Harmful Intent (39 page)

Noticing the hour, Jeffrey took time out from his chores to call the Medical Examiner's office. He hoped Dr. Warren Seibert would be still there. Jeffrey wanted to ask if he'd been able to identify any toxins.

“No luck so far,” Seibert told him once he got on the line. “I ran samples from Karen Hodges, Gail Shaffer, and even Patty Owen through the gas chromatograph.”

“I appreciate your trying,” Jeffrey said. “But from what you said this morning, I suppose it's not surprising. And just because you haven't found a toxin, doesn't mean that one's not there. Right?”

“Right,” Seibert said. “Even though I didn't find it, it could be hiding in one of the peaks. But I put in a call to a pathologist from California who's been doing some research on batrachotoxin and its family of toxins. Hopefully, he'll be getting back to me to let me know where the stuff would come out of the column. Who knows, maybe he might know where we could get a tagged antitoxin. I did some more reading, and with all the stipulations you've given me, I think batrachotoxin is the prime candidate.”

“Thanks for all your help in this,” Jeffrey said.

“Hey, no problem,” Seibert said. “This is the kind of case that made me go into the field. It's got me all excited. I mean, if your suspicions are right, this is big-time stuff. We'll get a couple of great papers out of it.”

After Jeffrey hung up the phone, Kelly asked, “Any luck?”

Jeffrey shook his head. “He's excited, but he hasn't found
anything. It's so frustrating to be this close but still have no proof of either the crime or the guilt of the main suspect.”

Kelly stepped over and gave Jeffrey a hug. “Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of it one way or another.”

“I sincerely hope so,” Jeffrey said. “And I hope we do it before Devlin or the police catch up with me. I think we better go ahead and make this call to Trent Harding.”

“After dinner,” Kelly said. “First things first. Meanwhile, how about opening some wine? I think we could use a little.”

Jeffrey got out a bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator and took off the foil seal. “If this Trent turns out to be the person responsible, I'd love to find out about his childhood. There has to be some kind of explanation, even if it's irrational.”

“The problem is he looks so normal,” Kelly said. “I mean, his eyes are pretty intense, but maybe we're reading that into them. Otherwise he looks like the fellow who was the captain of the football team in my high school class.”

“What bothers me most is the indiscriminate nature of the killings,” Jeffrey said as he got out the corkscrew. “Killing another person is bad enough, but tampering with drugs and killing randomly is so sick it's hard for me to conceive of it.”

“If he's the culprit, I'm going to wonder how he can function so well in the rest of his life,” Kelly said.

With a grunt, Jeffrey popped the cork on the wine bottle. “Especially becoming a nurse,” he said. “He has to have had some altruistic motivations. Nurses more than doctors have to be motivated by a desire to help people in a true, hands-on manner. And he's got to be intelligent. If the contaminant turns out to be something like this batrachotoxin, its choice is diabolically ingenious. I wouldn't have ever thought of a contaminant if it hadn't been for Chris's suspicions.”

“That's kind of you to say,” Kelly said.

“Well, it happens to be the truth,” Jeffrey said. “But if Trent is the guilty one, I'm certainly not going to admit that I'll ever understand his motivations. Psychiatry was never one of my strong points.”

“If you're finished opening the wine, how about setting the table?” Kelly asked. She bent over and turned on the oven.

The meal was delicious, and though Jeffrey hadn't realized he was hungry, he ate more than his share of the breaded Dover sole and steamed broccoli.

Taking a second helping of salad, he said, “If Seibert is not
able to isolate a toxin from any of the current bodies, we talked about exhuming Henry Noble.”

“He's been dead and buried for almost two years,” Kelly said.

Jeffrey shrugged his shoulders. “I know it sounds a bit ghoulish, but the fact that he lived for a week after his adverse reaction might be helpful. A toxin like this batrachotoxin gets concentrated in the liver and is excreted in the bile. If it's what Harding used, the best place to find the stuff may be in Henry Noble's bile.”

“But two years after the fact?”

“Seibert said that if the body had been reasonably embalmed and perhaps buried in a shady spot, it would still be traceable.”

