Page 26 of When You're Safe

“Thank you for giving us yourtime,” Winters said, looking around.

Three metal tables sat in front ofa row of shiny doors. Finn knew very well what was behind those doors.

“Rob… Chief Constable Collins,”Finn started, correcting himself. “He informed us that you’ve come to theconclusion that Quentin DeGrey was murdered?”

“Yes,” the man said with someexcitement. “I don’t want to talk ill of other pathologists, but the initialautopsy was not as thorough as it should have been. But I had to be sure.”

Wilfred moved to the row of shinydoors, clunked open the handle of the middle one, and then rolled out acadaver, hidden by a sheet, which was slid via a metal tray onto one of thesurgical tables.

Finn noticed Winters jump slightlyfrom the clatter as the body and tray came to rest.

“You okay?” Finn asked.

Winters didn’t say anything. Shejust looked at the outline of the body covered by a clinical white sheet.

Wilfred unceremoniously pulledback the sheet, revealing the cold, dead body of Quentin DeGrey. He was elderly,his white beard covering a sea of wrinkles, each one telling of life’srelentless march, like the rings inside a dead tree.

The pathologist walked over to asmall box, pulled out some blue gloves, and put them on. Moving over to thebody, he pointed to the left hand.

“Here, look,” Wilfred said,holding up the ring finger of the victim.

Finn leaned in. Just underneaththe tip of the fingernail, there was an almost unnoticeable pinhole.

“Took me two days to find that,”the pathologist said with pride. “I suspected he had been poisoned withsomething exotic, but I couldn’t for the life of me see how. There was no evidencein the stomach, throat, or mouth. His intestines were clear, and even the blooddidn’t show poison per se.”

“Then how did you know?” Winters asked,blinking a few times as if moving herself out of another daydream.

“The first clue was the heart,”the pathologist said enthusiastically, as if few ever spent much time talkingto him down there in the depths of the hospital.

“What about it?” asked Finn, stillexamining the hand of the deceased.

“One ventricle was damaged bysomething,” the pathologist said. “The nature of the damage at first glancelooked like a bog-standard cardiac event, but then on closer inspection it wasalmost as if the material had been worn away by something, to a degree.”

Finn turned to him and said, “Fascinating.You know, we dealt with a poison on our last case, Dead Man’s Noose. From aflower that’s native in my home state. It causes marks around the neck that canbe mistaken for strangulation. But this poison…” Finn trailed off into thought,a memory surfacing.

“I can’t identify it,” thepathologist said. “It’s a slow-acting poison, you see. The deceased wasinjected in the finger with the slightest pin prick. Then it moved around Mr.DeGrey’s body, causing damage to the heart, possibly even some other internalorgans, though I haven’t discovered that yet. Then the poison was metabolizedby the body and excreted.”

“Clever,” Winters said. “So themurderer poisons Quentin DeGrey, then the poison weakens his heart until he hasa cardiac arrest. By that time the body has removed the poison from his systemand there’s no sign of it. Is that what you are telling us, Dr. Amblin?”

“Yes, exactly,” the pathologistreplied, looking down at the body. “But the only evidence is the strangeerosion in the heart and that pin prick.”

“How long between being poisonedand death?” Finn asked.

“Going by the healing on theinjection site,” Wilfred said, thoughtfully, “two days, perhaps? Withoutknowing what the poison is, I can’t be certain of how long it took to work. Butit’s certainly an effective murder tool. Most pathologists would have missedit.”

Finn patted Wilfred on theshoulder. “Good for you, Wilfred, my man.”

“Quite,” Wilfred said, halfsmiling, half shocked at Finn’s brazenness. He rubbed his shoulder as if Finnwas a little too rough. “I’m afraid, then, this is most certainly a murder.Unless Quentin DeGrey injected himself.”

Finn looked down at the handagain. He rubbed the blond stubble on his face, deep in thought. “I do rememberreading about metabolizing poisons when I was back in basic training. But theyare very uncommon. I wonder, could you, with a little research, come up withsome possibilities for us, Wilfred?”

“A list of poisons that could havebeen used, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Of course,” Wilfred answered. “Itmight take a while, though. I should be able to come up with some candidates inthe next day or two?”

“Great,” Winters said. She turnedto Finn. “Well, looks like you were right all along, Finn. Two murders. Twodead family members. The question is, who’s next?”

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