The sheriff’s boots clomped on the floor as she paced and approached the entrance to her office. She did not close the door. Her footfalls grew softer as she walked away.
Dr. Hegazi said, “I understand. We do what we can for local law enforcement, but we’ve only got a preliminary.”
“That’s okay. Look, I know someone murdered Kostas. At first, it didn’t look like it. A simple drowning or something like that. No gunshot wounds. No stab wounds. Nothing suspicious. Then when we found broken reeds and two sets of footprints along the banks that didn’t match the victim’s … looked like someone dumped the body.”
“His lungs had water in them, so he was still breathing when he entered the bay. Drowning was a factor, but not the only cause of death. At first, the evidence pointed to a simple myocardial infarction. Then prelim toxicology came in. Richard Kostas was poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” the sheriff asked.
“Yeah, but we’re running additional tests. Appeared to be a heart attack, and, well, he actually did have a heart attack and then fell in. Some poisons induce cardiac arrest. Easy to miss, if you don’t know where to look.”
“But you found something?”
“Chemical markers in his liver. The body continues to process toxins for a short while after death. If we hadn’t found those, then we’d probably have concluded a simple cardiac event. End of story.”
The sheriff asked, “How was he poisoned?”
“Most likely an aerosol spray to his face. No signs of injection into the bloodstream, direct contact with his skin, or ingestion. We’d have picked up on that. A spray to the nose and mouth. The toxin could have entered his system and caused the heart attack.”
“Residue in the nasal cavity or throat?”
Dr. Hegazi replied, “Not enough to detect. Putting him in the water was probably to flush away any significant traces. He was submerged for a while. Without the chemical markers in his liver, we’d have likely ruled it a death by natural causes.”
“Excellent work, Doctor … doing all that additional digging.”
“Thanks. We’ll have more later.”
“So,” Tompkins said, “Kostas was poisoned and that caused him to have a heart attack. As he was dying, someone shoved him into the bay and he drowned?”
“Looks that way, so far.”
“What kind of poison?”
“Again,” said Dr. Hegazi, “we’re analyzing a second set of chromatograms, but it was clear to me the first time through. It was cyanide.”
12
If the sheriff discovered that I was outside her office listening to her conversation, I risked being cut off from the investigation, or worse. Tompkins still viewed me as a suspect in the case. I stood up before she finished her phone call with the medical examiner and headed back to the front desk. The deputy on duty glanced up from his computer, but said nothing to me.
I asked him, “Is the sheriff going to be much longer?”
He replied, “How am I supposed to know?”
The large family that had occupied the entire waiting area was gone, so I flumped down on a chair.
Sheriff Tompkins approached the front desk and placed her hand on the counter. “Mr. Seagraves, you wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, Sheriff, can we speak privately?”
She frowned. “Sure. Back here.”
She walked me down the hallway to her office, but did not take me inside. We stood next to the folding metal chair where I had overheard her conversation with the medical examiner. I took out my phone and scrolled through my photographs. I handed her my phone when I reached the picture of the chalk mark on the recycling bin.
She seemed thoroughly unimpressed. “What’s that?”
“A slash mark. It was a signal to Richard Kostas. He’d been dropping off data stolen from Benton Dynamics at a sporting clays place. Later, he must’ve picked up payments here. He communicated with chalk at pre-set locations. Figure this out, Sheriff, and you’ll nail his killer.”
She cocked her head slightly as she looked at the screen.
I said, “There’s a chalk mark just like it at Turner Creek Sporting Clays. That’s probably where he dropped off stolen files. The second mark, the one in that photo, would let him know where his handler had left money for him. I think that’s the order, because he died at this second location.”
“How do you know all that?”
“The chalk marks are identical. A dead-drop. A signaling technique from back in the Cold War. Right before I came here, I took this picture near where you found Kostas’s body.”
“You sure of this?” she asked.
“Yeah, well, pretty sure. Look, it’s at least a good lead. We need to get to that shooting range and photograph the first chalk mark before it’s gone. The killers might want to cover their tracks now that some time’s passed.”
Sheriff Tomkins exhaled audibly. “Give me a minute. Got to move some appointments. Go back to the waiting area.”
“Okay … and bring Kostas’s pocket calendar.”
Five minutes later, she returned carrying a manila folder. We drove separately to Turner Creek Sporting Clays and parked near the spot where Hailey had found the first signal on the box of spent shotgun shells. Whoever made the chalk mark probably would not return in daylight and risk being arrested. Instead, the signaler would just wait for a rainstorm to wash away all the evidence.
Sheriff Tompkins stepped out of her police cruiser. “All right, Mr. Seagraves. Show me what you got.”
I pointed out the box with the first chalk mark. When I unlocked my phone, the picture of the recycling bin reappeared.
She examined the photo and glanced over at the chalk mark on the box at the shooting station. “Yeah, they’re pretty much the same. Who’ve you told about this?”
“Just you, so far.”
“Your client, Marisa Dupree?”
“Not yet,” I replied.
“Don’t, okay? What did she say about my offer?”
“Well …”
She shook her head. “The sooner she comes forward, Mr. Seagraves, the more I can help her. The clock is running. You still really think
