Chapter 11

Later that day, Jesse, Amanda, and Steve were gathered in Mark's room eating dinner and comparing notes on what they had learned. Steve brought them up to date on the results of the background checks.

"It seems that Michael Garretson is the main beneficiary of Camille Gallegher's will," Steve informed them. "And while Mrs. Gallegher wasn't exactly rich, she did leave a reasonably sizeable estate – certainly enough to look very appealing to a man who likes to live well and whose financial situation is currently very rocky."

"So Garretson definitely has a motive," observed Mark.

"What about means?" asked Jesse. "Does he have the medical knowledge necessary to plan something like that? And how would he get the potassium?"

"We haven't been able to find any history of medical training," Steve admitted. "But we did find out that he's a member of a gun club and is an excellent marksman."

"So he could have been the shooter on the beach," Jesse concluded.

"And he could have had help with the potassium," Mark added, filling them in on his conversation that morning with Caitlyn.

"That fits with what I've found out," said Amanda. "It seems there is a slight discrepancy in the inventory of potassium in the pharmacy. And while it would be hard for a layman to take something from there, it wouldn't be anywhere near as difficult for a staff member. And Caitlyn Rogers' name appears on the sign-out sheet for people who have picked things up from the pharmacy in the last week."

"So they could be in it together," Steve theorized. "The background check didn't turn up anything interesting on her. She recently graduated from nursing school, no major debts, no sign of anything linking her to either Garretson or Camille Gallegher. Do you know of anything that links them together?"

"Not officially," Mark admitted. "But now that we know what to look for…"

"We can go look for it!" enthused Jesse. "I did pick up some scuttlebutt that Caitlyn was heavily involved with somebody, but nobody seemed to know who it was."

"And we still have no proof that there was any murder in the first place," Steve reminded them with a touch of frustration. "I couldn't get Judge Egan to order an autopsy based on 'pure supposition'."

"Well then, we'll just have to get the family's permission," Mark replied.

"But if Garretson is her next of kin," protested Amanda, "and he's somehow involved in the murder, why would he agree to an autopsy?"

"Maybe he'll be afraid it'll look bad if he doesn't," Jesse suggested.

"I doubt it. All he has to do is refuse to authorize the autopsy; then we have no evidence, and he gets clean away," Steve reminded him.

"Not necessarily," Mark mused thoughtfully. He looked up to see the three others watching him expectantly. "Maybe if we let him know that we're planning to do an autopsy, it'll shake things up a bit. Unless I miss my guess, Caitlyn Rogers is already feeling the pressure. Maybe we can rattle them into making a mistake."

"Yeah, and maybe we'll just push him into trying harder to kill you," Steve objected. "I'm not letting you hang yourself out as bait this time, Dad. They've come too close to killing you already. In fact, I want this Caitlyn Rogers kept far away from you; the last thing we need is to have one of the murder suspects in charge of your nursing care."

"I don't think Caitlyn had anything to do with the attempts on me," Mark replied. "She was terrible at hiding her reaction to my questions about Mrs. Gallegher, but she seemed genuinely concerned and natural with me before that, not self-conscious about it at all."

"Even if it was Garretson who tried to kill you," Steve protested, "she'd have to know about it."

"You'd think so," Mark agreed, "but somehow I don't think she does." He shook his head. "Well, whether she does or not, I suspect she may be the weak link. If we can put enough pressure on her, she might give the whole show away."

"Well, if we reassign her to another ward so that she's not your nurse anymore," said Jesse, "that should let her know that we're suspicious of her."

"Fine. Just don't let her anywhere near my father," declared Steve. "Or Garretson either."

"Actually," said Mark, "letting them know that we're suspicious is probably the best safeguard I could have."

"How do you figure that?" his son asked skeptically.

"The reason they've presumably been trying to kill me," Mark explained reasonably, "is to keep anyone from looking too closely into Camille Gallegher's death. Once we're already suspicious, killing me no longer serves any purpose. In fact, Garretson's probably felt perfectly safe trying to kill me up 'til now precisely because we had no reason in the world to suspect him. Once he knows that we suspect he killed his aunt, he knows he'll be one of the first suspects if anything happens to me."

"That makes sense," concurred Jesse.

"Maybe," Steve replied. "But I'm still not taking any chances. I want Caitlyn Rogers reassigned, and I'm making it perfectly clear to the guards that neither she nor Michael Garretson is to get near you."

"Are you going to put a guard on me when I go home, too?" Mark asked, a hint of affectionate exasperation in his tone. Seeing Steve's questioning look, he continued, "My kidney functions are back to normal. Jesse's releasing me in the morning."

Seeing his friend flash an accusing glare at him, Jesse exclaimed, "Hey, I can't help it if he got better already! That's what we're supposed to do here in the hospital."

"You could at least have told me," Steve grumbled, as he considered the increased difficulty of ensuring his father's safety once he was back home.

"Steve…" started his father.

"I know, Dad," he sighed. "It's just that it's a lot easier to keep you under wraps here than at the beach house."

"I'll be fine," Mark assured him. "Like I said, once they realize that we're already looking into Mrs. Gallegher's case, they have no reason to kill me." He met his son's eyes, his own filled with sympathetic understanding. Mark was well acquainted with the surge of protectiveness that his son was currently experiencing; he had battled with it himself after Steve's near brushes with death. He also recognized that, after two such close calls in rapid succession, Steve was finding it hard to accept that merely advertising their suspicions would be enough to remove the danger of further attacks.

"Let's hope they see the position the same way," Steve rejoined. "In any event, it can't hurt to let them know as soon as possible that we're investigating Mrs. Gallegher's death."

