Izzy raises a brow, but before he can utter a word I hold my hand up and say, “Don’t ask. It’s part of my cab fare.”
I escort Bjorn inside and into my bathroom, empty the bedside bag, switch him over to his leg bag, and make a mental note to remember to order him the new ones with the easy-open valve.
“Where to today?” he asks me as soon as I have him clamped and ready to go.
“I want to start with Dairy Airs, then the police station, then the hospital, and after that I need to go to Smithville.”
“Pretty full day,” Bjorn says, licking his lips. “I think I need a piece of cheesecake to get me started.”
Cheesecake sounds good to me, too, but if I ate it as often as Bjorn does, I’d end up resembling the body suit Robin Williams wears in
Bjorn seems alert and aware this morning so I let him drive and, thanks to his eagerness for cheesecake, he manages to briefly hit the speed limit on a thirty-five-mile-an-hour street. The two-mile trip only takes a little over seven minutes, darned near light speed for Bjorn. We settle into a booth at Dairy Airs and order our respective items: a decadent-looking slice of turtle cheesecake for Bjorn and a bagel with cream cheese for me. Once again Jackie is our waitress—I knew she’d be working because I’d called earlier—and as soon as she brings our food, I tell her the reason I’m here.
“There’s something about Shannon that’s bothering me and I’m wondering if you can help shed any light on the matter.”
She shrugs, looks a little nervous, and says, “I can try.”
“You mentioned that on the day Erik was here and got hit with the separation papers, Shannon ordered a bunch of food before going home. Is that something she did on a regular basis?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jackie says with a roll of her eyes. “That woman had a truly blessed metabolism. She ate like there was no tomorrow and never seemed to gain an ounce. Maybe it was her stomach problem.”
“Stomach problem?”
“She mentioned once that she had some kind of stomach problem and that was why she spent so much time in the bathroom.” She pauses a moment, thinking. “It did seem like she had to go pretty often, and sometimes she would stay in there for quite a while.”
“Did she usually eat here when she worked, or did she take stuff home with her?”
“A little of both, I guess.”
I thank Jackie for her time and she looks puzzled but relieved when she realizes I’m done questioning her. Apparently Bjorn is puzzled, too.
“How do eating and toileting habits help solve murders?” he asks.
“You’d be surprised,” I tell him, and though he still looks perplexed, he lets it go. We finish our meals in silence and as soon as we are done, we hop back in his car and head for the police station.
At the back of the Sorenson City Police Department are four jail cells. Most of the time they’re occupied by town drunks who need a place to sleep off their latest alcoholic stupor and the doors to the cells are often left ajar. But every once in a while the jail houses someone charged with an actual crime, like Erik Tolliver.
After getting clearance from the front desk and depositing Bjorn in the squad room with some change for the vending machines, I head for the cell area, where I find Erik sitting on the bunk in cell number two, reading the morning newspaper. There is a desk area in front of the cells where an officer would typically sit, but at the moment it’s empty. Erik is hardly alone, however. Cameras mounted near the ceiling are aimed at each of the cells and connected to monitors out at the dispatcher’s desk. There is also a button on the wall of each cell that connects a prisoner to an intercom system in case they need to call for help. I know from past conversations with the cops that the intercom system also allows for eavesdropping, should the need arise. Push a button on the other end and you can hear everything that goes on inside a cell.
Hearing my approach, Erik peeks over the top of his newspaper and then greets me with a weary “Good morning.” I return the greeting, grab the chair behind the desk, and wheel it over in front of his cell.
“I’m almost afraid to ask why you’re here,” he says, setting his paper aside.
“I have a few questions about Shannon.”
He gives me a wary look. “Is this part of your investigation? Shouldn’t I have Lucien here?”
“It
Erik looks surprised. “Her eating habits? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m not sure yet. It might be nothing, it might be everything. If my suspicions are right it could work in your favor but I’m still only theorizing at this point. I don’t see any reason to call Lucien, but if it will make you feel more comfortable to do so, go ahead. I’ll wait.”
He weighs his options and decides to trust me. “Okay,” he says. “But if I start to feel uncomfortable about anything you ask, I’m going to call a halt.”
“Fair enough. To start with, can you tell me how Shannon’s modeling career was doing?”
He shrugs. “Okay, I guess. I mean it wasn’t anything huge and the work was pretty irregular. It was mostly local jobs. You know, modeling clothes for flyers and ads in the paper, that sort of stuff. She called the money she made from it her funny money.”
“Did she typically diet when she had a job coming up?”
“Hell, it seemed like she was dieting all the time. She was always saying she needed to lose a few pounds. I remember a couple of times when she consumed nothing but those diet drinks for a few days.” He grimaces and shudders. “I tried one of them out of curiosity once. I don’t know how anyone can subsist on those things. They’re nasty.”
“Were there ever times when she ate a lot? You know, way more than usual?”
Erik smiles. “Don’t we all?”
I wisely decide to take the Fifth on that one.
“She called them her binges,” he goes on. “Some days she’d eat as if it might be the last food she’d ever see. And boy, did she have a sweet tooth. Her job at Dairy Airs was quite the challenge for her at times, what with all the ice cream and cheesecake and such.”
“Did she ever show any remorse over her binges?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes she’d blame it on her hormones. You know, say it was that time of the month and all.”
I nod. I’m familiar with that excuse since I’ve used it myself rather often, ignoring the fact that if it was true, my time of the month would be nearly every day.
“Sometimes she’d moan about what a pig she was and complain about her lack of willpower, but no more than any other woman I know.”
I smile, pausing a moment as I try to find a delicate way to ask my next question. “Do you think that she spent an unusual amount of time in the bathroom?”
“Well, yeah,” he says, giving me one of those
IBS is an acronym for irritable bowel syndrome, a condition that can cause frequent bouts of diarrhea, constipation, and abdominal pain. It’s not rare but it’s not all that common either. And I’m pretty sure Shannon didn’t have it, unless she developed it within the last six months.
“How long had she had IBS?”
“The whole time we were married.” I frown and Erik picks up on my confusion. “What?” he asks. “I can tell something is bothering you.”
“It’s just that I remember when Shannon had that emergency appendectomy a few months back. I was the scrub nurse on her case and she never mentioned having IBS. It wasn’t in her history.”
“Maybe she forgot,” Erik says with a shrug. “Or maybe she was just too embarrassed to mention it. I know she didn’t like to talk about it.”
“Maybe,” I say, but I don’t believe it. I had an up-close and very personal view of Shannon’s bowels during that surgery. In fact, I held them in my hand. And there was no indication of a disease of any kind, much less IBS. Nor was there any sign of it during her autopsy.
“Why does it matter?” Erik asks. “Where are you going with all of this?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to say just yet,” He gives me a look of exasperation so I try to explain myself
