Dante's Poison Page 25

  I jumped back in. “It’s often worse when the person has been taking the drug for some time, and when it’s the kind that’s easily cleared from the body. That’s why psychiatrists don’t advise quitting an antidepressant just like that,” I said with a snap of my fingers. “The safer course is to taper off gradually. Danny Carpenter didn’t have that opportunity. Or the other victim—the girl.” I frowned, thinking of what it must have been like for the two of them. The sudden return to the depressed state that had brought them to Levin originally. Their conviction, perhaps, that they were doomed to spend the rest of their lives that way. Coupled with the usual impulsivity of teenagers and whatever other burdens were weighing them down, it was a potentially lethal combination.

  “And you can prove he killed them, too?” O’Leary said.

  I shook my head. “I can’t say for sure what was going through their minds, or even if the sudden withdrawal of the medication ‘caused’ their suicides in a legal sense, but it can’t have helped. The only thing we know for sure is the Placeva samples Young left at Levin’s office weren’t what they appeared to be. I had Rusty send them out to a private lab for testing. Over half were just sugar pills. Young was experimenting on Levin’s patients, waiting to see what would happen—and hoping things would pan out so that Levin would get sued, just like Young’s father.”

  “But why wait until now? You said Levin had a spotless record before the Carpenter kid died.”

  “Lack of opportunity. Levin was on a different salesman’s beat. It wasn’t until the other fellow’s retirement six months ago that Young took over his accounts. I bet you’ll find Young engineered it that way. You can ask Levin for the details. He’s anxious to cooperate with the authorities to clear his name.” If nothing else, I could rest happy that I’d helped him clear his conscience.

  “And you think Young’s been doing this for years?”

  “Again, nothing that will be easy to prove,” I said. “But giving a job like Young’s to a psychopath is like putting a money launderer in charge of Fort Knox. I have a hard time believing he limited himself to just Levin’s patients. And if I’m right that his modus operandi was surreptitiously removing his victims’ life-saving medications, it was an ingenious scheme and one that was almost guaranteed to go undiscovered. In the worst case, where someone died and the absence of the drug was discovered on autopsy, the natural assumption would be that the deceased simply missed a dose. People forget to take their pills all the time. It would take a mighty paranoid coroner to look any further.”

  Josh said, “But just on the off chance we might find something, I went around yesterday collecting more free samples from our colleagues.” He rattled a plastic bag. “They’re all here waiting for you.”

  “All right,” O’Leary said, grunting. “I’m sold. The question is whether it’s enough to convince the boys up in Lake County. If it was a local prosecutor like Di Marco, I’d know how to get Young arrested fast, but it’s in their hands for the time being. First thing we’ll need is a warrant to search his place. You have any idea where he lives?”

  Bjorn piped up with the address, in suburban Barrington.

  O’Leary groaned. “Which means outside Cook County. I’ll have to get the cooperation of the local cops, too. This is going to take a few days. In the meantime, Angelotti”—he poked me in the chest for emphasis—“you stay far out of his way. I don’t want him catching on to anything and I sure as hell don’t want the medics to be peeling you off a sidewalk somewhere—again.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I promise to watch my back. And I don’t plan on being anywhere but at home or in the hospital. I don’t want to miss being there when Hallie wakes up.” I thought of one more thing. “What about these?” I asked O’Leary, displaying the bottle with my pills. “Do you need them as evidence?”

  “It’s against protocol, but I think we can get by on the test of the contents your junior colleague performed. Unless Young is stupider than we think, he wouldn’t have left any fingerprints on the bottle, and it’s been tainted by you carrying it around all this time. Besides,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, “I’d still like to think there’s a happy outcome for you in all this.”

  “Thanks,” I said, re-pocketing the bottle. “Just don’t count on me becoming your star eyewitness.”

  As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long for word about Hallie. As I was downing the last of my drink, Jesus came over to announce that his cousin Gerry’d just phoned. Hallie had started to stir and even opened her eyes several times. It appeared she was finally coming out of it. I did a quick pat-down of my appearance, deciding that my three-day-old beard probably made me look less like a leading man than a registered sex offender, and that my shirt could use changing too. I wanted to look my best when she first saw me, especially next to the competition presently seated at my table. The bar was only a ten-minute walk from my apartment. If I hustled I could be shaved, showered, and back at her bedside in no time.

  Bjorn was also making preparations to leave, so I told him I’d see him over there.

  “Uh . . . I don’t think so,” he said. “I’ve got somewhere else to toddle off to. Please give Hallie my apologies and tell her I’ll be by soon.” I wondered at this but was secretly pleased.

  Josh gave me a hand to the door. “We’ll talk some more later,” he said sternly into my ear. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but I could write a whole psychology textbook about what happened to you the other day.”

  “You’re making some kind of point about subconscious desire?” I said.

  “One, it’s fair to say, the Freudians would have had a field day with. If you recall, I warned you about getting your hopes up.”

