Read The Nitrogen Murder Online
Authors: Camille Minichino
Tags: #California, #Lamerino; Gloria (Fictitious Character), #Missing Persons, #Security Classification (Government Documents), #Weddings, #Women Physicists, #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Women Sleuths, #Reference
The Nitrogen Murder (14 page)
I thought Rose would have placed the gladioli closer to the ends of the cherrywood casket and would have chosen a smaller, more discreet cross for the curtain behind the tableau. Hutton’s cross—or maybe it belonged to the Hall family—was enormous, an elaborate gold affair with sparkles and flourishes on each arm.
Both Rose and Frank would have approved of the music, fitting the deceased. The Galiganis had been known to accommodate everything from grand opera for the late president of the Sons of Italy to band music for a teenage member of the Revere High marching band who died in a drowning accident.
For Tanisha Hall and her family, soft gospel music filled the room at Hutton’s. Here and there a row of guests swayed to the soothing rhythm, one or two mouthing the words.
I need Thee every hour, in joy or pain
;
come quickly and abide, or life is vain
.
;
come quickly and abide, or life is vain
.
I heard a tired sigh from Dana as she preceded us into the parlor, as if she’d just single-handedly lifted someone as heavy as me onto a gurney. She walked down the long aisle toward Tanisha’s open casket and took a place on the maroon velvet kneeler.
Tanisha’s face appeared natural in death, and I heard Frank Galigani’s approving voice in my mind. A jeweled, multicolored striped hat covered the top of her head; her braids were draped over her shoulders, falling on a bright orange, black, and green tunic top. Tanisha looked colorful and at peace, but mostly, she looked very young.
I guessed Tanisha Hall was Catholic, though I couldn’t have said for sure that other Christian denominations didn’t use kneelers. I pictured Protestants more like Martin Luther, standing strong, taking on the kneeling Roman Catholic hierarchy.
Matt, Elaine, and I followed Dana from the kneeler to the front row of visitors, where a thin, dark-skinned woman with straight black hair sat in an overstuffed armchair, the kind of chair the Galiganis reserved for the principal mourners. In her lap was a small girl, perhaps three or four, in a loose navy blue dress and tights. Tanisha’s mother and daughter, Marne and Rachel Hall. The ends of Rachel’s neat braids were folded into dark blue beads.
As Dana approached Marne, the woman stood, reaching eye level with Dana. Dana had said Tanisha’s mother was only forty, having given birth to Tanisha as a teenager, but tonight Marne looked every bit someone’s grandmother. She bit her lip; her fist tightened around a white handkerchief.
I waited for the tender embrace, the soft words, comforting pats on the back. Instead, Marne put her hands on her hips and thrust her face close to Dana’s.
“You have a nerve coming in here,” she said. Marne’s voice was low but sharp, her attitude unmistakably irate. Rachel had slipped off her lap and now leaned against a bent, elderly woman in the next seat.
Dana stepped back. We followed suit, nearly tripping over each other in the awkwardly narrow space between Tanisha’s casket and the front row of chairs. In the dim light I couldn’t see the expression on Dana’s face, but I imagined she was surprised at the angry reception. The soft music continued—
Thou art the potter; I am the clay
—and it appeared that only a few people were aware of Marne’s hostility to Dana.
Thou art the potter; I am the clay
—and it appeared that only a few people were aware of Marne’s hostility to Dana.
“What—” Dana began.
Marne kept her hands in place, on her hips. “Did you bring the police here, like you sent them to my house?” She said “he-ah” for “here,” as I used to, before I lost my Boston accent, and she stretched out “police” until it was a long hiss. I glanced back at Matt, experiencing a fleeting moment of worry that she’d see through his civilian clothes and recognize him as the pohleesss.
“I didn’t send—” Dana sputtered. She put her hand on her heart, ready to utter an oath.
“Not what I heard. They about tore my house apart. Rachel was there. And her friend, for a sleepover. How could you do that?”
Before Dana could answer, if, indeed, she had a response, a large black man in a dark suit stepped in and gently took Marne’s arms from their stiff akimbo position. Another black man handed her an opened bottle of water. I had the useless thought that Rose would have had a crystal glass at the ready.
“Trouble, Mrs. Hall?” the first man asked, guiding her back to her seat. He turned his head toward Dana, his thick neck suggesting considerable muscle mass at his disposal.
Marne relaxed her posture but still glared at Dana. “No trouble. This lady and her friends are leaving.”
