Page 23 of Nicco

Dr. Leoni’s face transformed from friendly to serious. “Okay, Mr. Bregoli, do you want to sit or stand for the news?”

“I’m good. Tell me what’s up, doc.”

I thought of Bugs Bunny for a second before I pushed the image from my mind.

The doctor stood. “Your suspicions have merit. I did a more comprehensive autopsy on your father. His heart attack was brought on by a fentanyl overdose.”

“What?” All the lines in Nicco’s forehead burst out. “That’s some low-level street drug. My father didn’t do drugs. He only drank on special occasions. Fentanyl?”

“There were absolutely no other drugs found in his system, just a few vitamins and supplements, but no prescription or illegal drugs. Fentanyl was the only illegal substance that showed up in the pathology report.”

“It doesn’t make sense. What does that mean?”

“Looks like your father was poisoned.”

“How?”

“It appears your father had a cup of ginseng tea that was laced with a nearly undetectable, minute trace of fentanyl.”

“Are you trying to say someone spiked my father’s tea?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying. The toxicology report detected fentanyl. It’s odorless and colorless. Given that your father didn’t indulge in any illegal drugs, this would have to be classified as a murder.”

“Yes, but I don’t want that on the death certificate.”

“Whatever you like. You know what really happened, and that’s all that matters. I can just write it up as a myocardial infraction on the death certificate.”

“What’s that?”

“In layman’s terms, a heart attack.”

“Yes, that’s it. Nothing more. I don’t want anyone to know that I know there’s a traitor in our midst.”

“Be careful. If this person or these people have fentanyl, they can put the substance in anything. It only takes the smallest amount to cause death.”

I was going to get to the bottom of this.

“Thank you, Dr. Leoni. This information is private.”

“Of course, Mr. Bregoli. Do you want to see him?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, follow me to the morgue.”

We trailed behind the doctor and out of his office. We took an elevator down to the basement where the temperature was cold. We walked down the hall to a small morgue at the rear of the building. The refrigerated drawer that housed Dom’s body was locked. The doctor unlocked the drawer with a key he fished from his pocket. He pulled the drawer out as we stood on one side of the covered body and he stood on the other.

The doctor pulled the white sheet back from Dom’s face and laid it on his chest. I looked down at my Dom’s body. He was bluish purple and very dead. I didn’t know how to feel about this. I never had a father and now I had a dead one.

Nicco was taught to mourn internally and not externally. He told me this once, and I remembered it. He said crying was pathetic. He said Dom viewed crying as a weakness. Since I hadn’t seen him shed a tear, I was sure I never would.

“There were no marks, bruises or abrasions. Since he ingested the fentanyl, there is no sign of it on his skin.” Dr. Leoni concluded.

“I will send the release over and have the mortician come to get my father, either today or tomorrow.” Nicco said.

“I will make sure everything is ready.” Dr. Leoni covered Dom’s face with the white sheet. I looked over at Nicco. His stoned faced expression gave nothing away.

“Thanks.” Nicco shook his hand. “I have arrangements to make. If anything comes up. Give me a call.”

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