  “I’m fine. As they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  “Sure. And while you were telling us about your trip to Disney World, you didn’t look like your whole world had just come crumbling down on you. Even O’Leary, hardened cop that he is, wanted to hug you. Do yourself a favor and tell Melissa you’re finished.”

  I shook my head. “Out of the question.”

  “How did I know you’d remain stubborn?”

  “It’s not that,” I protested. “I made a commitment. Even if the drug doesn’t do me any good it might help somebody else with my disease to know why. That’s what being an experimental subject is all about. I have to see it through to the end.”

  “Melissa would be the first person to tell you to quit if it was making you crazy.”

  “Which I swear it’s not. On bibles, if necessary.”

  That at least produced a chuckle. “As your friend, I’ll forgo that requirement. You’re already treading on thin ice where perjury is concerned as it is. All right. I won’t bring up the subject again. Just remember there’s always a sleeve here if you need one. And an ample one at that. Go on. Get out of here. I can see you’re anxious to get prettied up and back to Hallie.”

  After Josh released me I set out going the few blocks east, grateful to have finally made my escape. I couldn’t admit it to him, but many of the same thoughts had been running through my own mind. I just couldn’t decide what to do about them. Paradoxically, it wasn’t the uncertainty that was killing me—since the episode in Grant Park I’d more or less given up on Melissa’s treatment having any effect. But the limbo I was in had become a comfort zone, preventing me from dusting myself off and moving ahead. I thought back to the fortune-telling game Jane had played with me and for the first time understood why the hanged man she’d described was smiling. It was the grin of an imbecile who didn’t yet grasp that his time was up.

  So I took it as a further sign that, rounding the corner of my block, I heard loud hammering in the yard of one of the pricey townhomes across the street. I’d been moving along quickly and still had a little time to spare, so I swung by to investigate.

  “Isn’t it a little early for putting up Christmas lights,” I said to the person standing there.
>
  “You think so?” a man with a thin, reedy voice answered. “Wait until there’s a foot of snow on the ground a month from now. It’s a ‘For Sale’ sign,” he explained, “since I’m guessing that stick you’re carrying means something.” He said it like it was nothing remarkable, and I wondered why it was so easy for some people to take it in stride.

  “You a realtor?” I asked.

  “No, I’m the owner. I just found out I’m being transferred—to Minneapolis, where it’s even warmer, thank you very much—and I’m damned if I pay a commission to one of those sharks. Why? You in the market for a place to buy?”

  “I might be. Right now I live over there.” I pointed in the direction of my building. “But I wouldn’t mind upgrading if I could find something else in this neighborhood.”

  “Well, you won’t find much better around here,” he said, putting the hard sell on me. “Three stories, two fireplaces, a rooftop sitting area, and the chef’s kitchen my wife just put in that I’ll never recover a dime of. Good views, too, if that’s meaningful to you.”

  “I couldn’t live without them. You mind telling me what you’re asking?”

  He named a figure I didn’t think was too outrageous, so I asked him when it might be possible to see it.

  “You can take a tour right now if it’s convenient.”

  “I’m afraid I’m already late for an appointment,” I said. “And I’d like to have a friend along so I wouldn’t be taking the place sight unseen—so to speak.”

  He laughed. “I like you. And I like it even better that we might be able to do a deal without agents. Come by on Saturday then, if you’re free, and I’ll take you around.”

  We set a time and exchanged cards, and I walked off, feeling that I’d taken the first steps toward loosening the chains that were holding me in place.

  When I arrived upstairs the apartment was frigid, and I realized with irritation that the latch on my terrace door had come undone again. It was a good thing I’d stopped to talk to my neighbor. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand living in such squalor. I emptied the contents of my pockets in the bowl by the door, tossed my cane on the floor, and slipped out of my shoes before crossing the room to rectify the problem. Halfway there, I froze in the middle of my steps.

  Someone was standing outside. Someone tall and smoking a cigarette.

  “Bjorn?” I asked with only the faintest of hopes.

  “’Fraid not. Try again.”

  “Graham,” I said in resignation.

  “Right as rain.” Though the voice was the same, its tone had changed, from buffoonish affability to icy hauteur. It sent a ripple of dread down my spine.

  “I don’t suppose this is a social call?”

  “That would be a fair assumption.”

  Let me pause here to give full scope to the peril I found myself in. Contrary to popular lore, most criminals who set out to dispose of blind people in their homes are clever enough not to do it after nightfall, when their physical superiority can (in theory) be neutralized by the simple expedient of turning off the lights. Nor has it ever been likely—except in the overheated imaginations of Hollywood screenwriters—that the blind person would emerge the victor in the ensuing struggle. For one thing, the criminal’s pupils would soon adjust to the low lighting, leaving them no more helpless or confused than they were before. For another, not all of us can count on stumbling across large kitchen knives while our assailant is in hot pursuit.

  Graham, of course, had shown up in the middle of the day. That, plus the fact I lived nineteen stories up, hadn’t stocked my apartment with pepper spray, and did most of my wrestling with my conscience, all combined to suggest I was a goner.

  I ran rapidly through my options. Turning and running for the door behind me was the first thing that came to mind.