"I can call Garretson and ask him to come in and talk to me about authorizing the autopsy," Mark suggested.

"I'd rather you let me call him," Steve replied. "If the whole idea is to let him know we're suspicious, I think a call from the police is the best way to make that point quite clear."

"We don't want to let him know we suspect murder right away," Mark argued, "or he'll definitely refuse permission for the autopsy. If we make it sound like a hospital formality since there was no doctor in attendance at the time of death, then he might be less likely to object in order to avoid looking suspicious."

"But then they'll still have a reason to try to kill you before you order the autopsy," objected Steve.

"I'll make it clear that this is standard hospital procedure," Mark explained. "Killing me won't change the need for the autopsy."

Seeing that Steve remained unconvinced, Jesse volunteered, "How about if I call him and make the request. That way, it'll be clear that the request comes from the hospital and not just from Mark."

"That makes sense," Mark approved, looking at Steve for his reaction.

"I guess," the detective concurred reluctantly, as he failed to find any major flaws in the plan. "Thanks, Jess."

"No problem." Jesse grinned at him engagingly. "See, it's handy to have someone around who doesn't have that fatal reputation!"

"What you have is a fatal mouth," retorted Steve, irritated by the phrase that reminded him all too clearly of the murderer's willingness to kill at the first hint of a threat. The look of patient indulgence his father and friend cast him did little to improve his frame of mind.

Across town, in Caitlyn Roger's apartment, Caitlyn and Michael Garretson were also discussing Camille Gallegher's death and possible eventualities surrounding it. Caitlyn had poured forth her concerns about the questions Mark had asked, never noticing, in her distress, the shocked surprise that Garretson exhibited at the first indication that she had talked to Mark at all.

"And I heard one of the residents say that they'll have to get Dr. Sloan to sign the death certificate since he's the head of Internal Medicine, and he's bound to notice that we removed the lab report." Caitlyn ended her report of the day's events on a distinct note of panic.

"Hey, I'm sure it's not the first time a lab report went astray," Garretson soothed. "There's no reason that should cause anybody to assume there's a problem."

"No, but Dr. Sloan's bound to want to know the results, since he's the one who ordered the tests. And when he sees the elevated potassium levels, I know he'll want to look into it."

"Why should he care now?" Garretson asked. "She's dead. Besides, what can he do? I've already requested that they send the body to the mortuary for burial."

"They could order an autopsy before they send it," Caitlyn responded. "And then they'll know that she was killed by an overdose of potassium."

Garretson frowned thoughtfully as he considered that possibility. "You'd think he'd have more important things to deal with right now than one old woman's blood work," he muttered in aggravation. "How the hell does he keep surviving, anyway?"

Caitlyn stared at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean – " she asked nervously, "'keep surviving'?"

Realizing his slip, Garretson set about allaying her fears. "It's just that, well, terrible as it sounds, there's no denying that it would have been convenient if he'd succumbed to one of the attempts to kill him." He smiled at her, the charmingly rueful smile that she found so captivating. "I mean, it does seem odd that he's managed to survive two attacks on his life."

A slight frown of concentration creased Caitlyn's brow as she regarded her lover. "How did you know there had been two attacks?" she asked.

Garretson's smile slipped a bit, but he maintained his composure. "You mentioned it when you called me earlier," he replied. Seeing hesitation still in her face, he added easily, "You were so upset, you probably don't even remember everything you said."

An unwelcome tendril of suspicion snaked itself around the edges of Caitlyn's consciousness, but, gazing into the smiling, confident face of her lover, she shoved it into the recesses of her mind.

Garretson slid an arm around her, his manner a soothing blend of affection and concern. "This has been very stressful for you, darling, I know," he murmured. "Just try to relax and finish your dinner, and don't worry so much. We'll work everything out; it'll be fine, you'll see."

Succumbing once again to the almost hypnotic assurances, Caitlyn did as he bade her, relaxing into the sense of security that his presence engendered in her.

"You know, what you need is a glass of wine to help you relax," Garretson suggested. "How about I get a bottle and pour us some?"

"I'll get it," Caitlyn volunteered, starting to rise from her chair. Her companion placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"No, you just sit and unwind," he said. "I'll get it." As she subsided back into her seat, Garretson moved to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. He mentally reviewed the situation as he opened the bottle and gathered a pair of glasses. It was perfectly obvious to him that his accomplice was falling apart. Nor had it escaped his attention that his own slight slip of the tongue had awoken a spark of suspicion in her mind. He knew perfectly well that Caitlyn was not really a murderer at heart; he had been able to engage her cooperation in his plan to dispense with his aunt by persuading her that she was merely helping to release an old, sick woman from a pain-plagued, miserable existence. He had no doubt that he would never be able to convince her to view the cold-blooded murder of Dr. Sloan with equanimity.

With cold calculation, he realized that keeping her around now would only prove to be a liability, since she was unlikely to be able to maintain her composure once an investigation was opened into his aunt's death. On the other hand, he thought, she might yet come in handy in a different role. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a tray, placed two glasses on it, and pulled from his pocket the small bottle of pills that he had placed there after receiving her distraught phone call earlier. Breaking a few of the capsules open, he dumped their contents into one of the glasses, filled both glasses with the wine, then carried the tray with the bottle and glasses back into the dining area.

"Here you are, darling," he said, placing one of the glasses in front of her with a smile, "this should help you relax." Raising his own glass in a silent toast, he watched as she sipped her wine, waiting patiently for the drug to take effect.