“That’s where I plan to start.”
I told Slidell about Larabee’s autopsy results. And about the abrin found in Wayne Gamble’s coffee.
“What the hell’s abrin?”
I provided a quick overview. Slidell saw the connection right away. “Like the shit what killed the landfill John Doe.”
“We don’t know if the man died of ricin poisoning. He’d also suffered head trauma.”
“Guess you could say that about Gamble.”
“But it’s not just the abrin,” I said.
I told Slidell about Gamble’s calls to me, about his anxiety, and about his decision to confront the person tailing him.
“So the FBI’s thinking Wayne Gamble got iced. Why?”
“I don’t know. But there’s more.”
I relayed what Williams had shared concerning Ted Raines.
“The feebs are fingering Raines?”
“No one’s suggesting that Raines killed Gamble.”
“Then what’s the link?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re saying that a lot.”
I hesitated, decided it was better to have everyone on the same page. Leaving out the part about the shotgun, I described the encounter with Eugene Fries.
“I’m telling you. Galimore is a snake.”
“Let it go.”
Angry air whistled in and out of Slidell’s nose for several seconds. “Who would have threatened this guy Fries?”
“I’ve no clue. But they made an impression.”
“Who’s wrong? Fries or Winge?”
“Yes.”
A beat.
“You think one of them lied?”
“I don’t know. But I think Owen Poteat may have.”
I walked Slidell through my interpretation of Rinaldi’s coded note.
“Sonofafrigginbitch,” he said.
“Sonofafrigginbitch,” I agreed.
GALIMORE ARRIVED BEARING CHICK-FIL-A. HIS SHIRT WAS wrinkled and sweat-stained under the arms. His eyes were puffy, his cheeks unshaven. Not the sexy unkept look Bruce Willis sometimes features. The up-all-night-and-grungy version.
Though the food was good, Galimore’s mood was not.
We ate in tense silence.
When I asked our destination, I got one word. Weddington.
As I bunched and rebagged my sandwich wrapper and waffle-fries carton, I considered briefing Galimore on the autopsy, the abrin, and the other info obtained from Williams and Randall.
Not yet.
“What does Bogan do?” I asked.
“I already told you.”
“Indulge me.”
“He grows vegetables.”
“You look like you didn’t get much sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
“I spoke with Slidell this morning.”
“Always reason for rejoicing.”
“He questions your motive for looking at the Gamble-Lovette case after all these years.”
Galimore snorted.
