Authors: Norah Wilson
He kept picturing the scales of justice. On one side rested the suicide theory. Gunn had had some level of involvement in Josh and Boyd’s illegal adoption, possibly coercing, or helping to coerce, Arianna Duncan’s cooperation. He’d confessed his sins and named names to Josh, after which Josh had died or been killed. Consumed by guilt, either for the original offence or upon learning of Josh’s death, or by the cumulative weight of both, he’d committed suicide. The act might or might not have been hastened, or even triggered, by Boyd’s call.
Then, on the other side of the scale, he plopped the murder theory, and they balanced perfectly. Gunn had confessed his sins and named names for Josh, and Josh had died or been killed shortly thereafter. When Boyd called, the tortured doctor had seized on the chance to unburden himself, promising to share the contents of his mother’s file with him. But before that could happen, Gunn’s “guest” had murdered him, just as they’d probably murdered Josh.
Except why would the murderer go to those lengths to cover something up, then leave the file?
The mental scales tilted in favor of suicide.
Yet Boyd didn’t entirely buy that, not at a gut level. With any luck, there’d be trace evidence at the scene that could help him refine his thinking.
When he’d said he should head back to the B&B, she hadn’t protested. Nor had he expected her to. He knew putting space between them was necessary, especially after this afternoon.
On the drive back, he resolved to talk to Sylvia about Dr. Gunn as soon as he could corner her. He needed to hear what she knew about the man, what kind of practice he’d run, and whether she thought he might have offed himself over whatever he’d done to facilitate whisking Arianna Duncan’s babies away.
He parked in his assigned space, climbed out of the vehicle, and hit the “Auto Lock” button. He turned and headed toward the service entrance. He hadn’t traveled more than a few steps when an alarm went off. He turned toward the sound, his heart stuttering, then pounding in heavy thumps he could actually feel.
What the actual hell? It was just a stupid car alarm. Man, those bouts of insomnia must be getting to him.
Sylvia Stratton poked her head out the service entrance door. “Detective McBride, would you kindly shut off that racket before my neighbors call the police.”
He pointed to his rental. “Not my car. It’s the one beside it. The little Hyundai.”
“Ah, that’s Mrs. Garner’s. I’ll send her out to silence it.”
By the time he reached the door, the alarm had stopped. Inside, a flustered Mrs. Garner was apologizing. “I don’t know how that happened, Dr. Stratton. The keys were in the pocket of my coat in the closet.”
“No worries. It happens,” Boyd offered. Mrs. Garner bustled away.
“So how are you holding up?” Sylvia asked.
He blinked. How was he holding up to being surprised by a car alarm? She was looking at him expectantly. “Sorry, come again?”
“I was wondering how you’re holding up. I got back from Saint John to hear that you and Dr. Walsh had rather an eventful day.”
He locked his gaze on her face. “How did you hear that?” He was sure Facebook and other social networks were probably abuzz by now, but there’s no way those random people could know he and Hayden had been there.
“I had a call from David Bradley.”
Boyd’s antenna went up. “Dave Bradley?”
“Yes. He wanted to work up background on Dr. Gunn.” Her expression told him what she thought of Dave Bradley. Or perhaps just reporters in general.
“But why would he call you?” He frowned, feeling like a dull child. Maybe he’d gotten too much sleep. “Unless . . . Are you related to Dr. Gunn?”
“Goodness, no. But we were colleagues and very dear friends. He’s actually the Senator’s physician.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize.” Now that he looked at her, he could see the strain in her. Her shoulders were drawn higher toward her neck, as though she were hunched in on her grief. He could understand that.
“Of course you didn’t. And thank you.” She inclined her head in dignified acknowledgment.
It made sense, he supposed, that they would be friends. Both Dr. Stratton and Dr. Gunn had been in practice here forever. But how had Dave Bradley known about their relationship? Of course, it
was
a pretty small town. Maybe it was just a natural assumption on Bradley’s part that the doctors would have known one another. And what did he imagine he was going to get out of Sylvia Stratton, the original dragon lady? Bradley would find himself overmatched.
More importantly, had Boyd dismissed Bradley as a suspect too soon?
