Cast a Blue Shadow

by Gaus, P. L.

BRANDEN arrived early Sunday night in the lobby of Sonny Favor’s dorm and waited in the first-floor sitting room, in a high-backed, upholstered chair near the fireplace. The time for their appointment came and went. Branden called up to Sonny’s room twice and then decided to leave. As he headed for the door, he heard from behind Sally Favor’s voice, and turned to see her standing in the lobby with Jenny Radcliffe.

  “Sonny’s not coming, Professor Branden,” Sally said. “I’m sorry. I know he was supposed to meet you here, but he’s just not coming.”

  Branden asked the women to join him in the sitting room by the fire. They took seats there, the girls on a sofa and Branden in the high-backed chair, and Branden said, “You don’t sound too happy about this, Sally.”

  “He’s such a screw-up, Dr. Branden. I don’t think he’s ever going to be OK.”

  “Where is he?” Branden asked.

  Sally shrugged. “We don’t exactly know. He drove to Wooster and took the family jet back to New York City. That was early this afternoon.”

  “Have you talked much with him, Sally?” Branden asked. “I’m worried about his state of mind now. I don’t think he slept all through Friday night, like he said he did.”

  “He didn’t,” Sally said pointedly. “He’s a wreck, Dr. Branden.”

  “And a vicious little monster,” Jenny added.

  Sally sighed and smiled bravely. “He told me he’s in charge now. Said I had my own money and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop that. As far as he was concerned, he was all that was left of the family, and I shouldn’t bother trying to get in touch with him anymore.”

  “So, you’re out,” Branden said. “But I understand you have plenty of your own money now.”

  “Money isn’t everything, Doc,” Sally said and smiled weakly. “Sonny is the only family I’ve got now, and he is never going to be OK. He’ll be an emotional cripple all of his life, because of our mother.”

  “I think he might have tried to kill your mother, Sally,” Branden said.

  Sally nodded and began to cry. Jenny put her arms around her and drew her close. Branden offered her a handkerchief.

  Sally blew her nose and said, “I seem to be making a collection of men’s handkerchiefs this weekend.”

  Branden looked to Jenny, who said, “Sergeant Niell gave her one of his, yesterday morning.”

  Branden nodded. “Did Sonny tell you anything about what he did Friday night?” he asked.

  Sally said, “Yes, Professor. He managed to say quite a lot, but in dribbles. Muttered a lot. He’s messed up. We took rooms at Hotel Millersburg, and he paced around like a caged animal. Kept calling himself The Eunuch.”

  “Where did he come up with that?” Branden asked.

  “I used to call him that,” Sally said. She blew her nose again and resumed her account. “It took us several hours to piece the whole story together. We thought he was exhausted. Maybe unbalanced from all the drinking he’d been doing. We finally got to sleep early Sunday morning. Then, by this afternoon, we realized he was gone. We barely managed to get him on his cell phone up at the airport outside of Wooster.”

  “It sounds as if you know something, Sally,” Branden said.

  “Sonny used to hate it when I called him The Eunuch. Now he’s calling himself that.”

  Branden said gently, “It’ll help if you tell me what you know, Sally. It’ll help you, and it may help Sonny.”

  Sally sat up stiffly and said, “Sonny hit her over the head with something.” She started crying again, softly.

  Jenny said, “At least that is what we believe, Professor. Sonny hasn’t been too coherent. He complained that ‘somebody beat him to her.’ Kinda like he couldn’t even do that one thing right by himself.”

  “That fits with what I’ve been thinking,” Branden said. “It’s complicated, but I don’t believe Sonny killed your mother.”

  “He tried to,” Sally said, calmer now.

  “Probably,” Branden said. “But Martha Lehman seems to have cleaned up after him, and now she’s in trouble with the sheriff. It would help if you could remember precisely what he said.”

  Jenny looked at Sally. Sally shrugged. Jenny said, “He said, ‘Finally got the nerve to do it, and she was already dead, sprawled face down on the end of the bed.’ He must have gone ahead and hit her anyway, just out of frustration.”

  Branden thought for several minutes and then asked, “Can you come down to the jail to make an official statement about this?”

