“I think that was the point,” Erin said. “He didn’t want you to have any samples at all. But I’m surprised you’re done already.”
“I’m a qualified toxicologist,” Levine reminded her. “That means I didn’t have to outsource the testing. I have a two-week backlog, but Lieutenant Webb said this one was a priority. The lack of sample diversity is a problem, but it also reduced processing time. I hope you aren’t expecting this rapid a turnaround on all samples. Four to six weeks is standard.”
“Yeah, I know.” That was yet another thing TV shows got wrong about detective work. “But you have answers?”
“Preliminary,” Levine said. “I would appreciate confirmation from an independent toxicologist, and further analysis of the blood sample. That will take—”
“—four to six weeks,” Erin finished for her.
“Correct.”
“You’d better give me the preliminary report, then.”
“Cardiac arrest,” Levine said, handing her a sheaf of papers.
Erin glanced down at them. She understood maybe two-thirds of the words on the first page.
“What caused the heart attack?”
“The only foreign substance in the deceased’s blood was a significant concentration of propranolol,” Levine said.
“His blood-pressure medication,” Erin said. “We knew about that.”
“It was a significant concentration,” Levine repeated. “Propranolol can cause cardiac arrest in sufficient quantity.”
“You saying he overdosed on his heart meds?”
“That is my preliminary conclusion,” Levine said. “However, his weight and tobacco use were both significant risk factors for heart disease. It’s possible the cardiac event was unrelated to the medication.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“I have approximately eighty-five percent confidence the event was triggered by propranolol.”
“Not cyanide?”
Levine gave her a funny look. “The deceased’s symptoms were not at all consistent with cyanide poisoning.”
“Or any other kind of poison?”
“As I said, I’m eighty-five percent certain—”
“Propranolol is a medicine, not a poison.”
“That’s an academic distinction,” Levine said. “Many poisons can serve as medicines in the proper dosage and situation, and vice versa.”
Erin nodded. “It’s all drugs, I guess. But you didn’t find anything else?”
“No.”
“Okay, thanks.”
* * *
Vic had arrived while Erin had been downstairs. He was drinking Mountain Dew out of an enormous plastic cup and glaring at the whiteboard.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he said when he saw her. “You teach Rolf to like coffee yet?”
“Caffeine is poisonous to dogs,” she said, thinking of what Levine had said about poison and medicine.
He looked surprised. “Really? Man, take me off the stuff and I’d eat my gun, if I ever found the energy to pull the trigger. How’s that poor mutt manage to keep on living? Anyway, what’ve you got there?”
“Bloodwork.”
“What’d Sewer Pipe have in his pipes?”
“Just his heart meds.”
“So, not poisoned.”
“Actually, maybe he was.” Erin explained what Levine had told her. Vic frowned.
“You think he offed himself?” he asked. “By accident, or maybe on purpose?”
“He didn’t seem suicidal to me,” Erin said. “I guess an accidental overdose is possible. Any idea how long he was on the meds? Maybe if he wasn’t used to them, he just took too many.”
“Nope,” Vic said. “And good luck getting a court order for his pharmacist. If we even knew who was filling his prescriptions. I wish I’d taken a look through his bathroom trash. The bottle would’ve had the date on it.”
Erin snapped her fingers. “Right! Paulie said he found an empty bottle in the trash.”
“So?” Vic asked.
“So who throws away their prescription bottle before getting it refilled?” Erin asked. “If my dad runs short of his pills, he sets the empty bottle out as a reminder.”
“I must not be awake yet,” he said. “I don’t follow.”
“Whoever emptied that bottle didn’t intend it to be refilled,” she said.
“You think someone got rid of his pills?”
“Looks that way.”
“But you said he overdosed, not that he ran out. What’d they do, hold him down and force-feed him? I can think of fifteen easier ways to kill a guy.”
“What if they put the pills in something else?” Erin replied. She sat down at her desk and brought up her web browser. She looked up propranolol, specifically its flavor. “It’s got a strong taste. Bitter.”
“So whatever it was in would have to be pretty strong-tasting itself,” Vic said. “Like, I dunno, maybe spicy pasta sauce? With peppers?”
Erin grinned at him. “Damn right.”
“I like it,” Vic said. “Of course, that would mean it was either the wife or the son who poisoned him.”
“My money’s on the wife,” Erin said.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “She’d have had an easier time slipping it into the food. Plus, she planned the meal. There’s just one problem. You know what the Lieutenant would say about this.”
“It’s thin,” Erin said, using one of Webb’s favorite words. “Circumstantial evidence, jumping to conclusions. We don’t have proof.”
“But if she did…” Vic said.
“Then she might’ve tried once before,” Erin said. “Like, say, with a box of candy?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we can tie that to her, either.”
“But we should definitely look closer at her,” Erin said. “Maybe find a motive, a receipt for rat poison and candy at the local drugstore, I don’t know. Something may turn up.”
“I always wanted to investigate the Mafia,” Vic said. “But I never thought their girls were loudmouth bitches from Long Island.”
“You got a problem with loudmouth bitches from Long Island?” Erin retorted, giving it her best Queens inflection.
“No,” he said, grinning. “They grow on you.”
* * *
Lots of spouses killed each other. Something like half of all women who were murdered were done in by a romantic partner. Crimes
