Chapter 25. From Suspicious to Suspect

WHITNEY

On Wednesday morning, I arrived at the fire station to discover a police cruiser sitting in the parking lot. My heart jolted. Has something happened?

As I pulled into the lot and parked, a uniformed male officer climbed out of the driver's seat. A fiftyish female in a boring beige business suit climbed out of the passenger side. Her chestnut hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob. "Whitney Whitaker?" she asked.

"That's me," I said. "How can I help you?"

The woman came over. First, she offered me her hand and her name. "Denise Gleeson." Next, she offered me her business card. It identified her as a detective with the Metro Police Department. "I'm investigating a suspicious death."

Oh, my gosh! Has there been another?I was almost afraid to ask. "Whose death?"

"Joanna Hartzell's," said Detective Gleeson.

"I thought Detective Flynn was going to handle that case."

She raised her chin and looked down her nose at me. "Why would you think that?"

Because he told me so?I wasn't sure what the protocols were for which detective was assigned to which murder case. I doubted a detective could call dibs on a particular case, like Gideon had tried to call dibs on the townhouse. I recalled Collin telling me they were assigned on a rotating basis, and you got the next case that came up when your name rose to the top of the list. Still, I'd gotten the impression that he had planned to open a case himself once he had time. Looked like this woman had beaten him to it. I wondered what had instigated her investigation—or who. "Detective Flynn and I have discussed the situation. I'm his fiancée."

"You are?" She looked taken aback. So did the uniformed officer.

"Yes. I told him I suspected that Joanna might have been murdered. It was my understanding he was going to look into things once he was finished with another case he's working."

"The double homicide?"

I nodded.

"Well, I officially got to this case first." She offered a wry smile. "I have some questions I'd like to ask you."

I held out a hand to indicate the fire station. "Would you like to come inside? We don't have any furniture, but I could round up a couple of buckets for you two to sit on."

"Actually," she said, "I'd prefer to talk at the station."

It would take additional time to move this conversation elsewhere, time I didn't really have to spare. But she was in charge and I wasn't going to be rude by arguing with her. "Should I follow you there?"

The uniformed officer opened the back door of the squad car. "Climb on in. We'd be happy to give you a ride."

I froze for a moment. What, exactly, is happening here? Are they taking me into custody? I was utterly confused and totally alarmed, but I tried to keep my cool. Surely, there was some sort of misunderstanding. Collin could help sort it out. They hadn't handcuffed me or read my rights yet, so that was a good sign, wasn't it? If I was in big trouble, they'd be telling me I had the right to remain silent, and the right to an attorney.

Buck pulled up as I slid into the back seat of the squad car. He was out of his van in an instant. "What's going on here?"

I forced a smile. "I'm just riding down to the station with them to answer a few questions." I turned my head so that the detective and the officer couldn't see my face. Call Collin! I mouthed silently.

The officer closed the door on me, and I found myself in a cage of sorts, separated from the cop and the detective by a layer of metal mesh. The car had a faint unpleasant smell, like Swiss cheese, a scent that was likely part body odor and part barf. I reflexively tightened my buttocks, trying to put as little of my body in touch with the seat as possible. I fastened my seat belt but leaned forward to keep my back away from the seat, hugging my knees, trying not to panic.

I remained silent as we drove, staring out the window, turning things over in my brain. What had led to me being taken in for questioning? I had no way of knowing, at least not yet. But I had a sneaky suspicion that Macy Griffin had something to do with it. She'd acted very strange the last time I'd seen her, almost as if she was scared of me, and I wasn't sure why.

At the station, Detective Gleeson led me to a small conference room. She pulled out a chair for me on one side of the metal table and seated herself on the other. There was a metal loop in the center of the table that I surmised was for attaching handcuffs when needed. A glance downward told me the table was bolted to the floor. I wondered briefly whether I should ask to call a lawyer, but I was innocent of any wrongdoing. Surely, I don't need one, do I?

Detective Gleeson offered me a cup of the most stale, bitter, lukewarm coffee I'd ever tasted, and got right down to brass tacks. "I understand that, while Joanna Hartzell's autopsy was pending, you predicted that she had died from mercury poisoning, is that correct?"

"Predicted is not the term I would use," I said. "I simply noticed some things that pointed to the possibility."

She held out a hand in invitation. "Such as?"