  Sally said, “I don’t think I should get him into trouble like that.”

  “He’s already in trouble, Sally,” Branden said. “You’d be saving him from a more serious charge. You’d be able to clear up the fact that Sonny found her dead before he hit her. You’d also be saving Martha Lehman a whole lot of trouble, since she does think Sonny killed your mother, and she tried to clean up after him. I think she’s the one who put your mother under the covers, wiped up what little blood there was, and took the trophy back downstairs. She couldn’t have known which way was the front, so she put the trophy up backwards, and then Mr. DiSalvo saw the mistake.”

  “OK,” Sally said, tentatively. “If you think so.”

  “I do,” Branden said.

  “Now?” Sally asked.

  “Soon,” Branden said. “But there’s something else you can help me with. I need to know all about your work with Professor Pomeroy.”

  “The science, travel, what part?”

  “Everything,” Branden said. “Everything you did in Peru, all the follow-up, back in the lab. What he did and what you did for him. Everything.”

  “That could take some time,” Sally said.

  “It’s important.”

  “OK,” Sally said. “I didn’t think I’d get the job when I applied for it, because I’m not a chemistry major. But he said he’d found something down there that required the work of a molecular biologist.”

  “That’s precisely what I’m interested in,” Branden said.

  “It’s complicated,” Sally said.

  “I have time,” Branden said. “I’ll make time.”

  42

  Sunday, November 3 9:30 P.M.

  BRANDEN listened to Sally Favor for more than an hour, asking detailed questions at times and listening intently at others. Having heard what he needed, he drove downtown to Hotel Millersburg and found the room where Daniel Bliss was staying. When he knocked on the door, Daniel answered and admitted the professor in silence. Branden took off his coat and draped it over the back of an armchair, in which he took a seat. Bliss sat in a larger chair on the other side of a small, round table and waited for Branden to speak.

  Branden began by saying, “I know Sonny has flown back to New York.”

  Bliss nodded noncommittally.

  “I also know he did not kill his mother,” Branden said.

  Bliss remained quiet.

  Next, Branden summarized the physical evidence and his theory of what Martha Lehman had done with the rugby trophy. Bliss listened without reaction.

  Last, Branden said, “Finally, Mr. Bliss, I’d be grateful if you would tell me about Ms. Favor’s medicine bottles.”

  Bliss looked back at Branden stolidly and eventually said, “If what you say is true, Mr. Favor cannot be charged.”

  Branden replied, “Perhaps only with molestation of a corpse.”

  “Do you think Sheriff Robertson still intends to search my house?”

  “If I’m right, Mr. Bliss, that won’t be necessary.”

  “And Miss Sally?”

  “She’s in the clear, again, if I am right.”

  “And how do you plan to prove that you are right?”

  Branden told him.

  Bliss nodded and said, “Three bottles, Professor. I put two empty bottles in the wastebasket in Ms. Favor’s bathroom. She had cast them to the floor in her bedroom. The third bottle was the one I found for her in her bedroom. It was on the dresser. Once she had used some of it downstairs, I carrie
d it back up and put it on her nightstand, where she would be sure to find it. Then I put her medicine cabinet back together, so she could find her brush. She brushes her hair every night before retiring. I put the brush and comb on the bottom shelf, and the perfumes on the second shelf, just the way she likes it, with general medicines on the upper two shelves. Then I came downstairs for the last time.”

  43

  Sunday, November 3 11:20 P.M.

  BACK on the college heights on the east side of Millersburg, Branden rang the doorbell at the president’s mansion. He spoke with Arne Laughton for several minutes and took possession of a campus master key from the reluctant president. In the chemistry building on the other side of campus, Branden keyed himself into Dick Pomeroy’s lab and switched on the lights. He stepped to the shelves where Pomeroy kept his lab books, and took down the one corresponding to the year that Sally Favor had worked for the chemist. He paged through the book, plus several that followed, and finished by reading the entries in several books whose spines bore the names of pharmaceutical companies.

  At midnight, he phoned Henry DiSalvo at home, and waited until the disgruntled lawyer had finished sputtering his objections to being awakened at that hour. As with Bliss, Branden explained his theory of Juliet Favor’s murder, leaving out the scientific details, and concluded by saying, “So I think you can see why I’d be interested in Yabusan Pharmaceuticals.”

