Harmful Intent (22 page)

Well, it would all be behind her in another week. She'd deal with Jeffrey through her lawyer and throw herself into her new job.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Carol looked at her watch. It was almost seven. She wondered who it could be. Through force of habit, she checked through the peephole before opening up. She flinched when she saw who it was.

“My husband is not at home, Mr. O'Shea,” Carol called through the door. “I have no idea where he is and I don't expect him.”

“I'd like to talk to you for two minutes, Mrs. Rhodes.”

“What about?” Carol said. She wasn't inclined to discuss anything with that vile man.

“It's a little hard conversing through the door,” Devlin answered. “I'll only take a few moments of your time.”

Carol thought about calling the police. But if she did call the police, what would she say? And how would she explain Jeffrey's absence? For all she knew, this O'Shea character might be perfectly within his rights. After all, Jeffrey hadn't come through with the money he owed Mosconi. She hoped Jeffrey wasn't getting into worse trouble still.

“I just want to ask you a few questions about your husband's whereabouts,” Devlin said when it appeared Carol would not answer. “Let me tell you something. If I don't find him, Mosconi will be calling in some bad dudes. Your husband could get hurt. If I find him first, maybe we can resolve this whole thing before the bail is forfeited.”

Carol hadn't quite realized that Jeffrey stood to forfeit the bail money. Maybe she should think again about talking to this O'Shea person.

In addition to the regular lock and a dead bolt, the front door had a security chain that Carol and Jeffrey never used. Carol slipped the end of the chain into its track, then released the dead
bolt and opened the door. With the security chain in place, the door opened only about three inches.

Carol started to tell Devlin again that she had no idea where Jeffrey was, but she never got the words out. Before she knew what had happened, the door flew completely open with a loud splintering sound, leaving a fractured section of the doorjamb dangling from the chain.

Carol's first reaction was to run, but Devlin grabbed her arm and pulled her up short. He smiled at her and even laughed.

“You cannot come into my home!” Carol shouted. She hoped to sound authoritative, even though she was scared. Vainly she tried to wrench her arm free from Devlin's grip.

“Really?” Devlin said, feigning surprise. “But it seems I'm already in. Besides, this is the doctor's house, too, and I'm curious if the little devil snuck back here after he shot me in the ass with some kind of arrow poison. I have to say I'm getting a little tired of your husband.”

“You're not the only one,” Carol was tempted to say, but she stopped herself.

“He's not here,” she said instead.

“Oh yeah?” Devlin questioned. “Well, let's you and me take a little look around.”

“I want you out!” Carol yelled as she tried to resist. But it was no use. Devlin had a good hold on her wrist as he dragged her from room to room while he looked for any sign of Jeffrey's having been there.

Carol kept trying to pull herself free. Just before Devlin led her upstairs, he gave her a sudden shake. “Will you calm down,” he shouted. “You know, hiding or abetting a convicted felon who's jumped bail is itself a felony. If the doc's here, it would be better for you that I find him and not the police.”

“He's not here,” Carol told him. “I don't know where he is and frankly I don't care!”

“Uh-oh,” Devlin said, surprised at this last comment. His grip loosened. “Are we talking a little marital discord here?”

Carol took advantage of Devlin's genuine surprise to pull her arm free. Without missing a beat, she slapped Devlin across the face.

Devlin was stunned for a moment. Then he laughed aloud as he re-seized her wrist. “You
are
a feisty little thing!” he said. “Just like your husband. If only I could believe you. Now if you'd be so kind, I'd like to have you show me around upstairs.”

Carol shrieked in fear as Devlin pulled her rapidly up the
stairs. He moved so quickly that she had trouble keeping up with him and tripped on several of the steps, bruising her shins.

They made a rapid tour of the upstairs. Peering into the bedroom, which was a mess, with dirty clothes piled everywhere, and into the closet, whose floor was a chaotic jumble of shoes, Devlin said, “Not much of a homemaker, are you?”

Being in the bedroom terrified Carol, unsure of Devlin's true intentions. She tried to get herself under control. She had to think of something before this pig of a man fell on top of her.