Matt and Elaine and I filed around to the side aisle, dismissed, not stopping to speak to Marne or other family members in the front row. I saw that most of the guests had become aware of the drama. They strained their necks, shook their heads, and whispered.
I had a rare feeling of alienation from my surroundings.
I had a rare feeling of alienation from my surroundings.
Wounded and weary, help me I pray
, the music continued.
, the music continued.
I couldn’t imagine what Dana must be going through.
I glanced back at Tanisha. She seemed at peace, unlike the rest of us.
D
ana felt confused and dizzy. Her eyes stung and her stomach hurt. She’d had nothing to eat all day except some crumbs of biscotti to please Elaine, and they weren’t sitting well. And now Gloria was hovering over her as she leaned back on the couch in Hutton’s lobby. Elaine was off in the corner, on her cell, probably trying to reach Dad. At least Hutton’s goons hadn’t forced them outside the building.
ana felt confused and dizzy. Her eyes stung and her stomach hurt. She’d had nothing to eat all day except some crumbs of biscotti to please Elaine, and they weren’t sitting well. And now Gloria was hovering over her as she leaned back on the couch in Hutton’s lobby. Elaine was off in the corner, on her cell, probably trying to reach Dad. At least Hutton’s goons hadn’t forced them outside the building.
What had gotten into Marne? Dana had barely heard the words. Something about sending the police to Marne and Tanisha’s home. She wanted to go back into the parlor and take Marne aside, find out what was going on.
A dozen questions about her current state were being pummeled at her.
Do you need some air?
Are you dizzy?
Do you feel nauseous?
“I’m okay,” she said to no one in particular, hoping to cover all the questions.
Dana took a deep breath and a sip of the water Matt had miraculously produced. It seemed years since she’d signed the guest book, years since she’d looked at Tanisha in the casket.
She’d nearly fainted on the kneeler, even before Marne lashed out at her. Seeing Tanisha like that, so beautiful. But so dead. Dana had always admired how Tanisha could pull off the
head-turning, flamboyant look. Next to Tanisha, Dana felt boring, with her middling-brown hair, only occasionally brought to life when she bothered to add a little red; her drab wardrobe; her uninspired accessories. But Tanisha had a way about her. She’d sashay into a room, wearing wild jungle-print tights or bright red shoes with enormous platform heels, full of confidence and optimism.
head-turning, flamboyant look. Next to Tanisha, Dana felt boring, with her middling-brown hair, only occasionally brought to life when she bothered to add a little red; her drab wardrobe; her uninspired accessories. But Tanisha had a way about her. She’d sashay into a room, wearing wild jungle-print tights or bright red shoes with enormous platform heels, full of confidence and optimism.
Dana’s head hurt, but she tried to focus on what might have upset Marne. Somehow she must have found out about the mix-up on the report and thought Dana really accused Tanisha of being a druggie. But Dana couldn’t believe the cops would bother unless they thought Tanisha was a dealer. And there was no way they could twist Dana’s words into that.
“What happened in there?” Dana heard.
A familiar voice. Her boss. Julia Strega had joined Elaine, Gloria, and Matt. Tom Stewart was right behind her. Tom and Julia must have already been in the parlor when Dana arrived.
“We wondered if you’d even show up, after … you know,” Tom said.
“No, I don’t know,” Dana said, alert now. Leave it to Tom to get her juices going, queasy or not.
“We heard the story on the local news this morning, plus all the gossip.”
Dana hated Tom’s stupid grin and bobbing Adam’s apple and the way he always acted as though he had some secret you were dying to know. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what the story was. Luckily, Julia was aware of the ongoing tension between Dana and Tom and paired them only when she had no other choice.
“Could you get me some more water?” Dana asked Matt.
Tom screwed up his mouth, defeated.
“Sure,” Matt said. His look was understanding, but Dana knew he wondered why she had let herself get drawn into this infantile game.
As Dana would have guessed, Gloria took Tom’s bait.
“What was on the news that we should have heard?” she asked.
Julia broke in to answer. “It was about the search of Tanisha’s house.” Julia’s hair looked especially red today, a poor match to the peach-colored shirt under her jacket. “They, uh, found incriminating stuff.”
“Heroin,” Elaine said, sounding in the know, holding her cell phone in a position to be answered immediately.
“Nuh-uh,” Tom said, clearly pleased with himself. “Supplies.”
“Supplies?” Gloria asked.
“Medical supplies,” Julia said. “And meds.”
“The ones that were stolen,” Tom added. His thin lips disappeared into his cheeks.
