Justice Betrayed

by Patricia Bradley

  Did you call the US MARSHAL?

  He texted back.

  Nope. See you at the CJC.

  Her reply was a frustrated emoji.

  Boone laughed. He resumed his trek to the Med and decided walking may have been a mistake. The pungent odor of hot concrete and asphalt burned his nose. It was hard to concentrate on anything except the heat that had hovered near the hundred-degree mark for five straight days. That and the humidity wrapping around him like a hot towel until his white shirt stuck to his back. By the time he walked into the hospital, his body begged for the cool relief.

  In ICU, a nurse was checking the ventilator breathing for Culver. The heart rate monitor had been silenced, but it showed a steady, albeit high, rhythm. “I’m Lt. Boone Callahan. How is he?” he asked, showing his badge.

  She gave a cautionary glance at Boone and then waved her hand back and forth. “He’s better than he was. Slowly coming out of the coma, and we’re trying to let his lungs take over from the ventilator. He still needs it, though.”

  Which meant Boone couldn’t have a conversation with him. Culver’s eyes fluttered open, and the overhead monitor indicated his heart rate jumped. He focused on Boone, pinning him with a hard stare.

  “Just stopped by to check on you,” Boone said. He thought he detected a slight nod but couldn’t be sure as Culver closed his eyes and slipped back to sleep.

  Boone followed the nurse outside the room where she entered data into a computer. “When I called, I was told he was awake.”

  She looked up. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. When the doctors tried to wean him off the medication to raise his blood sugar, he reverted. Maybe if you come back in a couple of hours, he’ll be more alert and possibly even off the vent.”

  Boone nodded. “Do you know when the doctor will be around?”

  “He’s on the floor if you’d like to talk to him.” When he said yes, she called a number on her cell phone and spoke to someone, then looked up. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  Boone stepped back inside the room but remembered a question he wanted to ask and stepped back out. “Has the patient had any visitors?”

  “One lady with big glasses. I thought it was his mother or an older sister, but I asked him when he was more alert, and he shook his head.”

  Monica. Boone heard soft-soled shoes behind him and turned around. The same doctor he’d talked to earlier approached. “How much longer do you think he’ll be on the vent?” Boone asked.

  The doctor rubbed his chin. “Hard to tell. I thought he’d be off by now. And awake.”

  “So you can’t tell me when?”

  “Afraid not,” he said. “I understand you picked up the bottle the paramedics brought in. Were there any fingerprints on it?”

  “The paramedics’ and a partial of Culver’s thumb and index finger.”

  “So you think it was wiped clean before it was switched.”

  “Yeah. And the water bottle had traces of Humulin R U-500 in it as well. No prints other than Culver’s on it, either. Is there any possibility that Culver tried to kill himself?”

  The doctor shook his head. “People have used insulin to commit suicide, but I don’t know of any cases where they went to the trouble to put it in the wrong bottle. I don’t believe this is an attempted suicide case. Randy Culver has been fighting too hard to live.”

  That was what Boone wanted to know. “Thank you for your time.”

  Before he left, he handed the nurse a card. “Would you give me a call if he becomes alert again before your shift ends?”

  She assured him she would, and he walked back to the CJC, where Rachel waited in the conference room at the end of the table.

  “Did you learn anything at the hospital?”

  He shook his head. “Culver isn’t awake yet.”

  Rachel was quiet for a minute, and then she looked up. “What do you think the marshal has come up with?”

  He shrugged. “No idea.”

  Her phone rang and she grabbed it.

  Boone laughed. “Is that ‘God Save the Queen’?”

  “Yes.” She slid her finger across the screen. “Hello, Gran. Is something wrong?”

  He turned and walked to the window, but Rachel’s voice followed him.

  “Hold on a second.”

  He turned as she called his name.

  “Do you think we’ll be finished here by five?”

  He checked his watch. It was barely three. “I don’t see the meeting lasting two hours.”

  “Thanks.” She spoke back into the phone. “I should be there by five thirty. Is that all right?” After a slight pause, she said, “Good. See you then.”

  “Anything wrong?” he asked.

  “Not at all. It was about Erin.”

  “She’s all right, isn’t she?” He’d hate for anything to happen to the petite brunette.

  “Yeah. I’m picking her up from my grandmother’s, and she wants me to stay for dinner before I take Erin to the group home.”

  “We should be through in plenty of time.” It was clear Rachel really connected with Erin. Not everyone did when someone was different.

  “Good. After I drop her off, I plan to go back to Beale Street and interview a few of the Elvis impersonators.”

  “I’ll meet you there. Seven thirty again?”

  Rachel nodded. “I should have Erin home by then.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  She walked back to the table and sat down. “Off and on all my life, but I’ve been around her more since Terri became her guardian.”

  He’d wondered more than once what was wrong with Erin. She didn’t appear to have Down syndrome and no particular problem that he could see, other than something didn’t seem quite right.

  “What happened with her?”

  Rachel hesitated. “Something to do with lack of oxygen during delivery. Her mom was in her late forties when she was born and died when Erin was seventeen. Her father died a couple of years later, and Terri has been her caregiver ever since.”