"Such as lots of leftover seafood in Joanna's refrigerator." I explained how I'd overheard Macy say that pregnant women shouldn't eat seafood, and how I'd later discussed the matter with my cousin's wife who, like Macy, was pregnant. "The information was fresh in my mind, so when I saw all the shrimp and tuna and other fish in Joanna's fridge, it gave me pause. Her symptoms seemed to be consistent with mercury poisoning, too."

"You're referring to the symptoms you witnessed when she came to the fire station?"

"That's correct," I said. "She was wobbly on her feet and disoriented, incoherent. Shaking, too."

"Are you aware that nobody else saw Joanna walk to the fire station?"

"Nobody on the street, you mean?"

"Exactly."

"That doesn't surprise me," I replied. "It was just before two in the afternoon when she came into the bay. Most people are at work at that time."

Undeterred, she said, "You were the only one who saw Joanna in her compromised state before the ambulance arrived, correct?"

"No," I said. "That's not correct. My cousin Buck saw her, too. He was working in the bay with me. He'd taken some drywall and trim upstairs when Joanna came in. When I realized she was having trouble, I called for him and he came down immediately to help."

She spoke slowly and deliberately as she paraphrased my words. "What you've just told me is that you were alone in the bay when Joanna arrived. Your cousin was upstairs."

"Yes, but it was only for a matter of seconds, and then he came right down."

"A matter of seconds," she repeated.

She was silent for several beats, during which the clock on the wall slowly tick-tick-ticked. Amazing how long a few seconds can sound.

I wasn't entirely sure what Detective Gleeson was getting at, but she seemed to be implying that, during the brief moment I'd been alone with Joanna, I could have harmed the woman. "The only thing I did was try to help Joanna. I was afraid she'd fall and get hurt, so I helped her down to the floor as she collapsed." I was disappointed to hear how desperate I sounded, how pleading, how nervous. How guilty? Maybe this interrogation was karma, a payback for me putting Gideon, Lane, Holden, Samira, and D-Jay through similar interrogations.

The woman was relentless. "If I searched your browsing history on your phone and laptop, I'm guessing I would see several searches related to mercury poisoning."

Terror gripped my throat, but I told the truth—in a squeaky voice. "Yes, you would. I performed some research after Joanna passed away."

"Some beforehand, too."

I racked my brain, thinking back. "Maybe. Like I said, I talked to my best friend about mercury poisoning from seafood—"

"A moment ago, you said you spoke with your cousin's wife about it."

"I'm referring to the same person. She's both my best friend and my cousin's wife. I'm the one who introduced them, and they later got married. She and I talked about the seafood issue prior to Joanna's collapse at the fire station. I'm fairly certain I looked up some information on my phone or computer that same night, but I couldn't swear to it. I'd have to check."

Shifting gears, she said, "Let's talk about your house-flipping business."

"Okay. What would you like to know?"

"You purchased the townhouse next to the one in which Joanna Hartzell lived, isn't that right?"

"It wasn't just me. My cousin is a part owner. We have a third silent partner, too." Why did I feel as if I'd just thrown Buck and Presley under the bus?

"Joanna's the one who brought the place to your attention?"

"That's right," I said. "She and Gideon Koppelman came to the fire station and asked us to take a look at it. It was deteriorating, and she was afraid her place could be at risk, too, if repairs weren't made soon."

"You're quite savvy, aren't you?" she said. "Got ownership for a song through some fancy legal maneuvering."

"I certainly wouldn't say we got it for a song. We paid nearly two hundred grand for the townhouse. There's quite a bit in back taxes owed on it, and it needs a lot of work. Carpet. Paint. Light fixtures. Most of the appliances will need to be replaced, too. There's a leak in the roof. We'll have to put in new shingles and replace the damaged wood in the attic. As for ‘fancy legal maneuvering,' we consulted with an attorney to see what our options were, and she suggested that the quitclaim deeds would be a relatively easy, viable option. The deeds are simple and straightforward. It wasn't like we tricked anyone. There were no smoke and mirrors." Well, no smoke until the fire station had been set on fire. Seriously, I was a victim, not a perpetrator. Why should I have to endure this demeaning inquisition?

Rather than belabor the point, Gleeson began to speculate. "It would have been nice to own the entire building, wouldn't it?"

"We wouldn't have been able to afford it," I said. "Besides, Joanna's unit wasn't for sale."

"But it could have been if she died in it and her family felt uncomfortable staying there, put it on the market."

Is she implying that I killed Joanna in the hopes of buying her townhouse as well as the one that had been owned by the Bottiglieris?I said the same thing that Holden had said to me earlier that day. "That thought would've never occurred to me. In reality, a death by anything other than natural causes can severely lower a property's value. I wouldn't want to get stuck with a property that had depreciated." Again.

