Saving Meghan(75)

“Is your husband at home?” Spence asked, leaning his body forward in an effort to peer inside.

“No, he’s out,” Becky said curtly. “Is there something else I can do for you, Detectives?”

“Mind if we ask you a few more questions?” Capshaw said.

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” Becky lied.

Capshaw pursed his lips and appeared to be chewing on a thought. “If you’ve seen cop shows before, then you’ll know this is the part where we tell you we could have that chat downtown,” Capshaw said with only the faintest of smiles.

Becky took a step to the side. “Please. Come in,” she said, motioning them inside.

The detectives stepped into the foyer and looked around as if expecting to find Carl at home. She got the feeling they did not trust much of what she had to say.

“Shall we go to the living room again?” Becky asked.

“Here’s fine,” Capshaw said. “We won’t be long.”

“What can I do for you, Detectives?” she asked, setting the computer down on an antique console table she and Carl had bought on a “get away from it all” drive to Vermont, made maybe a month or two after Sammy died.

Capshaw blew on his hands to warm them from the unseasonably cool spring afternoon. “Well, according to your browser bookmarks, you seem especially interested in … poisons.”

Her earlier nugget of worry grew into a knot. “Poisons?”

“Yeah, hemlock, popular with the ancient Greeks,” Spence said. “Aconite aka wolfsbane. Though that’s not what killed Levine, in case you were wondering, or at least we don’t think it is.”

“The medical examiner has to order specific tox screens for the more exotic poisons, so maybe if Levine had died of asphyxiation, then wolfsbane would have been on someone’s radar,” Capshaw tossed out. He was a little too nonchalant for Becky’s liking. It was as if they were two cats playing with a cornered mouse.

“There were other poisons in your browsing history,” Spence said. “Belladonna, which means ‘beautiful woman’ in Italian—or in the case of the plant, a good option for a spear tip.”

“Plan on doing any hunting in the Amazon?” Capshaw inquired half-jokingly.

From the pocket of his sport jacket, Capshaw retrieved a piece of paper and read down a list.

“Polonium. Mercury. Cyanide. Arsenic.”

“Either you have a morbid fascination, or the BBC hired you to write for Sherlock. Which is it?” Spence folded his arms and eyed Becky.

“It’s my daughter,” Becky said assuredly. “Come up to my office. I’ll show you file drawers filled with research on all sorts of conditions. It’s what I do, Detectives. Since my daughter got sick, all I’ve done is research. I’m trying to find out what’s wrong with her. I assume that’s not a crime.”

Spence and Capshaw exchanged glances.

“No, of course not,” Spence said. “How is Meghan doing? She’s been all over the news.”

“That’s because she’s a prisoner at White. She’s a kidnap victim. Which, by the way, is the only crime I’m aware of that’s been committed here.”

“Point taken,” Capshaw said, shuffling his feet, heavy shoes threatening to mark up the softwood flooring underneath.

“Tomorrow is a big day for us, actually,” Becky said. “Meghan is having a muscle biopsy done, and we have high hopes that it’s going to clear up this whole mess by proving she has mitochondrial disease.”

“Not often you hope someone has a disease,” Spence said.

Becky broke eye contact. “I assume you made no progress in figuring out why Dr. Levine died so suddenly?” she asked.

“No, we haven’t,” Capshaw said.

“I just hope for your sake it wasn’t arsenic or belladonna that did him in,” Spence said. “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Gerard. We’ll leave you be.”

Capshaw nodded his head almost as if he were tipping his hat goodbye.

Becky called for their attention as they turned to go. “Detectives, did you get the DNA on that earring back yet?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Spence said with a sigh. “The lab is always backed up. Hopefully soon.”

Soon, thought Becky, trying her best not to bite her lip. While she was something of an expert at manipulating doctors, Becky could not parlay that particular skill to the police. These detectives could read body language. They’d know she was nervous about something. She needed that biopsy done now, and she needed those results to come back positive. She needed to get Meghan back home. Because soon, very soon, everything was going to get a lot more complicated.





CHAPTER 34





MEGHAN


I was trying not to scream. It’s minor surgery, I told myself. Minor. No big deal. So this procedure was no big deal, or NBD in my texting parlance. But it was a big deal. The only surgery that’s minor, my dad told me before getting his knee scoped for the third time, was surgery done on somebody else.

My breath quivered like I’d just exited the water after a chilly ocean swim.

You can do this, I tried encouraging myself. There is nothing to be afraid of. Think of what Mom’s been going through. Do it for her.