  He liked Terri and admired that she’d taken on the care of her sister. “That’s a big responsibility.”

  “Terri has never acted like she minds. She’s devoted to Erin.”

  A shadow darkened the door, and he turned as Steve Lock came into the room.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

  Boone checked his watch. “Only five minutes.” He introduced the US Marshal to Rachel. “What have you learned?”

  “Not much.” Steve placed his briefcase on the table and took the chair opposite Boone. “No prints on the box or wrapping paper. And while the paper is expensive, it can be bought at any party store. The most important thing we learned is that no one was ever in danger from the ricin.”

  “What?” Boone and Rachel spoke at the same time.

  He unsnapped the briefcase and took out a sheet of paper. “Take a look. The latest analysis shows the poison is inactive.”

  Rachel scanned it first, then handed it to Boone.

  “But it is ricin?” he asked.

  “Yes. Definitely ricin. And laboratory quality.”

  “What do you mean?” Rachel asked.

  “Our analyst thinks it came from someone experimenting with ricin at a research facility.”

  “Who experiments with a poison?” Boone asked.

  “Scientists looking for an antibody to target cancer cells.”

  “Okay,” Rachel said. “Then it shouldn’t be hard to trace.”

  “Unfortunately, researchers using less than a hundred milligrams are exempt from reporting it,” Steve said. “And no one has reported a theft of ricin in the past five years.”

  “Then how would someone get ahold of it?” she asked. “And why send it to me if it isn’t going to kill me?”

  “Could be the person or whoever they bought it from didn’t know it’d lost its toxicity. Or they may have wanted to just intimidate or scare you.” Steve took out his tablet and booted it up. �
��Any idea who might fit this profile? Or can you think of any enemies you might have made?”

  She shook her head. “The only thing that makes me think I might be the target is the text I received Saturday afternoon, warning me off the case we’re currently working on.”

  “Have you received any other texts?”

  “No.”

  Steve typed notes on his tablet, then looked up. “How about your father? Does he have any enemies?”

  “He’s a judge and has the potential to make enemies in every case he decides.”

  “He’s next on my list to interview. Do you know if he’s received any demands or if he’s involved in an important case?” Steve said.

  “He’d tell you all his cases are important, but nothing high profile that I know of. Although he did mention he was frustrated with the defense in a murder case he’s trying. Something about trying to delay the trial,” she said. “And I think he would have mentioned if he’d received any kind of demand, or at least reported it to someone. Particularly since this happened last night.”

  Rachel stared down at her clasped hands. “There is something I should mention, even though I don’t think it has anything to do with the ricin.”

  When she hesitated, Boone said, “It might be important.”

  “I know. It’s an announcement that I’m supposed to keep under wraps, and no one around here knows about it, so I don’t see how it can be important.”

  Steve leaned forward. “We won’t know until you tell us.”

  “He’s being nominated for the Sixth District Court of Appeals.”

  Boone had not expected that and evidently neither had Steve since her announcement silenced them both.

  “That’s not usually something a person would be killed over,” Steve said.

  “My thoughts too. Please keep it quiet until it’s announced.”

  They both nodded and Steve asked, “How about other cases you’ve handled?”

  She thought a minute. “Nothing stands out. I was in Burglary before I transferred to Homicide. Nothing I can think of there. Except for one, my homicide cases have been routine, if murder can be routine.”

  “What was that one?”

  “The one involving the Pink Palace earlier this year. But it was resolved and no threats were made.”

  “I remember the museum case,” Steve said. “What’s the current case you’re working?”

  “We think it’s tied to a cold case,” Boone said. He explained the details to Steve.

  Steve shook his head. “This ricin attack bothers me. There’s no apparent motive, no leads, and I can’t even be sure if it’s a viable threat. The agency can’t do anything unless the person responsible makes another move, and even if it’s a scare tactic, it could escalate to a real attack. We don’t know what we’re dealing with or why. If they tried it once, they’ll be apt to try it again.”

  Steve had just articulated every thought that had crossed Boone’s mind.

  26

  THE SUN WAS STILL HIGH when Rachel checked her watch as she crossed Washington to the parking garage. Five o’clock. The meeting that had just ended with Boone and the US Marshal troubled her. Why would someone send her ricin that was ineffective? Did they just not know? She certainly didn’t know the poison could go stale.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that the ricin was connected to Vic Vegas’s death, which would connect it to Harrison Foxx’s murder. Was it possible someone wanted her off the case bad enough to try to kill her? Or maybe think an attempt on her life would put her on administrative leave? It was a reach . . .

  Rachel drove to her grandmother’s house, making the turns and stops automatically. One thought after another chased through her head, landing on a memory that played around her subconscious. Her parents arguing. The memory was so close, like a word on the tip of her tongue that she couldn’t get out. Frustrated, she shook her head. She needed time to process all she’d learned. A luxury she didn’t have.

  Maybe her father could shed light on the argument. The thought of asking him dropped rocks in her stomach. Two more turns brought her to Gran’s street. Being around Gran and Erin would help shake the dread from her mind. When she pulled into the drive, for a second she stared at the ranch-style house, glad that Gran was still in the home Rachel had spent so many nights in growing up. But she feared the upkeep was getting to be too much for her grandmother.

