“The reason she was concerned was because of the book you were reading, a book titled Final Exit.”
Caroline shifted nervously in her seat. Sokoloff didn’t look bored anymore.
“It’s a book about assisted suicide,” Roberta went on. “But then, you know that, don’t you?”
Caroline said nothing.
“So then we got curious and took a look at the book ourselves. And lo and behold, the recommended way of committing suicide in the book is with the use of helium.”
Caroline’s eyes darted toward the tank on the table and then back to Roberta.
“Yes, helium,” Roberta said. “Just like that tank in front of you. Your husband’s stores are full of them because people use them to inflate balloons, some specialty toys, and whatnot. Anyone can rent or buy them if they want.”
Caroline licked her lips.
“So we had a chat with the ME and asked him if it was possible that helium might have been used to kill your husband. And he said it was. He also said your husband was the perfect victim for using something like that because of his CPAP machine. It would be very easy to swap out his oxygen tank for one filled with helium. And the reason it’s such a popular method for committing suicide is that it causes a loss of consciousness within seconds, and death within minutes. And because of the nature of the helium gas, the victim wouldn’t experience any symptoms of asphyxia.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Caroline snapped. Sokoloff grabbed her arm again and gave it a squeeze.
“Not ridiculous at all,” Roberta said. “It’s something you have readily available not only in your husband’s stores but in your house. You have the tanks delivered there, don’t you?”
Caroline glared at Roberta but said nothing.
“You don’t need to answer that question,” Roberta said. “We have copies of the invoices from the company that delivers them. And you know what the most recent one showed? You had three of those tanks delivered to your house the day before Oliver died. And yet, when we searched your house, they weren’t there.”
“That proves nothing,” Caroline said. “Oliver took them to his stores.”
Sokoloff gave Caroline’s arm another squeeze. Caroline pouted and clamped her mouth closed.
“Actually, he didn’t,” Roberta said. “We talked to the employees at his stores, and none of them remembered seeing Oliver drop off any tanks that day. But someone at the store closest to your house mentioned that some empty tanks had shown up at the store the day after Oliver died, and they had no idea how they’d gotten there.”
Now Sokoloff looked as nervous as Caroline did.
“So we asked them if they still had those empty tanks,” Roberta went on. “They did, and we picked them up, so we could dust them for prints.”
Caroline narrowed her eyes at this.
Sokoloff said, “If you found my client’s prints on any of the tanks at the stores, it means nothing. She deals with those tanks all the time, and takes the deliveries at her house. I’m sure she touches them all the time as a routine part of her duties.”
“Yes, I suppose she does,” Roberta said.
“And I’m sure there are a lot of other prints on them as well,” Sokoloff added.
“This is true,” Roberta said with a sigh. “However, we were able to get an internet history from the computer Mrs. Knutson used that day in the library, and imagine our surprise when we saw that there was a lot of research on suicide, the effects of helium, and forensic findings when helium is used to commit suicide.” Roberta paused and smiled, a feral, scary smile. “I must admit,” she went on, “it was a brilliant way to commit murder because it often leaves no trace in the victim. However, there can be remnants of it trapped in the victim’s lungs, and if the ME pokes a needle and syringe into the lung before opening it up, he can sometimes catch a sample of it. So that’s what the ME did, and again, imagine our surprise when we found traces of helium in his lungs. You killed your husband, Mrs. Knutson.”
“You did not find any helium in his lungs,” Caroline insisted angrily.
“Oh, but we did. Combine that with the history of your library research and your fingerprints on that tank there,” she nodded toward the tank on the table, “and you’re going to go away for a very long time. Assuming they don’t go for the death penalty.”
Caroline’s face suffused with red as Roberta spoke. When Roberta was done, she said, “You’re lying.”
Caroline was right, if my synesthesia was any indication. What Roberta had said wasn’t all true. I knew the ME hadn’t found any helium in Oliver’s lungs, but I wasn’t sure how much of the rest of it was true.
Roberta kept on with her attack. “You made sure your husband took an Ambien just to be safe, to make sure he wouldn’t awaken and take off his mask for some reason. And we also found traces of an adhesive on his face. Did you apply something to the edges of his mask to make sure there was an airtight seal?”
“No!” Caroline snapped.
“I think we’re done here,” Sokoloff said. She stood and said, “Come on, Caroline.”
“She’s not going anywhere,” Roberta said. “We’re placing her under arrest.”
“Arrest?” Caroline sputtered. “But you’re lying. I didn’t use any kind of adhesive on Oliver’s mask.”
Sokoloff realized what her client just said, but I don’t think Caroline did. And Roberta wasn’t about to let Caroline off the hook yet. As Sokoloff told her client to shut up, Roberta continued with her scenario.
“Yep, I’m betting they’ll go for the death penalty. You’ve seen your last of the outside world today, Mrs. Knutson. You are under arrest for—”
“But they’re lying,” Caroline insisted to Sokoloff, her voice rising to near hysteria.
“—the murder of your husband—”
“We’ll figure it out later,” Sokoloff said.
“—Oliver Knutson.”
