She had to think her way through. The answer was there, if only she could see it.
Once again, she picked up a photograph of Leather Ed sitting in the chair. The book was in his lap, held in place by skeletonized fingertips. Cameryn’s ponytail fell in the way so she flicked it behind her back. Turning the photograph every which way, she tried to read the print, but it was no use.
“What is it, Cammie?” Ben asked. “You see something?”
“I’m not sure. Justin? Do you remember what kind of book this was?”
“I think it had something to do with plants. It’s still in the cooler.”
“Is there any chance you could bring it in here so I could get a look at it? I think that says page 203.”
Justin shrugged. “Sure, I can get it, but if you touch the book you’ll have to wear gloves. I’ll grab us a couple of pairs from the autopsy suite.” He turned to Ben. “Do you have evidence tape? We’ll have to cut the bag open and reseal it with my name and date, so I’ll need fresh tape.”
“Sure. It’s put away but I’ll go with you and grab it out of the drawer. You know, I’ve never worked on this end of things before, and I got to say I’m curious to see how it’s done.”
Snorting, Justin said, “That’s the thing—it’s never done like this. This is all Cammie, all the way.”
“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “It’s all about bending the rules. We’ll do whatever it takes.”
“And I,” Cameryn said, shooting a look that was deadly serious, “am all about saving Justin. You keep forgetting that Kyle typed your name, too. This isn’t just about me anymore.”
“I can take care of myself,” Justin growled.
“How about this? We’ll save each other.”
In spite of himself, Justin grinned. “All right, Cammie. I guess I can live with that.”
She could hear their voices trail away as they made their way down the hall. Now only Cameryn and her father remained in the lab. From the corner of her eye she saw Patrick lean toward her in his chair, his large hands clasped between his knees. He was not heavy but solid, and today he was wearing a clan Aran sweater knit in the Mahoney clan pattern. Her mammaw had made it out of natural wool, a color her grandmother called báinín. In the middle there was a diamond row, representing a wish for wealth, flanked by two cables that symbolized luck, and next to it she’d created a link that stood for the unbroken chain between the Irish who emigrated and those who remained at home.
Absently, her father began to rub his fingers along the luck cable. “I’m beginning to like Justin,” he said.
“Me, too,” she replied. The book intrigued her, as did the plants. “Dad, how long do you think Leather Ed was dead in that chair?”
“Three weeks, more or less.”
“The automatic food and water dog dish probabl
y held about a three-week food supply, so that timeline fits. And there’s the outline the note left on the table. Which in itself is kind of weird because the house was a sty. So Kyle must have dusted before putting down the note. But why would he do that?”
She could feel her father watching her as she flipped from photograph to photograph, and although she tried to ignore it she could feel her father’s eyes boring into her. Finally, exasperated, she set down the photographs and said, “Dad! Why are you staring?”
There was a pause characteristic of her father. “I’m looking at my daughter,” he answered.
“A daughter who is trying to concentrate. I can’t do it if you’re watching me.” Once again she turned her attention to Leather Ed and the pale green plants that bloomed next to his side. Slanting her eyes, she tried to read the top line of the book. If she rotated it just right, she could maybe make out the word hydration. A little further she teased out polymer and crystals.
It almost startled her when her father spoke again. “I’m looking at my daughter and thinking she’s not the same anymore.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t answer. Sighing, she let her hand with the photograph drift to her lap, because she knew there was something he wanted to say to her that couldn’t wait. His white hair had been combed back, gelled in place so that the teeth of the comb left tiny furrows. Judge Amy Green, the woman he was dating in Ouray, had reinvented Cameryn’s father. Instead of heavy work boots, he now wore cowboy boots made with tooled leather. The denim on his jeans was never faded, the hem no longer frayed. While she had to admit he looked more polished, she somehow missed the bear of the man he’d once been. Nothing ever stayed in place, though. Everything in life shifted like sand beneath a tide.
“When I wasn’t looking, you grew up on me,” said her father. “It happened and I didn’t even see it.”
“Yeah, well, a couple of death threats will do that.”
“This isn’t funny, Cameryn. This whole thing is surreal. We’re sitting here, going over evidence left by a killer, and you’re so . . . mature. How are you doing it?”
“I guess it’s the Irish in me. I mean, we’re tough, don’t you think? And it’s not like you haven’t changed, Dad. Look at you, all fancy now.”
“You’re not a girl anymore, are you.” The way he said it made it a statement, not a question.
How was she supposed to answer that? “But that’s a good thing, right? If you do your job right then I should grow. I mean, life’s different for both of us; Mom’s back in New York and you’ve got Amy now. And I’ve got Justin. Everything keeps moving and changing, like it’s supposed to.”
He seemed to think about this. “Your mammaw always said it’s our job to grow. She said we water our family with love.”
At that moment Dr. Moore came in holding the reports in his hand. Without looking up he said, “There’s cocaine in all of their systems, but not enough to be even near a lethal dose. . . .” He stopped, registering Cameryn’s expression, which had frozen into place. “What’s going on?” Dr. Moore asked. “Miss Mahoney, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Grow. Water. The words reverberated in her mind. She felt her eyes grow wide as the pieces snapped into place, the mosaic no longer scrambled but reassembled into a discernible pattern. Could the answer be something so easy, yet as deadly as that? It was so simple, really. In that instant she knew she had the answer. It had been staring her in the face all along.
“That’s it. Water. It’s the water!” She could feel her hands begin to shake as she looked at the photograph in her hands.