  Of course, Gran could move in with the Judge. He certainly had enough room. Rachel snorted. That was so not happening for the same reason she would never move back home. Gran would hold on to her independence as long as she could. Rachel parked in the drive and rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately.

  Erin’s concerned face greeted her. “I thought you forgot me.”

  “How could I do that?” she asked and hugged her friend. “Did you look before you opened the door?”

  She stared down at the floor. “I forgot. I’m sorry.” Suddenly she raised her head and made a stern face. “Erin, you know better than to open the door without checking to see who is there.”

  “You sounded just like Terri.”

  “That’s what she says, every time—to look before I open it.”

  “You need to listen to her. Where’s Gran?”

  “Making pizza. When I told her I wanted her to eat with us, she said she’d make pizza. I’m making the salad.”

  When it came to her grandmother, what Erin wanted, Erin got. Which was fine with Rachel. She was just glad she didn’t have to go to a noisy restaurant. Blues & Such later would be loud enough. “I’m sure you’re doing a great job.”

  “Can I still wear your necklace?” she asked, touching the cross.

  Rachel had forgotten the silver cross. “Sure. Just don’t lose it.”

  “I won’t. Will you take me to light the candles at Elvis’s house this week? Terri is supposed to, but sometimes she doesn’t feel like doing what she promised.”

  “Ah . . . if I’m not busy.”

  Her grandmother smiled when Rachel entered the kitchen. “I hope you like the pizza,” she said. “It’s vegetarian, and I’ve tried a new cauliflower crust.”

  “I love your pizza.” But cauliflower? What would her grandmother think of next? She hugged her and looked around. “Can I help?”

  “No. We have it under control, don’t we, Erin?”

  Sometimes Rachel feared watching after Erin was too much for Gran. But for several years now, she’d been letting Rachel know she wasn’t dead yet and to mind her own business. Both her grandmothers were so independent. Exactly like Rachel wanted to be when she was their age.

  Dinner was fun, and Erin kept them laughing with imitations of Terri and some of the women she shared a home with. It warmed Rachel’s heart to know Erin was in a good place, both physically and emotionally. Terri called to let them know the recital went well and that she would see Erin on Tuesday. After they cleaned up the kitchen, Gran sent her to gather her things.

  “Okay, the pizza wasn’t that bad,” Gran said when Erin left the room. “But you picked at your food and barely talked.”

  “No, it actually tastes pretty good.”

  “Then what’s eating at you?”

  All evening, the elusive memory of her parents’ argument had played around the edge of Rachel’s mind. “It’s this case. I really need to talk to Dad about it, and you know how he feels about my job.”

  “I wish you were still at the law office myself, especially since someone tried to kill you. I heard on the news that the package contained ricin,” Gran said.

  Rachel winced. “Sorry. I should have called, but I just haven’t had time.”

  “Hmph.” Gran eyed her with a you-better-make-time look. “Have you learned anything about who sent the package?”

  Rachel draped the drying towel over a rack. “Only that I never was in danger. The ricin was too old to be dangerous.”

  “So whoever sent it wasn’t trying to kill you?”

  “Wh
o knows? They may not have realized it’d lost its power.”

  “How would they have gotten their hands on it in the first place?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question. The US Marshal thinks it may have come from a laboratory where scientists conduct cancer research.”

  Erin set her overnight case on the floor. “Bobby did cancer research.”

  Rachel turned to stare at Erin. Terri’s husband had died when Erin was three, so like Rachel, she didn’t remember him. Rachel hadn’t known he’d been a scientist. “How do you know that?”

  “Terri told Martha.”

  Martha was the housemother at the group home. “Why did Terri tell her that?”

  “Don’t know.” She switched into Terri mode. “‘I wish you could have met Bobby. He was working on a cure for liver cancer when he died.’ That’s what Terri told her.”

  Rachel couldn’t keep from smiling. Erin had captured her sister’s mannerisms to a T.

  “I’m ready to go home.” She grabbed Rachel’s hand and tugged.

  “Well then, I guess I’m ready to take you.” She hugged Gran. “I’ll try to get by for supper one night this week.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “How about I take us both out for our birthday Tuesday night?”

  “No,” Erin said, “you promised to go to light the candles Tuesday.”

  That was right. “Maybe lunch,” Rachel said. “And don’t worry about me.”

  Gran’s long fingers cupped Rachel’s chin. “I won’t. You’re a Winslow and Winslows are tough, but they also watch their backs.”

  27

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Rachel dropped Erin off with a promise to go to the candlelight service at Graceland Tuesday night if she possibly could, and then she dialed Boone’s number. He’d said something about checking on Culver before meeting her. “I’m on my way to Blues & Such. Where are you?”

  “Parking,” he said. “Did your dinner go well?”

  “Yes. Gran had a pizza ready when I got there so I didn’t have to go out. How about you?”

  “Hot dog.”

  “Eww. Do you know what’s in those things?”

  He laughed. “Don’t lecture me. You had a pizza.”