But Devlin was clearly not interested in Carol. He dragged her up the folding stairs into the attic, then down two flights into the basement. It was apparent that Jeffrey was not there and had not been there. Satisfied, he walked Carol into the kitchen and eyed the refrigerator.

“So you were telling the truth. Now I'm going to let go of you, but I expect you to behave. Understand?”

Carol glared at him.

“Mrs. Rhodes, I said, understand?”

Carol nodded.

Devlin let go of her wrist. “Well now,” he said. “I think I'll just stick around in case the doctor calls or comes in for clean undies.”

“I want you to leave,” Carol said angrily. “Leave or I will call the police.”

“You can't call the police,” Devlin said matter-of-factly, as if he knew something Carol didn't.

“And why not?” Carol asked indignantly.

“Because I'm not going to let you,” Devlin said. He laughed his hoarse laugh and began to cough. When he got control of himself, he added: “I hate to tell you this, but the police don't have a lot of concern for Jeffrey Rhodes these days. Besides, I'm the one who's working for law and order. Jeffrey lost his rights when the conviction was handed down.”

“Jeffrey was convicted,” Carol said. “I wasn't.”

“A mere technicality,” Devlin said with a wave of his hand. “But let's talk about something more important. What's for dinner?”

 

Jeffrey took the trolley to Cleveland Circle and then walked up Chestnut Hill Avenue before weaving his way through the quaint suburban streets toward Kelly's. Lights were coming on in kitchens, dogs were barking, and kids were playing outside. It was a picture-perfect neighborhood with Ford Taurus station
wagons pulled up in front of freshly painted garage doors. The sun was low on the horizon. It was almost dark.

Once Jeffrey had decided to go to Kelly's, all he'd wanted to do was be there. But now that he was approaching her street, he felt indecision returning. Decision-making had never been a problem before. Jeffrey had decided on a career in medicine in junior high school. When it came to buying a home, he'd simply walked through the front door of the house in Marblehead and said, “This is it.” He wasn't accustomed to being so genuinely torn. When he'd finally managed to make it up the walk to her front door and ring the bell, he almost wished she wouldn't be home to answer.

“Jeffrey!” Kelly exclaimed as she opened the door. “This is the day for surprises. Come in!”

Jeffrey stepped inside and instantly realized how relieved he was that Kelly was home.

“Let me have your jacket,” she said. She helped him out of it and asked what had happened to his glasses.

Jeffrey put a hand to his face. For the first time he realized he'd lost them. He guessed they'd bounced off when he'd thrown himself out of the hotel room.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you—I am. But what are you doing here?” She led the way to the family room.

“I'm afraid I had company waiting for me when I got back to my hotel room,” he said, following behind her.

“Oh, God. Tell me all about it.”

Once again, Jeffrey filled Kelly in. He recounted the entire episode with Devlin at the Essex Hotel, including the gunshots and the injection of succinylcholine.

Despite her dismay, Kelly had to giggle. “Only an anesthesiologist would think of injecting a bounty hunter with succinylcholine,” she said.

“There's nothing funny about all this,” Jeffrey said ruefully. “The real problem is that the stakes are higher. And so are the risks. Especially if Devlin finds me again. I had a hard time deciding to come over here. I think you should reconsider your offer to help.”

“Nonsense,” Kelly said. “In fact, after you left the hospital today I could have kicked myself for not inviting you to stay here.”

Jeffrey studied Kelly's face. Her sincerity was disarming. She was so obviously concerned. “This Devlin character shot at me,” Jeffrey repeated. “Twice. Real bullets, and he was laughing like
he was having a good time at a turkey shoot. I just want to make sure you understand the degree of danger that's involved here.”

Kelly looked Jeffrey straight in the eye. “I understand perfectly,” she said. “I also understand that I have a guest room and you are in need of a place to stay. In fact, I'll be offended if you don't take me up on my offer. Now is it a deal?”

“It's a deal,” Jeffrey said, barely suppressing a smile.

“Good. Now that that's settled, let's get you something to eat. I'll bet you haven't had anything to eat all day.”

“Not true,” Jeffrey said. “I had an apple and a banana.”