  DiSalvo said, “Well, you’re right, Mike. It was to be sold. Juliet had slated a good dozen companies to be sold in the next few months. It was part of her simplification scheme, so Sonny could take over the business someday.”

  “But would Pomeroy have known?” Branden asked.

  “Well, yes,” DiSalvo said. “He’s on the board of directors.”

  44

  Monday, November 4 8:10 A.M.

  BEFORE his ten o’clock Civil War class Monday morning, Professor Branden let himself back into Dick Pomeroy’s lab. At the water purifier, he ran out about a liter of water from the spigot, and dispensed the last few milliliters into a small, clean test tube he found on the rack over the sink. He put a cork in the test tube, slipped it into his shirt pocket, and sat down to wait for the chemist. As Pomeroy came through the door, Branden stood up and held out the test tube, saying, “This one is a fresh sample, Dick. Care to guess what Melissa Taggert is going to find when I have her test it?”

  Calmly, Pomeroy hung his coat on a hook and set his briefcase on his desk. He crossed to the other side of the lab, put on his white lab coat, and took down a stopper bottle labeled DMSO. To Branden he said, “You can’t possibly know what you’re doing, Mike.”

  “One doesn’t swab out the spigot on a Barnsted water purifier, Dick. That was your mistake. It’s hard enough to get pure water, without introducing unnecessary impurities. So, you had your poison on that Q-Tip. I figure you wanted that water sample to be doctored up just the right way, before you gave it to me.”

  Pomeroy said, “Didn’t figure you’d notice, Mike.” He took a small vial out of a drawer, put a drop of its contents into the bottle with DMSO, and mixed it in with a glass rod. The vial he put back in the drawer.

  Branden nervously eyed the stopper bottle Pomeroy held, and said, “I’ve studied up on hydrolysis since we last talked.”

  “DMSO and water,” Pomeroy said. “Must have been a lucky guess.”

  Branden shrugged, said, “Funny, too, that you would pay Sally Favor to isolate compounds that you never sent to a company for analysis. But, then, you always screen for toxicity with rats.”

  “You’ve been reading my lab books, Professor,” Pomeroy said. “You’ll no doubt have learned about this little gem,” he said, tapping the bottle. “It’s a synthetic derivative of a nasty little compound I found in Peru. I changed it a bit, so it’s not quite so toxic as its parent compound, but now it does eventually hydrolyze, you see.”

  “Mixed with DMSO and water,” Branden said, “there’d be nothing left to detect after, what, twelve hours?”

  “Eight,” Pomeroy said. “It was lethal for a good three hours, but became hydrolyzed after about eight hours. Depends on the concentration of water.”

  “Clever chemist,” Branden said, and watched Pomeroy closely.

  “There’s no water diluting this sample, Mike,” Pomeroy said, holding the bottle up to his eyes. “It’s the perfect killing solution. Wouldn’t take but a minute.”

  Branden backed up against the door, eyes fixed on the bottle in Pomeroy’s hand. “Of course,” Branden said, “I’ll have to make a report of this to the sheriff.”

  “Of course,” Pomeroy said. His eyes betrayed a certain embarrassment beneath his resolve. He sat down at his desk and twirled the bottle of poison solution in his fingers. “How many years have we taught together, Mike? Is it thirty years?”

  “Something like that,” Branden said, realizing what Pomeroy intended to do. He took a step forward.

  Pomeroy held up his hand. “Don’t Mike, it’s over.”

  “We’ve been friends too long, Dick,” Branden said.

  “Right, we have. That’s why you’re not going to make me hurt you.”

  “Just give me that bottle,” Branden said.

  “Can’t, Mike. What does it matter, anyway?”

  “What about your work?” Branden asked, and moved closer.

  “Mike, stop. I mean it. You can’t take this bottle away from me without spilling some on you.”

  “Then set it down on the desk, Dick.”

  “You’ve got a future here, Mike. I don’t. It’s just that simple.”

  Quietly, Branden said, “You don’t have to go out like this.”

