Merchant stared out the plate glass windows in the lobby of the BNA building. All he saw were network news vans, prop cameras, and reporters gripping mics. Where was the Escalade? The vans were usurping the curb in front of the revolving doors. The reporters reminded him of a lynch mob; they all wanted a piece of him. Even if Felipe could get in front of the doors, Merchant couldn’t get to the car without running that gauntlet. He turned to Chester, the senior security officer he’d known for almost a decade. “Take me the back way.”
“Yes, sir.” Chester nodded.
Merchant called Felipe as Chester led him through labyrinthine passageways to an unmarked set of doors at the back of the building where trucks made deliveries. A few minutes later, the Escalade pulled up. Chester checked the alleyway, gave the all clear, and Merchant ducked out into the darkness. Just before Chester closed his car door, Merchant pressed a Ulysses S. Grant in his palm. “Thanks, buddy.”
Twenty minutes later, he walked into Manhattan North and approached the desk sergeant. “Detective Codella is expecting me.”
“Take a seat,” said the sergeant in a gruff, unimpressed tone that Merchant wasn’t used to hearing from people. The bench was hard, and he didn’t like to be kept waiting.
Ten minutes later, Codella appeared. “Let’s go upstairs.”
They entered a small, windowless room, and Merchant said, “My attorney will be here shortly.”
“Your attorney?”
“Safety precautions, Detective.”
“Whatever makes you feel comfortable, Mr. Merchant.” She gestured to a chair. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Black.”
She left and returned a few minutes later with a white mug for him and a water bottle for her. She sat across from him and folded her hands. “I appreciate your coming up here. I thought it would be best to tell you about your wife’s autopsy results in person.”
“Go on,” he said.
“Mrs. Merchant died of a condition called noncardiogenic pulmonary edema. That means her lungs filled with fluid and she couldn’t breathe. Usually pulmonary edema results from a heart condition, but in the case of your wife, the medical examiner believes the cause was a drug overdose.”
“In other words, Park Manor fucked up?”
“Or someone wanted her dead.” She paused. He could feel her watching him. “We need toxicology to confirm the ME’s findings, but it does appear that someone added a concentrated dose of oxycodone to her nightly sedative.”