Her father looked at her, confused. Dr. Moore, too, frowned in disbelief. “I fail to understand . . .” Dr. Moore began, but Cameryn cut him off. Waving the picture, she said, “Look at that plant! It’s blooming—its petals opening without having been watered. You said Leather Ed sat there for three weeks, right? That’s three weeks without water. Those plants should have withered. All of the plants in that house should have died, including the marijuana. But they didn’t. And the book—the book Leather Ed is holding says polymer crystals. You know—polymer crystals! They’re used for plant hydration.”
Patrick shook his head, confused. “I’m sorry, you’re saying you figured this out because of what was in the water? I—I don’t understand.”
“No, Dad! It’s because of what was in the soil.”
Dr. Moore grabbed the photograph out of her hand. She could see the glint of understanding in his eyes. “It’s possible, Miss Mahoney. More than possible. And it would explain everything,” he said so loud he was practically shouting. “The texture, the gel, I’ve seen it but I never made the connection. Of course, cocaine is inhaled, so that would give a reason as to how it got into the lungs.” He was talking fast now, his words rapid-fire. “All three had low levels of cocaine in their blood, so all three inhaled a substance. If the drug was cut with the polymer then it would expand instantly in the lungs, pulling water from their own tissue. They would drown in their own body fluid.”
“And if Leather Ed was dealing, it would explain how it got to Safer and Stein,” Cameryn said, addressing her comments only to him. “The gel would coat the alveoli—”
“—causing instant suffocation,” Moore announced. “That is exactly how they presented in death. All three men.”
“Will one of you two slow down and tell me what is going on?” Patrick cried.
But this was a moment that was for just the two of them, for Dr. Moore and Cameryn. She could feel the invisible thread wind around them both again, pulling them together, tighter, like a filament alive with the electricity of shared knowledge.
“Of course, the next step is to get a control sample and run it through the gas chromatograph. That’s when we’ll know for certain.” Moore looked at her, beaming, with triumph in his eyes. “But I’m putting my money on you, Miss Mahoney. You’re not just my protégée,” he said. “You’re my legacy.”
Chapter Thirteen
“LUCKY GUESS,” JUSTIN teased her from her kitchen doorway. “Unbelievably lucky guess.”
“No,” Cameryn said, yawning, “I’m a genius. Mammaw says so.”
“I do indeed,” said her grandmother. “Here, Justin, let me take your coat. And have a seat. There’s fresh coffee and a pound cake, or if you’d like I can make you breakfast, although it’s past ten. Herself there just barely got up. And oh, those flowers are lovely—I’ll put them in water for Cammie.”
Justin, who held a large bouquet of pink and red roses, broke the bundle in two. “These,” he said, holding out the pink ones, “are for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Her grandmother smiled, like sunshine bursting. “Why, isn’t that something! Flowers for me. It’s been years . . . but you shouldn’t be spending your money on such things. It’s an extravagance, especially roses. Never do such a thing again.” From her grandmother’s expression Cameryn knew she didn’t mean it. Wearing a red jogging suit that zipped up to her chin, Mammaw moved lightly in her slippers. From a cupboard beneath the sink she produced two vases, a clear one and one that looked like green marble. “Which would you like, Cammie?” she asked.
“The clear.”
“Perfect. I prefer the green.” Immediately Mammaw began to snip the bottoms of the stems with kitchen shears. Justin was watching her closely. When her back was turned he swooped down and gave Cameryn a kiss on her mouth.
His skin was still cool from being outside, but his lips were warm against hers. She wanted him to linger but he pulled away, whispering “Later” so softly she was sure Mammaw couldn’t hear. The second bundle, which had been thrust behind his back, suddenly reappeared, and Cameryn could tell right away they were the expensive kind. A thick rose fragrance emanated from every bloom, and, wrapped in cellophane sprinkled with pink hearts, this bundle was twice as big as the one he’d given Mammaw. He dropped into the kitchen chair next to her. “It’s a lucky break that Valentine’s Day is a Saturda
y this year, because I’m off duty. And I’ve made plans.” His eyes looked green in the morning light.
“Thank you so much for these,” Cameryn replied, drinking in the fragrance. “But—what kind of plans? I’m supposed to stay in the house. I was only let out yesterday because I was with my dad.”
“Let’s just say I got clearance. Nice jammies, by the way. Penguins?” One dark eyebrow rose on his forehead.
“I like penguins,” Cameryn answered, suddenly aware of how non-Valentine she looked in her blue flannel bottoms and knit top. “Lyric gave these to me for Christmas. And if you would have called first I would have taken a shower and gotten myself pulled together. You drop by, this is what you get.”
“I wasn’t complaining.” He was out of uniform, in jeans and a Broncos sweatshirt, and he seemed both amused and happy. “You wear penguins better than anyone. And I like your hair down like that. It’s so long, almost like a waterfall.” Reaching out, he touched her hair, but her grandmother looked over her shoulder and Justin quickly withdrew his hand.
“Thanks. That was a very Valentiney thing to say,” Cameryn whispered.
“I would like to say more,” he whispered back. “Alone.”
“Did you say you wanted coffee, Justin?” asked Mammaw.
“Yes, thanks. Anyway, before I get too off track, I want to tell you how amazed everyone is with Cammie’s mind.” Clasping his hands together, he placed them behind his neck and leaned back, balancing on the chair’s back legs, something she was never allowed to do. But if her grandmother noticed she didn’t say a word as she set a red mug filled with coffee onto the heart-shaped place mat before she bustled back to the sink and her roses.
“Amber says Cameryn is a savant and Jacobs wants you to ditch forensics and go into law.”
The Dying Breath Page 12