Tanisha had the stolen medical supplies?
Tom licked his lips, his tongue just missing the pimples at the corners of his mouth. It turned Dana’s stomach.
Dana ran her hand across her forehead; her palms were sweaty. She watched the room spin in front of her, as if she were in the middle of the centrifuge in her college biology lab. Flowers, chairs, people, purses all flew out from her. Elaine, Gloria, Matt, Julia, Tom, flung to the edge of her vision. Colors mixed, becoming white; the music faded.
Pass me not, O gentle Savior; hear my humble cry
.
.
T
he last person who’d passed out in front of me was Matt, early in his cancer treatment program. That ordeal came rushing to my mind as I saw Dana, white as the covers of Elaine’s wedding books, slump to the side, her elbow landing on the arm of the couch, as if she’d made an effort not to fall to the floor.
he last person who’d passed out in front of me was Matt, early in his cancer treatment program. That ordeal came rushing to my mind as I saw Dana, white as the covers of Elaine’s wedding books, slump to the side, her elbow landing on the arm of the couch, as if she’d made an effort not to fall to the floor.
Julia Strega took over. No one else tried to help, deferring to the expertise of the veteran EMT. Even Tom stepped back, his movements edgy, more nervous than his own emergency services training would dictate. I wondered if his petulance around Dana might be due to some unrequited affection for her.
In the space of a few seconds, Julia had loosened Dana’s clothing, thrown her own jacket over Dana’s upper body, and held Dana’s limp wrist in position to take her pulse. I wondered idly if Valley Med’s owner had driven to the service in an ambulance. Maybe she drove one on her daily errands. I tried picturing the small, wiry woman behind the wheel of a massive, screaming van.
Elaine asked, “Where’s Phil?” in an exasperated whisper, as if her fiance should have been at his adult daughter’s side. Her side, was more likely what she was feeling.
Julia’s words to Dana were inaudible, except for their soothing rhythm. When she stood up to address us, she seemed satisfied with her impromptu patient.
“She’s breathing fine, coming around,” Julia said. “Temporary blackout. She’s probably dehydrated.” Close up, past the red hair, Julia looked my age. I pulled at a strand of my unruly, graying waves and reminded myself that it was possible, if I so desired, to revisit the black hair of my youth.
Matt, who’d left the group when Dana fainted, now handed Julia a bottle of water. “The ambulance is here,” he said.
So Matt had been busy; he hadn’t left the scene from squeamishness as I nearly had. I didn’t often get to see Matt’s emergency skills at work. I allowed myself a pleasant moment, imagining Matt in his uniform days, learning and administering first aid.
Dana was awake enough to try to reject the gurney ride, but by then two middle-aged men—Hutton Funeral Home employees, by their stiff dress and manner—had arrived and reinforced the notion that Dana needed formal medical attention. I saw fears of liability in the wringing of their hands.
In a massive regrouping outside the building, Julia and Elaine (by special concession, Julia said) rode in the ambulance with Dana; Tom was to drive Julia’s car; and Matt would drive himself and me in Elaine’s Saab. We’d all end up at the nearest hospital in San Leandro.
As the red-and-white Valley Med ambulance pulled away, I had a better idea.
“You and Julia came together, right?” I asked Tom.
Tom nodded, bouncing from one foot to the other, his muscular arms waving slightly, in time with his head. A whole-body nod.
“Why don’t I drive you home, Tom? You don’t really need to go to the hospital, do you?” A bright, generous offer from me, followed by a spirited affirmative shake of Tom’s head. “Matt, you can take Julia’s car. I’ll take Tom home in the Saab and then meet you at the hospital.”
Matt’s smirk told me he saw right through my tactic. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, as we exchanged keys.
I couldn’t wait to get to know Tom Stewart better.
I let Tom tell me his life story The only son of a doctor; three older sisters; grew up in rural Arnold, California; award-winning quarterback in high school. He explained how the quarterback had to be very bright, as so many male colleagues had tried to convince me over the years. “
Bright” is not playing a game requiring body armor,
I’d respond.
Bright” is not playing a game requiring body armor,
I’d respond.
Tom shared with me how he always wanted to be in a helping profession and had thought of med school himself.
“But, too much time and money,” he said. “And I wanted to, you know, be able to get in there and do my job.” Tom mimed tossing a football for emphasis.
“No waiting in the dugout for Tom Stewart,” I said, buying into his sports metaphors.
“That’s baseball,” he said.
“I knew that.”