  “In case you were thinking of making a break for it, I have a gun.”

  “Naturally,” I said, considering now whether there was any way I could get to my phone.

  “And took the liberty of disconnecting your land line.”

  I nodded appreciatively. “Clever of you.”

  “Where’s your cell phone?”

  “Back there.”

  “Cross the room slowly and get it.”

  I did as I was told. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to try any funny business while I’m at it?” I said over my shoulder, trying to think of something—anything—I could grab to defend myself with.

  “Just bring it over here and put it on the floor.”

  I came back and placed the phone carefully on the carpet, lifting my hands in the air as I straightened.

  “Very good,” Graham said. “I always took you for a quick study.”

  “But I’m still waiting for you to sneer and tell me I’m not as smart as I think I am.”

  “In the present circumstances, I think that goes without saying.” Graham came around behind me and stuck something hard in the small of my back. For all I knew, it could have been a broom handle. On the other hand, I wasn’t about to test the theory. “Come. Let’s go outside and talk.”

  He marched me over and through the door and pushed me down into one of the two lawn chairs. I shivered in the chilly wind coming off the Lake. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Yelena, of course.”

  I should have guessed.

  “You really ought to have treated her better, you know. She responds very well to basic human courtesy. You could take a lesson from your fat friend. He never has to beg her to do her job. I doubt she’s going to miss you very much. If you don’t mind, I’m going to tie you up.”

  “You’re the boss. But what will you use? I don’t typically keep a supply of rope on hand for visiting psychopaths.”

  “No problem. I borrowed some of your sheets.” He began fastening my wrists to the armrests with what felt like torn-off strips of my bedclothes. I noticed he was wearing latex gloves.

  “How did you know we were on to you?” I asked.

  “Your pudgy friend again. In case you hadn’t realized it, he’s about as capable of keeping a secret as a teenage girl. I saw him running around collecting samples and figured it out. You should have gone to the police right away.”

  I took this to mean he didn’t know about O’Leary, which might give me something to work with if only I could delay things. “You mind telling me how you got in?”

  “You should have invested in better real estate. I sprang the lock with a credit card. It’s a crime how flimsy most construction is these days. With the prices they charge you’d think folks would insist on something more solid. Take this railing for instance.” He gave it a little knock. “I doubt it will hold even your weight for very long.”

  The realization of what he was talking about made me shiver again. How was I ever going to save my neck? My only recourse was to keep him talking. He seemed awfully familiar with the premises, prompting me to speculate this wasn’t the first time he’d paid them a visit. “You’ve been here before,” I said.

  “Yes,” he answered patiently, “While you were putting in that performance at the conference.”

  “What . . . what were you doing in my apartment?” I asked, remembering that night during the storm. For all I knew, he’d been in the same room with me the whole time.

  “Getting to know you better. Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t tamper with much.”

  “So it was you who left the terrace door open. And the window in my bedroom.”

  “Mmm-hmm. I was hoping you might wander out of one of them under the influence of the little cocktail I prepared for you. By the way, I was impressed by all the bells and whistles on your computer. It took me a while to get the hang of the reading program, but once I turned down the speed I enjoyed the technology. I did consider wiping your hard drive clean like Gallagher’s, but it was still useful to me and—”

  I was caught totally by surprise. “Wait a minute,” I broke in. “You’re saying it was you who destroyed Galla
gher’s files?”

  “Why? Did you think it was Jane? Of course, I’d always planned on Gallagher’s records making an untimely disappearance. I had to be certain there was nothing in them to connect me to his silly story. It apparently never occurred to the police that there were two different visitors to his home, or that they came on separate occasions.”

  I nodded, cursing myself for not having thought of that possibility before now. Graham had finished tying my hands and sat down in the other lawn chair. I flexed my wrists and concluded I’d never be able to wiggle free. “You’re saying she only took the hard copy of the report you passed to Gallagher?”

  “Yes, because when I went looking for it, it was already gone and Jane was the only person who could have taken it. It’s exactly what I would have done. She and I are alike in so many ways. I’ve been following her closely for years. You can imagine how pleased I was when she undertook that investigation for my employer.”

  It was as I’d suspected. Graham had set her up.

  “Then you admit you tried to frame her?”

  “Frame her? No, that would imply a more direct role in Gallagher’s death. All I did was set in motion a series of events that I hoped would play out a certain way. It was only my good fortune that they did. Incidentally, I give her high marks for how it was done. Nearly flawless. Her only mistake was being seen by that schoolteacher. But then again, she’s always been brilliant—”

  “Wait,” I said, floored even further by this new revelation. “It wasn’t you who . . . ?”

  “Fed him the Lucitrol? I’m sure that’s what she’d like you to think. But no, it wasn’t me.” He said it calmly and almost sadly, as though he wished he’d come up with the idea himself.

  My head was reeling, but I had to keep him talking. “Why should I believe you? There were witnesses who saw you with Gallagher at a bar the same night. Who’s to say it wasn’t you who slipped him the pill?”