“Yuck,” Kelly said. “Can't we talk about something else, at least until we've finished dinner? Let's get back to what we're going to say to Trent Harding.”

“I think we have to be direct. Let him know what we suspect. And I can't help but think we can use those Polaroids to our advantage. He can't want pictures like that to get into circulation.”

“What if it just makes him mad?” Kelly said, recalling Harding's angry hammer throw. The roof of her car had a dent in it the size of a baseball.

“I hope it does. If he gets angry, maybe he'll say something to give himself away.”

“Like threaten you?” Kelly said doubtfully. “ ‘I've killed before, I'll kill again.' That sort of thing?”

“I know it's a long shot,” Jeffrey said, “but do you have any better suggestions?”

Kelly shook her head. Jeffrey's idea was worth a try. There certainly wasn't anything to lose at this point.

“I'll bring an extension in here,” she said. “There's a phone jack over by the TV set.” She went to get it.

Jeffrey tried to prepare himself for the call. He tried to put himself in Trent's position. If he was innocent, he'd probably hang up immediately. If he was guilty, then he'd be nervous and want to try to find out what the caller knew. But it was all pure guesswork. If Trent stayed on the phone, it certainly wouldn't qualify as proof of guilt.

Carrying a dusty red telephone, Kelly returned to the kitchen. “Somehow I thought it would be fitting if we used the phone from Chris's office,” she said. She pulled out the TV stand, bent over, and plugged in the jack. Picking up the phone, she made sure there was a dial tone.

“You want to use this one or the one in the kitchen?” she asked Jeffrey.

“The one in the kitchen,” Jeffrey said, not that it made much difference. This was going to be one tough call, no matter where he made it.

Jeffrey pulled out the slip of paper Polly Arnsdorf had given him, with Trent's phone number and address. He dialed Harding's number, then motioned to Kelly to pick up as soon as it started to ring.

The phone rang three times before Trent answered. His voice was a lot softer than Jeffrey had anticipated. He said, “Hello . . . Matt?” before Jeffrey had a chance to say anything.

“This isn't Matt,” Jeffrey said.

“Who is it?” Harding demanded. His voice turned cold, even angry.

“An admirer of your work.”

“Who?”

“Jeffrey Rhodes.”

“Do I know you?”

“I'm sure you do,” Jeffrey said. “I was an anesthesiologist at Boston Memorial, but I was put on leave after a problem occurred. A problem in the OR. Does that ring any bells?”

There was a pause. Then Harding raged. “What the hell you calling me for? I don't work at Boston Memorial anymore. I quit there almost a year ago.”

“I know,” Jeffrey said. “Then you went to St. Joseph's and you've just recently quit there. I know a bit about you, Trent. And what you've been up to.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Patty Owen, Henry Noble, Karen Hodges,” Jeffrey said. “Those names ring any bells?”

“I don't know what you're talking about, man.”

“Oh, sure you do, Trent,” Jeffrey said. “You're being modest, that's all. Plus I can imagine you don't want many people to know. After all, you went to all that trouble to choose just the right toxin. You know what I mean?”

“Hey, man, I don't know what you mean. And I haven't the faintest idea why you're calling me.”

“You do know who I am, don't you, Trent?” Jeffrey asked.

“Yeah, I know you,” Trent said. “I remember you from Boston Memorial and I read about you in the papers.”

“I thought so,” Jeffrey said. “You read all about me. Only
maybe it won't be too long before people are reading about you, one way or another.”

“What do you mean?”

Jeffrey knew he was upsetting him, and the fact that Trent was still on the phone was encouraging. “These things have a way of getting found out,” Jeffrey continued. “But I'm sure I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Trent said. “You've got the wrong guy.”

“Oh, no,” Jeffrey said. “I've got the right guy. Like I said, one way or the other you're going to make the news. I've got some pictures that would look great in print. Let's say copies of them spread all over Boston City. Your colleagues there could be treated to a whole new side of you.”

“What pictures are you talking about?” Trent demanded.

“They were a treat for me,” Jeffrey said, ignoring him, “and quite a surprise.”

