“This is the perfect time, while everything’s fresh in my mind. Let’s see. Suppose I just start with my observations.” Several of the little group that had assembled in the hospital room reached for notebooks and pens. Caity paused while everyone settled in. Spense took a seat on her bed and crooked his leg to form a makeshift table for his laptop. She looked surprisingly well, considering she’d collapsed only a few hours ago. Her body had to be sore from the fall, but she’d turned down any further pain medications. Caity was definitely a scrapper. He’d give her that, and with the narcotics starting to clear from her system, she seemed to be getting stronger by the minute.
“When I first entered the room, Kramer seemed tired . . . and this is important: His face and lips were pale. But he didn’t seem to be in any immediate distress. He simply looked like a man who’d recently survived a bullet to the belly. Within moments, I noticed his respiratory rate pick up.” She closed her eyes. “Then his skin began pinking up, which normally would be a good sign, only Kramer seemed to be feeling worse instead of better. We had a brief conversation, then his body started to tremble. That’s when I buzzed his nurse.” She placed a hand on her stomach, as if suddenly feeling ill. With effort, Spense refrained from shutting down the interview.
Baskin consulted his notepad. “As soon as he entered the room, you told Agent Spenser you believed Kramer had been poisoned.”
“I did.”
“Given all the other possible explanations for Kramer going into cardiac arrest, I’d say poisoning would be the last thing that would come to mind. Don’t you agree?”
“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t have suggested it. His emesis—”
“His what?”
“His vomit smelled faintly of almonds. Now, I’ll admit I’ve never smelled cyanide before, but I know it’s supposed to have an almond scent—I read that in my novels. And the redness of the skin, I know from my med-school days, is the result of increased venous oxygen content . . . when it’s due to cyanide ingestion.”
“English please—for us pissants if you don’t mind.”
But Baskin had said pissant with a smile, and his face had stopped that ridiculous twitching. There was a glimmer of humor in his eyes, contrasting a hard determination. Spense wondered if he might be an okay guy after all.
“With cyanide poisoning, the body can’t extract the oxygen that’s meant for the tissues. So the oxygen remains in the venous blood, lending it a vivid red color,” Caity explained.
“Well, we know it wasn’t cyanide gas that got him, or you’d be dead, too. Did you see him put anything in his mouth?”
“The nurse gave him several pills before leaving the room.”
“Anybody talked to the nurse yet?” Baskin addressed the others.
“She’s up next on the interview list,” the deputy squatting on the floor responded.
Baskin turned back to Caity. “You didn’t see Kramer take anything himself, later, after the nurse left?”
Agent Herrera was nodding her agreement. “Let’s say this does turn out to be cyanide. Sometimes that’s a preferred method of suicide for those cowards who can’t face the consequences of their actions.” Her glance found Baskin. “Remember that arsonist a few years back? When his verdict came down, he crammed a cyanide pill in his mouth right there in the courtroom. Died within minutes.”
“Exactly. Why couldn’t Kramer have had the pill hidden on him? Popped it into his mouth somehow when you weren’t looking?” Baskin persisted.
Caity shook her head. “Not possible. Kramer’s arms were restrained. Nothing went into his mouth except the meds the nurse administered. Besides, if this were a suicide attempt, I expect he would’ve deliberately bitten into rather than swallowed the pill.”
“How do you know he didn’t?”
She paused, as if winded.
Jumping to her aid, Spense filled in for her, “If he’d bitten into a cyanide pill, death would’ve occurred much more rapidly—almost immediately. Assuming the nurse gave him the poison, his death took between five and ten minutes. So he must’ve swallowed not chewed, and that argues against suicide and supports the idea of homicide—presuming of course the autopsy confirms the presence of cyanide.”
“Let me get this straight, Spense. You’re asking me to believe Kramer’s nurse walked into his hospital room, and right in front of God and everybody, poisoned the dickhead with cyanide. That’s hard to swallow.” Baskin grinned, looking around the room as if waiting for someone to get the joke.