“But I know they’re lying,” Caroline insisted, her voice just below shrieking level. “I know because I flushed that line with oxygen afterward and kept the CPAP machine running so there wouldn’t be any helium in his lungs.”
The room fell deathly silent. The hot flush in Caroline’s face drained away, leaving her looking pale, wan, and frightened. Sokoloff muttered an expletive under her breath.
Caroline turned and stared at Roberta as dawning settled in. “You bitch,” she hissed. “You lying bitch! You tricked me!”
Roberta got up and walked over to the door. She opened it to reveal two uniformed officers. “Take her away,” she said.
As the officers walked over and proceeded to cuff Caroline, she went berserk. “No!” she yelled. “You can’t do this.”
“Caroline,” Sokoloff said in what I presume she meant to be a calming tone.
“But they’re lying, Natalie. There’s no way they found helium in Oliver’s lungs.”
As the officers tugged on Caroline’s arms, pulling her toward the door, a look of fear and resignation came over the woman’s face. “Natalie, do something,” she pleaded.
The officers removed Caroline, and I heard her start to sob as they steered her down the hall. I almost felt sorry for her.
“Would you consider a plea deal?” Sokoloff said to Roberta, clearly giving up on any hope of exonerating her client.
“Talk to the DA,” Roberta said.
Sokoloff sighed, and left the room.
“Wow,” I said once she was gone. “That was amazing. How much of the evidence you discussed do you really have?”
“Enough,” Roberta said. “There was no adhesive. No need for it. The mask fit tight enough as it was. And the ME had already dissected Oliver’s lungs, so there was no way to pull off a helium sample from them. If what Caroline said is true, there likely wasn’t any anyway. But we do have the statement from the librarian, and to access the internet on the library computers, you have to type in a number from your library card, so we know it was Caroline who was doing the searches for the assi
sted suicide info and the helium. And we do have her fingerprints on a tank, though not this particular one.” Roberta paused and shrugged. “Sokoloff is right about the fingerprints. They won’t be of much use. But Caroline’s little denial of a confession will certainly help.”
“If you hadn’t gotten her to say what she did, would you still be able to prosecute her?” I asked.
Roberta made an equivocal face. “It wouldn’t be as strong, and her chances of getting off would have been a lot greater.”
“Good work, Mack,” Duncan said, rubbing my back. “You were the one who figured all this out.”
“I’m officially a fan,” Roberta said. “I suspect those empty spaces you detected among the supplies upstairs in the Knutson house were the spots where the tanks had been before Caroline took them back to the store. Oh, and we do have one other piece of evidence I never got around to mentioning.”
“Which was . . . ?” I asked.
“The business across the street from the party store where the empty tanks turned up has security cameras outside. We looked at their footage and saw Caroline arrive at the store at four in the morning the day after Oliver died. She let herself in with a key, and then transported three boxes—boxes that were large enough to contain one of these helium tanks—into the store. Unfortunately, the footage doesn’t show what was in those boxes, but when you put it all together, it will be enough for a conviction.”
“I hope so,” I said. “She’s a coldhearted woman.”
Roberta nodded sagely. “Tell me,” she said, “what was it that put you on to the helium?”
“I had a strange synesthetic reaction in the Knutson house when we were there. Every time I looked up at the ceiling in Oliver’s bedroom, I got a strange feeling, like I was weightless and being lifted off the floor. I didn’t think much of it at the time because I didn’t know what had triggered it. But then, when we visited one of Oliver’s stores, there was a girl in the back, inflating balloons from a helium tank. And when I looked at the ceiling above her, I got the same response.”
“Helium is a light gas,” Roberta said. “There was probably some residual escaped helium near the ceiling in the bedroom, and also in the store.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “Anyway, things started clicking for me. I recalled a documentary I’d seen on TV late one night about assisted suicide. And I read some things about it online. It all came together.”
“Well, I’m glad it did,” Roberta said. “And welcome to the team.”
She walked over and extended her hand. I shook it, and said, “Thanks.”
When Roberta was gone, I looked over at Duncan, who was beaming at me. He walked over and kissed me. “So, how does it feel to be a crime-solving savant?” he asked when he was done.
“It feels fantastic,” I said. “Let’s go catch someone else.”
“Patience,” Duncan said with a chuckle. “There will be plenty more to come, sadly. For now, what do you say we head back to your bar and have a celebratory drink?”
“Sounds good,” I said. “And as usual, the drinks are on me.”
Chapter 28
When we arrived back at the bar, the lunch crowd was in full swing and the place was busy.
“Will you let me go behind the bar and fix you up a special something?” Duncan asked me.
I gave him a wary look. “Are you sure you learned enough from your undercover days as a bartender?”
“I have a confession to make,” he said with a wink. “I’ve been studying. I figured if we do end up together, I should be able to chip in and help out behind the bar from time to time.” He kissed me on the forehead.
“Okay,” I said. “Surprise me.” We walked over to the bar, and I told Pete to let Duncan do his thing. “I’m going to go upstairs to check in with the Capone Club,” I said, and left Duncan to whip up his magic potions. As I walked through the bar toward the stairs, I realized one of the things that had been bothering me about Duncan’s proposal. I had feared it was an impromptu, spur-of-the-moment thing he might later come to regret. But his statement a moment before, about how he’d been studying mixology with thoughts of the two of us being together and him needing to help out from time to time, made me realize he’d been thinking about us for some time now.