  But Pomeroy wasn’t listening. With a forlorn expression, he looked around his lab, and his gaze came to rest on the numerous lab books where he had recorded a lifetime of research. Then Pomeroy smiled, said, “See that some company gets my lab books and samples,” and poured the DMSO solution into the palm of his left hand. As he rubbed his palms together, he slumped in his chair. He clutched his left arm to his chest, looked down at his hands, and laughed sardonically. The DMSO soaked into the skin. And Professor Dick Pomeroy dropped over dead on his desk.

  45

  Monday, November 4 10:15 A.M.

  IN THE Chicago Renaissance Hotel, Bruce Robertson answered a knock at the door in his pajamas, and took a Fax delivery from the bellman. He sat in a chair in the corner of the room and switched on the light at a small table. Melissa Taggert stirred under the covers and asked, “What is it, Bruce?”

  Robertson said, “Fax from Mike Branden,” and started to read.

  Said Missy, “Can you read it out loud?” and propped herself up on pillows.

  Robertson scanned the page and said, “Sure.”

  Bruce,

  I canceled my ten o’clock class, and to tell you the truth, I’m a bit stunned right now. But it’s probably only 10:00 a.m. there, so I figure that gives me half a chance of catching you.

  Dick Pomeroy poisoned himself with the same mixture he used on Juliet Favor: DMSO plus a readily hydrolyzed plant extract that he discovered in Peru. He died in front of me, about two hours ago, from the same type of heart attack that killed Juliet Favor.

  Sonny Favor has flown the coop. He took his jet back to New York yesterday, and isn’t returning his calls. He told his sister that he smashed Favor’s head in, after he found her sprawled on the end of her bed, very early Saturday morning. She had already died of a heart attack from Pomeroy’s poison concoction.

  Martha Lehman made some good progress with Evelyn Carson last night. As it turns out, she went back to the Favor mansion early Saturday morning, to confront Sonny about her pregnancy. (You’ll recall that Daniel Bliss saw Sonny’s Lexus out front, before dawn.) Martha says she saw Sonny carry the rugby trophy upstairs while she looked in a parlor window from the front porch. He didn’t come back downstairs, so she went up, found Favor dead, and doesn’t remember much after that, before Evelyn Carson found her Saturday mornin
g, in the hall outside her office.

  I got a pure water sample for Missy. My guess is that it won’t show any of the small impurities that are present in either the DMSO mixture that Pomeroy prepared for Favor or the doctored water sample Pomeroy gave me yesterday. He had a perfect scheme to murder Juliet Favor, but I saw him swab out the spigot on his pure water source. That was his big mistake. He needed to introduce some of the poison to the water sample Missy would test, so that it would analyze the same as what she already had. He tried to make it look like he was just cleaning up a messy lab, and must have figured that I’d not take note of it. So, Missy, toxin analysis of Favor’s blood wouldn’t have shown anything, because the poison reacts with water eventually, to decompose. There also would not have been any poison left in the DMSO bottle by Saturday morning. If Sonny hadn’t bashed her head in after the fact, no one would have suspected murder. Ironies abound.

  Time to go. Arne Laughton has named me chairperson of a joint Faculty/Trustee committee to decide what to do with the money Juliet Favor left for the college in her will. I have many new friends waiting either in the hall or on the phone to talk to me about departmental budgets.

  You two be sure to have some fun.

  Mike

  Robertson folded the fax and laid it on the table. He came over to the bed, slipped in under the covers, and lay back with his hands behind his head. Missy snuggled up to the side of him, and draped her arm over his big chest. “I should have figured Dick Pomeroy would never have let his water purifier go down,” she said. “Still, it was just traces in the water.”

  “What’s that mean, hydrolyzed?” Bruce asked.

  “It’s any reaction with water. Usually it means something breaks down in water. Pomeroy mixed only about 7 or 8 percent water with Favor’s DMSO, so that the poison would still be active when she likely would use it Friday night, but then it would have been hydrolyzed by Saturday morning, or at least by the time anyone got around to analyzing the DMSO. I thought I was seeing the kinds of small impurities you often find in untreated water. Instead, they were the hydrolysis products of Pomeroy’s poison.”