“I understand your cynicism, Detective. But yes, I believe that’s the only logical explanation given these circumstances. Cyanide acts too quickly for it to have been given beforehand. Now if you’re asking me if I believe the nurse had knowledge she was administering cyanide—I don’t. We’ll need to rule out that possibility though.”
“You think someone switched Kramer’s pills. I assume the hospital has certain safeguards in place. So how the hell could something like that happen and nobody know?”
“You got me. We’re gonna need to know more about hospital procedure to figure that out. Can you shed any light, Dr. Cassidy?” He was deliberately formal with Caity in front of the officers, setting the tone for them to show her respect.
Her smile rewarded him for his consideration. “Every hospital has its own unique policies and safeguards, so I’d suggest you check with the charge nurse, and the pharmacy, too. But I did see Kramer’s nurse scan the packet of pills and his wristband before she gave him his medication. I assume she was matching the code on the packet to Kramer’s hospital ID. The nurse was clearly following a protocol. I’m certain she wasn’t at fault.”
“Who is or isn’t doing her job is the hospital’s concern, not mine. I just care about how the cyanide got into Kramer’s mouth.” Baskin said something else beneath his breath, but stopped midgrumble as the door swung open and Jenny entered the room, wheeling a portable computer in front of her.
Jenny’s face flushed at the sudden silence. It was as though she’d interrupted a group of gossips and believed herself to be the hot topic. Maybe she’d overheard them and assumed they were discussing her instead of Kramer’s attendant, Belinda. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time for Dr. Cassidy’s Tegretol. Past time. I would’ve waited for you . . . people . . . to clear out, but it’s beyond overdue, and my tush is on the line if she doesn’t get her medication.”
Caity seemed to be considering. Jenny was sporting her don’t-be-a-pain-in-my-ass look, and Spense knew the easiest thing for Caity to do would be to take the Tegretol. But he’d heard her tell Jenny earlier that she didn’t want it. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to take it. I discussed this with my neurologist—”
“I did what you asked already.” Jenny interrupted. “I checked with the neuro on call, and your doctor left him no instructions about discontinuing the medication. So what Dr. Bentley would like you to do is go ahead and take your Tegretol now, then tomorrow we can clarify the situation when your doctor, Dr. Singer, is back.” Jenny’s hands went to her hips for emphasis.
“Hang on.” Spense jumped up and stalked across the room, then removed a pair of green latex gloves from a box on the wall. Kramer had just been poisoned, possibly by his nurse, Belinda. Now Jenny was here with a medication for Caity—one that should have been discontinued. “May I see what you have, please?”
Jenny handed over a plastic packet containing a single pill.
“How do you know this is Tegretol?” Spense turned the bag in his gloved hands, inspecting it.
Her chin came up. “Because it says so, right there on the label. I’ll scan it of course, but I don’t see—”
“Scan it now please.”
Jenny frowned, pulled a handheld scanning gun from her pocket, waved it over the package, then Caity’s wristband. Next, she checked the computer screen. “It matches. This is Dr.
Cassidy’s Tegretol,” she said, with a defensive rise in her voice.
“Where did you get it?”
“The pharmacy sent it up.” Her eyes widened. “You think there’s a problem with the medication. I haven’t done anything wrong, and I don’t like the implication that I might’ve made a mistake.”
Spense tilted his head. “I don’t think you made a mistake, Jenny.” He lowered his voice persuasively. “You know I think highly of you. But this is important, and I need to understand how this process works. Okay?”
Jenny nodded, but her smile was gone and her hands shook a little as she put the scanner back in her scrubs pocket. “Sorry. It’s just there’s a lot of talk going around and I . . . well, never mind. Ask what you need. I’m here to help.” She looked up through her lashes at Spense, and he held back his smile. He and Jenny had developed a friendship. He’d flirted openly with her in front of Caity earlier today, but it had been a jackass move—one he didn’t plan on repeating.
“Does someone bring the medications up to the floor?” Spense asked.