As we shared a laugh, Tom seemed to me a sweet, pathetic creature, and I wondered why Dana disliked him so intensely.
We rolled west along San Leandro streets toward the I-880 freeway and Tom’s home. Head for Jack London Square, he’d told me. I apologized to Tom for the fitful starts I made after traffic lights and stop signs. I hadn’t driven Elaine’s car in a long time.
“I’ll bet you’re a great driver,” I said, “having to maneuver an ambulance all day. I’d never be able to do that.”
Too obvious
? I wondered. But Tom’s proud expression said I was doing fine.
Too obvious
? I wondered. But Tom’s proud expression said I was doing fine.
“You get used to it. The worst part is backing down a long driveway or something, but I’m pretty good in reverse, except one time, I hit a rock, and my partner in the back didn’t shut the door good, and all these rubber gloves fell out and onto the ground.”
Ah, the segue I’d been waiting for. “Say, what about those medical supplies?” I said, clicking my tongue. “They actually found them in Tanisha’s house? Rubber gloves and things?”
“Ha,” Tom said, “not rubber gloves, you better believe. Think needles. And meds. All kinds of meds, from nursing homes
mostly. You’d be surprised at how often they use morphine in those facilities, for any kind of pain, for mechanical ventilation, for respiratory failure, for arthritis. You’ll even see Roofies. You know, the date-rape drug.”
mostly. You’d be surprised at how often they use morphine in those facilities, for any kind of pain, for mechanical ventilation, for respiratory failure, for arthritis. You’ll even see Roofies. You know, the date-rape drug.”
I knew. “I’m surprised. Morphine is at least legal. But Rohypnol? Why would a nursing home have the date-rape drug?”
“They use it as a mild anesthetic, like maybe pre-op, or even a cure for insomnia.”
“So, someone”—I did not say “Tanisha”—“steals a nursing home drug and then sells it to someone else?”
“Yep. There’s been lots of other stuff missing for a few months now, here and there, and everyone was wondering. EMTs always get blamed, you know, and I guess this time they were right.”
“Why would she steal the meds? Is it that easy to sell them, do you think?”
I caught Tom’s face, raised eyebrows and crooked grin. “Hello? There’s certainly a market out there.”
“Really?” From a wide-eyed old lady “Where?”
Tom made a sputtering sound to go with his
duh
attitude. “You can go to any street corner in Oakland, for one thing.”
duh
attitude. “You can go to any street corner in Oakland, for one thing.”
“That seems dangerous, and not very efficient. Walking around from one corner to the next selling … what? Roofies?”
“There’s also morphine, remember—a standard supply in a SNF.”
“A sniff?”
“S-N-F.” Tom spelled it out. “Skilled nursing facility. Plus you’ll have psychotherapeutics, hypnotics, lots of stuff.”
“Wouldn’t there be a more organized way to distribute all these meds?”
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t say.”
I wondered.
Matt called my cell phone to tell me Dana had already been released from the hospital. She’d been given a shot of nutrients
and told to take care of herself. The consensus was that we needed to take her home to Elaine’s and give her a decent meal. The Italian solution.
and told to take care of herself. The consensus was that we needed to take her home to Elaine’s and give her a decent meal. The Italian solution.
“How was it with Tom, by the way?” Matt asked, as if he’d feared for the young man who’d been in my clutches.
“Interesting,” I said, glancing over at Tom.
I’m still with him
, said my tone, but one look at Tom, his head leaning on the side window, either nodding off or pretending to, told me I’d gotten all I was going to get from him for now.
, said my tone, but one look at Tom, his head leaning on the side window, either nodding off or pretending to, told me I’d gotten all I was going to get from him for now.
As far as I knew, Elaine Cody had no Italian blood, but you couldn’t tell from the meal she’d prepared. Pasta with a clam sauce, a side dish of sauteed zucchini and mushrooms, and large amounts of focaccia, olive oil, and salad. Maybe it had been Matt Gennaro’s influence in the supermarket they’d stopped at on the way home. My contribution was a stop at a local ice cream parlor to pick up a quart of spumoni and a half pint of their chocolate sauce. It was hard to beat an Italian menu when it came to fattening someone up.
Dana was a good sport about eating a little of each course while we watched and pretended to count her calories.
“I’m fine, really. They gave me B-12 at the hospital. I think it was just … everything, you know. Seeing Tanisha, then Marne coming after me like that. And then the supplies.” Dana’s voice got higher with each item she ticked off. “No way in hell did Tanisha steal supplies. She was studying for the firefighters test.”
