FORGET ME NOT (Mark Kane Mysteries Book One) (13 page)

“I’m seeing her when she’s got the DNA test
finished; but if Jill says she died of arsenic poisoning then
that’s what she died from.”

“So it rather changes the nature of the
investigation then?” Lucy said. “Do you think the police should be
involved?”

“No, though it may be a matter for the
coroner in due course.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Well it certainly widens the scope of the
investigation. Gloria was already showing symptoms of dementia when
Susan showed up. Susan denies that she knew that Gloria had made
her a beneficiary in her will, but I find that hard to believe in
the circumstances. Gloria could have lived for years longer.
Someone decided to hurry along nature, and Susan’s the main
suspect. Whether or not Susan is Gloria’s real daughter, murder is
still murder. Poisoning by arsenic was very prevalent in the
nineteenth century. The French referred to it as ‘
poudre de
succession
’. The English translation is inheritance powder.
Certainly seems rather apt in this case.”

“But would she have had the opportunity?”

“Arsenic can kill quickly given a high enough
dose, but it would show up too easily in any post mortem
examination; but if small doses are given over a period of time
then the arsenic accumulates in the body tissues until gradually
the body can no longer cope. Susan visited Gloria a number of times
after she became incapacitated, and she was alone with Gloria on
those occasions. She would only have had to slip some powder in her
food, and the nurse used to go outside when Susan was there; for a
smoke.”

“I told you smoking kills.”

I eyed Lucy menacingly.

“Arsenic is surprisingly easy to get hold of,
and it’s tasteless and odorless so no-one would know or even
suspect. I mean even the doctor who wrote the death certificate
didn’t guess.”

“Isn’t that surprising?”

“Not really, no. You tend to only find what
you’re looking for. The symptoms that Gloria had at the time of her
death were apparently consistent with the natural progression of
her demented condition; although even the doctor remarked that her
deterioration was rather rapid.”

“So now, whether Susan is the genuine
daughter or not doesn’t matter. She’s not going to be eligible to
receive her bequest if she murdered Gloria. Why not make it a
police matter?”

“It’s not that simple. There’s no evidence
that Susan murdered her. She had opportunity and, if she knew about
the will, she had motive. Motive and opportunity don’t amount to
proof or anything like it. Susan claims she didn’t even know about
the will. I tend not to believe her, but that’s only my own
opinion. The real point is that she was not the only one who had
the opportunity, and she may not be the only one who had a motive,
either.”

“Who else could it have been?”

“There are several possibilities, although I
can probably narrow it down a bit. There were nurses from an agency
who prepared her meals. It may seem rather far-fetched but there
have been many cases where multiple deaths have been caused
purposely by medical practitioners, nurses or carers
– even doctors,
for no obvious reason whatsoever.”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“I assure you, the list is long. Ever heard
of Jane Toppan, she killed over thirty people in Massachusetts
General right here in Boston? That was a long time ago but there’ve
been a surprising number of similar cases recently too; Kristen
Gilbert for example who killed her patients at the Veterans’ Centre
in Northampton.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist or psychologist. I’m
just saying that you can’t necessarily exclude them. Of course it’s
not likely, I accept that. Then there are Greg’s two sons. One is
married so there’s a daughter-in-law too. I think they all visited
her regularly albeit briefly in her final weeks; and they stood to
inherit too.”

“What about Greg himself?”

“Obviously he can’t be disregarded either,
although by all accounts he doted on his wife. He didn’t need money
and doesn’t seem to care about it much either. Of course he was
under a lot of emotional pressure, but it’s difficult to see what
he had to gain. As a matter of fact he confided something to me
today which has taken on a new relevance in the light of this
latest information.”

“Are you going to share it with me?”

“He has a lady friend who wants to take the
friendship to a new level.”

“Do tell.”