“Not usually. The normal way is that the pharmacy tubes the meds up to the unit, then . . .” Jenny looked around the room, blinking nervously.
“You’re doing fine, Jenny. So normally the meds come up through the tube system. What about this packet right here? Was this delivered in the usual way?”
“N-no. The unit clerk said the tube system jammed, and a pharmacy tech brought this up.”
“Do you know if any other medications were hand-delivered to the floor?”
“I’m not sure.” Her throat worked in a long swallow. “People are saying Judd Kramer might’ve been . . . murdered. Is it true?”
Spense gave Jenny a particularly gentle look. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it. Now then, no one is suggesting you’ve done anything wrong. But let me be clear. Whatever pill is inside this packet, Tegretol or no Tegretol, Dr. Cassidy isn’t taking it.” He extended his hand toward the door. “Thanks, Jenny. You’ve been superhelpful.”
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Okay, well, I guess you want me to go now.” When no one contradicted her, Jenny eased out the door, and Spense turned to Baskin.
“Get this to the crime lab, will you please?”
Baskin snapped on a pair of gloves. “On this particular matter, I gotta agree with you, Spense.” He had one foot out the door when he turned back and grinned. “Don’t get used to it.”
As Spense watched Baskin exit the room, on his way to take Caity’s medicine to the crime lab, his chest constricted. Just because the Tegretol hadn’t arrived via the tube system was no reason to think someone was trying to poison Caity. The system probably jammed all the time, but . . . there were plenty of other reasons to worry. If Caity was right, and Kramer had been poisoned, they’d know soon enough—once the autopsy and lab reports were back. He pulled off his gloves and was about to offer to go for coffee when the door flew open and Baskin burst back in, face grim, cell in hand.
Caitlin swung her legs around, like she was ready to bound off the bed. “What’s happened?”
Baskin put up his hand in a stop sign. “Stay put, Dr. Cassidy. You’re safer here for now. Thompson, plant your ass outside this door, and don’t let anyone in, and I mean no one. Not nurses, not doctors either. Miller and Jenkins, come with me. We got a DB in the hospital basement.”
“DB? Is that . . .” Caity’s voice trailed off.
“Dead body. Pharmacy tech got her throat slashed.” Baskin fired a look at Spense. “It gets worse. After our killer nearly cut her head clean off, he posed her naked body and carved out a piece of skull for a souvenir.”
For an instant, stunned silence paralyzed the room. Then Spense and Caity asked in unison, “Was it the temporal bone?”
Chapter Six
Thursday, September 12
Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office
Phoenix, Arizona
“I’D LIKE TO see the thumbprint.” Caity stood at a narrow window in an interview room on the fifth floor of the Phoenix FBI field office. “May I open the blinds?”
“Sorry.” Spense rushed to her side. “Safety regulations say the blinds stay closed.”
Disappointment flitted across her face. “What’s the point in having an outdoor rock garden that looks like a thumbprint from above if no one is allowed to open the blinds and look down on it?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “The cool factor. Or sheer vanity, maybe. I hear the architect used his own thumbprint.”
That made her smile, and Caity’s smile was a far more impressive sight than the field-office rock garden. At least to him. Spense had spent a lot of time picturing that smile while Caity lay in her hospital bed, unconscious. He’d waited hours at a time, day after day, for her to open her eyes, look at him, and smile, then fall back into a drugged sleep. And here she was now, standing on her own two feet, like a big-eyed kid on a field trip asking to look out the window at the thumbprint—and all he could do was give her some lame reason why it wasn’t allowed—if you could call national security a lame reason. “Hey, come over here.” He gestured to his laptop on the long mahogany table in the center of the room. “I’ll show you a satellite view of the garden. You can see the thumbprint that way.”
“Can’t we just peek though the blinds? Wouldn’t that be okay?”
“I’m sorry, but tell you what. When we finish up here, I’ll take you for a ground-level tour of the garden. We’ll grab a lunch and picnic outside.”
