Dare to Trust (15 page)

Lieutenant Ross from the Maine State Police was on the other end of the call. “Dr. Hitchcock, I was hoping I could pay a visit at your place. I know that you are off today.”

“Do I need to call my lawyer?” Mia questioned.

“I have questions, not accusations, but you always have the right to talk to council.” There was a long pause until she finally told the Lieutenant Ross that he could come by with his questions in an hour.

Since the lieutenant had spoken with Mia and Tyler at the hospital yesterday morning, he and ten other state police investigators had been pouring over evidence, reviewing forensics and interviewing every person who had attended the church service. At present count, one man was dead, autopsy pending to verify the official cause of death, five people still hospitalized and nine others who had experienced symptoms but not serious enough for hospitalization. They all had ingested the coffee, some just a few sips. Many of them reported the coffee had “tasted strange” with a bitter taste. So far, none of the parishioners who had skipped the coffee had become ill. The common denominator amongst those with the gastrointestinal symptoms was the coffee.

Discussions with Homeland Security and the federal Centers for Disease Control occurred; it was ruled out early that the poisoning had any link to terrorism. Residual arsenic in water was not uncommon in Maine; the church well water supply was also tested and proclaimed toxin free. No herbicides or insecticides, known to contain arsenic, were found on the church property. So far, nothing, other than the brewed coffee and the coffee pot it had sat in, had revealed arsenic. The evidence was not adding up to come to a conclusion that this had been an accidental poisoning. Someone had been very angry.

“Thank you for speaking with me.” Lieutenant Ross appeared on her doorstep exactly an hour later. Mia invited him in.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked him as she motioned for him to have a seat on the couch.

“No,” he shook his head. “But thank you.” He sat and took out a small notebook. “Can you run through all the symptoms of those you treated Sunday in the emergency room?”

“Varying degrees of gastrointestinal symptoms. The first man I treated and transferred, he was the worst, with the beginning of multi-organ failure.”

“He passed,” the lieutenant interjected.

Mia sighed. “I’m not surprised.”

“Did any of the patients you treated tell you anything that you think would be helpful in possibly understanding what happened?”

“You mentioned yesterday that the preliminary tests were positive for arsenic. Has this turned into a criminal investigation?”

“We are going down many avenues.” He didn’t discount her intelligence and that she knew he was giving a lame answer. He cleared his throat before he shifted the line of questions. “I understand that you recently moved here from Boston?”

“Yes.” Mia eyed the lieutenant with skepticism. Where is this going?

“You lived with someone… Jason Howard?”

“What does this have to do with what happened at the church?” Mia gave a cool stare, knowing she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“From what I understand, you applied, interviewed and took this job all in a span of a couple weeks, even though you had an offer from Boston Medical Center, where you were finishing your residency.” He shifted uncomfortably on the couch and then went for it. “It appears you wanted to leave Boston quickly? Eager to leave Mr. Howard?”

“I thought you said you weren’t here to accuse me of anything,” Mia angrily replied.

“I am not accusing you of anything.” Lieutenant Ross sighed and continued. “Did you know that Jason, Detective Howard has been put on administrative leave from the Boston Police Department?” He didn’t miss the look of confusion mixed with surprise dart across her face. She hadn’t known. “Do you know his whereabouts on Sunday morning?” She didn’t but stayed silent. He took the silence as the assumed ‘no’ he had expected. Lieutenant Ross stood. “I appreciate you speaking with me, doctor.” He walked to the door and stopped short, turning to face her. “Do you know where he is now?” Mia shook her head.

***

Jason ran for over an hour. He returned home, sweaty, breathless and sore. He hadn’t run in weeks and was out of shape. Prior to Mia’s miscarriage, Jason had run a mile or two almost daily. He had a weight bench in the cellar of the brownstone that he hadn’t used since then either. Nothing had been right since Mia had lost the baby. He took a shower, decided against shaving, and after dressing in jeans and a sweat shirt, noticed he had a missed call. Had Mia tried to get a hold of him? He played the message and listened. It hadn’t been from Mia; Internal Affairs wanted to talk with him. He sighed as he went back to the bedroom, into the walk-in closet, and changed into a suit and tie.