I failed to see the connection, but I wanted to believe Dana’s judgment of her friend and partner.
I’d thought about going up to Mrs. Hall at the service, to see if I could find out more about the search of her home and what led her to believe Dana had prompted it. But what would I have said?
I’m with the woman you just threw out
. I hoped there’d at least be an opportunity for Dana to talk to her.
I’m with the woman you just threw out
. I hoped there’d at least be an opportunity for Dana to talk to her.
I looked across Elaine’s red-and-white bistro tablecloth at
Dana Chambers. Except for her stature, she didn’t resemble her father, and I wondered if her mother had the same classically pretty features, with a small nose and perfect teeth. She seemed outwardly to be doing well, but I sensed a deeper discontent.
Dana Chambers. Except for her stature, she didn’t resemble her father, and I wondered if her mother had the same classically pretty features, with a small nose and perfect teeth. She seemed outwardly to be doing well, but I sensed a deeper discontent.
Elaine had thrown herself into meal preparation, but it was clear that she was upset about Phil’s absence. She’d put her cell phone on the kitchen counter while she was cooking, then carried it to the dining room table. I decided to let her bring it up first if she wanted anything from me.
Another thing about Italian meals, besides the fattening effect, is that they make everyone sleepy. We all turned in early, including Dana, who accepted the invitation to sleep over on the twin bed in Elaine’s office.
No Internet access tonight
, I thought.
, I thought.
Matt and I had managed a quick debriefing before falling asleep, but there wasn’t much to report on either side. Matt thought it would be a good idea to go to Phil’s house in the morning, and I agreed. My only offering was a bit of detail from Tom Stewart about the stolen medical supplies, and a hunch that he knew more. But a hunch was just that—conjecture, speculation, gut feeling. Nothing I’d built my career in science on.
I expected to be the first downstairs to make espresso, early on Wednesday morning, but I could tell by the aroma that Elaine had beat me to it, except she’d made regular coffee.
“Now my espresso machine is broken,” she said. “What else?”
I understood the stress that would lead her to equate a faulty kitchen appliance, easily replaced, with a missing fiance.
She picked up her landline phone—checking for a dial tone, I assumed.
“Still can’t get Phil?” I asked.
She shook her head, close to tears. She reached into her pocket for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. She was dressed casually, which for Elaine meant neatly pressed khakis and a knit
crewneck shell. She’d set out four matching mugs with modern geometric designs in muted colors.
crewneck shell. She’d set out four matching mugs with modern geometric designs in muted colors.
“No answer at work, or home, or cell. I talked to his secretary, but she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, put me through to Phil’s boss. I have half a mind to go over there.”
“Didn’t you say he sometimes has to fly out of the country on short notice? Couldn’t this be one of those times?”
“He’d have called by now. It’s been almost two whole days. And he promised me he’d be around the next two weeks. I keep thinking about that briefcase I saw in his office.”
“You said it was empty, right?”
“Yes, but I didn’t look for secret compartments or anything.”
I rolled my eyes and screwed up my mouth. Had I done this to my friend? Seeing my clownish look, Elaine came up with one of the first smiles I’d seen in a while.
Elaine sat on a counter stool and rotated slowly, ninety degrees, back and forth. “What if he just got cold feet, Gloria?”
The thought stunned me. That my confident, intelligent friend worried about being jilted also surprised me. Though she went in and out of relationships frequently, none of Elaine’s breakups had been dramatic; certainly no last-minute dropouts, on either side.
And Phil didn’t seem the cold-feet type. I phrased it differently for Elaine, however. “I think if Phil had problems he’d have told you straight out.”
“You think?”
I reached out to Elaine. Our hug was interrupted by the swinging door between the kitchen and dining room. Matt, probably needing that first sip of caffeine that seemed to lift the bags under his eyes.
“Worried about Phil?” he asked.
I gave him a nod that asked,
Can you help?
Can you help?
He pulled Elaine away from me and put his arm around her. “Listen, do you want me to see what I can do?” he asked.
The response was what I wanted, but at the same time, it unnerved me. It made Phil’s absence more serious, not just a temporary lapse from a busy guy who lost track of time, or whose cell phone battery was low. He might be in serious trouble or danger.
I knew that Matt already had an appointment with Inspector Dennis Russell to lay out the flimsy information we had that might be new and useful to the Berkeley PD. My biggest expectation had been that Matt might be able to coax the police into considering Tanisha Hall a murder victim, instead of primarily a drug user or thief who’d been killed.
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