“Sorry,” he said. “Maybe I’m being obtuse, but I guess it has been a long day. How is it that Dave Bradley would know about your friendship with Dr. Gunn?”
“I
am
related to Mr. Bradley. Distantly, to be sure, but he’s been here before, at Stratton House, for a dinner party or two. That, of course, is how he knew Dr. Gunn and I were great friends. Not that I’ve had either the time or inclination to socialize since the Senator fell ill, but I do . . . sorry, I
did
make time for Angus. We used to have a glass of sherry or sometimes something stronger—he did bend that elbow a bit much—over our conferences about the Senator’s treatment plan. As I mentioned, he was my husband’s doctor.”
“I guess it’s been a rough day for you too,” he said gently.
She inclined her head. “Thank you. I really don’t know what I’ll do now. I trusted Angus utterly with the Senator’s life, and now I’ll have to go doctor shopping.” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d be in this position.”
Boyd didn’t know what to say to that. If Dr. Gunn had earned this demanding woman’s trust, he must be of impeccable character. At least insofar as she knew. How could he have presented such a sterling face to the very shrewd Sylvia Stratton, yet have been involved in an illegal adoption, the ramifications of which were being felt thirty-five years later?
Unless . . . Had Sylvia known all along about Dr. Gunn’s involvement in his and Josh’s birth and covered it up? Deliberately misdirected them to protect her dearest friend?
Time to feel her out.
“I can’t stress enough how sorry I am for your loss, Dr. Stratton, but I presume you’ve deduced why Dr. Walsh and I called on Dr. Gunn this morning?”
“I presume Angus must’ve had some information for you relating to your search?”
“He did.”
“And now, given my decades-long friendship with him, I imagine you must be wondering if I knew that all along.”
He held her now-steely gaze. “The thought did cross my mind,” he admitted.
She lifted an eyebrow. “You realize that would mean I’d been misleading first your brother, and then you, in order to help Angus escape the consequences of whatever it is he might have done.”
“Dr. Stratton—”
She held up a hand to stop him. “You’re absolutely right to wonder. Had I been in possession of such knowledge, I might well have tried to protect him.” She shrugged and grimaced, in a what-are-you-going-to-do sort of gesture. “Angus was one of my oldest friends. But as it happens, I had no knowledge of any improprieties.” She clasped the strand of pearls at her throat, looking as distressed as Boyd had ever seen her. “So, what did you learn that led you to Angus?”
He thought about declining to answer, but he knew all too well how it felt to lose someone you loved and be denied answers to the most basic of questions. He knew full well how the need to understand burned in your brain and twisted your gut.
“I found a note that Josh had written, with Dr. Gunn’s name and number,” Boyd said. “When I called him and introduced myself, he didn’t seem at all surprised to hear from me. In fact, I told Hayden at the time that he almost seemed relieved. He confirmed that he had spoken to Josh and was prepared to share with me everything he’d told Josh.”
“I see.” Her arched eyebrow invited him to continue.
“He said he was present when Josh and I were born, which I presume means he delivered us. I didn’t get to talk to him, though, as I’m sure you know. Nor was I able to examine the file he’d laid out on his desk before . . .” He let the words trail off. “However, I did catch a glimpse of the name on the file. It seems our birth mother was a young woman by the name of Arianna Duncan.”
He watched her face as he said the name, searching it for a start of guilt or a flicker of recognition. Her expression did indeed change, but not in a negative way. Instead, a faint smile touched her lips.
“My goodness, you’ve been successful in your search, then? Well, that is a very big consolation. Is there a reunion in the offing?”
“I’m afraid not. My subsequent research shows that she died within three months of our birth.”
“I’m so sorry. You must be terribly disappointed.”
Was he? He hadn’t even had time to sort that out. But he made an affirmative sound. It seemed to be what was expected. He was certainly sorry that a young woman had died, possibly after being coerced into giving up her children. But he didn’t have so much as a mental picture of Arianna Duncan to hang those feelings on.
“I’m sorry for your loss too.” And he was. She and Dr. Gunn had had a long-standing friendship. As rigid as she could be, she seemed vulnerable now somehow.