“Her name’s Gwen. He employed her as a
part-time housekeeper when Gloria was going downhill. They became
friends of sorts. It seems that she wanted, or at least now wants,
to settle down with him. She’s a divorcee. According to Greg all
the momentum for this idea has come from her. He says that he had
no inkling that she was thinking along those lines until recently,
but In view of what I now know I wonder when she got the idea.”

“So what do you plan to do next?”

“In order to make a case against Susan it’s
necessary to exclude the others as possible suspects. I’ll need to
interview the two sons and the daughter-in-law, but I don’t want to
alert them to the true reason. That would probably defeat the
purpose of the exercise. I’ll need to run it past Greg first. I’m
not looking forward to that, but I need his co-operation to get to
the sons. I can interview them under the pretext of finding out
their views about Susan. I don’t suppose Greg will have any
objection. The purpose is to exclude his family in order to
strengthen the case against Susan who obviously remains the most
likely candidate, although I’ll keep an open mind as always. I
suppose I’ll have to add Gwen as a possible suspect too.”

“So you suspect everybody and you suspect
nobody,” Lucy said in a passable imitation of Inspector Clouseau.
“That’ll keep you busy for a while. Just as well – the office
phones aren’t exactly red hot.”

“Well there’s always Colonel Saunders.”

“Who’s he?”

“Gloria’s attorney. He’s not really a colonel
– that’s just the nickname I’ve made up for him. He said he might
be able to put some work my way sometime.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Lucy said.

The mention of Saunders’ name conjured up a
mental image of him when he found out about the arsenic: “What a
nightmare.”

Monday was another dreary day. I had nothing
to do except wait for the DNA result and ponder about murder, so I
went out for a stroll and a coffee and to collect my car from the
shop. It would have been an understatement to say that I wasn’t
looking forward to breaking this news to Greg. His wife’s death
after a prolonged and unpleasant illness; virtual estrangement of
his children for reasons that were not his fault; a possible
fraudulent claimant to his wife’s estate. Now this. I didn’t say
“what’s next?” I didn’t want to tempt providence.

I was having doubts as well. I often had
doubts partway through an investigation, when it gradually sank in
that I was getting nowhere fast and didn’t know which junction to
take next. Unlike a private investigator on TV I didn’t have a
script.

I wondered whether I’d ever be able to
determine who killed Gloria. Even though Susan was obviously the
prime suspect I still only had motive and opportunity, and even
motive was doubtful unless I could prove that she knew about the
will. As an illegitimate daughter she would have no claim on
intestacy. She could only benefit if she was specifically made a
beneficiary. I wasn’t making promising progress on establishing her
identity either. She might be a fraud and a killer and yet still
walk away with half of Gloria’s estate, which rattled my
self-esteem because I was convinced that she’d been playing what
she perceived as a clever game with me; a game in which she held
all the cards. As for Greg’s sons, whose names I didn’t even know
yet, all I knew for sure was that they probably had opportunity.
Whether either of them had a motive was something I had yet to find
out.

As if in reflection of my mood the clouds
were rolling in again. I decided to wait until later to tell Greg;
perhaps wait until tomorrow. I wanted to get my thoughts straight
on how best to continue. I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t
just prevaricating, but I probably was.

I had to admit, to myself at least if not to
Lucy, that the prospect of getting out into the suburban peace and
quiet was preferable to my old city apartment. The yard really made
all the difference, and the porch. I pictured myself on the porch
at sunset, if there was going to be one, and then remembered that
I’d bought a quart of whiskey which was still unopened. That
cheered me up considerably as left the coffee shop and went to
collect my car.

Lucy rang from the office after I got home
and asked it was okay to stop searching for stories about the
missing plane Idaho. Since she had exhausted every avenue of
enquiry and since I was practically certain that Susan had simply
invented it I told her it was. I would need to bounce some ideas
off Lucy when she got home so I called her again and invited myself
round to her place for dinner. I’d take it easy for the rest of the
day and exercise my mental synapses with some assistance from Jack
Daniels. He and I had worked near miracles on cases in the past so
perhaps he’d give me some ideas. Lucy called it my medicine.