“How about some spaghetti?” Kelly said. “I can have that ready in half an hour.”

“Spaghetti would be great.”

Kelly went into the kitchen. In a few minutes she had some diced onions and garlic sautéing in an old iron skillet.

“I never went back to my hotel room once I got away from Devlin,” Jeffrey told her. He was leaning over the back of the couch so he could watch Kelly's activities in the kitchen.

“Well, I should hope not.” She got some ground beef from the refrigerator.

“I only mentioned it because I'm afraid I've lost Chris's notes—the ones I borrowed.”

“No problem,” Kelly said. “I told you I was going to get rid of them anyway. You saved me the trouble.”

“I'm still sorry.”

Kelly began to open a can of peeled Italian tomatoes with an electric opener. Over the whir of the motor she said, “By the way, I forgot to tell you. I talked to Charlotte Henning over at Valley Hospital. She told me that they get their Marcaine from Ridgeway Pharmaceuticals.”

Jeffrey's jaw dropped. “Ridgeway?”

“That's right,” Kelly said as she added the ground beef to the onions and the garlic. “She said Ridgeway's been their supplier since Marcaine went generic.”

Jeffrey faced around on the couch and stared out the window at the darkened garden outside. He was stunned. The idea that the Marcaine from Memorial and Valley had come from the same pharmaceutical manufacturer was crucial to his theory of a contaminant. If the Marcaine used in the Noble and Owen operations were from different suppliers, there was no way to argue that they'd come from the same contaminated batch.

Unaware of the effect of her information on Jeffrey, Kelly added the tomatoes and some tomato paste to the beef and the
onions and garlic. She sprinkled in some oregano, stirred, and lowered the gas for the mixture to simmer. She got out a large pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove to boil.

Jeffrey joined her by the kitchen counter.

Kelly could sense something was wrong. “What's the matter?” she asked.

Jeffrey sighed. “If Valley uses Ridgeway, then the idea of a contaminant is out the window. Marcaine comes in sealed glass containers, and any contaminant would have to be introduced during manufacture.”

Kelly wiped her hands on a towel. “Couldn't a contaminant be added later?”

“I doubt it.”

“What about after the vial is opened?” Kelly suggested.

“No,” Jeffrey said with finality. “I open my own vials and extract the drug immediately. I'm sure Chris would have done the same.”

“Well, there has to be a way,” Kelly said. “Don't give up so easily. That's probably what Chris did.”

“To get a contaminant into one of those ampules would mean penetrating the glass,” Jeffrey said almost angrily. “It can't be done. Capsules yes, glass ampules no.” But even as he said this, Jeffrey began to wonder. He remembered chemistry lab in college, where he'd been required to fashion pipettes using a Bunsen burner and glass rods. He could remember the taffylike feel of the molten glass as he'd wait until it was red hot before pulling it out into a wispy cylinder.

“Do you have any syringes here?” he asked.

“I still have Chris's medical bag,” she said. “There might be some in there. Shall I get it?”

Jeffrey nodded, then went over to the stove and turned on one of the front burners next to the simmering spaghetti sauce. The flame would certainly be hot enough. When Kelly returned with Chris's bag, he took a few syringes and a couple of ampules of bicarbonate from it.

He heated the tip of the syringe until the metal glowed red hot. Taking it from the fire, he quickly tried to push it into the glass. It didn't penetrate well. Then he tried heating the glass and using a cold needle, but that didn't work either. Then he tried heating both the needle and the glass, and the needle went through easily.

Jeffrey pulled the needle out of the ampule and studied the glass. Its once smooth surface was misshapen and a tiny hole
remained where the needle had been inserted. Placing the ampule back over the burner, the glass became soft again, but as he tried to rotate it, the molten glass distorted more, and he only succeeded in burning himself and making a mess of the whole end of the ampule.

“What do you think?” Kelly asked, squinting over his shoulder to see.

“I think you're right,” Jeffrey said, newly hopeful. “It might be possible. It's not that easy. I certainly made a mess of this one. But it suggests it could be done. A hotter flame might help, or one that can be better directed.”