“In truth, I’m having a hard time crediting it,” she said, fingering the pearls again. “The evidence will no doubt speak for itself, but I will have to reserve judgment until I’ve seen that proof laid out.”
“Of course.” Boyd would have liked to offer some comforting thought about Gunn just having made a mistake, one that he’d paid dearly for, but he knew nothing of the man or what motivated him to do what he’d done.
She sniffed, and Boyd suspected she was fighting tears.
He put a hand on her shoulder, which felt incredibly frail for all the command presence she managed to assert most of the time, and squeezed gently. “Again, I’m very sorry, particularly if our visit precipitated Dr. Gunn’s decision.” He dropped his hand, part of him marveling that he’d dared to touch this seemingly untouchable woman.
“Thank you, Boyd,” she said, using his first name for perhaps the second time since they’d met. She straightened her spine, which she’d allowed to relax the slightest bit. “But I hold no ill will about your visit. Much as I hate to think Angus might have made a misstep somewhere, I also have to recognize that if he had nothing to be ashamed of, your visit would have been . . . less eventful. And I know how important your search was, particularly after your brother’s unfortunate death.”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Do you happen to know how your mother died? You say she passed within months of your birth, so she must have been fairly young.”
“It sounds like sudden cardiac arrest. I haven’t been permitted access to the file, of course, but the detective—Ray Morgan—told me that much. He figured I needed to know it. And, yes, I appreciate this means there’s probably a genetic issue.”
“Oh, dear, yes! I presume Dr. Walsh has warned you against avoiding possible aggravating agents? Certain drugs can be proarrhythmic.”
“She has,” he confirmed. “And I’m good there. About the only thing I ever take is ibuprofen for muscle aches if I overdo something, but I won’t even be taking that.”
“Nothing recreational either,” she warned sternly.
“Again, nothing but a beer or two. No worries.”
She nodded, apparently satisfied. “Well, good night, Detective. I believe I’ll fix a hot milk and retire.”
“Good night, Dr. Stratton.”
She turned and tap-tapped off in the direction of the kitchen. Boyd went up to his room, but he didn’t go to bed. All that sleep through the afternoon and evening, though desperately needed, had knocked his circadian rhythm off.
Instead, he sat down, opened his laptop, and Skyped his parents. When his mother asked how the fishing was going, he wanted to tell her the truth. But it was too early. So he told her he’d taken the day off and driven to Fredericton for supplies. She teased him that it was a beer run, while his father speculated he’d gotten tired of ugly male mugs and had gone looking for female companionship.
Before he could stop himself, he blurted out that he’d looked up Hayden Walsh, Josh’s friend. That led to tons of questions.
Will you see her again? How is she doing? It was so kind of her to come all this way for the funeral. We got the nicest letter from her afterward. Did you see the letter before you left for your fishing trip? No? Well, it was a very lovely letter.
He told them Hayden was still very broken up about Josh but was keeping busy with work. He added that he was planning to stay in Fredericton for a few days, to visit with her longer. There was only so much fishing and poker playing a man could do. Ella expressed her approval and asked him to thank Hayden again for being such a good friend to Josh. He assured her he would. Feeling better for having told them even a tiny fraction of the truth, he signed off.
Of course, his wide-awake mind went back to the events of the day. He played it over in his head, again and again, and every time he came back to one question. Well, lots of questions, but the main one was, was it suicide?
He kept coming back to that phone conversation. Frankly, Gunn hadn’t sounded like a man on the verge when they’d talked. More like a man who wanted to get something off his chest. Of course, maybe the relief Boyd had thought he’d heard was relief at having committed to a course of action, like that long-ago jumper on the overpass he’d told Hayden about.
He had to admit it did look like suicide. The detective’s and the coroner’s assessments seemed to support that. And what had Morgan said? The ME thought there might be an anticoagulant in the mix. What better way for a doctor to ensure success than doubling down on the blood thinners? And the angle of the cuts seemed to bear out the idea that they were self-inflicted.
On the other hand, Boyd could probably have stood behind the guy, if he was already unconscious, and with the scalpel squeezed into the guy’s own grip, made a credible slash that looked self-inflicted. He made a note to mention that to Morgan, who would hopefully not roll his eyes and accuse him of being crazy.