I spent most of the afternoon on the front
porch with my bottle of Tennessee whiskey to loosen up my thinking.
As the afternoon drifted by and the rain clouds showed that they
were only teasing I conceived a plan. I contemplated what approach
Jill might have if she were a private investigator instead of a
chemist. She wouldn’t jump to premature conclusions. I realized
that I was allowing myself to be too blinkered in my approach.
Sure, Susan was a suspect, but I couldn’t exclude Greg’s sons,
maybe even Sally the daughter-in-law, without at least taking the
trouble to speak with them. I had to keep an open mind at this
stage unclouded by any subconscious prejudice or pre-conceived
ideas. By late afternoon I’d resolved to withhold the arsenic
bombshell from Greg for the time being. If either of Greg’s boys
had a motive for murder their knowledge about Jill’s findings would
only make them cautious about opening up to me if they had anything
to hide, and I wasn’t confident that Greg could be relied on to
keep it from his children, and anyway I couldn’t even exclude him
as a possible suspect. I went back inside for a shower to freshen
up before dinner. Better brush my teeth too. It wouldn’t mask all
the booze, but it should be sufficient to let me get away with
it.

Lucy surpassed herself with a chicken curry
with basmati rice and when we finished we washed the dishes. She
washed the dishes, I watched her wash the dishes. The succulent
film of the curried chicken on my palate was still working its
magic.

“Do you think it’s ethical not to tell Greg
about the poison?” Lucy said. “After all Gloria was his wife and
he’s your client. Aren’t you supposed to keep him informed about
the developments?”

“I always make it clear to my clients that I
need to run my investigations the way I think best. You don’t tell
your doctor what treatment you need or what to prescribe for an
ailment.”

“I haven’t been to a doctor for years,” Lucy
said. “I eat nourishing food, get plenty of exercise, drink only in
moderation
” (the emphasized word was accompanied by a pause
and a look that made me know I’d been found out), “and I don’t
smoke.”

There was no answer to that, or at least no
point in any answer to that, although I was tempted the raise the
matter of the microwave meal.

“That was an analogy; you’re not supposed to
take it literally.”

She tossed her head and produced an
exaggerated “Huh”.

“Anyway, I’m going to tell Greg in my own
time, but right now I’m playing my cards close to my chest. I don’t
want anybody knowing about it at the moment, not Greg, his family
or Susan. Suppose I told Susan and she decided to head off into the
sunset with her life packed in the trunk of her Plymouth? That
would dampen the investigation a bit; I’d probably never be able to
find her again.”

“You could get her on the FBI’s most wanted
list. She’d be easy enough to spot in a car that color.”

I’d told Lucy about the lime green
Plymouth.

“Why would anybody want a car that color
anyway?”

“Not everybody has the same taste Lucy. Take
me for example…no forget I said that. Please don’t take me; at
least not now, I’ve got work to do.”

Lucy gave me a look of simpering pity but
said nothing.

“Did I mention that Susan’s given her car a
name?” I said.

“That’s weird. What name’s she given it?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t say. But it’s not
so weird. Ships are given names. I’m told that in England people
even give their houses names.”

“You should give your car a name. I should
think Methuselah would be appropriate, given its age,” Lucy
said.”

“Methuselah is a man’s name. Inanimate
objects are invariably given female names, like boats…or
hurricanes.”

“Well I hope you’re not going to name it
after me,” Lucy said.

“I wouldn’t dream of giving you that honor,”
I said.

Lucy tossed her head and raised her eyebrows
at me.

“So that’s settled then,” I said, “unless
you’ve got any bright ideas?”

“You’re the gumshoe, I’m just the window
dressing.”

“Lucy,” I said, “you’re my secretary.”

We slumped down in front of the TV. “There’s
a good movie tonight,” Lucy said, “‘Moving Target’. Maybe we should
watch it so you can pick up some ideas on how a real private
detective operates.”