| |
I was halfway through The Aconitum Murders when Victor called.
“I have bad news,” he said. “The back log for ordering a private autopsy is several weeks out.”
“That is horrible news,” I said.
“Whatever trace gas elements of Aconitum that may be in the urine may have dissipated long before an autopsy is actually performed. It will certainly be questionable.”
“Maybe we can try the M.E. again,” I suggested.
“I just got off the phone with him, the daft bastard.”
“That doesn’t sound encouraging.”
“The M.E. will not change his mind,” Victor said. “He says Emma was under a doctor’s care, she was on meds, previous condition, nothing unusual about the death, waste of time and money . . . yada, yada, yada—you know the bloody story.”
“I’m sorry, Victor.”
“It’s a setback, but I will push on. How about you?”
“I found something very interesting—actually two things. One helps us, the other doesn’t.”
“Do tell,” he said.
“First, I asked my CIA partner to check into Gus Proctor’s background.”
“And?”
“He’s clean, well at least for anything really suspicious. He has had one prior arrest—possession of marijuana. It was a small amount.”
“You’re right, that doesn’t help us,” he said.
“The only thing odd in the report is that the arresting officer noted that Gus was unusually nervous and fearful of the police—to the point of paranoia.”
“That’s interesting,” Victor said. “There are a great many people who have an inherent fear of authority, but I don’t see how that might help us. You said you had two things?”
“Yes, and this is quite interesting. It turns out that Gus Proctor checked out a couple of books. One was called, The Aconitum Murders. I’m reading it now. The storyline dates back to 1936. It goes into great detail as to how a man committed a murder without detection using Aconitum.”
“That could be very useful when the time comes,” Victor said. “Maybe Mr. Proctor was using the book as a how-to guide.”
“There’s more,” I said.
“Tell me, Miss Fortune.”
“It turns out that our loveable Gus Proctor is quite the Romeo,” I said, “and he has a taste for older women.”
“Why am I not surprised? Lonely women with money, undoubtedly?” Victor pondered. “How do you know that?”
I told him about my conversation with Roberta.
“We suspected it, of course, but it sounds as though you have found some corroboration?”
“In the case I know of, I’m pretty sure, yes. One of the women at the library is a sixty-five-year-old woman who is a retired business executive. She works at the library part-time to stay active, but rumor has it she has a substantial nest egg. She drives a Mercedes.”
“A Mercedes—a proverbial telltale sign of wealth. Let me guess,” Victor said. “She’s widowed, I take it?”
“Divorced,” I corrected, “for a long time.”
“Vulnerable, likely lonely as well,” Victor said. “This could be the beginning of a pattern.”
“Do you think I should warn Agnes?” I said.
“It’s a little early, don’t you think?” he said. “Right now, you have nothing concrete.”
“What if I find Gus and question him?” I said. “At the very least, it may make him back off any plans to kill Agnes.”
“The problem with that is that you will then alert Mr. Proctor that he is under an investigation, albeit an unofficial one. He will be on guard. He can form alibis; he can start to cover his tracks. The advantage we have right now is that he has no idea anyone is looking at him.”
“Victor, I can’t stand by and allow Gus to continue to plan Agnes’s murder,” I replied.
“I know,” he said. “Sit tight for the remainder of the day. Unless he’s the world’s biggest idiot, and I don’t think he is, he wouldn’t kill again after such a short time. We will move fast—I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“A little more digging,” he said. “If our new friend Gus does have a taste for the more mature and financially flush women, and he lives in Thibodaux, he may very well have developed a pattern near home before expanding his horizons.”
“Let me know what you find,” I said, and hung up.
My phone rang within seconds of hanging up. I thought it might be Victor calling back, but I didn’t recognize the number.
“Fortune, it’s Eddie,” I heard a young male voice say.
“Eddie!” I replied. “Thank you for calling me back.”
Eddie McCoy was a young I.T. whizz kid the library used for server work. He was intimately aware of the library system. He’s also had a crush on me since the day I arrived in Sinful.
“What can I do for you, Fortune?” he asked.
“I need a favor,” I said, sweetly. “The internet stations at the library can be tracked by individual users, correct?”
“Yes,” he said. “Each user is required to key in their personal library card number and password before using the computer.”
“So, if you wished to track the web surfing activities of an individual user, you could do that pretty easily?”
“Well . . . yes, but I’d need a court order to do it,” he said.
“Court order?”
“Yes, it’s in our written privacy agreement. The user has certain expectations of privacy,” he said. “Unless the user is trying to access illegal or restricted sites, I can’t pull individual activity without a court order.”
I was worried something like this would come up. I seriously doubted that web surfing for sites related to Aconitum plants would send up any red flags.
“What if I needed some information from you . . . you know, under the table?” I asked, even more sweetly than before.
“Fortune, I . . . I’d love to help, but . . .”
“It would be would be quick and easy for you,” I said, smiling. “I thought maybe you could pull some easy data for me.”
“I. . . I . . .”
“Look, I’ll sweeten the deal,” I said. “I’ll make you dinner, how’s that? We’ll hang out. My place—7:00 p.m.”
“I don’t know.”
“Pretty please,” I pleaded with my most endearing girly voice.
There was a pause. I allowed the silence to linger.
“Well, okay, tell me what you want.”
I pumped my fist and silently mouthed a big, “Yes!”
I told him what I needed; he seemed surprised. I hung up, knowing that I used my girlie voice to manipulate him. It made me feel bad . . . but only for a moment. I was on a mission.