Color of Blood(56)

The interior of the house was well appointed, a blend of Australian casual and English Country. The house was in the fashionable City Beach area, north of Fremantle, and Judy felt a little tug of envy. It was the kind of house and neighborhood she and Phillip had planned for.

“How may I help you?” the woman asked.

Judy took out a notebook and pen. “We had just a couple of questions to ask about your late husband, Mrs. Pearson. I know this is difficult for you, coming so soon after his passing, but the Health Department requires follow up interviews with the families of heart-attack fatalities. It’s a public health survey of the risks associated with heart disease.”

Judy had struggled to create a cover story to explain why she needed to interview Pearson’s wife and had settled on a diabolically simple ruse: the Australian government had a pervasive network of social programs. Numerous bureaucratic initiatives were announced annually, and citizens learned to accept interactions from a Byzantine list of Water Boards, City Councils, and the like.

“I’ve never heard of that program,” Mrs. Pearson said.

“It’s new,” Judy said.

“What kind of information does the Health Department want now?”

“We noticed that the cause of death for your husband was sudden cardiac arrest, and since it is one of the leading causes of death for Australian men, we wanted to ensure that we were providing appropriate public information on good cardiac health.”

Mrs. Pearson’s eyes welled up, and Judy felt a surge of guilt for the visit.

“He did not have heart disease,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “His blood pressure was normal, and his cholesterol levels were normal. Our family physician was stunned when Drew died, but he said sometimes there’s an irregularity in the electrical activity of the heart muscle—or something like that . . .”

She reached across the couch to an end table and pulled a tissue out of a box, dabbing both eyes while she composed herself.

“Well, that’s the question really, Mrs. Pearson. Did your husband complain about his heart or shortness of breath: anything like that?”

“No!” she said. “Never! That is why this entire thing is so difficult to manage. He was in truly good health.”

“Mrs. Pearson,” Judy said, moving quickly, “what happened the day that he perished? Were you with him?”

“No, he was with his mates at the pub, like he was every Thursday evening.”

“So he suffered a heart attack at the pub?”

“No; that would have been preferable,” she said, choking up. “He would be alive today if that had happened. Someone could have given him CPR or called an ambulance.”

“Where was he when he suffered the attack?” Judy pressed.

“In his car; he said good night to his mates, went out to his car, put the key in the ignition, and then,” she paused for a deep breath, “he just died.”

“Did anyone see anything in the parking lot?”

“No one saw him. It was dark, of course.”

“Who found him?”

“One of the bartenders. He was closing up late at night and walked past Drew’s car. He saw him slumped over the steering wheel and thought for a moment that he was drunk, or so he reported. The fellow drove part way home and felt guilty—that’s what he told the police, anyway—so he turned around and came back to the lot and tried to wake him. That’s when he discovered he was . . .”

Judy stayed for a few more minutes and said she did not think it was appropriate to disturb Mrs. Pearson any longer with silly Health Department surveys.

***

“Well,” Judy said, “I suppose it does meet some of the hallmarks of the kind of ‘termination’ you describe, Dennis. Still, there’s no proof, and don’t, for a second, think of trying to exhume the body so you can shave his bloody underarms. That’s perfectly macabre, even from you, Dennis.”

“But let’s just imagine that Pearson was executed,” Dennis said. “No one else but Garder had a motive to do it. It’s likely Pearson was feeding Garder vital information that Garder needed to cover up, so Garder slips back into Australia on a bogus passport—or maybe he never left the country—and waits for Pearson to come out of the pub. Garder would probably have had access to ‘bug juice’ and know the drill for injecting someone. It’s possible he injected Pearson while talking to him outside and then slid him into the car.”

Judy tried hard not to see Dennis as paranoid, but every now and then she couldn’t avoid the thought that he looked for conspiracies everywhere. It worried her vaguely, and she tried to dismiss it.

“All right, Dennis, I’ll grant you that it’s possible, given your scenario, but it’s also possible that Pearson just croaked because his heart gave out—no rogue spies injecting strange substances into Mining Department employees.”

To her surprise, Dennis laughed. “Yes, that’s an option. Still, we know for sure Garder faked his own death, made off with a bundle of cash that belongs to the US Government, and is on the lam. My job is to find him before those other agents do. I’ll show Massey that I can do what a bunch of snotty, college-graduate, pretend-agents can’t do—find a corrupt needle in a haystack.”

***

It was a simple jewelry store display window that did it.