Martin Durrell was the union representative that met Jason outside the police department, on the sidewalk in front. He was almost to retirement, pudgy and balding, the remaining hair snowy white. “Good morning detective,” he greeted Jason with an outstretched hand. Jason shook it, merely nodding. He was not in the mood for this. “We are here just to listen to the official complaint and what the concerns are. There will be a second meeting where we will rebut, after we have a chance to strategize.”

“Fine,” Jason sighed. What did it matter? He had acted out of line with the physicality towards the suspect and the total lack of respect for his commanding officer. Whatever was eventually decided, Jason thought he had earned the punishment. Even worse, he didn’t care.

They sat in a conference room listening to the account, according to Internal Affairs, of what the filed complaint was and the information surrounding it had been gathered. Jason sat, half listening to the fair account of him slamming the suspect up against concrete wall, as well as the exchange about the incident he and Saunders had engaged in. He spent more effort on focusing out the large windows that overlooked a busy Boston sidewalk, watching traffic and the people walk at various speeds down the street.

“Detective Howard,” Durrell interrupted his thoughts. “Did you have anything you wanted to say at this point? Before we have a chance to further review this information?”

“No.” Jason almost just admitted to his actions but from the angry stare he was getting from Durrell, he knew that would be a mistake.

“Then I guess we are done here.” Durrell rose from his chair and motioned Jason to follow him. “Gentleman.” Durrell shook hands with the two internal affairs officers who had done the majority of the talking.

Outside, Durrell didn’t hide his displeasure with Jason. “You realize that this could cost you your job? Civil suit?” That was unlikely but Durrell was trying to get some reaction from the detective. Apathy had been written all over Jason’s face through the meeting. Durrell sighed. “We’ll meet in a few days and go over this.”

“Call me.” Jason shoved his hands into the pocket of his coat and walked towards the parking garage to fetch his car. He felt exhausted although it was only past noon, and he planned to go back to bed.

***

After leaving Mia’s cottage, Lieutenant Ross headed to the hospital. Earlier in the morning, he had received a call with an update of all of the five victims that had been hospitalized. Two were still intubated and sedated in critical condition. Three were now well enough to be able to give a statement.

Carla Brody sat tall in the hospital bed, her whitish hair piled high on her head. Her son had brought her items from home, including the warm pajamas she wore. “How can I help you?” she greeted the lieutenant. “You have some questions?”

“How are you feeling Ms. Brody?”

“I’ll be fine, they tell me. Home tomorrow. What a tragedy that has happened here in our little town.” She sighed, her fierce blue eyes staring at Ross.

“Do you remember anything unusual about Sunday’s service? Anyone new that attended, perhaps?”

She shook her head no. “Nothing comes to mind. I wish something did.” She paused a moment, reviewing the previous Sunday morning in her head. “We always have a little snack and coffee after the service.”

“Yes, that’s what I have been told.”

“I thought maybe I had eaten some bad food when I first felt sick.”

“Food poisoning was the first thought in most people’s minds,” Lieutenant Ross shared. “Anyone acting strange?”

“No, I can’t say that was the case.” Carla paused as she suddenly recalled something. “You know, no one drives a BMW at the church. There was one in the parking lot I noticed when I parked and walked to the church from the parking lot.”

Ross scribbled that down in his notebook. “Did you see the driver? Remember the color or anything about the car?”

“It was parked. I never saw who was driving it. It was a four door sedan; I remember that, because my nephew has one. And I think it was a dark blue or grey color.”

Lieutenant Ross stood. “I appreciate your time, Ms. Brody. I hope you’ll be home and feeling better soon.”

“And I hope you catch the bastard that did this to all of us.”