“I still don't know what you're talking about,” Trent said.

“Polaroids,” Jeffrey said. “Color glossies of you and not much else. Check your bureau drawer, right by your sack of pot. I think you'll find you're missing a few photos.”

Trent muttered a few curses. Jeffrey thought he heard him put down the phone. In a minute Trent was back, shouting into the receiver. “So it was you in here, huh, Rhodes. Well, I'm warning you—I want those pictures back.”

“I'm sure you do,” Jeffrey said. “They are fairly . . . revealing. Great lingerie. I liked the pink teddy the best.”

Kelly gave Jeffrey a disgusted look.

“What is it you want?” Trent asked.

“I'd like to get together,” Jeffrey said. “Meet you in person.” It was clear to Jeffrey he wouldn't be able to draw anything out of Trent over the phone.

“And what if I don't want to meet you?”

“That's your prerogative,” Jeffrey said. “But if we aren't able to get together, I'm afraid I just can't vouch for where all the copies of these photos might end up.”

“That's blackmail.”

“Very good,” Jeffrey said. “I'm glad we understand one another. Now, do we have an appointment or not?”

“Sure,” Trent said, suddenly changing his tone. “Why don't you come over. I know I don't need to tell you where I live.”

Kelly waved her arms and mouthed the word No.

“Much as I like the idea of something up close and personal,”
Jeffrey said, “I don't think I'd feel all that welcome in your apartment. I'd feel more comfortable with people around.”

“Name the place,” Trent said.

Jeffrey could tell he really had Harding now. He thought for a moment. Where was a safe, public place they could meet? He remembered his wandering down by the Charles River. There were always plenty of people and lots of open space. “How about the Esplanade, down by the Charles River?” Jeffrey suggested.

“How will I recognize you?” Trent asked.

“Don't worry,” Jeffrey said. “I'll recognize you. Even with your clothes on. But I tell you what. Look for me on the stage of the Hatch Shell. How does that sound?”

“Name a time,” Trent said. He could barely contain his rage.

“How about nine-thirty?”

“I assume you'll be alone.”

“I don't have too many friends these days,” Jeffrey said. “And my mother's busy.”

Harding didn't laugh. “I just hope you haven't been spreading your cockamamy stories to anyone else. I won't tolerate any slander.”

I'm sure you won't, thought Jeffrey. “See you on the Esplanade.” He hung up before Trent could say another word.

“Are you crazy?” Kelly fumed once they'd hung up. “You can't go meet that lunatic. That wasn't part of the plan.”

“I had to improvise,” Jeffrey said. “The guy's smart. I wasn't making any headway. If I talk to him in person I'll be able to see his face, judge his reactions. There'll be a much better chance he'll implicate himself.”

“The guy is a maniac. He was just chasing you with a hammer.”

“That was a different circumstance,” Jeffrey said. “He caught me in his apartment. He had a right to be angry.”

Kelly looked to the ceiling in astonishment. “And now he's defending this serial killer?”

“He wants his pictures,” Jeffrey said. “He won't do anything to me until he has them. And I won't even take them. I'll leave them here.”

“I think we should go back to the idea of digging up Henry Noble. That sounds like a Sunday picnic compared with a face-to-face meeting with this madman.”

“Finding a toxin in Henry Noble would solve Chris's case and clear his name, but it wouldn't implicate Trent. Trent is the key to this whole grisly affair.”

“But it will be dangerous—and don't tell me again that nothing will go wrong. I know better.”

“I'll admit there is some danger. I think it would be foolish to think otherwise. At least we'll be meeting in public. I don't think Trent will try anything in a crowd.”

“You're forgetting one big difference. You're thinking rationally. Harding isn't.”

“He's been a very shrewd killer so far,” Jeffrey reminded her.

“And now he's a very desperate one. Who knows what he'll try?”

Jeffrey pulled her to him. “Look,” he said. “Seibert's coming up with nothing. I've got to try. It's our only hope. And I don't have much time.”

“And just how am I supposed to eavesdrop? Even if you get lucky and Harding confesses, you'll still be without your precious proof.”