"Another way to look at that," suggested the detective, "is that a decline in value would make the property more affordable for you. You might get a chance to buy her townhouse at a greatly reduced rate."

I fought the urge to groan and roll my eyes. Even though she was totally off base, I had to give this woman credit. She had the ability to see many different sides to a story, to spin the facts in any number of ways. But what she was missing here was the real story. I knew it must be hard for her to ascertain the truth if she'd been told things from different perspectives. Maybe the best thing I could do here was to say as little as possible. Seemed anything I said got spun around and came back to bite me in the butt.

A knock sounded on the door and Collin's voice came from the other side. "Detective Gleeson? May I come in?"

The woman rose and stepped over to the door. Rather than allow Collin inside, she blocked the door with her body. All I could see was the top of his head and part of one leg. It was like the time I'd been standing behind Joanna and Gideon when Macy had announced she was pregnant. Macy. She has to be the reason I'm here. How had my helpful suggestion about the possibility of mercury poisoning been twisted into an implication of guilt?

"I'm interviewing Whitney Whitaker," Gleeson told Collin at the door. "I understand she's your fiancée."

"She is," Collin said. "I can tell you right now she had nothing to do with whatever happened to Joanna Hartzell."

"You're not exactly a disinterested party now, are you, Detective Flynn?" She tilted her head. "It's probably best you recuse yourself. You don't want to do anything that could appear biased and improper."

Collin was quiet for a long moment, probably debating how best to handle this insanely awkward situation. Finally, he said, "You're right, Detective Gleeson. I should recuse myself. Carry on."

Carry on?My innards were squirming like a barrel of worms at a bait shop. How could Collin abandon me when I needed him most? Then again, I'd always admired him for his ethics. He lived by a strict moral code. Recusing himself was the right thing to do. I'd unwittingly put Collin in an untenable situation, risked his reputation at work. I felt horrible about that, my stomach now queasy. But he knew I was innocent, and he likely had faith I could prove it on my own, without his help. Since the things I'd said earlier only seemed to get me in more trouble, I remained mum despite that fact that every cell of my body wanted to scream in frustration.

I did my best to try to remain strong as the detective resumed the interrogation, bombarding me with more questions I answered as succinctly as possible, carefully choosing my words. I knew she was only doing her job, and doing it quite well, so I tried not to take it personally. Not an easy task.

It was clear that my guilt had been inferred by my seeming to know Joanna had died of mercury poisoning before the pathologist confirmed it. But the autopsy might never have confirmed it had I not mentioned the possibility to Macy. I doubted that mercury was something screened for in a routine autopsy. Without me, the family wouldn't have answers. I'm a hero, not a villain! Though I'd just decided it was best for me to say as little as possible, and I realized that providing the information could further implicate me, I knew that I could not in good conscience fail to inform the detective about the tiny bead of mercury on the floor of the bay at the fire station. "I think I know how the killer got the mercury into Joanna's system."

She arched a brow. "Do you, now?"

I gave up the goods, even showed her the pics I'd snapped on my phone. I hoped that my doing so wouldn't further jeopardize Collin's standing with the department. It might appear as if he'd sat on critical information when, in reality, he'd planned to get to it as soon as he was able.

After I shared these new details and photos with Detective Gleeson, she whipped out her phone and ordered a crime scene team to the firehouse. "Take precautions. Mercury is toxic. It'll require special handling."

Eventually, she ran out of things to ask me, and directed the police officer to drive me back to the fire station. The crime scene van sat in the parking lot. The bay door had been raised, and two techs in full hazmat suits worked inside, one of them using a pair of tweezers to try to lift the tiny bead of liquid mercury so that it could be secured in a small airtight canister.

I thanked the officer for the ride as I climbed out.

I'd had my own dwindling list of suspects, and now it seemed I was at the top of the police department's list. I could see why. I'd been the last person, other than the EMTs, to see Joanna alive. I'd correctly deduced that her symptoms were consistent with mercury poisoning, a relatively rare occurrence, and even identified that the delivery mechanism had been mercury vapor via tainted cigarettes. I'd been in contact with the victim several times, and could have easily slipped her a poisoned pack. Heck, if I were in Gleeson's shoes, I'd think I was guilty, too. But I was simply an inquisitive and perceptive person, not a criminal. Lest I end up reciting my wedding vows from a jail cell, I'd better identify the true killer, and fast. The problem was, I was out of suspects.

Who had I missed?