He interviewed the other two, Frank Turner and Bill Friar. Both relayed similar stories to the lieutenant; nobody noticed anything unusual. Like Carla Brody, Frank had seen the BMW in the parking lot---“nobody going to our church could afford it” he had told Ross, but he hadn’t seen the driver. Lieutenant Ross already knew that Jason Howard drove a midnight blue, four door BMW.

By the afternoon, the autopsy had been completed on John Morton. The cause of death was listed as multi-organ failure, caused by arsenic poisoning. The arsenic poisoning officially became a criminal investigation. Lieutenant Ross thought he had a good suspect in mind as to who had added the extra deadly ingredient to the coffee.

VI.

Grimes had to run, but caught up to Jason, his partner, in the parking garage. “Hey! Didn’t you hear me yelling at you?” Grimes questioned as he was bent over, trying to catch his breath.

“I’m in my own world, sorry.” Jason had his car door open but didn’t get in.

“What the hell have you done?” Grimes accused, taking in the indifference on Jason’s face. His partner looked tired and worn. Usually clean shaven and impeccably dressed, Jason’s shirt was rumbled and he sported stubble on his jaw from a few days’ worth of growth. “You’ve pissed somebody off royally.”

“You were there. You saw what I did to the perp. I just met with internal affairs.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s how I knew to find you here because you’re ignoring your cell and not checking messages, apparently.” Grimes finally stood, his breathing now unlabored and even. “There’s a search warrant being executed on your house right now.”

“What?!” Jason didn’t understand what a search of his home would have to do with roughing up an alleged murderer. “How do you know?”

“People talk, gossip at the court house. What the fuck, man? What is going on?”

“I intend to find out.” Jason climbed into his car and started towards home.

It took almost twenty minutes to make it through the Boston traffic. Driving up to his brown stone, Jason could see squad and unmarked cars littering the side of the street. He parked and quickly ran up the stairs, into the foyer and was greeted by a detective he didn’t know. “We have a warrant to search your place, Detective Howard.” Jason was handed a copy of the warrant, anger blazing in his blue eyes.

“What the hell is this for?” he demanded.

“Please, just stay out of our way and this will go easier.”

Jason glared at him and walked into the study. The room had already been searched; desk drawers were open, books on the bookcases moved and left askew, a framed photo of him and Mia had been dropped and lay on the wood floor. “Assholes,” Jason muttered as he picked up the picture and roughly set it on the desk. He glanced down at the search warrant and quickly read. He was looking for the explanation of what the search was hoping to yield. He was more than shocked when one of the items listed was ‘arsenic’. Without another thought, he yanked his cell out of his pocket and dialed Saunders.

“I can’t talk to you, Jason. You’re being looked at by IA---we can’t discuss anything without your rep present---“

“Stop the bullshit,” Jason demanded. “There’s a swarm of cops searching my house. Who the hell signed off on this warrant? What the hell is going on?”

Saunders sighed. Jason had always been an excellent cop and detective, never leaving any lead or detail left uninvestigated. He made Saunders’ life easy in comparison to some of the other homicide detectives, with big egos and smaller brains. But Saunders knew that lately, Jason’s personal life had been less than perfect. He hoped those events hadn’t led Jason to do something very stupid. “I can’t talk about this with you, Howard.” His voice was harsh. “Do yourself a favor and get a lawyer.” With that, Saunders hung up.

“Fuck!” Jason threw his cell across the room, the display screen cracking.

It was another hour before the detective let Jason know the search had concluded. Jason had collapsed onto the leather couch in the office, willing the invasion into his home and privacy to be over. “Am I under arrest?” Jason sneered, not bothering to get up.

“Don’t leave town,” was the reply. Jason heard the detective walk through the foyer and out the front door.

Jason made his way upstairs to survey the damage that had been done during the search. He had participated in enough searches to know cops got messy and never put anything back. Through-out the house, items were out of place. In the bathrooms and kitchen, items had been removed from cupboards and out of drawers. They now sat out and Jason would eventually have to put them away. At the moment, he was teetering between exhaustion and anger.