I reached the stairs and was about to climb them when I remembered the elevator. I detoured and headed for it. The door was closed, and when I hit the Up button, it slid open, revealing a shiny new interior. I stepped inside, hit the button for the second floor, and the door closed. In a smooth, almost silent glide, the elevator took me up. The sensation it gave me was similar to the one I had felt as a kid when I got a new toy I’d been wanting. How could I ever thank Mal enough?
The Capone Club room was surprisingly full. The group had split off into smaller gaggles, and they were all busy talking. In addition to Cora—and the Signoriello brothers, who were practically fixtures here, fixtures who had marked out the chairs closest to the fireplace as their permanent seats—Carter was there, along with Holly and Alicia, who were apparently enjoying a lunch break from their jobs at the bank. Tad was there, too, as was Dr. T, Tiny, Greg, Sonja, and Clay. Even Kevin Baldwin, our local “sanitation engineer,” who hadn’t been present much of late, was there. Also present were two other people I hadn’t seen for a while: Nick Kavinsky and Tyrese Washington, two of the local cops who participated in the group.
When I walked in, everyone looked up, the room fell silent, and the minigroups separated.
“Hey, Mack,” Cora said.
“Hello, everyone,” I said.
There were some murmured hellos, and I saw several people exchange glances. Something was up.
“This is a big group for a weekday lunchtime hour,” I said, settling into one of the empty chairs.
“Word spreads fast when there’s something big to discuss,” Tyrese said.
“Really? What are you discussing?”
“Is it true?” Holly asked in an excited voice. “Duncan proposed?”
I sighed, gave Cora an exasperated look, and then said, “Yes, he did.”
Holly clapped her hands, and I heard several people congratulate me. Tyrese muttered, “It’s about time.”
“I haven’t said yes,” I told the group once the cacophony died down.
“Why the hell not?” Alicia said. “Duncan is a catch, and it’s obvious the two of you care for each other.”
A chorus of agreeing yeah comments followed.
“I wanted . . . I need some time to think things through.”
There were some moans, and some shaking of heads, but before anyone else could say anything, Duncan came into the room.
“Hello, everyone,” he said, handing me a drink.
Everyone returned his greeting.
“I came up in the elevator,” he said.
“So did I.”
“It’s really nice. Mal and his family did a good job.”
“Yes, they did.”
“It’s a smart addition,” Clay said.
The rest of the room was oddly quiet, all of them staring intently at me and Duncan. I took a nervous sip of my drink, which was delicious, cool on the way down and triggering a comfortable warmth in my belly when it hit.
“Wow,” I said, raising my glass to Duncan. “This is good.”
“Thanks. I’m calling it Duncan’s Dynamite.”
“Listen,” I said, “I need to talk to the brothers about something. Would you mind if I stepped out for a few minutes? You can fill the group in on whatever you feel is appropriate about the Knutson case. I’m sure they’ll be eager to hear about it because they’re the ones who brought it to us.”
“Of course.”
I did a finger come-on at the Signoriello brothers, and when I saw them nod, I got up and headed out into the foyer outside the room. It took the brothers a minute or two to join me. Even with the warmth from that fireplace, those old bones of theirs didn’t move all that fast.
“I need to talk to
you two,” I said.
“Figured as much,” Joe said.
“Let’s go into the banquet room so we can have some privacy.”
I led the way to the room I used for group meetings and such. Most of the time it was closed off, but word was out that the space was available, and the number of rentals was increasing every week.
Once we were all seated, Frank said, “I’m guessing this is about Duncan.”
I nodded.
“You’re wondering what you should do?” Joe said.
I nodded again.
“And you want us to tell you,” Frank said.
I just looked at them.
“You know we can’t do that,” Joe said, giving me an apologetic look. “Only you can make this decision.”
“But we’re happy to hear your thoughts on the matter,” Frank added.
I smiled at them. I adored these two men, the closest thing I had to a parent these days. “I feel like it’s too soon.”
“Too soon based on what?” Joe asked. “Do you mean you’re not sure about your feelings for Duncan? Or that you don’t know him well enough?”
“That’s part of it,” I admitted. “Although I do love him. That much I’m sure of.”
“And does he want to get married right away?” Frank asked.
“No. At least I don’t think so.”
“So take your time,” Frank said. “Maybe you two could live together for a while. That’s what all you youngsters do these days, right?”
“Or is that an issue?” Joe jumped in. “Does he want you to get rid of the bar? Or move out of it?”
“No, not at all. In fact, he said he envisioned the two of us living here together.” I looked down at the drink Duncan had made me. “He’s even been studying mixology so he can help out behind the bar.”
“Okay,” Frank said slowly, thoughtfully. “Does he make you happy?”
“He does,” I said with a smile.
“And this thing with Mal, is that an issue?” Joe asked.
I shook my head. “I love Mal like a brother. My feelings for Duncan are different.”
“So then, what are you afraid of ?” Frank asked.
Last Call Page 28