“Awesome.” Here came that field-trip smile again.
He wished he’d taken more care to cultivate a friendship with her before she’d gotten shot. The truth was he’d always liked her—a lot. But he wasn’t used to a woman shooting him down in private, then showing him up in court. Over the years, throwing barbs at each other had become a habit, and it had taken Caity nearly dying to make him realize she deserved better and how much he wanted to protect her. His gaze found hers and hung on. Her eyes reminded him of the water that pooled at the base of Havasu Falls. They were the same dramatic blue. He’d only been to Havasupai, the little Shangri-La at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, once, but he’d never forgotten that otherworldly hue. Caity’s eyes took him back there—to a place that made him feel refreshed and connected to the universe. He was still staring into her eyes when Agent Herrera walked in and cleared her throat conspicuously.
“Let’s all have a seat.”
Herrera wasn’t his boss, but she was in communication with his boss, the ASAC back at the BAU in Virginia. Since Phoenix was Herrera’s turf, her recommendations would carry a lot of weight. Spense gave a nod of cooperation, then noticed Caity moving gingerly as she made her way to the conference table. He slid a chair out for her and took the adjacent seat while Herrera took her place across from them both.
“Great to see you out of the hospital, Dr. Cassidy. Are you feeling well enough for a meeting?”
“Absolutely.” Then she nodded. “Please, call me Caitlin.”
“If you’ll call me Gretchen. I wish I could open the blinds, Caitlin. You see, there’s a rock garden below, and from above it looks like a—”
“A thumbprint. She knows. A thumbprint she’s not allowed to see because opening the blinds is prohibited.” It made sense to keep them closed. Spense knew his irritation was uncalled for, but he was feeling a bit like a kid himself, and he wanted to watch Caity’s face when she saw the garden.
“Spense can give you a limited tour of the grounds in a bit. But for now, I have some news and a few things to discuss. First off, you should know that the lab tested the Tegretol with your name on it, Caitlin, and the pill did in fact turn out to be a cyanide tablet.”
Spense’s fists tightened at his side, but he kept his face expressionless. As did Caity. Herrera might as well have told them she’d had bologna for lunch.
Nobody reacted. Caity was obviously practiced at playing it cool. A master of self-control, she would’ve made a killer Dalai Lama. She was unshakable . . . except he could still hear her plea, still feel her hand clinging to his.
Don’t let me fall.
He’d asked her to trust him, and he’d sworn to himself he’d not only keep her safe, he’d catch the bastard who’d hurt her, no matter how long it took.
“I expected it would prove to be cyanide.” Caity’s calm voice brought his attention back to the conversation. “What about Judd Kramer?”
Herrera nodded. “The M.E. listed his cause of death as cardiopulmonary arrest secondary to cyanide poisoning. Manner of death—homicide. If the UNSUB hadn’t attempted to poison you, too, the M.E. might have ruled Kramer’s death a suicide. But given that, along with the dead pharmacy tech found posed in the hospital basement, I’m afraid there’s no question about it. We have a very dangerous and very determined criminal still at large, so I’m going to need you to stick like glue to Agent Spenser for the time being.”
Caity didn’t protest. She’d already agreed to stay at his place, accepting informal protection from him. As he’d anticipated, she’d come to her senses once the danger was clear. Caity might be stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. Leaning forward, she folded her hands on the table, her jumping little finger the only sign she was affected by the news that a stone-cold killer had her in his sights. “Will the rest of the task force be joining us soon?”
Pulling a gray knit sweater loosely over her white tailored blouse, Herrera smiled. She tucked a strand of sleek, naturally blond hair, cut in a clean, stylish bob, behind one ear. Gretchen Herrera was a striking Hispanic woman. Her skin was honey brown, her eyes a dark, polished onyx. She was almost as tall as Spense—over six feet—with a body made of pure, lean muscle and legs up to her eyeballs. She never wore makeup or tight clothing, but that did little to deter the male agents from ogling her. “No. It’s just going to be us today.”
Judgment Page 6